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"Get into the Cullis Gate!"

"Not without you!" The young Hero ducked, dodged, slicing out with her sword, her anger for the fight matched only by her concern for her friends.

Three Spire Guards were smashed down to the floor as a huge war hammer slashed out near her head, "Just do it! We'll be right behind you! GO!"

"I've told you, no!" A swift drawing of her pistol, three shots in quick succession, all hitting their marks, another two down.

The sorcerer span on his heel, pulling up a shield of Will just in time to stop a Spire Being's magic, panting heavily with the strain, "Hero, go! We will buy you time!"

"I am not leaving without you!"

The Spire Shard shot out a bolt of lightning and she just missed it, her back colliding painfully with the wall, almost losing balance, a sword coming from nowhere, barely parried.

The warrior gave a scream of frustration, grabbing her by the collar and throwing her towards the gate, "Jaina, you stupid slag, go, NOW!"

The Hero stumbled into the blue, shimmering light, having time just to spin back on her heel towards them before the fight, Garth's tower and Brightwood disappeared from around her.

Blade's forehead hit stone. She didn't try to move, her breathing harsh and tight, racking through her whole body. The low hum of the Cullis Gate changed around her, and the orbs turned red. Something was wrong. There was a huge burst of energy, and the Hero's world vanished in a bright white light.

"Well what have we got here?"

Eyes open. Awake. Damp, rotten wood beneath her cheek. A chill that moved through to the bones, something no amount of layers could lessen.

"Is it alive?" the voice sounded harsh, broken, already dead. "Yeah, there we go, it's alive, yes?"

Up. Right the world again. Pulling on cold, rusty bars, pulling herself to her feet. The world swam in and out of focus. She leant down, bracing her battered head on the metal, closing her eyes again, letting her head calm.

A wheezing laugh coughed through the quiet, "Gave ya head quite a bang, missy. Wanderin' round the middle of Wraithmarsh. What, you got yerself a death wish? Eh? The Hollow Men coulda got ya."

She shook her head, dazedly, and then shivered. The cold went straight through her.

The voice laughed again, "Cold? Eh? Old Gregg's used to it. The fog. Guess you're not."

"Hannah." She managed, her voice weak, "Hannah, Garth."

"Hannah? What you talkin' bout, missy?"

Forcefully, she shook away the last of the grogginess, looking up. She frowned, and then looked around her, sharply. She was standing in an old cage wagon, like ones used for animals. Or slaves.

Blade looked at the man in front of her, on the other side of the bars. He was old, decrepit, carrying a lit torch in one hand, his teeth brown and yellow and his cheeks sunken. His silver hair hung lankly around his shoulders. His flesh hung off brittle bones. Already dead.

She managed to force her eyes off him. She glanced around her. Apart from the obvious, once other person was missing. She moved her eyes back onto the walking corpse, slowly, saying nothing. She didn't need to ask him what was going on. It was pretty obvious.

'Old Gregg' looked at her for a moment. He'd seen her glance around the cage, looking for someone. He nodded, quickly, too many times, "Yeah, y'all... ya'll had a dog with ya there, like." He gestured over his shoulder with a jerk of his head, "It ran off into the fog." He gave a cackle of a laugh, rattled by disused vocal chords, "The banshees'll have it by now. Aye, you've seen the last of that mongrel, I can tell ya!"

She looked at him straight, still not saying a word. Her heart pumped painfully in her chest.

He frowned a little, "Quiet one, aren't ya? Can you speak? Can you understand me? Yes, no? Yes? Yes, you can, can't you? Can it speak?"

Yes, 'it' could. Whether she would was a different matter.

Gregg shook his head, "You... you from Bloodstone, eh? No... no... you aint got the stink of it about ya. Too pretty. Too easy to take."

She raised an eyebrow, but kept her silence.

He shook his head again, "Oh, 'tis a wicked place. Would be burnt to the ground if there was any justice."

A wicked place... She'd heard the same herself, actually. Mainly from Garth. When he'd suggested that she change her clothing, told her that maybe a corset, shorts and thigh high boots were not quite appropriate in a place where you couldn't go three steps without being hit up or punched down. Her new black-and-white highwayman's outfit had the Garth seal of vague approval.

The twisted man was still watching her. He seemed almost unsure. "So... what do I do about you? Eh, missy?" he paused, thinking about it, and then his face seemed to brighten, "Reckon I'll burn you as well!"

Her heart missed a beat. Her eyes flew to the torch in his hand, and then back to his face. She took a few urgent steps back, opposing his movements. Gregg gave a small, hollow smile.

Then he hesitated. He turned. The fog had moved in on them, more. He seemed to panic. He took the torch in both hands and started waving it, trying to keep the fog at bay. Blade frowned, watching his frantic movements, uneasily. He took off, running into the fog, still waving his flame, until he was completely out of sight.

He didn't come back.

Blade shook her head, and turned to the metal bars. They were thick, strong, despite the rust from disuse. She gave the cage door a fierce yank, but all it did was rattle. She snarled and drew her blade, lowering it to the lock. Then she snapped her head back up. Screaming. There was screaming. And, no doubt about it, it was 'Old Gregg'. Screaming. And then, a shriek, a horrific, high-pitched shriek, piercing through the air and her head, making her wince and allow the weapon to fall to the floor in favour of covering her ears, recoiling.

The sound faded, leaving the needles of fear deep in her stomach. Blade lowered shaking hands, looking out into the fog for some sign of what had made that inhuman scream. She saw nothing. And then, movement. Something low, dark, down at feet level. Her heart missed more than a beat and she flinched back against the wall, deftly drawing her crossbow, taking aim.

Her finger was almost too far gone on the trigger when she recognised the furry monster. She knelt down quickly, whispering her beloved Boy's name, reaching out through the bars to pet him, her voice lowered even though there was nothing in sight. He had something in his mouth, and she frowned, working it out. It was a metal loop, accompanied by twelve metal keys.

Blade looked at him, gave him one last ferocious pat, and then turned to the door, flicking out the keys, starting with the biggest. She was getting the hell out of here.

A few days later, Blade reached the top of a short hill and leant heavily on a nearby fence. She doubled over, giving herself a second. She was covered in blood and dirt, smelling of smoke from fireballs and Hollow Men's dry, dusty bones, her face splattered with mud. Boy collapsed by her side, whimpering pathetically, his usually immaculate fur matted and dirty, still damp from the treks through swamps.

Blade managed to drag herself to her feet. The sun shone high in the west, and she winced, raising a hand to her eyes. But, despite the glare, after the eerie darkness and chill of Wraithmarsh, the feel of sunlight was like water in the desert. She looked over the town, the spires and houses tiny below her, and slowed her breathing. She glanced over her shoulder towards the path they had taken, through the cemetery, through the many tombs. She couldn't prevent a shiver. She licked her lips, and then shook her head, turning away, back to the sun. She tapped her thigh and Boy, oddly but quite understandably, was hesitant in getting to his feet. When, however, he saw that they were heading away from the ghastly place, he lightened up, bounding ahead of her, turning back to see if she was following.

Blade took in a long, deep breath. Then she continued down the path to Bloodstone.