"You know he is coming?"
The Banshee bowed her head. "I do. He is, no doubt, coming for your old Sisters - for the wyrdstone."
"For the wyrdstone..." Sofie repeated to herself. She went over to the table which she had used as a study, taking a book from the top of the pile. She flicked through to one of the pages she had marked - as she had for every reference to the undead, and to her curse - and looked over the contents. "He did not seem much of a mage himself, why would he want it?"
"He is a pawn, Sister Sofie. A pawn for the Von Carsteins."
"Vlad."
Again the banshee nodded in that courteous way. "Why are you helping me? For all I know - and I assure you I now know well - you are trying to lure me into a trap."
"You will also no doubt know, Sister Sofie, much about my nature."
The Sister paused. She knew the Banshees were not there by choice - indeed, they were pawns - but could not recall them being aware of this, let alone hateful of the fact. The realisation hit her, and she couldn't help feel a touch of pain for the being that hovered in front of her. "Go on."
"I am helping you. I want you to free me from this, so that I may rest as Morr intended." The ghost's lips curled and a whimper echoed about the library. Sofie simply nodded. "But enough about me - you must go at once and tell your kind. You must kill Ravenstock."
"They will not talk to me, let alone believe me."
"Then you will have to do it yourself. You know full well the Von Carsteins cannot be allowed to win."
"I know. I just need a way to get in without being slain."
The Banshee bit her lip and glanced down towards the doors. "You will die if you try to face his host alone. He may be a fool - you must have noticed that much - but he is trained and dangerous. Stay here and learn. I will find a way for you to continue on your journey."
"Thank you, Banshee." Sofie smiled. The Banshee looked her in the eyes and smiled humbly. There was a look of desperation there. She remembered it from her days in the Sisterhood - the look of beggars and petty thieves whom entered the chapel for help.
She turned back to the pile of books, before checking for both of her swords and wiping them over from hilt to point with her hands. There was a cold breeze and a whistle as the Banshee passed out of sight. The double-doors closed with a groan.
Somewhere in the city, Little Lady was stumbling and staggering, as if his body was not his own. He was walking quietly down a a cobblestone road which was one chalk-white, but had gained a matted grey complexion like fur from where dust had begun to settle. There were tarps of sheepskin and leather spread about the road from some others who had stayed in this place, but there was no living thing in sight.
Little Lady continued to walk for another hour or so. All the while, his lips were parted in a wide and endless smile. His pupils were dilated and stared straight on as he entered the clearing of a crossroads, past the encampment. A tall pillar served as its centrepiece, but whatever statue it had bared was gone - only a great stone foot in a sandal remained - and around it lay piles of crystals, arranged in no clear order.
They were humming and glowing just so that a deep green light danced about the road with the passing of clouds. Little Lady was drawn towards them, still smiling. He knelt and lifted one of the crystals. There was a clanning of brass on brass like a small bell.
The handgunner's head fell limp, sweating and twitching and cupped in his hands, even as those lying in ambush came upon him.
"Looks too skinny fer a chaos boy." A voice spoke in the dark. Little Lady was deaf to them, and had now curled into a fetal position in the road, trembling.
"They'll get you. The ones from below will. They'll get you. The bell tolls." Little Lady turned his head and smiled at the strangers.
The ambushers passed wary glances and one of them came forward. He was of stocky build, but wore a butcher's apron padded over with wood and torn patches of clothing.
"Lookit him, it's an army-boy. In a right state, too. Take him back?"
"We got enough loons without addin' more." Another argued from out of sight.
"lookit his gun." The one closest to Little Lady waved a spiked club at the stock of the rifle which jutted up from behind the boy's shoulders. "He'd be useful.. an' we can't leave him here."
More mutterings passed between the group. Then two of the men grabbed the boy by the arms and lifted him to. He didn't know what they looked like, other than the one that had come closest. He didn't pay attention if they told their names. His senses were dulled by the creatures in the tunnels, the ones who would surely destroy everything.
As the four men disappeared from view, the shadow cast by a wayward cart on the other end of the courtyard morphed and bent as something scurried from it. With a skitter the fured beast approached the crystal trap, ran a hand wrapped in white cloth over the pile for rope and cut each in turn. It lifted one of the crystals from the pile and rubbed it between forefinger and thumb.
From its side came a scrawled note, written in deep blue ink over a letter from a 'Sir Leon die Rot'. It was messy and childlike with words sprewn across the page, but the message was clear:
Follow-hunt escapee to its den. Kill-slaughter all and take-take Warpstone.
Folding the letter quickly, its robed head darting all about it as if it were being followed, the figure let out a droning squeak. Soon enough more and more of the creatures emerged, not donned in black robe like the leader but in scruffy stitched overalls. They formed into a loose circle around their leader, following with beady eyes as it pointed to where Little Lady had been taken.
There were more low squeaks passed between the group, sharper than a cold wind, and then with a coldness the creatures spread and dispersed into the shadows.