"What?!" Karazin exclaimed. "How is that possible."

"Like I said," Conan said, "I don't know; I don't even know if it's true at all. All I really know is that people think it is; bandits and rogue Orcs have been crossing the Great River in droves. It's open season on unsuspecting travellers from here to the Grey Woods; that's why I thought you could use some protection."

Karazin leaned against a boulder. "Well, I certainly hope it's a rumour; it would take an army to take Fort Soradoc. And to take it without the garrison even sending a scout to Weldyn for help, they must have been taken completely by surprise; I don't like that, it just doesn't seem right."

"You seem fairly well-informed," Conan observed.

Karazin didn't answer, but instead just started walking.

"Where are you going?" Conan asked.

Karazin turned to the swordsman. "To see if those rumours are true; are you coming?"

Conan cocked his head curiously. "Sorry, what?"

Karazin smirked. "I asked if you were coming; also, I trust your rates are reasonable?"

Conan looked at the young man for a second, then broke out into that same deep laughter. "Aye, that they are; depending on how much trouble you get us into, that is."

Conan walked around behind a large boulder, and came back into view carrying a large, sturdy-looking cloth pack; Karazin assumed it contained various supplies for travelling. As Conan turned to him however, he noticed something else strapped onto the swordsman's back; something long and narrow, wrapped in more sturdy cloth. Karazin knew a sword when he saw one; but from the size of the bundle, even providing it was in a sheath, it looked to be longer than most swords Karazin had ever seen. A meter and a half at least. What made Karazin curious though was that the sword Conan had used against him, a standard-issue longsword, was still slung at his hip.

"So, 'Boss'," Conan said. "Shall we go?"

Karazin filed his suspicions away for later. "Indeed we shall."

The rest of journey to Soradoc was refreshingly uneventful; two people are travelling together are, apparently, less likely to be attacked than someone travelling alone. Or it might also have been the fact that one of them was carrying not one, but two swords. Things like that also tended to dissuade bandits.

Their routine was much the same as it was when Karazin was still travelling alone; in fact, Karazin was a little surprised at how easily Conan handled the rigorous schedule. Most humans wouldn't be able to maintain such a pace for more than a day or two; and yet on the sixth day of the journey, the fourth since Conan had joined it, the swordsman was just as vigorous as the day Karazin met him.

Over the duration of the journey, Karazin and Conan didn't talk much about their personal lives; neither asked any questions, and neither of them would have answered any. They were on friendly enough terms, but neither really trusted the other; respected yes, the kind of respect given to a skilled opponent, but not trusted. Karazin especially was loath to trust the older swordsman; he couldn't shake the suspicion that if Conan ever found out who he was, he'd turn him over to her.

So by the time Fort Soradoc rose into view above a hill, Karazin was doubting whether it was a good idea to enlist Conan after all. But when he caught his first glimpse of Fort Soradoc in the distance, Conan was suddenly the last thing on his mind. A plume of smoke was rising from the fortress-city, and that was never a good sign.

When he saw the smoke, Karazin took off at a breakneck pace towards the source. As he got closer, the signs became more obvious; the putrid stench of rotting flesh permeated the air, and there were carrion birds everywhere. Although, Karazin noticed that the birds seemed to be keeping their distance from the fort itself; a grim suspicion formed in his mind, and he desperately hoped he was wrong.

Not even bothering to see if Conan was behind him, Karazin ran up to the main gate of Soradoc; it had been smashed in, as if with a battering ram. Cautiously, Karazin stepped inside; a horrific sight met his eyes. The corpses of the entire garrison of Fort Soradoc lay scattered across the ground, left to rot where they'd fallen; their steel armour was ripped and torn as though it was cheap cloth, and their weapons were either broken or missing.

Seeing the corpses, Karazin was simultaneously horrified and relieved; maybe it was just a band of rogue Orcs that had figured out a way to cross the Great River. He'd been worried over nothing; this was a tragedy to be sure, but not on omen of doom. Then, he saw something that chilled his blood like ice. There was a dead Orc in a corner; mangled almost beyond recognition, pierced through with an iron spear and pinned to the ground.

And it was moving.

Karazin stared at the living corpse in pure, abject terror. It was looking at him with a cold, lifeless stare; its dead eyes following his every movement, like a wild beast intent on its prey. Then, with a sickening sucking sound, it pulled itself off the spear holding it to the ground and started shambling slowly toward Karazin; an undead monster who's only thought was to kill, and who could could never be killed.

Seeing it, Karazin was filled a fear so deep, so primal, that it took every scrap of willpower he possessed not to turn and run. Forcefully taking back control of his body from the fear that had paralysed him, Karazin reached into his pack and drew out a tiny glass vial containing a fine white powder; struggling to keep his hand from shaking, he lobbed it at the corpse bearing down on him.

The vial broke on impact and the powder spilled out over the walking corpse; on contact with the air the powder erupted into a blazing inferno, instantly incinerating the monster. Karazin released a tense breath, and stared at the blaze with a blank expression; it was painfully obvious what had happened now. A necromancer had come down from the North; and Karazin had a pretty good idea why Soradoc was their first target.

The undead were the single greatest threat to Wesnoth in the old days; dead bodies conjured to false life by necromancy, they were all but impervious to conventional weapons. The only way to be sure of destroying them was with fire, or powerful magic. To practice necromancy was a crime punishable by death, but that didn't scare those who thought they commanded death.

However, no one had seen a necromancer since the Great Purge; about a century ago Humans, Magi, Elves, Dwarves, and Drakes all joined forces to eradicate all necromancy from Wesnoth. It was the greatest combined movement of the Five Free Races, and it left Wesnoth a much safer and more stable kingdom. Like anything though, there was a sour note; many innocent people were wrongly accused of necromancy, and executed. For almost a hundred years however, Wesnoth enjoyed a time of peace and prosperity thanks to the Great Purge; therefore, the attack on Soradoc troubled Karazin even more.

He turned to leave the fort, to see Conan standing by the broken gate staring at him; and at the bonfire behind him.

"How long have you been there," Karazin asked.

"Long enough to see that thing," the swordsman said grimly. "Let me guess; this spells bad news?"

"The worst," Karazin replied. "I'm sorry, but I'll have to take leave of your company; how much do I owe you?"

Conan shook his head. "I'm not takin' a bloody Copper piece, or lettin' you leave me behind; not until you explain what's goin' on."

Karazin growled. "I don't have time to explain."

"Then make it quick."

Karazin sighed. "Fine then, I'll make it quick. That thing was a dead body raised to unlife by a necromancer using black magic; they can only be really killed by fire or magic, preferably both. Somehow, some necromancer has raised an army of them large enough to take Soradoc. What worries me though, is that they didn't even bother to raise the soldiers they killed; that means they had another reason for attacking Soradoc first, other than gaining more troops."

"What d'you mean?" Conan asked.

Karazin looked the swordsman in the eye. "My guess is, they took out Fort Soradoc because they didn't want to be noticed until it was too late; and they didn't want Wesnothian reinforcements coming down behind them."

"Behind them? What're you..." Conan froze as the realization hit him like a hammer blow.

"Yes," Karazin said. "Whoever this necromancer is, they're planning a full-scale invasion of Wesnoth. I'm willing to bet they have a much bigger army on the other side of the Great River, waiting to cross. They sent a relatively small force, maybe fifty or so, through a secret set of shallows near here to take Soradoc, and then move West to take the Ford of Abez; which is the only viable place for an army that size to cross the river. But first they'll want to make sure to make sure they can't be ambushed from the South while the larger army is crossing, which means..."

"They'll have to take Fort Tath as well," Conan said, catching on. "Tath controls the entire area from Gryphon Mountain to the Ford of Abez; if the necromancer takes Tath, they'll have full access to the Ford."

"And judging from how old these corpses are," Karazin continued, "The attack on Tath is probably about to start; if it hasn't already. And if the capital hasn't realized that Soradoc's been destroyed, there's no way Tath has been warned. The undead will have the element of surprise, and they'll probably attack during the night; it'll be another slaughter. And if that army of undead manages to get a foothold in Wesnothian borders, they'll be almost impossible to stop; by the time the Elves or Dwarves arrive to help, it will all be over."

"Then," Conan said, "There's no hope?"

"Well, I could be wrong about it all."

Conan looked at him. "But are you?"

"I wouldn't count on it," Karazin said. "I usually have a pretty good intuition about these things."

"Then what're we going to do abou' it?" Conan asked.

Karazin looked at him. "What makes you think there's anything we can do?"

"Don't play dumb," the swordsman replied. "You knew exactly what that thing was and how to destroy it, and you clearly had a plan a minute ago; I have a pretty good intuition too, and I can see you're no ordinary traveller. So I repeat; what're we going to do abou' it?"

Karazin sighed. "I knew I shouldn't have let you come with me."

"Then you do have a plan!" Conan said triumphantly.

"Yes, I have a plan," Karazin said, taking another glass vial from his pack; this one filled with a purple gas. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to use this, but it seems I'll have to."

"What's that?" Conan asked. "You're not goin' to set us on fire too, are you?"

Karazin shook his head. "No, I'm not; this is a teleportation spell in a bottle, and it'll take us to Fort Tath in seconds."

"And why haven't I head of this before?" Conan asked.

"If you must know," Karazin said, "Binding a spell to an object is a tricky and time-consuming process; it took me a... great deal of effort to get my hands on these."

If Conan noticed his slip-up, he didn't show it. "Well then, what're you waitin' for? Unless I'm mistaken, time is of the essence here."

"Right," he said, grabbing hold of the swordsman's hand.

Karazin smashed the vial on the ground, and shouted; "Fort Tath!"

The vial shattered, releasing the gas inside; the gas billowed into a purple cloud that covered the two of them completely. They felt a sudden rush of movement, and though they'd been pushed from behind, and then they were back on solid ground again. When the purple smoke cleared, they were standing in front of an entirely different fortress; they had arrived at Fort Tath, but something was wrong.

The front gate was smashed just like the one at Soradoc, and the stench of death was just as heavy in the air. Karazin's heart sank as a sense of deja vu overwhelmed him, and a quick glance through the shattered gate confirmed his suspicions; the fort was filled with corpses, both living and dead. Conan looked at Karazin in despair, and stated the obvious.

"We're too late."