By the time the sun fully rose, Lioren and Rattle had made their way out of the forest. The air smelled fresher now, free from the heavy stench of decay. Birds sang in the distance, though a few seemed to pause mid-song whenever they noticed the strange duo walking below them.
Rattle complained for the tenth time in the last hour. My bones are creaking again. I think the forest humidity ruined my joints. If we do not find oil soon, I might start walking like an old cart.
Lioren raised an eyebrow. I told you, stop exaggerating.
Exaggerating? Rattle waved a bony hand. My spine literally clicked three times just now. You cannot call that normal.
Lioren allowed a small smile to slip before returning his gaze to the dirt path ahead. The road led to a small town nestled between two hills. Thin smoke curled from chimneys, and the scent of baked bread drifted through the wind.
Rattle's eye sockets lit up faintly. Civilization. Finally. Maybe someone here sells polish for undead assistants.
You are not buying polish, Lioren said firmly.
Then I will take a cloak at least. People stare.
They reached the wooden gate of the town just as a pair of guards noticed them. One of them, a burly man with a rough beard, stepped forward and frowned. Travelers?
Lioren nodded. Passing through.
The guard's eyes moved to Rattle, who stood perfectly still and then waved awkwardly. The man's expression changed instantly. He reached for his sword.
That thing with you is…
Friendly, Rattle interrupted. And very well-behaved. I only bite on holidays.
Lioren sighed. He's harmless. Mostly.
The other guard, younger and clearly less brave, whispered to his partner. Do we let them in?
The bearded man hesitated, then shrugged. If they cause trouble, the captain can handle it. Move along, traveler. And keep your… companion on a leash.
Rattle muttered. I am a knight, not a dog.
As they entered the town, Lioren noticed the shift in the crowd. People paused their chatter to stare. Some mothers pulled their children closer. A merchant selling apples froze mid-call.
Rattle whispered loudly. I think they like me.
No, they fear you.
Same thing in some cultures.
They stopped near a small inn called The Rusty Lantern. Lioren stepped inside, the wooden floor creaking beneath his boots. The air smelled of stew and ale. The innkeeper, a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes, looked up from behind the counter.
Rooms? she asked cautiously.
One, Lioren replied.
She looked past him to Rattle, who was trying to squeeze through the doorway without scraping his skull. And… that?
Assistant, Lioren said simply.
The woman hesitated, then handed over a key. Upstairs. Second on the left. Try not to scare my guests.
No promises, Rattle whispered as they climbed the stairs.
Inside the room, Lioren placed his pack on the table. Rattle flopped onto a chair, which creaked under his weight. So, what is the plan?
We rest for now. Tomorrow we find out what this town knows about ancient ruins.
Rattle perked up. Ruins? That usually means treasure. Or ghosts.
Maybe both, Lioren said.
Later that evening, while Rattle pretended to nap by pretending to snore, Lioren went downstairs to eat. The common room was livelier now. Drunken laughter filled the air, and a bard played a tune in the corner.
He sat quietly in a corner booth, but the moment he took his hood off, the conversations around him slowed. A few curious eyes lingered too long.
A man approached his table, tall and broad-shouldered, his steps unsteady from ale. You look like one of those magicians from the northern ruins. You are not, are you?
Lioren did not look up. Just a traveler.
The man smirked. Good. Because last time one of you types came through, half the graveyard came walking into town.
Lioren's hand paused on his cup.
From upstairs came the sound of a loud crash and Rattle's voice shouting, It was an accident! I did not know the window was fragile!
Everyone in the inn turned toward the ceiling. The innkeeper's face turned red.
Lioren closed his eyes briefly.
The drunk man chuckled. Guess that answers my question.
Before Lioren could speak, the door burst open. Three armored men entered, their insignia marked with the town's crest. The lead knight pointed a sword toward Lioren. You there, necromancer. You are under arrest for forbidden practice.
The room fell silent. Even the bard stopped playing.
Lioren sighed quietly. He did not move as the knights surrounded him. Rattle clattered down the stairs, missing the last step and tumbling into one of the soldiers. The man fell with a shout.
See? Rattle yelled. I told you I was clumsy!
Lioren stood slowly, his eyes calm. I do not want to fight.
The captain sneered. Then surrender peacefully.
Before anyone could react, the orb on Lioren's belt began to glow faintly. The air thickened. Chairs rattled. The torches flickered. A faint hum filled the room.
The captain hesitated, sword trembling slightly. What is that?
Lioren looked down at the glowing orb. A warning, he said softly.
The lights in the inn dimmed, and every shadow seemed to stretch toward him. Rattle whispered nervously. Master, maybe we should just pay the fine.
The captain lunged forward. Lioren raised a hand. Bone shards erupted from the floor, forming a barrier that knocked the knight's sword away. The crowd screamed and ran for the exits.
Lioren's eyes flashed faintly blue. Leave us, and no one will be harmed.
The knights stumbled back, staring in disbelief. The orb dimmed again, the glow fading as quickly as it had come.
When the room fell silent once more, Rattle looked around at the broken furniture and wide-eyed innkeeper. So, do we still get to keep the room, or should I start packing?
Lioren sighed. Pack.