The Barrowland Slayers

Chapter 3: The Dead Rise

 Inquisitor Varus scratched at a wart on his chin. Finally he sighed and leaned precariously on the dais. Wood squealed in protest as he fixed Jez with a long stare. She had fallen into one of her long pauses once again.

"You left off before describing your arrival in Hardscrabble Falls."

She shook her head slowly, as if marveling at the very idea. "That... was even worse. The risen dead had already spread into the town."

Varus sighed. "So you claim," he muttered to himself, eyeing the others on trial, trying to scent out weakness. Yet every one of them were stone-faced and silent. "You've danced around this long enough, witch. How did the dead rise? Was it you who caused this through one of your witcheries?"

"I don't know how it started," Jez said in a meek voice, staring fixedly ahead of her.

"You spoke of thunder in the north... around Izrum?" The Inquisitor snorted. "As if unseasonal weather could bring the dead to life. If your outrageous story is to be believed... then I suspect it was you who caused it. Well, was it?" His predatory eyes scanned the group like a hawk on the hunt. He ignored Jez's muttered denial. Wood creaked as the female dwarf adventurer sank into a seat, earning his immediate attention. "And what of you, dwarf?" he asked. One of the bailiffs seized the back of the Seeker's head and wrenched it up firmly. Her bodyguard grimaced but said nothing. The dwarf woman stared back at him without expression. "Do you know anything about how this... supposed army of the dead came into being?" he asked with a sneer.

"I don't know anything about that," the Seeker said solemnly. "We were nowhere near the area. Just passing merchants who chanced to come across..."

The sound of tittering broke out from the previously silent dwarf mercenary.

It began as a few soft noises, then the trickle turned to a flood as he couldn't resist bellowing out his guffaws. Inquisitor Varus frowned down from his lectern, thumping it with his gavel. The bailiff and a few others sprang forward, seizing the dwarf, who finally reined in his laughter. It echoed in the massive chamber even as he shrugged aside the guards' hands.

"Get your hands off of me," he grumbled, voice gravelly, even as his eyes still twinkled in some private amusement.

"Explain yourself," Varus barked out, leaning forward.

"I'm sorry, but I can't resist any longer," Jag said. "Not involved? Gods be good, we were there from the very beginning."

"Jag," the Seeker whispered. "What do you—"

"Oh, still your tongue, woman. I promised to guard you, not to hide the truth. And don't they have a right to know?" he added, chimes rattling in his beard as he whirled his head to face her. "The horde is marching for them next, after all."

"A right to know?" Varus fought to keep his voice calm. "To know... what?"

"I'll tell you," Jag said, ignoring another hiss from his employer. "How it all started... how this began. Everything." He sucked in a breath. "I should've known it was trouble, the Seeker looking for a sellsword, but I'd been wasting away in a tavern for the better part of a month. Crossing into human lands was easy enough, and the ruins weren't hard to find..."

***

Jag's breath misted with every step he took, his armored boots crunching into the snow underfoot. Izrum was dead silent. Obisidian-black pillars towered around them as a gentle snowfall continued without pause. Still, he kept pace with the Seeker, right hand never far from his axe even as his left clenched tight on Fair Lady's reins. The mule snorted, the sound interrupting the reverie they had found themselves in.