Book was beginning to grow…uncomfortable. He saw no evidence of death and corruption, not yet, but he was beginning to feel it in that same imprecise way he felt all magical pollution. For the first time, Marcus was sure the stone existed, and it would not be much different than the rumors described it. At the same time, he was thrilled that his hunt was over and the time for action had come.

He listened to the interactions between Rhiannon Orris and the war dog Herobrine, dedicating his eyes to watching for danger though the way was, as yet, clear. At Herobrine’s estimation of the elves’ common treatment of humans, Marcus had to cede the point with a shrug and a nod. His own exchanges with them had been blessedly short affairs at that point, but long-eared aloofness was considered a common evil.

It seemed Rhiannon had no shortage of toys. Next she produced an extendable baton, which drew more than a passing glance from Marcus. He listened to her description of the tool with some interest, and his eyes lingered a moment before resuming their search for stray shamblers.

“The baton will be useful,” he said, without breaking off his search. “Dead muscle is loose, flimsy, and necrotic, but a lightning’s charge still causes it to tense. Hell, if the charge is strong enough you might light one on fire.”

Marcus did not see fit to look when Orris produced yet another toy, until there was a sudden burst of green light illuminating their path. This was, amusingly enough, less alien to Book than the gun or the baton. “It might not,” he said in response to Rhiannon’s doubt, “but you never know.”