Arden felt the spirit ensnared by his spell fight back, but bent it’s will with a forceful push of his mind. The corpse buckled and rose, as though suspended on rope and cantankerously stepped away from the chair. He traced symbols in the air to finalise the binding and then unsheathed the sword on his left hip. The curved, bloodied blade vibrated at the presence of the undead.

“What happened?”

A voice emerged from the corpse’s open mouth, but no movement produced it. It shuddered with every word.

“The Grand Inquisitor summoned them. The Queen escorted her faithful through the west wing.”

“Why?”

“War.”

A blast of fire shot out from the stairwell and engulfed the corpse in an inferno. Arden retreated, sword raised until he saw Liza appear from the gloom snarling at him.

“What are you thinking?” She charged to the corpse and drove her rapier into the creature’s forehead. The purple light in its eyes faded and mist poured from its wounds, the spirit within returning to the afterlife. “You made an oath!”

“Only they can tell us what happened, and now we have an answer.”

“How do you know it’s not a trick?” She withdrew her blade and wiped it clean. The corpse fell in a heap and blood continued to ooze out in a puddle. Liza watched it in horror. “The Grand Inquisitor needs no more ammunition to use against us, Arden.”

“They knew. They made this happen. The Queen wanted us to be here, an accident to weaken morale. This is grave for all of us.” Arden sheathed his sword and folded his arms across his chest.

“Whatever happens we will deal with it, together, because that’s what Rodham does.” She jabbed her blade at him accursedly.

“Have it your way.” His tone was barbed and sultry, but Liza brushed it aside. “Where are the others?”

She pointed out to the square and left him to his thoughts. She caught her breath atop the stairs before descending to help her family.