Friday before the Feast of Saint John, 1198

Vraagen’s visage was a death mask, but more than just the way he moved with a semblance of life, a great fear seemed to flow from him like a miasma. Madeleine swooned, and Gaspard fell to his knees, clutching his face and screaming. The creature commanded Daria to be still, but it had no hold on her, and with a blaze of fire the maga scorched a broad circle into the floor. But Vraagen had been a magus once, and he rushed the circle before Daria could cast a ward upon it.

Stephan, bruised and cut, threw himself in the creature’s path before it reached the prima, while Michi blocked the course of the lesser creatures. The things fought with strength they had never had in life, but Vraagen’s power was not in melee, and Daria’s spells leached the force from its attacks. Soon the creature fell to its knees, and the fighters moved in quickly, dismembering the corpse. Daria stepped over and pulled the aegis token from its crumbling neck.

“He made me do it!” Gaspard cried, arms around his knees. Cyril tearfully relayed how he had met the creature in the hog wood on one of his pre-attack errands, and it had taken control of his mind. He had fetched Gasard to Bar du Sud under false pretences, all the while knowing what he was doing, but all the while unable to stop himself. There the creature had made the magus his thrall. “I stole the aegis token, and awaited his further commands,” Gaspard said. “He bade me hide my role from everyone, and I could not but comply!” “But why? What did it want?” Michi asked. “Vengeance upon those who interred it?” Madeleine responded. “He was of Daria’s house. The better question is why the Count’s soldier dug him up.”

In the hall, Juliana begged to be sent back. “If I stay, the Count will not have to trump up grievance against you. And if I do not return soon to the camp soon, I will be missed. Let me return with him—but we will meet again!”

Etien had lost three knights and dozens of men; those remaining were dissipating into the night, chased by mobs of villagers, and could not be rallied. By the time dawn arrived the Count’s camp was broken and his train headed for Arbois and back to Frois Pont. “He underestimated us and did not plan a sufficient assault,” Johannes assessed the situation. “He won’t do so again, but I doubt he’ll be able to raise a large enough force to return before the end of summer.”

End of Chapter Three