Without warning, the world around them exploded. At least, that was what it looked like to Cyric. Chunks of dirt and stone pelted them and trees burst, splinters the size of swords screaming by them. It was strange, how the ground beneath them seemed to rise as the forest around them was ripped to shreds. Then the first corpse rose up, unholy darkness consuming the light around it. Through the strong scent of earth the stench of parched flesh filled the air.
When Cyric had warned everyone that they could expect the undead, he had expected petty zombies and skeletal warriors. Rising out of the chaos around them were two of his least favorite abomination. Dragons. Twenty-five feet snout to tail of reanimated dragon flesh, each. Cyric hoped they couldn\'t fly or breath fire anymore, and did the only thing he could. He cursed as loud as he could while blindly swinging his sword at the closest snout. His sword never made it.
Essentially, he had set himself up without knowing it. With a mercenary right at Cyric\'s side, there was nothing he could do as his arms were pinned behind his back and the mercenary bound them with magic. He was stronger than Cyric had expected, and the mercenary had the element of surprise. Even if the mercenary had let Cyric fight, what was the point? What, not even a dozen armed men against not one, but two dragons that weren\'t as prone to dying as they usually would have been? Their element of surprise was stripped away, just as thoroughly as the ground around them. Hopefully Ryos and the others were still alright. If they had been far away enough, the explosions wouldn\'t have maimed them too badly.
The dragons he could figure out. The mercenaries had planned ahead and set the trap, likely both of them were actually Imperial Necromancers. That would explain the odd sensations he had whenever he looked at them. They were disguised. What Cyric couldn\'t figure out was how Elena had been stupid enough to pick not one, but two Empire spies to join their ranks. Was she under a spell? That would explain her odd behavior... but she seemed in control. Too calm and measured to be under anyone\'s control but her own.
And then it hit him. Elena had a birthmark on her forehead, something she always used to rub at. The habit had irritated Cyric to no end. It had bothered him more than her mothering him all the time, despite his years of seniority over her. She had always claimed that the birthmark was nothing special, and she had always wanted to have it removed. It had been in the shape of what looked to be two swords crossed. It had been what earned her the nickname of soul blade to her friends. Soul mates were a rarity and dream for farm girls before they got married off to the next best farm boy. A soul blade was a warriors true partner. Not just for life. Cyric himself had considered many paladins soul blades, and to this day he still remembered the faces and names of each, no matter how long ago they had died.
This Elena, standing here now, had that birthmark alright, but it had that same strange aura of disguise. It, like her, was fake. The two mercenaries had managed to get in not by tricking her, but by serving her. Cyric didn\'t have one, or two spies in his group. He had three. If his arms had been free, he would have killed something; anything.
"So is anyone going to tell me real names, or do I have to start guessing?"
The false Elena laughed, a chilling laugh that stole the heat from Cyric\'s body. How could he have been fooled so easily? Cyric wondered where the second mercenary had slipped away to.
"The mercenaries are generals in your pathetic Order of Mareur. I was surprised that their disguises managed to fool your young friend, Ryos, so easily. He would know them by the names of Ismael and Zulfikar. Fine fellows. I was happy to help them dissent from Darkwatch. Although, like yourself, I wonder where Ismael has wandered off to." The dissenter, Zulfikar, maintained his composure as he continued holding Cyric. He had a knife drawn and on Cyric\'s throat.
While the dissenter maintained his composure and disguise, the Elena look-alike began to unravel her disguise as she circled around Cyric. Strand by strand blond hair fell from a head now swathed in rich black hair. Red eyes calmly gazed over him, as if picking a place to strike. "I didn\'t want to trip my trap so soon, so close to your precious capital, but I\'m afraid you\'re heading the wrong way. We can\'t go to Fyric quite yet." Smilingly sweetly, "You may call me M\'jera. I apologize for stealing the appearance of your precious friend. It really was too easy though. Elena went and disappeared on a mission a couple years ago... and everyone seemed happy enough when she came wandering back home..." M\'jera shrugged. "I had a scroll to disguise me back then. This Zulfikar\'s spells are much more... effective... A pity I forgot to tell him of the birthmark until after the spell had been cast. You did notice, didn\'t you. I saw it in your eyes." Her smile widened, sharp white teeth clicking softly in admonishment. "You didn\'t even remember her, did you? Didn\'t remember how she was your wife\'s soul blade. How the two of them were inseparable friends. How Elena only became so nurturing towards you after Isabel died..."
"Enough" Cyric\'s hands were bound, but his cold expression spoke of the murder that would soon be done.
"Enough?" M\'jera blinked. "But I\'ve only just begun-"
"-and all things must end. If you turn the first page of a book, it is inevitable, that one day, someone will turn the last page. If you want this to end well, stop now. Stop playing games, stop breathing if need be, but stop."
"I already know how this ends. I think it ends very well for me. I use you, I kill you, I complete the rest of my mission. I\'ll be rewarded, and you\'ll be food for the worms. But enough of that-"
"Even if that\'s true, it will end one day. You can\'t live forever. Many have tried. It takes intelligence and effort far beyond what you are capable of. I\'ll give you a thousand years before your carcass is feeding the next wasteland buzzard." Cyric smiled, pleased with the picture. He couldn\'t believe that he was within arm\'s reach of an Arbiter and he couldn\'t even lift his sword against her.
"Is that so?" M\'jera turned towards Nazyphir. "What about you, Corpse King? You, like me, have been around for hundreds of years already. You would do well as an Arbiter for the Empire, helping to shape the civilized pockets of Fyric. Helping to dominate, and thus control and reshape the known world. I know you rarely take interest in such affairs, but all these fools do is wage war on each other. Don\'t you think it\'s time we took the reigns from them?"
Black lightning wound itself around M\'jera\'s fingers. She had heard Nazyphir\'s remark about killing the undying. M\'jera, had no intention of killing the Corpse King. If he didn\'t cooperate, banishment would be his sad fate. What a waste that would be. The Count had taken a real interest in the Corpse King. Like Nazyphir, the Count had long-since passed his time of death. Several thousand years had passed since Count Ulden Castevl died at the hands of the fell lord of Delminion, Fyric Lyvain.
***
Ismael brushed away the false disguise Zulfikar had cast over him. He had tolerated the infernal magic for long enough, and like M\'jera, was frustrated for having to spring his plan so soon. He had readily agreed to help M\'jera when she had found him. What else was he supposed to do? She would have killed him. Of course, he had hoped he could convince his friend Zulfikar to join him, but the elven mage couldn\'t be swayed from his decision. Like M\'jera, the elf wanted Darkwatch to crumble.
If he could find Ryos, then he\'d still have a chance with his plan. The two Mareur Knights could easily follow the group and free Cyric when the time was right.