“Lord Mitor could not have chosen a worse time to begin this uprising against the Dragonslayer,” said Albert. “It is folly of the worst sort. He should be sending for the magisters of Alborg and the Masters of the Cirstarcine Order to combat this evil. Instead, he fritters away his men and his gold raising an army to fight the Mandragons. He stripped away the best men from the villages. All that is left are the old men, the injured, and women and children to fend off...”
“To fend off what?” said Mazael.
“You really don’t know, do you, my lord knight?” said Albert.
“That’s what I just said,” said Mazael. “Lord Mitor says they’re Elderborn. Sir Albron thinks they’re wandering bandits. Lady Romaria thinks they’re zuvembies...”
“Zuvembies?” said Silar. “Demon-corpses? Yes, that’s quite apt. I called them animations, but 'zuvembies' is a more apt description of the necromancy that raised these fiends.”
“I had best start at the beginning, I fear,” said Sir Albert. “Will you take offense if I sit? My bones are old, and they ache terribly this time of year.” He sighed. “Or any other time of the year, for that matter.”
Mazael gestured at the pews. “By all means.”
They sat in the pews. Gerald started to fold his hands and bow his head on reflex. Mazael hid a smile as the younger knight shook his head and sat up.
“This misery all began about six months ago,” said Sir Albert.
“Six months?” said Gerald. “Mazael, wasn’t that when Lady Rachel said that Sir Tanam first came to Castle Cravenlock to offer Toraine Mandragon’s hand?”
“It was,” said Mazael. “Sir Albert, please continue.”
Sir Albert frowned. “I had heard nothing of that, though we of White Rock soon had our own concerns.” He shifted in his seat. “In truth, Sir Mazael, I am uncertain how to broach this.”
“Well, get on with it,” said Mazael. “I’d rather have the ugly truth than some perfumed lies.”
Sir Albert cleared his throat. “As you wish. About that time we started hearing some dark rumors about Castle Cravenlock.”
Sir Nathan frowned. “What sort of rumors?”
“If the tales could be believed, a cult of serpent worshippers had arisen at Castle Cravenlock,” said Sir Albert.
“What?” said Sir Nathan. “That’s absurd. I have seen no such thing.”
“Regardless,” said Sir Albert. “Travelers went to Castle Cravenlock and never returned. The peasants saw strange things happening at night. Some even claimed that Lord Mitor and Lady Marcelle were the high priest and priestess of that cult, and that Lady Rachel had promised herself in marriage to the dark powers.”