Necrophobia Read Online Free PDF Page B

still willing to come with me?”
    She responded with a questioning look. “Of course.” Even without him she’d be too curious, too drawn to investigate. Life was stable on Caelholm; little of interest happened. Safe and stable. Safe and boring. Between her and her father there was little dangerous game to hunt that they hadn’t already bested.
    “Even knowing we are marching towards a den of Necromancers, his enthralled cultists and risen army of undead?” He looked away from her and towards the vista as they storm raged overhead. “I don’t doubt your enthusiasm Claire, or your talent. But you have a choice. There’s always a choice.”
    She grinned. “I’ve come too far to back out now. If we’re right that dragon will need our help. I’ve never managed to see a dragon up close either.”

 
    Sevaur Soranus: Knight-Errant and disappointment by unspoken consensus ran through the snow-filled streets of Caelholm with his longsword in hand. The wooden and stone buildings thatched and shielded against the cold lay empty and silent — their occupants either evacuated or dead. Between the undead rising and tearing through the once peaceful village and the howling winds as a freak snow-stormed whipped up over the island the streets were chaos. He helped guide civilians towards the gated and stone walls of the church atop the hill in the centre of the village whilst fending off the clawing jade-flamed abominations swarming throughout. The graveyard at the base of the hill was now exhausted of bodies yet others crawled into the village from the forests and the sea port. A vicious battle between the restless dead and the warrior-priests, town guards and the few Caelites forced the defenders backwards towards the centre of the village. Despite lacking armour or weapons the undead made up for it in sheer numbers and resilience. Having ignored his elder brother Reiner’s constant suggestions Sevaur had never joined the Caelites. Despite this he still knew his way around a weapon and trained for years in learning magic of his own. His barrier-spell came in use frequently as he escorted the dwindling number of survivors towards safety; blocking the worst of the magical assault from the few risen bodies that could conjure magic. Their uncoordinated careless blasts of magic dissipated upon the translucent blue aura emanating from the outstretched fingers of his left hand whilst the other hand slashed, impaled and stabbed. With all immediate threats dead; Sevaur paused to wipe sweat from his brow, the biting cold did little to keep him from overheating. Tangled strands of black curled hair stuck to his forehead and blocked his vision; resisting his efforts to tame it and settling around his ears and jaw.
    “Sevaur!” An unmistakable booming voice sounded across the street even over the constant clash of magic and undead.
     
    Jorge Acestes, proud father of Claire and expert hunter ran towards him. Jorge was a bearded giant of a man, taller than even Reiner and wider too. His chest a barrel of muscle and hair. He towered over Sevaur. The Knight-Errant both younger, smaller and stockier even in the dull-grey plated mail and ramshead pauldrons Sevaur couldn’t match the width of the man.
    “You seen my daughter? Been looking everywhere!” Jorge boomed again. His large brown eyes wrought with concern; framed by his bushy brown hair slicked back into an untidy ponytail.
    “Sorry haven’t seen all her all day.” Sevaur replied. “Last I heard she said she was going hunting.”
    “Blast it all!” Jorge cursed and shifted in place. Sevaur was grateful for the bulk of the man blocking out the worst of the cold wind. His thinning purple cape threadbare offered little warmth.
    “Something wrong?”
    “She’s after that damned wolverine. I warned her not to!”
    Jorge was an uncomplicated man; not stupid by any definition but he kept his life simple. He lived to hunt and was always a friendly face in the village — always