You do not need to go, Apollo had said. I will not be able to help you.
Lucius drew the sword from his back and pointed it out, toward the moor so that even the grey light gleamed upon its perfect blade. As his gaze focussed beyond the tip, he saw a group of about seven ragged-looking men coming up the muddy track toward the village.
The group seemed unbothered by the piles of bones and plagued corpses strewn about as they strode up. Lucius stepped out, ready, and saw Dagon coming over from the stable to stand with him.
They said nothing, but waited for the newcomers to speak.
One of the men, a stocky tradesman by the look of him, stepped forward to face Lucius and Dagon.
“We’ve come to see our returned lord,” he said, his beard dripping with mist, his face splattered with mud from wa
