The thunder of hooves clattering on cobblestone woke me from fitful slumber. With the rumors of necromancers to the north and a rise among the Latari far to the west, there was no such thing as a good nights sleep for one of Daqans footmen. I pushed aside my rough woolen blanket and got up out of the hay. Durgin still laying more or less still, trying to convince themselves that the noise outside did not mean mobilization. He was, as usual, wrong. Marching forward from the gates, we found the stronghold, as is not usual, surrounded by a gang of angry peasants who demanded a share of our precious foodstuffs. This time, in a striking break from tradition, they were said to be led by three cruel looking sorcerers, hidden away in a village nearby. "Sorcerous nonsense is nothing compared to an attack by necromancers and their reanimated slaves" Coughed Strom, recalling the unfortunate incident of last fall. Soon he would be boasting. This was no problem for me, but it could make Durgin jealous enough to do something stupid, well, more stupid than usual.

"FORM UP!" cried out our Knight-Commander. Lucky him, has a horse. Too bad for us he is better at using it for 'getting away' than anything else. T'was not that long after the springs morning dew had burnt off that we arrived at our destination. Pitchforks in hand, the peasants cried and squawked, that was until they saw we had brought some bowmen with us. Without so much as a 'how do you do' the Knight-Commander gave the signal. Concentrated fire rained down into the crowd at the position our scouts had last seen the sorcerers. While some of the bowmen were the rank amateurs who had only just arrived with the new recruits earlier in the spring, others were seasoned from a year of campaigning. Arrows flew true and at least one of the sorcerers, I swear I saw it, was run right through by no less than a half-dozen shafts. He slumped for a second, fallen peasants all about him, yet somehow, he stirred. Eldritch energies warped about his crumpled form and in a moment, he rose again, arrows still in place through his torso. "So it's true" muttered Durgin. "Yes boy, they are the undying ones, twill take a valliant strike to wrench the life from these dire foes." Proclaimed Strom.

As we discussed our situation in hushed tones, our risen foe and his cabal of compatriots began to gesticulate. A hideous wail came up from the trio of babbling fiends and a great greasy cloud of smoke coiled up above them. In a moment, weather unlike any we had seen dark fires began to rain down among us. The first to go down were the fresh bowmen, they had positioned themselves poorly with no cover nearby. I saw at least a score of them fall where they stood, the rest scattering, not likely to be seen again in these parts. My shield caught a bit of smouldering ash, and I felt something strike my helm, leaving it warmer than before. My head rang from the inpact, but it was not enough of a blow that I missed the Knight-Commanders mark, and we began to march. First at a slow, steady, even pace, then to a steadily rising beat of the marching drum we sped up to a deadly lumbering charge. I arrived at the cobblestone lined plaza in which the sorcerers stood drenched with sweat, summers heat was on its way.

There were mostly fumbles and misaimed swings from footmen sent into this smokey sorcerous mess. Stroms vetran blade found its way into the thigh of the arrow-filled sorcerer, chopping much of the meat out from under him. Others took note as when the sorcerous man-thing fell to the stones, he did not again rise. "See, they can be slain!" cried out Strom, urging his fellows to choke back their fear. Durgin fared less well, as one might expect, given his total lack of aptitude for any form of training more strenous than ale mug lifting and the pushing of gruel soaked bread down his wide gullet. Lucky for him, enough men manged to get in his way such that he had not yet managed to put himself directly in harms way. My own situation was dire, two of my comrades has fallen to the fires as we approached the cabal. Not enough to have the boys rout, but enough to make me nervous that they might. I certainly did not want to be he last man standing here. Among such deadly foes as it would certainly mean my end.

To my left, a stronger fellow than I strode forward and lunged at the wirey sorcerer. I could see a cursed fire burning in his eyes, it smoldered brighter as he steped to his own left with a grace belying the weight of ages which hung upon those old bones. The swordarm of my comrade footman burst into flames creating a sudden could of noxious smoke. I held my breath, steadied my sword arm and burst through the cloud upon that ancient foe. Raising high the sharp sliver of the mountains veins I held tight with my sweaty grasp, I smote the villain with a single valliant strike. Curious grey-green light poured forth from the great bleeding gash that sat where his bald head had once been attached to frail shoulders. No manner of magic would let this withered corpse rise yet again from the bloody battlefield.

The last sorcerer had seen what menace we were, the men of Daqan. He called out some ancient rhyme and out of the clouds came several great and hideous flying creatures. Squawking out a horrible din, they dove down among us. Yet our blood was not their goal. They grasped the sorcerer by his limbs and in a flash he rose rapidly into the air. Arrows followed him through the smoke as he was whisked away to the northeast. "We will see him again." spoke Strom, as he wiped the blood from his blade on some shred he had ripped from a fallen peasants tunic. "Let him come." Said Durgin. "No." I said, as a clatter of hooves behind us had us all wheel in spot. The knights were passing us by and heading over the hills, through the pass to the west of the sorcerers line of retreat. "We will see him on the other side of these hills." I said. Strom looked me in the eyes and nodded with agreement. We could all see the Knight-commander gesticulating to the baggage train to make camp here. We were not returning to the stronghold after this. Our brief forray was just the beginning. "It looks as if summer's approach has put the High-lord in a mood to conquer. I fear, my brothers, that the Runewars have begun."