As they drew closer, the kurgan loomed up until it seemed to overshadow the sky. The earth atop it was still raw, a single hot summer and freezing winter not long enough to blanket it with grass. The shapes at the base slowly resolved themselves into men mounted atop horses. Although they moved restlessly, they maintained rank, giving no sign that they saw the three riders coming towards them.

"I don't think this is wise," Thraxis said in alarm. "Surely they aren't going to be very happy to see you."

Arrow only shook her head. "We have nothing to fear from them. You'll see."

From the distance, the figures looked like mounted warriors waiting for battle. But slowly details began to emerge: crow-eaten faces, weather-torn clothing, corroded weapons. The horses stared with eyeless sockets, and bone showed through their bay hides.

"By all that's true," whispered Viabold in horror. "Mother of Heaven and Earth, have mercy upon us."

"They're dead," Thraxis said flatly.

The corpses "rode" in single file, forming a circle around the gigantic kurgan. A single stout spear pierced both horse and rider, joining them in death. Wagon wheels had been lashed to horse and spear to hold the grisly assemblage upright. When the wind blew, it rocked loose limbs and clothing, giving the riders a ghastly semblance of life.

Thraxis rode over to the nearest warrior and studied flesh mummified by the elements. Strands of blond hair still clung to his skull, streaming gently over the gaping holes where eyes had once been. He still wore a golden torque about his neck, and his arms were decorated with bracelets. No one as of yet had found the courage to disturb the dead, not even for the promise of gold.

"Why?" Thraxis asked finally.

"A warning," Arrow said bitterly. "Dare to follow a dead king, and you'll end up like him."

"And was it effective?"

"Oh, yes. All but the most fanatical suddenly found a new loyalty to Blood. Except for the rebels led by Bird Bones Broken and a few isolated clans whose hatred of the Red Feathers is greater than their fear, Blood on the Wind rules the western steppe all the way to the Black Mountains."

"I was shocked when we were attacked by bandits," Thraxis said. "I had never experienced violence of any kind before. And of course it was even more shocking when your kinfolk showed up to kill us. But that violence...was born in the heat of anger or desperation." He gestured to the dead warriors encircling the kurgan. "This...this was cold. And so even more appalling."

Arrow bit her lip until she tasted blood. "Yes."

Thraxis turned away from the dead warrior. "We should be on our way. I don't think I want to be here after sundown."

As he rode towards her, Arrow saw the dead warrior behind him move. For a moment, she thought that it was only the wind again. But then the bony hand with its rags of flesh closed around the hilt of the corroding sword and pulled it from its sheath.

"Thraxis!" she shouted, digging her heels into Nightwing's flanks even as she drew her own blade.

There came the sound of rending wood and snapping ropes. The warrior shuddered as his horse jerked itself free of the wagon wheels, pulling the stake that spitted it from the ground. Movement rippled all up and down the line as the dead awoke, horses and men alike stirring to life, struggling to be free of their restraints.

Nightwing screamed in terror and reared. Belatedly, Arrow tried to clamp her knees about his sides, but the move didn't work, and she found herself sliding back over his rump. The ground slammed into her, robbing her momentarily of breath. A bronze sword green with corrosion slashed at her head, and she forced herself to move, rolling away from stamping hooves. The stench of decay washed over her in a flood, bringing bile to her mouth.

Springing to her feet, she brought her sword around in a deadly arc. The dead warriors were no faster than living ones, giving her the advantage of speed. She lopped off hands, cut the legs from beneath a horse, buried her sword in the gut of man so that it grated off the spear that still staked him.

None of it made any difference whatsoever.

The man whose hand she cut off didn't flinch, only switched his sword to the one remaining. The horse, dragging its spear obscenely in the dirt, struggled towards her on stumps. The warrior she gutted ignored the mass of decaying entrails that spilled out in slimy loops, oblivious to pain.

They were all around her. Encircled, she let out a despairing battle cry, certain that she would feel a sword slide through her back at any second.

The familiar clang of bronze off wood came from behind her. Startled, she risked casting a quick glance over her shoulder. Thraxis stood at her back, feet firmly planted, his staff whipping through the air to first block one blow, then another.

"Run!" she shouted at him furiously.

"Don't be silly." He ducked as one of the riders took a swipe at him, caught the blade on the magically hard wood of his staff, and disarmed the dead warrior with a quick twist. "I'm not leaving you. Besides, the horses have all run off."

Unable to waste her concentration in an argument, Arrow turned her attention to the dead warriors once again. Thraxis was a solid presence at her back, a wall through which nothing would pass, and for the first time she understood what it was to have a true comrade whom she could trust with her life, without fear that he would fail her.

In the end, though, it only prolonged the inevitable. The enemies they faced knew neither fear, nor weariness, nor pain. Before long, Arrow felt exhaustion dragging at her limbs and knew that Thraxis must be at the very limit of his endurance. Step by step, they were forced back, until they reached the base of the kurgan. Viabold was already there, his face white with fear, his body protected by an invisible veil that turned aside the relentless rain of blows aimed at him.

"They're driving us," Thraxis managed to gasp out. Exhaustion bleached the color from his pale skin and left bruises under his eyes. Blood poured from a deep cut across his scalp, and there was an ugly welt on one cheek. His hands shook badly as he lifted his staff.

"But why?"

And then the ground gave way beneath them.