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sigh and slid her arm through. “Won’t fit right or feel good without my gauntlets.”
    This was as close to pouting as I’d ever seen in our gruff champion. Thinking about the bracers I still hadn’t replaced from our encounter with a witch back in Strongwater Barrow, I felt some of her frustration. Fighting without proper gear was annoying at best and stupidly dangerous at worst.
    “We should go back to monks, rest and recover.” Azyrin picked up his falchion from the floor and the light from it brightened, banishing the creeping shadows of the room.
    “There’re rooms to explore,” Drake protested. “Might be some of that dragon’s hoard around if the mage raised it from a barrow nearby.”
    “Mage! Please.” Rahiel snorted. “Necromancy is not real magic. It’s lazy and wrong. Any village idiot can raise the dead if they have the right books and ingredients. Even the man-child here could manage.”
    “Even me, eh?” Drake stroked his chin and took on a mockingly contemplative expression.
    Rahiel was right. Necromancy was foul and unnatural. Dead things belonged as they were. Even my people had no song for bringing back the dead. Not that it would matter, since death magic required a piece of the once-living to remain in the physical realm. Elemental Elves disappear from all physical realms when we die.
    I will meet you at the crossroads where all things end and begin again . Words long ago whispered flitted through my mind and I slammed the doors of my memory shut against a black wave of despair.
    “I can go on,” Makha said, quelling Azyrin’s protest with a steel-eyed glance. “’Sides, we should make sure the place is clear or those robe-wearing insect lovers won’t be safe.”
    “I agree. Those wights are here for a reason. If the necromancer has left any items behind, they have to be destroyed lest someone like Drake gets their hands on them.” Rahiel made a face at the rogue.
    “Next time we fight a dragon, let’s toss her into its craw and hope it chokes.” Drake started forward toward the pixie-goblin, but Bill’s snort and warning wave of his tiny but very sharp golden horn backed the rogue off.
    I eyed Makha, decided she looked well enough not to get us all killed, and turned back to the stairs. Faint wisps of smoke hung in the air but the unnatural chill was gone. My vision didn’t require the shaman’s light, so I strode up a little ahead of the rest of the group. I paused on the second story landing and glanced back.
    “Leave that door for now,” Drake said. “Let’s see what’s behind the top one, eh?”
    We made our way up to the large iron door. It was still ajar and a faint breeze wafted forth, tasting of rotting wood, decomposing leaves, and old blood. I nocked an arrow and kicked the door fully open as beside me Drake brought his rapier up into a guard position.
    The room was a half-moon in shape and about half the size of the large room on the first floor. Two squat tables dominated the space, their surfaces piled with paper and books. Dim red light gleamed from gems tucked into sconces on the far wall. The metal door fetched up against the edge of one of the tables with a thwack.
    Nothing stirred in the room. I lowered my bow, my eyes piercing the shadows of the room, hunting for movement. If one of those wights breathed on my armor, I’d be more sad than Makha. My elven scale couldn’t be replaced by any craftsman in the mortal realms. I wasn’t sure if whatever foul magic the wight had used would harm my hauberk, but I didn’t intend to ever find out.
    “Looks clear,” Drake said.
    We searched the room quickly and Rahiel gave instructions for destroying the glowing red gems which were apparently vessels of necromantic power. Smashing the bits of red glass, as they turned out to be, was simple enough, though they gave off a stench like burning hair when shattered.
    “Aha!” Rahiel exclaimed, standing on one of the books on the table. The tome was huge,