Maldrin Ashenvale knelt in the black water and threaded iron wire through a ribcage. Around him, his workshop hummed with quiet work. Wired skeletons stood in loose rows, waiting. He needed many more before he could march on the kingdom that cast him out. He dipped the tip of his glowing dagger into the resin pot and sealed another joint. The spindle at his hip pulsed with a sick green light. A frog splashed. Then a twig snapped, and the frog went silent. "Step out," Maldrin said, not looking up. A woman pushed through the reeds. Mud caked her boots. Her eyes moved over the standing dead, the wires, the dagger in his hand. "I followed the smoke for three days," Mirabel Fenwood said. "I want to know what you're building out here before anyone else finds it." Maldrin set the dagger down slowly. He studied her face — not afraid, only sharp. A problem, then. But every problem had a shape, and this one was still breathing. "Sit," he said. "You'll have your answer. And then we'll discuss what it costs you to keep it."