He saw her again, but this time she was not alone. The bandits from the forest, the ones that almost killed them, were there as well, their broken faces fixed in rictus grins as they all rose from the earth and stumbled towards him. The woman, now looking significantly more decayed, lurched at him unsettlingly, her ribcage and leg bones clearly visible through her rotting flesh; the bandits, deathly white and drained of any blood, were more animated in their movements, their limbs jumbling about as if pulled on strings, as they staggered for him with their arms outstretched.

  Again, he found himself unable to run, to fight, to even act of his own accord; all he could do was stand rooted to the spot, overwhelmed with terror as the band of undead surrounded and smothered him in a cold embrace.

  Henry woke, feeling his heart still beating a million leagues a minute with terror from his nightmare. His clothes and bed were drenched in sweat, his breathing ragged and irregular as if he had just run a few miles for training. The sky was still dark outside the inn's window, and the town was silent; morning was still a ways off, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to go back to sleep just yet.

  A gentle knock on his door made him jump, before it slowly swung open with Rebecca behind it.

  "Are you alright? I could hear you tossing and turning in your sleep."

  Henry sighed and nodded. "I'm fine. Just a nightmare, was all."

  "You too?"

  He looked at her, confused. "You've been having nightmares as well?"

  She nodded. "It's always the same one. Those men who ambushed us in the forest... I keep seeing them in my sleep. Even when I was knocked out yesterday, I still saw them."

  A cold shiver ran down his spine. "That's odd. That's similar to what I've had as well."

  The two of them were silent for a moment, pondering as to what to do next.

  "I think I'm fully awake now." Henry sat up and swung his legs out of bed. "Maybe we should head out for the Mines a little early, then?"

  The mage dipped her head in agreement. "Let's."

  They left the town before the sun had risen, but by the time they reached the Mines, morning had broken out in full, as the bright daytime sun reflected off of the brilliant snow around them. The entrance to the mines was simple, a great maw with only a few tools lying about; mining season wasn't for a few more months, so the mine shaft was devoid of any major activity until then.

  The brisk winter wind whipped about them, rushing into the gaping mine entrance and creating a loud, shrill whistling noise that hurt Henry's ears. This must be the famous whistling that gave the mines its name; thinking quickly, he dug into his saddlebag for a moment, before retrieving a large wad of cotton. He broke off four similarly-sized chunks, then stuffed his ears with two of them as he handed the remaining two to Rebecca. She smiled and accepted his offering, stuffing her ears as well to insulate against the incessant wind and whistling.

  Leaving their mounts at the entrance, they packed their bags with whatever tools and provisions they could carry, and together they set off into the dark shaft.

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  Henry could hear his footsteps echo more deeply the further they went in, the morning daylight soon lost in the inky blackness around them. Rebecca conjured up an illumination spell that provided lighting for the tunnel, and they pressed on deeper into the mine.

  Most of the deposits at the entrance had been depleted, the rock walls stripped bare of any valuable ore nodules, but after a few more minutes of walking, Henry could see the walls slowly change color. Slate gray soon gave way to veins of crimson, orange, brown, and all manner of rock strata, as he and Rebecca chipped at the walls here and there for their harvest. It wasn't until they were a half-hour's walk in, though, that Henry saw what he searched for: a rich pocket of iron ore, an entire room of it. He hurriedly set his backpack down and grabbed his folding pickaxe, ready to get to work.

  Rebecca tapped his shoulder, and he removed the cotton from his ears.

  "I'm going further in," she said. "Redstone is usually found deeper within a mine. You'll want to light a lantern for yourself."

  "Do you want me to come with?"

  "I'll be fine. Remember to take some of the potions Nezwick gave us, the spiders are bound to have picked up on our presence here now."

  Henry nodded, retrieving one of the vials of quicksilver-like liquid. He unsealed the stopper and threw his head back, downing the liquid in one gulp.

  It was absolutely awful. A bitter metallic taste overwhelmed his taste buds, followed by a disgusting salty aftertaste that stuck to his palate. He could see Rebecca grinning in the dim light, clearly amused by his involuntary reactions and expressions of disdain.

  "Sorry. It never gets old, watching others drink it for the first time."

  "Your turn," Henry croaked out in reply. "Bet you won't do any better than me."

  "Oh, I don't need to. I already took it before we left Nezwick's." She chuckled and flounced off, leaving Henry flustered in the dark.

  He sighed and lit the small lantern he had brought with him, setting it on a rock beside him as he got to work.

  His pick-axe chipped and eroded the rock wall at a steady pace, each swing creating a small shower of sparks as the metal pick dug into the ore. The tinny sound of his handiwork echoed and reverberated throughout the tunnels, making it seem as if an entire team of miners were hard at work; He worked diligently and relentlessly, slowly hacking off small chunks of ore into his bag as the hours ticked by.

  He missed this, the tedious monotony of hard work. There was no worry of time, no worry about monsters or bandits or any of the like; it was just him, his pick-axe, and the iron ore in his bag, which bulged more tightly with each passing hour. The steady rhythm of swinging the axe almost reminded him of his sword drills with Sir Gallant, how the knight would show him the same move over and over and over again.

  Not like that, the knight would often sigh. No, not like that either. Like this. And he would demonstrate the move with such grace and fluidity that it would dishearten Henry further.

  Keep practicing that move, and only that move, Sir Gallant would say. I'd rather you practice one move a thousand times, than know a thousand moves in only one way.

  And Henry would take his words to heart, and practice that move over, and over, and over again, until it was finally to the knight's liking. Sometimes it would take days; other times, it would take months, when the knight would have to go questing and then return afterwards to re-evaluate Henry's progress. Even then, he wouldn't always approve of Henry's swordsmanship, forcing him to keep training until Gallant approved.

  The pick-axe's head stopped and remained buried in the wall, tearing him out of his thoughts. He had hit bare rock, having depleted this lode of iron. The sack of ore at his feet was bulging at the seams, and he could barely lift it over his shoulder as he turned to leave the mine.

  Wait. Rebecca. He stopped and turned back, looking deeper into the tunnel. It had been several hours since he had last seen her, and he hadn't heard anything from her either. Surely...

  He dropped the sack down and strode further in, holding the lantern before him. "Rebecca?"

  No answer. His voice bounced off of the walls and reverberated within the confined space to no reply. He slowed and placed his free hand on the hilt of his sword, a feeling of ominous dread rising in his gut.

  It was then, when he ceased moving and keenly listened, that he heard it.

  Skittering. Faint, distant, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable nonetheless. The sounds of hundreds of little legs from further down the tunnel, shuffling towards him.