Vambran reached for his holy coin, ready to charge into the fray and aid the soldiers. His sword and crossbow were still inside the burning building, but more importantly, so was Elenthia.

The mercenary took two steps before Arbeenok grabbed him by the arm. "Wait," the druid said, clutching a strange urnlike object made of pottery decorated with colorful beads and etched with complicated mosaics. Arbeenok held the object over the lieutenant's head, and with an indecipherable chant, the alaghi smacked his hands together, shattering the tiny urn and showering Vambran with a fine white dust. "Something to protect you from the plague," he added, nodding in the direction of the fighting.

Vambran gave his companion an answering nod of thanks and turned back to the battle.

The four soldiers had formed a defensive line across the side of the building, guarding the stairs leading up to Elenthia's abode. Their training and equipment should have been more than enough to keep the half-dozen or so shambling undead at bay, Vambran thought, but the Reth watchmen seemed sluggish to him. Even as he ran across the street to drive away the nearest zombie, he saw one of the soldiers crumple to the paving stones, clutching at his belly. The zombie staggered toward the man and kicked at him, causing the watchman to cry out in pain and alarm. The soldier next to the wounded man shifted slightly to try to keep the zombies away from his downed companion, but that only served to open a hole in the line, and the zombies, slow as they were, pressed the attack.

Vambran wanted to wallop one of the stumbling, staggering horrors with his sword or perhaps a mace, but without weapons, he dared not get too close. That left him with the tools of his faith, but he knew he would have to get in with the soldiers, on the other side of the zombies, to be effective.

Perhaps I should just jump past them, the mercenary thought, looking for a way to slip through the conflict.

Beside Vambran, Arbeenok approached one of the zombies and, locking both fists together like a huge cudgel, swung his arms fiercely, slamming them into the shoulder of the undead thing. The druid's blow crushed bone, sending the zombie tumbling to the side fully three paces away. Without hesitating to see if the living corpse rose again, the alaghi moved to the next one on the line, swinging his thick bulging arms and clamped fists a second time.

The lieutenant watched Arbeenok in awe. What incredible strength, he thought. Shaking himself out of his amazement, Vambran came in behind the druid, weaving his way through the gap that Arbeenok had created. He reached the closest of the soldiers, who was down on one knee, coughing and clutching at his chest.

"Can't breathe," the man said. "Help me," he pleaded. Vambran gave the soldier a reassuring pat on the shoulder and turned to face a pair of zombies that were coming toward the two of them. Grasping his holy coin tightly, the mercenary thrust the symbol forward in defiance and called on Waukeen's favor to drive them back. "Begone, you stinking things!" he shouted as he poured his own holy energy through the coin.

The zombies hesitated and flinched, groaning. Vambran shoved the coin farther in their direction. "You must get away! Waukeen will not permit you to foul this place any longer! Begone!"

The two zombies turned and lurched down the street, groaning and shielding their eyes from the coin Vambran presented. Once he was certain they were truly fleeing, he turned back to the soldier, ready to draw upon his healing magic to aid the man.

The watchman lay unmoving on the paving stones, his eyes glassy and staring up at the night sky. His skin was strangely hued, with blotches and blisters forming right before Vambran's eyes.

Swearing softly, Vambran resisted the urge to back away from the sick man and instead knelt down, placing his hand upon the ill soldier's forehead. He closed his eyes in prayer, but even as he felt the healing energy pour through his arm and into the man, he heard the death rattle of a last breath escaping. He opened his eyes to see those eyes, lifeless, staring at nothing.

Shuddering, Vambran rose up and turned away, horrified and afraid of the swiftness of the disease. He took several quick steps to put some distance between himself and the new corpse, desperate to wipe his hand on something, to bathe, to run.

A scream from overhead made the lieutenant pause in his retreat. Craning his neck, Vambran peered up, seeing that the flames from the first-floor fire had spread to encompass the second story, too. Smoke billowed thick in the air, and the mercenary could just make out a silhouetted image in one of the upper windows. He turned to dash up the stairs, but Arbeenok was in the way, still battling two of the walking undead. The druid was holding his own, pummeling the zombies with gusto, but outnumbered, he would not last too long in the fight.

No time, Vambran decided, spinning away and trying to find another route up to the second floor. The conflagration had spread to the roof. There was another scream, and he could see a frantic hand waving from one of the windows.

Remembering his other magic, Vambran wished suddenly for a live spider, but there was no way he would be able to locate one before the entire building was an inferno. He started to curse his ill luck when the urge hit him to try to activate the magic without the spider. Frowning at such preposterous notions but sensing something genuine about it, he darted toward the wall, muttering the arcane phrases to grant him the magical climbing skill.

Vambran began scampering up the wall with no trouble at all.

Not wasting time trying to figure out why he no longer needed the spider, Vambran reached the window, shielding his face from the heat with one arm as he tried to peer inside. "Elenthia!" he shouted, coughing from the hot smoke that poured out of the room. "Elenthia, come to the window!"

"Vambran!" the woman screamed, and she was there, her face black with soot, coughing and crying. "Help me!" she pleaded. "Get me out!"

Vambran scrambled in through the window. "Stay low," he instructed the woman as he dropped to all fours, his eyes watering as he looked about. He could feel the heat rising up through the floor of Elenthia's apartment, could sense that it would erupt in flame soon. But he had to reach his belongings, had to recover his weapons and breastplate.

"What are you doing?" Elenthia screamed, grabbing at Vambran as he tried to crawl deeper into the apartment. "We can't go back in!"

Vambran ignored her and scrambled across the floor, searing hot and beginning to smolder, toward the place he had left his satchel. He coughed and gasped as he maneuvered through the room, having to fight the urge to stop and wipe the soot from his burning eyes. He spied the bulky, elongated bundle still leaning against a wall where he had left it, though the cloth was beginning to smoke because of its proximity to the spreading flames. Grabbing the satchel, Vambran slung it across his back and turned to navigate back the way he had come.

Flames blocked his path.

Vambran considered rising up and making a run for it, but at that moment, the majority of the floor fell away with a thunderous crash, and more flames roared up from below. Elenthia screamed from beside the window, already half outside, trying to escape a fiery death.

It appeared that the mercenary was trapped.

Undaunted, Vambran scampered to the closest wall and began to crawl up it, still feeling the effects of the spell. The maneuver took him higher into the smoke and heat of the fire, but he squinted and held his breath as he hurried up the wall, almost to the ceiling, and darted past the licking flames to the other side. He kept moving at that point, feeling his skin blistering on the scorching walls of the structure. He reached the end of the wall and turned the corner, scrambling as fast as he could toward the window, where Elenthia was preparing to jump.