by Rosie Scott
The frigid season of Dark Star melded into the budding first season of 411. The weather warmed with the advent of New Moon, though the shadows of trees and their pine needle adornments kept the temperature comfortable even on the hottest days.
I felt awful. I smelled awful. My already thin form weakened with undernourishment and melancholia, and the clothes hanging off my frame exuded the stench of sweat and death, for the fabric still bore stains from the soldier whose head exploded. When light rains trickled through the canopies, I tried scrubbing myself and my clothes as clean as I could, but the half-hearted attempts did little without soap.
I traveled ever northward while my companions of traumatic introspection and depression evolved into denial and apathy. The Seran Forest was expansive, stretching from just east of Sera all the way to the Cel Mountains where it hugged the base of the range's midsection. Thornwell wasn't far from its northwestern border. While I could travel to Thornwell without entering the forest at all, I liked staying hidden beneath the canopies. I recalled the initial trip to Sera with the dwarven trader and how she'd said Sirius sent the Twelve after escaped criminals. Every time the canopies parted to allow me to glimpse the skies, I searched for griffons.
It was the 3rd of High Star, 411 when I took the first step out of the Seran Forest's safe embrace and onto the rolling plains between it and Thornwell. The incessant heat strangled me with its thickness, and my pale skin gleamed with pouring sweat. Nonetheless, I trudged forward, my eyes on the collection of worn shacks that blurred in the heat haze of the distance. The need to see my parents and be reminded that there were people left who cared for me clogged my chest like blocked arteries.
They'll know what to do. They'll accept me no matter what. They love me.
Fate took notice of my sudden optimism and concluded it liked me better when I suffered misfortune. Over the buildings of Thornwell, three griffons of various shades ascended into the air from a standstill, each carrying a soldier dressed in prestigious green and black armor. Even from this distance, I could hear the winds stirred up by their wings.
It had been an hour since leaving the forest, but I spun and hurried to the south. If members of the Twelve were in Thornwell, they clearly searched for me. There was no other reason for them to come to Thornwell.
A foreboding lump lodged in my throat when I was only halfway back to the forest. Far to my right over the shimmering waves of grass, the shadows of three griffon riders drew ever nearer.
FWOOSH. FWOOSH. FWOOSH. FWOOSH.
Though my eyes stuck to the safety of the nearing shadowed forest, I came to a sudden stop. Running was no use. It hadn't worked with the Seran soldiers, and it wouldn't work here. I couldn't run forever.
I turned and looked to the skies. Three Twelve members hovered far above me to the north, their griffon's wings manipulating the air so masterfully that the grasses below danced to their flapping tune. One rider carried a bow. Another held a great spear with a single blade. The third only stared at a piece of unrolled parchment before his eyes flicked up to me in comparison. Perhaps Sirius already had sketches of me prepared to put on death warrants. Possibly after getting someone I once trusted to provide my appearance details. Possibly his own daughter.
I blanked out that upsetting thought and decided not to waste any time. Nothing would stop me from going to Thornwell and seeing my parents today.
Let's get this over with.
As two balls of black magic grew under the palms I splayed toward the earth, the Twelve realized they'd found who they were looking for. The man rolled the order back up and put it in a leather bag that hung by the side of his saddle, and while the archer grabbed an arrow, the third prepared his spear and kicked his griffon into action.
A blanket of black energy spread across the sweltering grasses like an out of season frozen fog. As the magic searched for nearby corpses and assembled into tendrils, I quickly switched to life magic to give myself protections against weapons and magic.
Two arrows bounced off the magical barrier before the archer hesitated, choosing to waste no more until the shield was gone. As the earth shook beneath my boots and prepared to offer me an army, I backed over the grasses toward the forest, my eyes on the rapidly approaching spear that pointed at my chest past the elongated neck of a swooping griffon.
Shing!
The spear hit my shield with such force that it threw me back within it. I spun with the momentum and landed in a lump feet away. I inhaled sharply once I realized the oxygen fled my lungs and tried to reorient myself.
Shik!
I cursed in a yelp as something sliced by my temple, splitting the soft skin. Blood trickled down my cheek like a lost tear. Only then did I realize that landing so hard from the spear hit broke my life shield, and now the archer targeted me again. I'd assumed only offensive weapon hits could weaken the guard, but sheer force damaged it as well.
It seemed the Seran University's curriculum couldn't fully prepare me for the realities of true battle. Every fight was a learning experience.
Zwip. A new shield surrounded me, but I couldn't afford to stay on the defensive. Though the blue skies above morphed into a concoction of moody grays over the Servis Ocean in the north, the inevitable coastal storm was not yet here. Thus, energy reserves were low. The dreadfully hot and windless day was the worst time for a magic battle; given the Twelve's reliance on weapons, they knew this as well as I did.
But I knew necromancy. If I could only convince my foes to come close enough, I could harvest energy straight from their bodies.
Pop! Pop-pop! Pop!
Bursts of dirt, clay, and broken blades of grass erupted over the field like we'd unintentionally stumbled across caches of underground dwarven explosives. Humanoid skeletal hands clutched the earth's crest to pull bodies out of dormancy. The still-decomposing skeleton of a deer lifted out of the grasses from its side. A shriveled eyeball that had rested snugly in its socket fell out in a clump once the skeleton rose, turning its hollow gaze to the skies and pawing at the grasses with an impatient hoof.
This far from the forest, there weren't many cadavers. Civilians would have been found and put to rest, and if wildlife died here, their corpses were likely torn apart and carried off in hunks of separated meat. My new minions were nonetheless a curious mixture. Three humanoid corpses with abnormally large yellowed bottom incisors gathered around me, two carrying weapons and one missing both a weapon and an arm. I figured these had once been orcs; the brawny warmongers were native to the woods and mountains of Chairel and Hammerton. Only once had I glimpsed one after a mercenary party stopped by Thornwell to trade years back and burned the imposing body near the village. The orc skeletons stood at seven to eight feet tall, and I assumed they would be my best soldiers by the intimidation factor alone.
The rest of the carcasses were wildlife. The deer was missing a few of its ribs, but it didn't need them. A tiny squirrel skeleton twitched its long bony tail and chattered its bare incisors rapidly with impatience near my left boot. Oddly, the remains of a fish flopped around uselessly near one of the orcs. Since we weren't on the coast and the skeleton was incomplete, it hinted at being the remnants of a hastily eaten last meal.
I dispelled the fish, and the tiny bones lost themselves between waving grasses. I kept the rest like a loyal guard beside me as I continually backed toward the woodland. Most of the benefits the griffons had against me revolved around their reliance on the open sky. I needed them to land to harvest their energy.
The archer reloaded her bow expeditiously, shooting off arrows at the largest orc skeleton beside me. The first few bounced off bone, but when I gave my minion a life shield, the archer rewarded me with a glare of irritation.
The spearman set his sights on charging me once more since it worked so well the first time. The brown and white spotted griffon beneath him screeched as it fluttered in the skies, and the rider patted its neck in reassurance before positioning his spear like a lance. After a quick kick from rid
er to mount, the duo swooped in a death rush toward me from above.
The skeletons surrounding me hissed in gusts of hollow air, determined to spill blood to protect their master. The spearman paid little attention to them, intending to bypass them all for me. But I was their eyes and ears; as I backed toward the forest as if to retreat, my mind formed a desperate plan and willed my corpses to put it in action.
Two orc corpses left my side and spread forth like the prongs of a fork eager to capture a chunk of meat. The determination on my foe's face grew, for the departure of the corpses left me exposed.
The griffon's legs tucked under its belly as it swooped so close to the grasses they released a whistle to accompany their dance. When the mount was close enough to me that I could smell the soldier's body odor, I directed the orc corpses inward like two sides of a clamp.
One skeletal hand swiped through the air and grabbed the extended spear as it passed. Though the corpse's grip was strong, the griffon's momentum was greater; it carried the skeleton along for a few feet before the soldier released his weapon from the excess pressure and weight. The orc skeleton stumbled away from the area, one hand gripping the weapon it'd been buried with while the other held the Twelve's spear like coveted treasure.
At the same time and on the other side of the griffon, the second orc corpse swung its ax into the oncoming wing at the location of its radius.
Snap!
The griffon's exterior radial bone snapped in two beneath a cascade of blood spray as the beast screeched with sudden agony and lost its balance. As I hurried to the side to avoid its crash landing, the second orc skeleton collapsed in a pile of bones, forced to dispel due to the blow back of its own hit.
Screams of rage from the man's two companions still in the skies echoed in my ears as I hurried after the fallen griffon. Its rider tumbled over the saddle and onto the grasses, but I passed him. I figured the griffon was more likely to be a threat since the man dropped his spear, so I sought to weaken the beast first.
The griffon came to an abrupt stop at the end of a smear of broken earth from its landing. Crackling sizzled through the air as I leeched from the wounded mount with two funnels before it could regain its composure. Once my veins protruded with energized life force, I finally had the energy to cast more spells. The power would come from my own life, but that didn't faze me since it did so at the same time I empowered it with more.
Panicked whines echoed harshly off the trees along the northern Seran Forest as the bird of prey struggled to stand after breaking a leg in its fall. Still leeching with one hand, I raised the collapsed orc skeleton with the other. Seconds later, the bones sang like the rods of a wooden wind chime as they collected together to rise again. I directed my minions from afar. The orc that hadn't had a weapon grabbed the one-handed ax with its only arm. The skeleton that had once wielded the ax hobbled over to grab the Twelve's fallen spear with two hands. Now, both skeletons had weapons they could use, but such a strategy had required my intelligent input.
The soldier picked himself off the ground favoring his arm. He noticed the skeleton wielding his spear, and his eyes flashed with panic. As the orc corpses surrounded him, the griffon beside me screeched with new pain, drawing my attention back to the beast.
Blood spurted over glistening feathers from a severed artery. While I'd harvested the griffon's life force, the tiny squirrel minion had climbed it and gnashed through the flesh at the back of its neck. Just in front of the saddle was a messy pile of broken feathers and frayed tendon. Tiny rodent bones were newly painted in blood as it gnawed at the beast with gusto. The injured griffon finally slumped with death from a combination of magic and mayhem. Clearly griffons had more life force to harvest than men; not only had it taken me longer to kill, but I felt jittery with excess energy.
I raised the griffon from the dead and set my sights on its rider. Though he'd lost his spear, he now defended himself with a short sword against two orc corpses after defeating the third. The ax from earlier looked lost in a pile of the fallen bones. I headed there, raising the skeleton again before looking to protect the others with new shields.
Click. Click-click.
I spun, coming face to face with the looming beak of a griffon. The other two Twelve members had landed and dismounted their animals, forcing me to contend with four foes rather than two. I summoned two leeching funnels to double my efforts of stealing its life, only switching elements to regenerate my defenses with the beast's own life force. As I contended with the griffon, I checked on the orc corpses, for they surely should have killed their target by now.
The spearman still had his sword out and fought off the orc corpses, deflecting each swing. The orc skeleton with the spear swung it at its old wielder's side with the flat of its blade toward his armor.
Thunk.
No wonder they're not getting anywhere, I mused to myself. As the griffon before me slowed its pecks at my shield with fatigue, I directed the corpse with the spear to thrust with it rather than swing.
Shing!
The Twelve member abruptly stilled, impaled through the gut with his own spear. Its blade glistened with blood and bile where it poked through beside his spine, and the man coughed up blood. While he still stood, another skeleton decapitated him with an ax, for the impalement hadn't killed him quickly enough. Happy with their success, the corpses bounded off to contend with the other soldiers.
That was when all my senses sharpened.
Perhaps it happened gradually and I only just noticed it, but suddenly, it was as if I saw the world as someone else. As the griffon slumped with death before me, its life force still trembled in my veins like electricity. The energy hitched a ride with my circulatory system to each of my senses, heightening their awareness and power. As my heart pumped ferociously like I was suddenly a much larger beast, I heard it clearly. I heard the Twelve archer's arrow scraping by the others in her quiver as she retrieved it even though she was on the outskirts of battle, trying to aid her remaining comrade. I heard the happy tweeting of birds far from our battle in the forest. The bitter stench of stomach bile suddenly overwhelmed me, but the corpse it leaked from wasn't close by. Every color in the world was more robust—the yellow-green of waving grasses, the periwinkle of progressively moody skies, the red of spilled blood.
Momentarily confused by my newly bolstered senses, I summoned the spell necessary to recruit the fallen Twelve member to my side. As soon as the energy escaped me and collected in my palm, my senses returned to normal. Intrigued, I eyed my palm and dispelled the death magic, allowing the energy to return to me. The extra power was mine once more.
Is this the power of leeching? I flexed my hand as if the motion would give me an answer. The necromancy book had mentioned leeching rages or highs that could affect a mage once their body was so overwhelmed with life force it affected the mind, but I didn't feel like I was in a rage. I only felt...smarter. Quicker. Able to react better due to a higher awareness.
Unwilling to let this new power go, I left the corpse lying on the ground for now and instead planned on leeching more. As the Twelve archer scrambled back toward the forest chased by a ramming skeletal deer and rabid squirrel, the three orc corpses surrounded the final griffon. As for the other Twelve soldier...
Shing!
I stumbled forward within my shield, the magical force field flickering with weakness from a powerful swing behind me. I regenerated the protection and spun. My senses returned to normal with the expense of energy, but at least I was safe.
The third Twelve soldier wielded a longsword, determined to cut through my guards and get to me as quickly as possible. I stretched both arms toward him, siphoning his life force with two funnels. Alarm passed through his eyes as he felt my magic drain him. With a grunt, he lifted the sword a second time.
Aided by additional leeching, my senses sharpened again. But this time, as I fed my greedy veins with even more, something in my subconscious snapped.
“Aggh!” The hoarse
scream was so omnipotent in magnitude I hardly recognized it was mine. I stumbled over my feet, my brain throbbing against the smooth internal walls of my skull as if it rapidly expanded. An uncontrollable excitement combined with a lust for blood and power in my soul until it felt I would burst into trembling giblets. A hum of surplus strength and a deep desire for carnage fueled me. Now this...this was a leeching high.
The Twelve soldier finished his swing, but my sharpened senses alerted me to its speed and arc. I evaded the blade and violently kicked a clunky boot into the hands that held its handle.
Crack!
The two-handed weapon dropped as three of the foe's fingers broke and swelled with my kick, darkening with bruising as he gawked at me with bewilderment. His eyes betrayed thoughts he dared not speak. Though I stood taller than him, I was much thinner and had nearly non-existent muscles. Yet, a single kick disabled him. He seemed to connect my rush of power with my earlier scream, and he panicked as he tried to figure out what it was and how to combat it.
I leeched from the Twelve soldier relentlessly as he backed over the grasses toward the forest. Though his right hand was broken, he carried a side weapon, and he reached across his waist with his left to grab it. He swiped and thrust the sword at my safeguard, weakening it. I only paused from leeching long enough to refresh the protection with the energy of his stolen life force, and his eyes flashed with resignation.
Proud and arrogant thoughts flooded my head as I pursued him, fueled by the influx of excess power.
You should have left me be. I will end you.
In the back of my mind, I understood these thoughts were uncharacteristic of me. But I didn't care, for the leeching high took control and left my consciousness floating in the ether to watch the actions of my emboldened body.
