by Rosie Scott
I was prepared for it this year, however. My breaths expelled whirls of smoke and the tip of my nose felt like ice, but I didn't even shiver. My mother's Icilic blood offered me a natural buffer, but the black cloak I'd bought in Brognel aided by keeping my body heat close. I let the flap of the tent fall back into place, and then I pulled out a journal I'd traded for. I didn't log my experiences and trials since doing so would give any foes a gold mine of information if I were ever captured or killed. Instead, I'd marked its pages with dates during my stay in Brognel. There were three hundred and sixty days in a year, and the book was four hundred pages long and had a ribbon of a bookmark attached to its spine. I'd marked one side of the ribbon with ink, and now I used the journal to track the passage of time. It started out with the new year on the 1st of New Moon. It then cataloged each of the season's ninety days, moved on to High Star, then to Red Moon, and finally to Dark Star where it ended on the 90th. Each morning I'd move the bookmark, either turning it to face a different page or turning the page completely. So far, this method worked. I had missed no days yet; with no companions or anything else occupying my time, changing the date in the book was the one thing I looked forward to. At least it meant I'd survived another day.
I scrounged around my supplies, counting out packets of dried fish and pouches of berries. Gotton berries grew at all times of the year, but the bushes in the neighboring thicket grew thin with my constant foraging. Over the weeks of living in the thicket I scouted out the surrounding area. I learned the land well enough, but the sources of fresh fish were scarce this far north in the forest. There were a few tiny streams, but nothing big enough to hold its own ecosystem. So while I'd found the perfect defensive location to pitch the tent, there weren't enough food sources nearby. I couldn't rely only on berries, and I couldn't hunt deer or fowl worth a damn.
Today, I decided, I'd search for somewhere to relocate. I had enough dried fish to last me a while yet, but it couldn't hurt to plan ahead. With this plan in mind, I slipped off the cloak, folding it tightly so it would retain some of its heat while I pulled on my armor.
Crrk!
I stilled at the snapping of a twig, finding its location in the northwest telling. Only once since camping here had travelers passed by, and they came and went without incident. Even still, as they'd passed adrenaline filled me. I didn't only expect a fight, I was revved for one. Like a masochist, I'd grown a fondness for the physical strains and aches of battle, if only because it meant I grew stronger.
The twig possibly snapped with the natural weight of snow and ice, but I took no chances and kept dressing in my armor. My heartbeat picked up its pace as other sounds reached my ears: the crunching of packed snow under heavy boots, the murmuring of casual conversation, the jingling of gear.
With my armor on, I put the cloak on over it and tugged its hood up over my head, pulling out my long hair on either side to keep the coldest breezes from reaching my neck. I grabbed my scythe from beside my bed mat and exited the tent into the brisk morning. I hung the weapon from my belt and stared out into the open forest through the thicket's gap. Then I waited, my fingers playing subconsciously with the strap of the blade's sheath that wrapped around its upper handle.
“...Audri's group came back with no luck,” a woman's voice filtered through the brush, amid an ongoing discussion. “Orval's didn't. That's what concerns me.”
“Audri's one hell of a fighter,” a man replied.
“Yeah,” the woman agreed, “but she can't track to save her life. That's why she always brings Faendal, but he's doing a little stint in Sera's dungeon for his debts so he wasn't with her. I didn't expect she'd find him. Orval can track and fight, and his group's missing. That leads me to only one conclusion, and it isn't good.”
The group went silent, but their footsteps came closer. I tried tracking them through the holes of the foliage to my right to no avail. I could see little other than reflections of snow on the opposite side.
“I don't get it,” another male voice spoke up, this one sounding younger than the last. “He's a kid. This should've been a one and done kind of deal.”
“Sirius thought it would be,” the woman replied. “Hence why he sent the Twelve. We saw where that led.”
My fingers that picked subconsciously at the scythe's sheath finally unbuttoned the strap and slipped the protection off the blade. I refastened it to one of the many loops of metal on my armor for safe-keeping. It took a couple of tries, for I trembled with the anticipation of battle.
“That looks like a good camping point,” the younger man said as the group's footsteps came ever closer.
“Yep,” said the woman. “We'll check it.”
I stood in the clear opening of the thicket, the blade of my scythe glimmering with the reflection of snow. My hood shadowed my face so well that it would possibly keep them from recognizing it, but my long black hair slipped out of its embrace and flowed along the breezes, brightening up in spots from melting snowflakes.
The group of mercenaries finally wandered into view while checking out the thicket. There were only nine, comprising seven humans, one Celd, and a dwarf. I felt sorry for them at first since I'd wiped out far larger groups, but then I remembered not to grow too prideful. These men and women were all well-armored and likely skilled.
The mercenaries slowed to a stop. They seemed to compare what little they saw of my features to the warrant likely in their pockets. A human woman stepped before the others, placing herself as the leader of the group. I noted the rings on her fingers and the sword in her hand, anticipating her fighting style. I further noted her fiery red hair and green eyes, anticipating her possible elements. Other than the hair color, she looked absolutely nothing like Kai. I was grateful for that, for even the hair resemblance had me on edge.
The leader opened her mouth to speak, but I interrupted her by reaching up to the flap of my hood and pulling it out to the side, giving the group a glimpse of my face. “Looking for me?”
That spurred them into action. They dropped bags of supplies and unsheathed weapons. The Celd went about stringing her pearl-white bow in the back. I summoned an area-of-effect death spell in my left hand, but I didn't yet cast it.
“I'll offer this only once,” I began. “Leave me be, and no harm will come to you.”
My warning changed nothing. The first few mercenaries who prepared first ran toward the thicket, their boots kicking up splashes of snow.
Fine. I released the magic. As black tendrils slithered off to raise the mercenaries I'd buried last season, I prepared a life shield and ward and stalked forth to meet my hunters.
“Do not lose your heads!” the leader shouted, building fire in a palm as she watched her dwarven ally parry a sideways slash of my scythe with his ax. “Torsten! Move!”
The dwarf abruptly retreated a few steps to the side. The surrounding snow-kissed trees lit up in flashes of orange as the leader unleashed multiple fireballs. The first two hit my ward, sizzling out into smoke and leaving the protection flickering. I averted my eyes from the bright light and sidestepped to avoid the rest. They hissed past, following on their path to the thicket I'd left behind. A disgruntled growl sounded out from one of the mercenary corpses that hobbled out of the brush to support me. After weeks of decomposing, they were a sight for sore eyes; their skin was gray, wrinkled, and leaked a variety of fluids. Insects invaded them, eating eyes and burrowing deep into skulls and fleshy crevasses. A centipede made its home in the broken cranium of one, slithering between the woman's once buoyant lips to take refuge under her fading tongue.
Retching echoed through the forest as one mercenary's tolerance for the macabre was tested to his limits. I paid little attention to it; the leader's last few fireballs missed me, but the corpse I'd looted the skull ring from was now on fire, gurgling with distaste until it fell back into my tent. The flames burning his hair slowly spread to the canvas.
Shit. Everything I owned was either on me or in that tent. I turned to protect
my belongings, but the dwarf and three humans surrounded me like scavenger animals. I focused on blocking hits with the scythe and leeching, seeking strength.
“That was Orval!” a mercenary only a few years older than me screeched, pointing at the burning corpse. By his voice, I could tell he was the younger man who'd spoken earlier. “You lit Orval on fire, Fia!”
The leader shook her head authoritatively, though she seemed just as perturbed by this realization as her comrade. “That is no longer Orval, friend.” Redirecting her focus to me, Fia added, “You will pay for your crimes committed against good people, necromancer.”
I didn't explain that something else had killed these mercenaries. The innate fear most had for necromancy already played to my advantage; the morale of even the oldest mercenaries here was affected by fighting in the presence of undead peers. I'd allow them to think I'd killed every one of them myself.
The fight was soon contained like a layered circle with me at its center, for the mercenaries surrounded me and I directed my minions to surround them. Previously smooth, bright white snow became disturbed with frantic steps and splashes of blood and decomposing acids as mercenaries and corpses exchanged blows. My arms ached profusely from blocking and parrying between bouts of leeching; I hadn't yet used the scythe for an offensive hit because being outnumbered kept me on the defensive. That changed as my loyal corpses cut down a few foes and I drained a life, but now there were only five mercenaries left.
A leeching high requires six lives. Even if I leeched from everyone else, my high would only trigger once I had no enemies left. I thought this over as I refreshed my guards and slipped between two fighting corpses to get out of the chaos now that mercenaries no longer overwhelmed me. Then I raised the most recent casualties. Excess energy pumped through my veins, but only enough to keep fatigue away and make me jittery. I couldn't rely on a high for strength, but that was okay. I needed to learn to fight without it.
As my corpses swarmed three humans and the dwarf, I checked on my tent. The fire scorched and frayed the front canvas but had since petered out on its own. Feeling safe with the knowledge my belongings were intact, I paved a new path through the snow around the skirmish to get to the Celdic archer. She squeaked with fear as she noticed she had my undivided and hostile attention. After one of her pearl-white arrows bounced off my shield and rolled over on the snow, she hesitated to reload. Instead, she held her right hand out, assembling two magical protections. Throughout the battle I'd noticed that life magic protected some foes, but I hadn't found who summoned it. Now the Celd interested me even more; if I killed her, I removed their healer and protector from the equation.
“Fia!” the Celd nocked another arrow and fired. It whizzed into my shield, weakening its energy. I regenerated it.
“I see him!” the leader called out behind me. Given the fatigue and panic on Fia's voice, she seemed preoccupied with fighting corpses. I picked up my pace, determined to best the archer before Fia could aid her, sweat from adrenaline and exertion running down my brow.
The Celd exhaled with a shudder as I closed in. Her arrows harmlessly littered the snow beside my tracks, but she continued firing them. Life protections were temporary and could normally only be refreshed with new energy, but this poor woman seemed oblivious to the fact that my energy reserves wouldn't run out soon since the life force of her peers fueled them. The ignorance of necromancy would forever be to my benefit.
“No, no no no no,” she rambled desperately, her eyes catching on the scythe's blade as I swung it in from the side, two hands on the shortened handle. Steel ricocheted violently off the magical force field, my bones aching intensely from the sturdy resistance to my efforts. Even still, I'd clearly grown stronger even without relying on leeching's power, for the Celd's guard dulled from the damage and the force of my hit sent her stumbling until she fell back into the snow. The curve of her life shield made a perfect oval impression in the snow around her as she scrambled to stand.
I took two steps to make up the distance between us and kicked her so hard I heard the whoosh of my boot in the air. Her shield prevented the hit from reaching her gut, but now it flickered, and the force knocked her back again.
The Celd's eyes teared up with a mixture of fear and panic as I stood over her and raised my scythe. “For gods' sake, Fia!” she screamed hoarsely, her voice unrecognizable from earlier.
I ripped my scythe down from the skies, using gravity to aid my strength. The blade clashed into the healer's weakened guard until it shattered, and the blow still had enough momentum to finish the arc. The scythe's tip cracked into the Celd's skull just at the center part of her hair, casting a magnificent pattern of red over the surrounding snow. The last of the shield's resistance kept the hit from splitting her head. A dull nausea permeated my gut as I watched the capillaries in her eyes burst from the sudden pressure on her brain. She twitched sporadically as her neurological system assessed its damages. Although her eyes went blank, she blinked once almost like her body fought death by mimicking the familiar.
“Bastard!”
The song of steel whistling through the air preceded my own tumble into the snow as Fia finally caught up to me, her strength emboldened by a need for vengeance. I struggled to stand, but Fia brought her sword down over my shield repeatedly, using my last tactic against me to keep me grounded. My hands patted frantically around on the snow, searching for my scythe but coming up empty. I rolled onto my back, lashing out a leg to knock Fia off her feet.
It didn't work. My boot connected with her ankle, but without a high the awkward hit did nothing but unbalance and irritate her. I sent a ball of death magic across the disturbed snow at the fallen Celd to call her to my aid. When I heard the spell fizzle out, I lifted on my elbows to see the archer's tan boots still shaking in place.
Dear gods. She's still alive.
No wonder I couldn't raise her from the dead. She was in a state of traumatized limbo before death. Despite its injury, her brain refused to die.
I mentally willed my corpses back to me between curses of frustration from losing track of my scythe. I reached out to Fia with leeching funnels in both hands to double my efforts and quicken her defeat. She felt the spell's fatiguing effect but lifted her sword high, determined to break through my shield at last.
My shield. Throughout the evolving chaos, I'd forgotten to refresh it. My heart jumped in my throat as I prepared the spell, but I was too late.
The life magic broke, and the sword finished its arc toward my gut. I scrambled back on my elbows, trying to avoid the hit entirely by forcing the arc to end in the snow between my parted knees.
Then, splashes of bright lights filled my vision, and a feverish wave overcame me as my body reacted to severe trauma before I even knew what it was. Vomit spewed from my lips just before my vision cleared. I still held the prepared life shield spell in my hand, so I subconsciously cast it, then stared stupidly down between my legs. I'd been a mere inch away from avoiding the hit; blood spurted from a break in my armor where it was thinnest under my groin. Normally, the thinner material allowed me to move freely in the leather. Now, however, it'd allowed Fia's sword easier access to the parts of a man no one wants to lose.
My breaths grew hoarser, panicked. I frantically felt around my armor, trying to ensure all parts of me were attached. The tip of Fia's blade broke through leather and sliced open my right testicle. Dizziness overwhelmed me at the mere realization, but I screamed orders at myself to stay cognizant. I reached out to Fia, harvesting energy as my head spun so fiercely with trauma and panic that everything was a blur. When my corpses finally caught up to us, their footfalls vibrated in my head like a stampede. Fia spun to face my minions since they were currently the largest threat. As they kept her busy, I turned over to my stomach as best as I could and stood, an embarrassingly high-pitched noise escaping my lips when the movement put pressure on my injury.
Blood drained down my right leg as I hobbled over to the Celd's still-shaking
body. Only now did I realize that my scythe was still in her skull, so embedded that it remained upright from where I'd let go. I leeched from the shuddering woman with both hands, finally putting her out of her misery. I tugged at my scythe next, but the blade refused to budge. I held the body down with a boot and tried again, jerking multiple times before the skull finally released it. A rush of fluids chased the blade, still so hot with life they smoked in the air.
Corpses surrounded Fia when I turned back to the fight. A trail of undead and recent mercenary casualties littered the forest between her and the fight's starting location at the thicket. Splashes of blood melted the snow in red-streaked impressions. Only five minions remained standing after I'd had sixteen fighting at once earlier, but I raised no more. I needed energy for healing, and Fia was the only enemy left standing.
I'd planned to fight with melee a lot more in this battle, but I was already exhausted and leaking freely from my injury. When I joined my minions, I only leeched from Fia until she became overwhelmed and fell dead in a lump. I collapsed in just as pathetic of a lump beside her body, alarm bells ringing in my head.
Passing out will kill you, I warned myself as if there were two people in my head. You can't pass out. Heal first.
My injury disoriented me so badly that I didn't think to dispel the remaining corpses. They watched me with blank gazes as I tore off my armor piece by piece in the middle of blood-drenched snow and tugged down my trousers. Another wave of lightheadedness flooded through me as I assessed the wound. I'd studied anatomy and injuries as best as I could, but nothing could have prepared me for seeing my own lacerated testicle.
I awoke with a shivering start sometime later, but I hadn't remembered passing out. Confused, I sat up and searched myself. I'd managed to heal the wound and pull up my trousers, but I had no memory of it. Perhaps I'd slipped in and out of consciousness, or maybe my brain simply blanked out the traumatic things it didn't want to remember. My trousers were a ripped mess of matted blood.
