by Sam Cheever
I frowned, remembering Slayer’s description of the necromancer, because I had to assume that was who stood before me. Tall and slender to the point of emaciation, Morta had a long, pale face with delicate features and large eyes. The thing’s jaw was slightly wider than a woman’s, its throat long and slender with bands of gold and silver encircling it, and the eyes were large, luminous, with thick lashes that sparkled on the tips. The necromancer’s silver hair lay thick and close over its head, swept straight back to show a widow’s peak and feathering down in front of the ears, reminiscent of a man’s sideburns.
The broad shoulders and narrow hips reminded me more of a man than a woman and Morta had only the merest suggestion of breasts above the high waist of the copper colored gown. The creature’s hands were man-sized but its slender fingers ended in sharp points painted a shiny black.
“Do you like what you see?”
I blinked, realizing I’d given her/him/it the wrong idea. Still, I couldn’t exactly tell the necromancer it gave me the creeps, so I shrugged. “I thought you’d look different.”
Laughter danced like musical notes on the air. “You expected a skeletal and rotting creature.”
It wasn’t a question so I didn’t answer it.
“It is a common misconception given my advanced age and...predispositions.”
“Why have you brought me here?”
The thing looked surprised. “It was my understanding you wished an audience.”
I frowned. It had me there. “I did.”
Morta arched heavy silver brows and lifted her/his/its hands.
“I didn’t expect to be taken from my friends.”
“Do you need them to fight your battles for you then?” The smile was smug, slightly mean.
I opened my mouth to deny the accusation but decided honesty was the best option. “I need their guidance and help. I have some idea what to expect from you, but to be honest, you have a reputation for making unreasonable demands for your services.”
The air around me chilled another couple of degrees. I had to make a determined effort not to shiver and rub my arms. The necromancer’s too-wide jaw tightened slightly but, after a moment it smiled. “Honesty. Refreshing. It will buy you some points in our negotiations.” Turning away, Morta strode briskly toward a throne-like chair in the midst of a haze like the one we’d seen outside. Behind the throne, half a dozen ghouls stood immobile, deadly scythes clutched in their bony fists.
The ghoul that had brought me into the castle jammed a skeletal finger into my back, shoving me forward.
Morta dropped gracefully into the throne, scattering Nightwhiffs. They floated up to the ceiling and hovered there, a terrifyingly silent threat.
I watched Morta for a moment, unsure how to begin.
She... I decided to assign the creature a sexual orientation or the pronoun problem would drive me around the bend...tapped a honed, black nail on the arm of her throne, staring at me. Almost immediately, I felt the icy intrusion of foreign magic probing my cells.
I stiffened, reaching again for my energy and finding it locked behind some kind of barrier. “Stop that!” I told her as rage replaced fear.
The intrusion continued, growing ever more insistent until it felt like she’d created an opening in my body and pumped icy evil into it, filling me to my skin.
“You are dying,” the necromancer announced.
I blinked in surprise. I knew the mark was poisoning me but hearing it so starkly announced by the necromancer was a shock.
“A mating mark from a Royal who isn’t your magical equal.” She shook her head. “Men.”
That startled a laugh out of me. Morta winked saucily. “But the other,” she frowned. “That one will kill you more quickly.” Shaking her head, Morta fixed the scary blackness of her gaze on me, pursing lips too pretty to belong to a man. “Your price will be heavy, I’m afraid.”
An icy dread clutched my chest at the news. “Tell me what it is. I’ll pay it.” Assuming she would ask for a favor or even a period of servitude, I was unhappy but determined. I’d serve my sentence and then go on with my life.
“I require the death of the one you love.”
My knees buckled out from under me and I nearly fell to the stone floor. Panic twisted my belly and formed a sour taste in my mouth. I pressed a shaking hand against my stomach to stop its roiling. “You can’t take my sister. Dialle will raze your environs, killing everything in sight.”
Morta’s lovely laugh danced on the air between us. “I do not fear the devil king. His magics are nothing to mine.”
“Then you’re delusional.”
She flipped her elegant fingers dismissively. “While what you are suggesting would be fun and tasty, alas, that is not the price which is required here.”
Relief swamped me so hard stars burst before my eyes. But it was short lived.
Morta glanced past me, turning up a palm from which the muted glow of midnight energy flared. I swung around at the sound of a sword clanging to the ground and gave a horrified cry.
Slayer lay on the icy stone floor, a deep gash severing one thigh and dark red blood oozing from it. He spotted me and leapt to his feet, flinging out a hand to call his sword to him.
The sword jumped slightly but didn’t obey. His handsome face folded into a frown as his gaze slid to me. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” I tried to reach him with my mind but got only static. Catching the necromancer’s movement out of the corner of my eye, I stepped back to keep her in my sight.
“We meet again, Slayer.” Morta glided toward my partner, a fond smile on her face.
Slayer’s hands came up, fisted and ready to do battle. “Stay back,” he warned.
The necromancer stopped, her gaze going blank in concentration. A beat later Slayer jerked in surprise, his features tightening in outrage. “Get the hell out of me, corpse.”
Morta sighed. “As before, your soul is lovely. You will be a tasty treat.” When he slid a guilty look my way, Morta laughed gaily. “You did not tell her?”
“Shut up, mutant.”
Though the necromancer’s lips tightened with sudden pique, she didn’t let it ruin whatever secret she was dying to tell me. “She doesn’t know how much I lusted after you?” Morta moved closer, reaching to slide long fingers through Slayer’s silky black hair. He jerked his head away but the necromancer simply moved closer, her long fingers skimming down his arm, testing it like one would assess a potential slave. “She isn’t aware that, but for Queen P’s intervention, your soul would already be mine?”
Stark, greasy fear slid down my spine and I took a step toward them. Slayer’s head came up. He gave it one, quick shake, clearly not wanting me to interfere.
The necromancer’s words were undoubtedly designed to cause maximum damage. Their meaning was suddenly, horrifically clear. Queen Persuis had sacrificed her child to save Slayer. Why would she do such a thing?
“I never wanted her to spare me,” Slayer said. Though he didn’t look my way when he spoke, I knew the words were meant for me.
“It’s not your fault,” I said softly.
He simply shook his head.
Morta leaned closer, her face mere inches from his. Her nostrils flared as she scented him like an expensive meal.
I took another step as panic set in. I didn’t like the direction things were going and, though I had no idea how to fix what was coming, I knew I had to do something. “I’ve changed my mind,” I told Morta. “I no longer require your services.”
Her response was another laugh.
Slayer’s gaze slid to mine, horror sparking in them before he squelched it. Then, lowering his head, he suddenly de-tensed. He lifted his gaze to me again and gave me a sad smile. Something warm and heartbreaking filled his gaze. “For you to live,” he nodded. “It will be my honor.”
My head was shaking and tears slid from my gaze. “No, Slayer.”
“It is what it is, Princess. I’m afraid this
has been my destiny for a long, long time.”
Two ghouls moved in and grasped Slayer’s arms, yanking him toward the black hole of a doorway at the back of the room. He didn’t fight, didn’t even look back at me. And my heart ripped right down the middle at the sight. “No!” I screamed, trying to run after him.
The deadly miasma hovering beneath the ceiling streamed forward, forming a deadly wall between Slayer and me. I fell to my knees and screamed his name, feeling as if my world had just been ripped into thousands of life-ending pieces.
Slayer was going to die and it was all my fault. He’d tried to warn me of the cost but I hadn’t listened. As usual, I’d thought I was smarter than everybody else.
A man I’d grown to care for very much would pay the price for my arrogance. To enable me to live. But it would all be for nothing. Because I wasn’t sure I could live with that knowledge...or his loss...after he was gone.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Options and Opportunities
Magic sizzles on the air,
But will it take or give?
“I can taste your fear, pretty halfling. It is delicious.”
I blinked back tears. “Can you read my thoughts, bitch? I hope so, because I’m thinking if you don’t give Slayer back to me right now I’m going to go all dark fairy on your ass.”
Morta cocked her head. “He is important to you?”
I ran the back of my hand across my wet cheeks, grimacing at the pain. Glancing at the hand the Nightwhiff had bitten outside the castle, I had a jolt of shock at how bad it looked. The skin around the bite had started to turn black and the center of it looked all mushy, as if my flesh were just rotting away. I shoved my hand behind my back. “I won’t let you heal me. The deal’s off.”
“Then the yummy Slayer will die for naught.”
Something dark and ugly blossomed in my breast. It flashed like a flame and infused me with such rage and hate I thought I could rip the monster apart with my bare hands. The miasma of nearly transparent Nightwhiffs had been hanging motionless in the air, seemingly attending to their master’s every word, but as my rage exploded, they became more agitated, swirling frantically on the air.
Morta gave them a speculative look before turning back to me. “So much rage for such a small creature. I find it fascinating.”
Energy sizzled at my fingertips and was almost immediately squelched. “I demand that you bring Slayer back.”
The necromancer’s brows rose. “Or what? What will you do to me, halfling? I have ruled the frozen environs for thousands of years. Commanding the armies of death to instill fear and despair on my enemies. None have defeated me in all that time. Yet you stand there, all prickly with anger, and dare to threaten me?” The creature shook her head. “You amuse me.”
With every word she spoke my anger rose. It swirled inside me like unfocused energy, making my skin itch with the need to set it free. My injured hand throbbed painfully and an answering pulse thudded in my head as the energy built and couldn’t be released. Whatever wards she’d put on the fortress to keep outside magic from working held it back. I realized in that moment that the rage-fueled power would consume me if I didn’t tamp it down. But the thought of Slayer dying at the hands of the monster standing before me was just too terrible to ignore. “I rescind my request for healing.”
“You cannot.”
“Yet I have.”
She frowned. “You will not survive the night. Already the bite my children gave you is infusing your cells, putrefying your flesh from the inside.”
Well, that sounded just great. “I don’t care. I’ll deal with it.”
The necromancer laughed.
I took a deep breath and let some of my rage slide away. The Nightwhiffs began to settle.
I suddenly wondered where Astra and Dialle were. And Torre. My eyes widened. Torre! If he repeated the mark our magics would be merged. We would be more powerful and maybe we could break free of the warding. But first I had to find him.
Morta’s amused gaze narrowed. “Such a busy mind,” she said with a smile. “What are you thinking, halfling?”
“I’m wondering where my friends are.”
“They are losing their battle with my children. They will be with you soon. Do not fear.”
“I don’t fear. Not anymore. But you should fear us. Because I promise you, if it’s the last thing I do, I will end you.”
The necromancer shook her head and motioned for the remaining guards. “Take this fool to the cavern. I will be there presently to perform the ceremonies.”
Two ghouls reached for me with bony fingers and I jerked away from them. “Don’t touch me.”
I fell in behind one of the guards, the other following close behind with his scythe hanging over my shoulder as a warning. I had no intention of trying to escape. Not yet anyway. For the moment I was content to assess my surroundings and come up with a plan. When Astra and the others were brought into the palace, I wanted to be ready to set my plan in motion.
An icy touch on my shoulder made me jump. I looked up into the face of a Nightwhiff, whose shiny black gaze peered menacingly into mine for a moment before it lifted away.
I was surprised and confused by the encounter, but soon forgot it as the ghouls ushered me into an enormous cavern and left, closing a three-inch-thick wooden door behind them.
The cavern was, of course, cold like the rest of the fortress, but it was a different kind of cold. Along with the moldering scent of a gravesite, I could feel a presence in the place that I couldn’t see. Shadows moved around me, but when I turned my head they were gone. The soft sigh of a breath here, the scuff of an unseen shoe there, were all the proof I needed that I was not alone. The cave was thick with the restless presence of hundreds if not thousands of ghosts. Most likely the necromancer’s many victims.
I rubbed my arms as, one after another, they brushed up against me, leaving behind a sample of their auras, formed of their life’s experiences and rich with emotive magics. The experience made me uncomfortable but it didn’t frighten me. The dead weren’t aggressive, only curious.
As they touched me I caught a range of emotions, running from rage to peace and even love. It seemed impossible that anything that pure could survive the horrible place, but somehow it had. Twined within each offering of emotion was something else...an expectation...that left me wondering what they thought I could do for them. Maybe they were looking for a way out of Morta’s hellish fortress. If that was what they wanted, I was determined to oblige. Because once the queen of kicking ass, blowing shit up and praying got there, I was going to set her loose to do what she did best.
I paced around the cavern for a while and then, as weariness finally got the best of me, I lay down and closed my eyes. I wouldn’t be able to sleep but knew I needed to rest and preserve whatever energy I had left. Soon the cold and the soothing presence of the dead eased me into lethargy and I drifted off to sleep.
~SC~
I sat straight up, my heart pounding. I wasn’t sure what had awakened me. A noise? The touch of one of my vaporous fellow prisoners? Or the fact that someone was shifting into the cavern?
I shoved to my feet when I saw the air at the center of the cavern begin to shimmer and was rewarded with a wave of dizziness so profound I nearly fell back down again.
When the shift ended, I was happy to see Astra, Dialle and Torre standing there. I walked over and pulled Astra into a hug. “I thought you’d never get here.”
She returned my hug awkwardly, clearly surprised by my show of affection. “It took a little longer than we’d hoped to pull off the plan.” She grinned, leaving me to figure out the plan myself. It wasn’t hard to do. She basically only had one. The one that involved kicking ass and blowing shit up.
Torre started forward, but Dialle put out a hand to stop his brother. I noticed the angel chain was gone.
“Are you okay?” Torre asked. “We saw you taken and I was worried.”
I slid my gaze over him,
wondering how he was going to like my idea. “I’m okay. Right now I’m more worried about Slayer.”
Torre frowned.
“What about Slayer?” Astra asked.
“Morta’s taken him. She’s going to...” I swallowed hard, blinking back tears again. “He’s going to pay for my healing. We have to stop her.”
“Shit,” Astra murmured, looking as unhappy as I felt.
Dialle and Torre shared a glance. I didn’t like the relieved expressions on their faces. Dialle had probably been concerned Morta would want Astra.
“I’m not going to let her kill him,” I told the men.
Dialle’s face turned neutral. He inclined his dark head. “Tell us how we can help.”
I couldn’t look at Torre as I gave them the news. “I told her I would refuse her healing but she insists she’ll eat his soul anyway.” I started to pace, twisting my fingers together until agony gave me an all too potent reminder of my damaged hand. I hissed and tried to shove my hand out of sight.
Astra grabbed my wrist. “I knew it! You’ve been bitten.”
Looking into her horrified gaze, I frowned. “It doesn’t matter.”
Torre took my hand, grimacing at the wound. “You must take the necromancer’s healing.”
“I won’t.” By sheer force of will I didn’t pull away from him. If my plan was to work...
“But you’ll die,” Astra said, her expression angry. “Don’t be stupid, Darma.”
“Don’t be stupid!” I screeched, making them all blink. I took a deep breath and tried for a more reasonable tone. “I’m not being stupid. I have a plan to save Slayer and hopefully heal myself.”
Dialle crossed his arms. “You have that look. I have seen it many times on Astra’s beautiful face. Which makes me certain we are not going to like this.”
“I’m not my sister and you don’t have to like it.”
His eyebrows lifted at my tone. But I didn’t care. I was beyond worrying about niceties. “If we don’t do this Slayer will die.”
