by S D Simper
When night fell, Flowridia assembled a nest of cloth upon her bedroll. The small kit curled within, reminding her of Etolié sleeping in her own pile of scarves and blankets in the midday sun. A smile spread across her face, one that widened when Demitri curled around the sleepy kit. “Look at you, Demitri—a natural mother,” she teased.
If I have to be a mom, I’m going to be the best mom.
The fox’s health had not improved, but it had not waned, her body warmed by Flowridia’s embrace and now the makeshift bed. The fox snuggled against Demitri’s fur, content despite her ill health. Watching them together, the little kit and her familiar, showed starkly how much Demitri had grown—he practically engulfed the small creature.
He was growing so quickly; it filled her with both pride and dismay.
She thought not of Ayla. Instead, Flowridia struggled to sleep, reaching over periodically to feel if the little kit still breathed.
When morning came, a fog had settled, one that blotted out the rising sun. She was slowly becoming accustomed to the bone-deep cold of morning, assuaged only by walking. The sky blackened as they continued forward. Flowridia could see Casvir riding ahead of her on his steed, but the landscape became murky and shadowed.
A chill descended. Evening fell when they reached the summit, but they saw no stars. Jutting from the craggy rocks stood an ominous cave, and within, Flowridia felt that void swell unbidden in her core. The artifact was close.
But overshadowing any victory was the horrid awareness of the final breath escaping her tiny fox’s lungs.
Flowridia gasped as the weight went limp in her arms. “No, no,” she said, and forced a healing spell to leave her fingers. It touched nothing but dead flesh; nothing to repair because nothing lived.
Her feet touched the ground, but her legs trembled as fiercely as her lip. Casvir would think her a fool for crying over this, but tears filled her eyes nonetheless. This fox had been her charge. She had sworn to protect this little one, to save her. Now, that promise lay as dead as the corpse in her arms.
Flowridia sniffled, turning away when she felt Casvir’s presence looming beside her. “Raise it.”
Through her misted gaze, Flowridia stared up and shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” he replied, his tone harsher than she’d ever heard him use. “You waste time crying when this is well within your capabilities.”
With care, she knelt onto the black dirt, giving no mind to how it stained her skirt. Her hands shook as she placed the still-warm body on the ground. Demitri joined her. Don’t listen to him. Only do this if you want this.
Did she want this?
Flowridia’s hands grazed the kit’s soft fur. “How?” she whispered.
“Close your eyes, and clear your mind.”
She did so, pushing aside her heartbreak, sensing that now familiar hollow in her stomach.
“Summon the vision of its spirit.”
A vague command, but magic often delved into grey areas of thought. Flowridia recalled the little kit, envisioned the darling thing who sensed sincerity and safety and fell into her embrace.
“Now grasp it.”
When Flowridia clutched her hands, she swore she felt an invisible weight within them. She opened her eyes and saw purple smoke swirling in her hands, bearing substance now.
Instinct took over, and she blew the smoke toward the body of the fox.
It twitched.
Flowridia gasped. The small creature writhed and pulsed as the mist ate its flesh, revealing blood and muscle and sinew. In seconds, only clean, white bones remained—bones that stumbled to stand on their own.
A small skeleton stood before her. Flowridia’s eyes widened as the tiny undead fox pranced around.
“Your first undead servant,” Casvir said, amused. “Unintimidating, perhaps, but yours.”
Flowridia held out a hand, and the fox placed what used to be a muzzle into her palm. “How long will it last?”
“Forever, if you want. Or, until someone more powerful steals control.”
A smiled tugged at Flowridia’s lip as the creature rubbed her skull affectionately against her palm.
“You managed to keep the soul intact,” Casvir mused. “Impressive.”
“I think she may be the cutest skeleton I’ve ever seen.”
Demitri leaned forward and sniffed the fox cautiously. Most casters don’t consider aberrations of nature quite so cute.
“Demitri, that’s the rudest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
I don’t like her. She smells like Casvir.
Flowridia flicked him on the nose.
Casvir’s voice interrupted their spat. “Our prize is almost certainly in that cave.”
Flowridia pulled her attention away from the fox and stared into the consuming darkness before them. The cave exhaled cool air, chilling her body and soul. “We should go before nightfall. I don’t think I could sleep with that looming before me.”
“Darkness is nothing to fear. Fear what waits within it.”
Appalled that Casvir might consider those words a comfort, Flowridia merely stared, incredulous, before replying with, “Imperator, with due respect, I’m well acquainted with the most feared monster in the dark.”
“Perhaps true, but upon her death, what rose to become the next?”
She suspected, somewhere in her heart, that behind the stoic line of his lip, Casvir teased.
“Take only what you need,” he continued. “The horses will stay outside.”
When Flowridia stood, the tiny fox followed closely at her feet. The clattering creature hid in her shadow when she turned, and she giggled, heart swelling in adoration.
From the horse, she stole the maldectine bracelet and her spear.
Casvir waited by the cave entrance, his stoicism turning to a slight frown when he looked down at her feet. “I cannot account for its safety if it follows.”
Flowridia looked down at her tiny pet. “I’m not sure how to tell her to stop.”
“It understands you. Command it to stay.”
Flowridia knelt beside the skeletal fox. “Will you stay here? The horses will keep you company.” The fox tilted her skull. From the empty sockets, Flowridia could almost see the doe eyes begging to follow. “Casvir, she wants to come.”
“I believe you are imagining things.”
Demitri bumped into her side. It’ll get crushed by Casvir’s giant claw feet. Leave it.
Pouting, Flowridia half-heartedly said, “Stay,” and when she went to follow Casvir, the fox sat perfectly still.
The cave stood ominous and dark, but Casvir trudged forward with no sign of apprehension. Flowridia followed, the metallic clanging of his armor oddly comforting as the light dimmed. She gripped the spear tight, catching the occasional glimpse of the carved floral scene on the shaft. Her garden felt so long ago, the joy it brought muted beneath the descending darkness ahead.
Here in the cold, black atmosphere, pleasantries such as gardens and flowers didn’t matter. Flowridia kept a hand on the rock wall, letting it and the sound of Casvir’s footsteps lead her forward.
A few more steps, and the light faded entirely. Flowridia’s hand touched rough stone, but she stumbled as her feet met unstable ground. She slipped.
Catching her fall, her hands split open against the ground. Stinging pain pulled a gasp from her throat. She sat back on her knees with a pitiful groan.
“Flowridia?” Casvir’s voice came from above. “Are you hurt?”
“I’ll be fine.” Rocks threatened to tear the taut skin of her knees. A healing spell passed through to her hands, and she prayed no rocks settled underneath the patched skin. That would be unpleasant to fix later.
But the bit of light the spell gave seemed to illuminate the cave for miles, reflecting a moment off the stone walls and the shined blood dripping from her palm. Casvir’s eyes flashed red, refracting the light just a moment before it faded completely. Again, she was drenched in darkness.
Casvir’s clawed hand gripped her own and helped her to stand. “I see better in the dark than you do. I should have taken that into consideration.”
“I’ll be fine—”
As she spoke, a flash of white light appeared in Casvir’s hand. A small crystal, one that gave no heat but shone like a star, rested in his hand. “You have a greater connection to the artifact than I do. Lead the way.”
Cold seeped from the stone floor and through Flowridia’s thin clothing. But the cave stayed wide and open, for which she was grateful. The mere thought of crawling on her hands and knees in the dark caused her to shudder.
Soon, not even the wind blew through the craggy rocks. All was silent, aside from the shuffling dirt beneath their feet.
Ahead, the cave widened. Something radiated from within, and when Flowridia stood to block the light, her silhouette revealed the faintest flickering of purple within the void of black.
Two steps forward, and the light shone once again. The enormous inlet stood hundreds of feet high, the shadows deep from Casvir’s crystal. At the center, a black orb emanated a purple, gaseous substance. It sat at the center of an altar, one crudely constructed from thick, ancient bones.
Casvir strode forward, but at the first crunching of dirt under his feet, the ground shook. The altar rose, dust and rocks sifting as the bones shifted. The earth upturned as more bone appeared from beneath, revealing the altar as something far more ominous—first a skeletal claw, larger than Casvir, and then gargantuan bones. A creature of fabled stories appeared, long thought extinct, but unmistakable once the skull came unearthed: a gargantuan dragon made of bone, whose eye sockets suddenly glowed that same deep purple. It stared straight at Casvir, the orb secured in its claw.
A wicked chuckle echoed across the length of the room, and Flowridia saw lust glinting in Casvir’s eyes as they wandered the length of the monster. He handed her the glowing crystal. “I weaken it,” he said, daring to match the dragon’s stare. “Then, I claim it.”
“How can I help?”
In his hand appeared the familiar summoned mace, knitted together from dark energy. “Stay out of the way.”
The dragon roared, and the dirt floor, as black as the scenery outside, rumbled. Skeletal hands burst from the earth, clawing their way from the ground. Flowridia shrunk back into the wall, clutching the spear as clattering bones threatened to deafen her. They rose, erratic in their motions, some wielding rusted weapons and others simply claws.
When the dragon roared, they rushed to Casvir, a great army of the dead. But the Tyrant of Nox’Kartha merely smiled. He raised a hand; they stopped, some invisible force holding them enthralled, suspended in limbo. Whatever compulsion drove them shattered. They broke formation and waged their attack on the dragon instead.
It seemed Casvir was the more powerful necromancer.
Weapons struck the dragon, rusted swords and nails clawing at the monstrous bones. But none struck as brutally as Casvir. Amidst the sea of dead, he rushed, and with a single blow of his mace, a bone in the dragon’s foot split.
The monster roared. Crackling, purple lightning suddenly danced across the contours of its form, illuminating the room in near blinding, magical light. The lightning radiated across white curves and sharp turns. Shielded, it swiped, and Casvir narrowly leapt aside, managing to backhand the claw as he dodged.
Flowridia stood useless at the corner, realizing that the moment the dragon took an interest in her, she would surely be killed. Demitri, too, cowered beside her, fur bristled as he emitted a faint growl.
The dragon leered high above, and from its mouth it spewed flame. It shone the same color as the orb, and in Casvir’s other hand, a shield appeared, congealed together by that same dark matter composing his mace. She saw him falter at contact, and though the dead climbed the mountain of bones and tried to pierce the monstrous form, she feared for his life.
One man and an army of death—but against an ancient dragon? Flowridia took a step toward the cave, but then the dragon barraged straight through the crowd, wings of bone suspending him in the air through magic she could not fathom—
And dove toward her.
It the moment before its claw swiped to steal her, Flowridia recalled a memory she cringed to consider, the damning mistake of utilizing healing magic on Ayla Darkleaf a lifetime ago. She remembered holding the white orb, sensing no malevolence.
She summoned that power all the same. She called forth the familiar spells to heal the living, let the warmth seep through her skin, watched her very pores glow as a shield of divinity covered her skin. Paper-thin, yet she shone like an angelic host. When the dragon touched her, she toppled—but it flinched.
On the ground, she looked up in time to hear the dragon roar. She covered her ears. A death of purple flame billowed toward her.
A bracelet of maldectine waited at her wrist. She focused her energy; a shield expanded around her—
But the fire never hit.
Casvir stood between them, his shield held aloft to divert the flame. When it dissipated, he charged.
Casvir leapt up and shattered the ribs of the dragon. The monster reeled, an agonized roar tearing from its throat. As Casvir landed, the mace bludgeoned the bones of its foot.
Lightning disappeared. Favoring its shattered foot, the dragon tried in vain to swipe Casvir with its tail. The great imperator dodged and shattered the small bones at the tip.
Then, Casvir dropped his summoned weapon and shield, letting them dissipate into the void. He raised his arms, audacious and proud as he stared down the dragon.
The echo of a roar reverberated against the walls, but the dragon itself grew silent. It held eye contact. Crouched on the ground, Flowridia watched their standoff with fear. Nothing moved; not the dragon, not Casvir, not even the undead surrounding them.
The glow in the dragon’s eyes flashed. Slowly, bones creaking, it bowed its head before the Tyrant of Nox’Kartha. Casvir let his clawed hand touch the skeletal nose. “Come forward, Lady Flowridia. Meet my new pet.”
Flowridia used the spear to stand. “It’s tamed?”
“As docile as your little fox,” he said, his wide grin unfamiliar and eerie.
The dragon offered a hand. Between its claws was a black orb.
A pit formed in Flowridia’s stomach. Instead of providing light, it seemed to absorb what little the crystal in her hand gave off. True darkness; a perfect antithesis to the white orb held by the Theocracy.
When Casvir’s hand touched the orb, a deep purple cloud emanated, engulfing him in a black hole of energy. The force beckoned to her, but Flowridia clung to the ground, unwilling to be ripped apart by the energy the orb craved. Was that all necromancy did? Consume the living?
A malevolent aura radiated from Casvir’s form. The energy pulsed, bursting into the crowd of undead, bubbling only around her and Demitri. Everything it touched disintegrated. Bones shattered and clattered to the ground; their weapons turned to dust. Nothing but ashes remained.
The cloud dissipated. Casvir stood tall and thoughtful, the orb held at arm’s length. “These are what the Old God seeks?” He brought the orb closer, the threat of a smile once again pulling at his thin lips.
But he tucked it away, the orb disappearing into his armor. Casvir offered Flowridia a hand. “Your services have been invaluable,” he said as he helped her to stand. His grip was gentle, mindful of the scrapes on her hands and arms. “Thank you for your aid in finding this artifact.”
“Well, we did have an agreement,” she said, careful in her choice of words. So this was the artifact, one of the very orbs she sought. It was as lost to her kingdom as the ones the Old God held himself.
By every god—how would she explain this to Etolié?
“An agreement I will happily keep. The power in this orb should make it trivial to find another.” Casvir’s gaze drifted to the colossal bone behemoth. “This will take some creativity to transport home. In the meantime, I will return you to Nox�
�Kartha.”
Casvir brandished his claws and ripped the air; a wave of vertigo struck Flowridia. Her stomach lurched, Demitri stumbled, but what began as a tearing in space split into a hole, one that shone black and ominous.
Flowridia stepped through the portal.
Nox’Kartha came into view, and Flowridia nearly collapsed onto the desk.
She recognized Casvir’s office, as sparse as when they had left it. Seeing Demitri stand beside the desk jarred Flowridia’s unsteady soul back into her body. She gripped the wood, willing her legs to balance as she glanced between the rich design and Demitri’s powerful frame. With wide eyes, she said, “Demitri, you’ve grown.”
When they’d left, the young wolf had barely reached her thigh. Now, he stood well above her waist, able to lick her shoulder with ease if he tilted his head, with a frame that had bulked out to match. Demitri was not a child; she knew that in his ever-lengthening limbs and surly attitude. But among the trees and foliage, he had shot up like a weed.
Demitri, however, merely tilted his head. Not at all. You’ve just shrunk.
Casvir appeared behind them, the portal disappearing as he stepped through. Reticence settled on his face as he studied the walls of his office, and Flowridia wondered how he’d ever been convinced to settle into a castle. “Casvir,” she asked, “how long were we gone?”
“A few weeks,” he replied, his gaze falling to the orb in his hand. It no longer crackled but waited, docile and ominous.
Flowridia looked back at Demitri. “You’ve grown at least a foot.”
More than that, I think.
She patted his nose, an impish grin dominating her features. “Your voice is the same.”
He growled; she giggled.
“Your supplies have been taken to Ayla’s bedroom,” Casvir said, cutting off their exchange, “including your new servant.”
Relieved, Flowridia thanked him, and moved to leave the room when he continued. “There is still the matter of your demonic capturer. We must assume you are still in danger.”
Flowridia hadn’t forgotten it. “Am I in danger, even here?”
“Because of Ayla’s talents for stepping between worlds, my castle has no protections against those who can walk in shadows. It will take time to remedy. Stay in public areas and Ayla’s room; the black sand will protect you. Bring Demitri with you wherever you go. Your safety is dictated in our contract and thus paramount.” Casvir held up the orb, intrigue flashing in his brilliant red eyes. “It may take time to unravel the extent of this orb’s power, but we will find one for your kingdom.”
