Defiant Necromancer (Book 2 stubbed)

“So, as you can see, this area is where we would keep the prisoners,” Geta said in a serious tone.

“Yes, I see the paladin’s cell down at the end there,” Miranda replied, pointing at where a single torch still flared in the darkness, just outside of the room where the soldiers had apparently placed Lady Samara.

Geta squinted. In the darkness, just at the edge of visibility, where the flickering flames met the deepening shadow, for just a moment, he thought he’d seen a face. But as he stared at it, the shape vanished.

“Strange,” he muttered to himself.

“What is?” she asked.

“Nothing.” He shook his head. He had to keep his eye on the prize. His gaze flickered back over to Lady Miranda, moving up her legs and over her slender, delicate body with undisguised appreciation.

Her pale skin glowed red in the dim firelight. The skin not covered by her dress. She had changed out of her traveling clothes already, into something more feminine.

“Come on,” she said. “Show me something more interesting than the dungeons. I’ve committed no treason, so I have no reason to be down here.” She had raised her voice for that last sentence, like she wanted the paladin to overhear. Perhaps she did. The two women did not especially like each other, for reasons Geta had never delved into.

He took Miranda’s arm in his and led her up the closest stairs.

“Where are you taking me now?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

“A secret back way to the kitchens,” he bluffed, hoping he was close to right. “We can grab a snack before we sneak off to investigate some more dark, secluded spaces.”

“Hey!” she exclaimed, visibly offended at the insinuation in his words and tone. “I am a virtuous maiden, not some whore to be thrown onto a bed and taken by whatever man wishes.”

That’s just what you’d like, though, he thought. To be thrown down and taken.

There were some women who preferred that sort of thing, he knew. It was a way of pretending to greater virtue than they actually possessed. Oh, it wasn’t my idea, he pushed me down…

“Forgive me, Lady Miranda,” he said, smirking. “I didn’t mean to offend. You know, my manners are only those of a soldier.”

“You’re lucky you amuse me,” she replied haughtily. “And I do understand. I have a… cousin in the Army too. His manners also leave something to be desired. He always used to insert himself into places where he wasn’t wanted.”

“Used to?”

“We haven’t heard from him in years. He joined the Army not long after his mother died, and we were distant relations in the first place. He probably wanted to sever all ties with the place of his birth.”

Doesn’t sound like any member of a noble family I’ve ever met, Geta thought. But he sensed that was all he was likely to get from Miranda on this subject, and in any case, it wasn’t a winning move to spend all your time talking about some other man when you were wooing a lady.

They stepped back onto ground level, and he led the way toward the center of the fortress, eyes carefully darting from side to side to see if he could spot any signs of the kitchens anywhere. All he saw were sickly-looking guards and ever-deepening shadows wherever the torchlight didn’t quite reach. The sun had set outside, so the lighting would only continue to get worse as night grew heavier and heavier.

The dark seemed to play tricks on Geta’s sight. Any time he stared too long at any one space, he started to see images - shapes that looked like living things but flickered out of existence as soon as he looked too hard at them.

This place really isn’t quite right, he thought. It must be the residual darkness the paladin mentioned to father. Spooky.

The pair rounded a corner and found themselves outside a heavy-looking door.

“Here we are,” Geta said confidently, having no idea where they were. But the space looked important.

He turned the handle and immediately began pushing at the opening. As it started to slide open, he thought he saw something in the darkness.

Was that a figure sitting cross-legged, or another optical illusion?

“You liar,” Miranda said from behind him.

Geta jerked his head back instinctively to look at her.

“What?” he asked, instantly defensive.

“You don’t have the first clue where we are,” she said with slight indignation.

She stepped closer to him, touched the door, and wiped away a cobweb, revealing a holy symbol. It was the conjoined hearts of Astara, and now Geta realized the symbol of Vika, the crossed blades, was carved in beside it. This was some sacred place.

“This must be the chapel,” he said. “My mistake.”

“No, can’t you smell that musty odor?” Miranda asked. “We’re right outside the crypt. The chapel is on the other side.” The nature mage gestured at one of the walls, and Geta guessed that the wall was one the crypt shared with the chapel - or maybe one that the two of them could follow to reach the chapel.

Damn, I really am turned around. How does she know that?

“I see.”

“Let’s not disturb the dead,” she said, shaking her head.

Miranda started to pull the door shut again. Geta’s eyes snapped back to where he’d just been looking. For a moment, he thought he saw that figure still sitting there. Then the door was closed, and whatever Geta had seen - probably a statue - was shrouded in darkness once more.

It had to have been a statue. There’s no way there’s a person just hanging out inside the crypt.

“Do you actually know where anything is in this place?” Miranda demanded. “You promised me a tour, but I am beginning to think I know as much about Fort Hadrian as you do.”

“Of course I know where certain things are,” Geta said. “It’s just been a while. I know exactly where I’ll take you next.”

He slipped his hand around hers, and she didn’t pull away. She looked like she wanted to smile at his persistence, but she controlled her expression, careful to remain the proper, distant noble girl.

I’ll take you to the officers’ quarters, he thought. Those should be easy enough to find - and probably conveniently deserted. None of the officers would be going to bed until everything elsewhere in Fort Hadrian was settled for the night.

Geta began to lead Miranda away.

***

In the darkness of her cell, Samara pulled a key from inside her pants and quickly but quietly unlocked her shackles.

Her master had given her the key after their night together, when she volunteered to return and help him. Having that on her the whole time had been a great comfort as she reentered the lion’s den and worked as a double agent, spreading Tybalt’s infection and pretending to exorcise the Charnel Fortress.

She allowed the humiliation of her treatment by her captors - how they spat upon her and called her names - to fester now, not as fear and shame but as fuel for anger. Her master would need that fury.

That anger boiled exquisitely in her as she heard the taunt of Lady Miranda and then, after the Lady’s and the Major’s footsteps had faded, waited for her master.

A guard’s face pressed itself against the cell bars, and Samara felt suddenly conscious of the fact that she was distinctly no longer shackled. Perhaps she had moved a little prematurely. The lighting wasn’t very good inside, but if he shone his torch on her… she would have to begin the night’s killing a little early.

Then she heard the sound of keys jingling. She noticed the guard’s face was slack.

By the time the guard’s body slumped quietly toward the floor and the door opened, Samara was unsurprised to see the face of her master appear, green eyes glimmering in the torchlight. He stood, tall and almost deathly pale as ever, a long bone spear clutched in one hand. He wore bone armor. He looked every inch the necromancer he was.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”

She flung herself at him, and as their bodies met, she kissed him deeply.

This last day, working as an enemy from within the Army’s ranks, had only solidified her choice. Her sister had gotten her into this mess. The Army she had come to help had shackled her. They had insisted on continuing to keep her locked up despite her supposedly having helped exorcise the evil spirits from this place. Even her friends hadn’t tried to speak to her a single time since she’d been arrested.

Could she entirely blame them? No. Did she feel any obligation toward their mission anymore? Equally no.

Tybalt and Samara separated, and he ran a hand over her. It wasn’t just his usual possessive touching and groping, which the dreams had taught her to crave. This had a purpose. She felt it as he extracted it from her, the highly contagious cold variant he’d infected her with. After he had removed the unnatural virus from her system, she felt energetic and happy - with an added bit of joy at the fact that the Army that had kept her shackled would mostly be infected with one of the two ailments that she and the necromancer had worked to spread.

“Thank you, master,” she said quietly.

“Come with me, and let’s purge this place of the unwanted infestation,” he replied, speaking at the same low volume despite the fact that Samara sensed all the guards on this level were dead.

She stepped forward, felt the slippery quality of blood under her heel, and carefully stepped over the growing puddle coming from the bodies of her cell’s two guards.

I won’t miss you two, she thought, aiming a quick glare at the two dead men on the ground.

She took the sword that Tybalt handed to her. He had liberated her own weapon from whichever guard had been holding onto it. She didn’t ask about her confiscated holy symbol. She no longer needed that. She just looked the necromancer in the eyes.

“Where to first?” she asked.

He bent down rather than answering her, and he touched the two bodies. She felt a little energy go out of him and into them, and the dead stirred.

Then, as if in direct response to Samara’s question, a figure wrapped from head to toe in linen bandages seemed to materialize from out of the wall. She would have been slightly alarmed, but Vidalia stood beside the undead.

“We’re going to visit the General,” the foxgirl said firmly. “Before anything else can happen in this place, before we can reveal our full power, he has to die.”

Tybalt grabbed Samara around the waist and pulled her into proximity with the bandaged figure, and suddenly, they were surrounded by earth. The space wasn’t completely dark. It had some internal lighting, perhaps from the energy that the undead creature’s skill gave off. Now the paladin could see there was more than just her, Vidalia, Tybalt, and the mummy in this inner space.

There was also a catgirl, a short, lavender-skinned elf, a porcelain-skinned elf, a dark-haired woman with a sword, and a redhead with draconic-looking wings. Samara instantly felt her inferiority to these women, in beauty, potentially in power, and most importantly, in their obvious closeness to the necromancer. Including Vidalia, three of them were visibly pregnant. All of the women except the dragon-winged one wore rings on their fingers that appeared to be made of bone.

All of them seemed to shift to be closer to him as the group traveled through the walls, and Samara was pressed slightly further away as a result.

But the necromancer kept one arm wrapped around the paladin’s waist, as if trying to reassure her that she wouldn’t just be forgotten.

“What’s the plan?” she asked quietly. “For the General?”

At least she could do something to be helpful there.

“Dero’s going to assassinate him,” Tybalt replied simply.

Oh.