The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company

The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company – it sounds crazy, but it might just be Timmy’s ticket to financial security and a fully renovated castle.

To earn a pardon and avoid prison or execution, Timmy, Grand Necromancer and Lord of Black Tower Castle, has been completing missions for the Council with the help of an elite team of truly heroic individuals.

There’s Katie, his apprentice. She’s brilliant, cunning, and maniacally devious. She’s also ten years old, extremely adorable, and loves billowy robes and the colour pink.

There’s Avraniel, the pyromaniac elf who is responsible for more property damage than anyone in Everton’s history (including dragons, natural disasters, and demon gods).

There’s Gerald, the hyperventilating bureaucrat who is at the top of every monster’s menu.

There’s Old Man, a retired legendary swordsman whose hobbies include bonsai trees, fishing, and the occasional duel to the death.

There’s Amanda, ancient vampire and sophisticate who knows all about the Council’s founding because she was there when it happened.

And then there’s Spot. He’s cute, cuddly, and friendly. He loves tug-of-war and fetch. He’s also a fire-breathing dragon who can devour an entire cow in about thirty seconds.

The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company is a collection of fourteen short stories that take place before, during, and after the first three parts of The Unconventional Heroes Series. Each story hopes to answer important questions like:

How does a company involving cookies and dragons even work?

How did a trans-dimensional, protoplasmic horror and a Grand Necromancer become friends, and how did that horror develop an addiction to cake?

How does an ancient vampire acquire the comely, young virgins she needs to maintain proper vampiric health without looking like a total weirdo?

Answers to all of these questions and more will be revealed. With unconventional heroes like Timmy and the gang around, life is never boring.

The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company

L. G. Estrella

The Unconventional Heroes Series Side Stories Part One

Kindle First Edition

Copyright © January 2018 L. G. Estrella

Table of Contents

Title Page

Table of Contents

Tomb Raiding

The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company

Food Supply

Uncle Gerald

The Bank

Research and Development

The Rules

Impostor

Piracy

Adventure Time

First Meeting

Gardening

Mr Sparkles

The Beach

About the Author

More From L. G. Estrella

Copyright and Disclaimer

Tomb Raiding

(Set Before Two Necromancers, a Bureaucrat, and an Elf)

Timmy climbed off his zombie wyvern and then reached up to help Katie. His precocious apprentice could easily have used her shadows to dismount, but he wanted her to conserve as much of her magic as possible. He couldn’t be certain of what they would encounter, and Katie had yet to get very dangerous without her magic. Oh, she could glare quite menacingly for a seven-year-old, but glaring wouldn’t incapacitate her enemies unless she was secretly part gorgon. On the upside, she was only seven years old. There was plenty of time for her to learn how to wield a staff, a sword, or even the noblest weapon of all – the shovel.

“I can climb off myself, master,” Katie grumbled. She directed that glare of hers at him, and it took every bit of his willpower to keep from ruffling her hair. She was so adorable when she tried to terrify him. Unfortunately for her, he’d been glared at by far bigger and scarier people than her – including two gorgons. Compared to them, being glared at by Katie was like being glared at by a fluffy, little duckling.

“I’d rather you didn’t trip over and knock yourself unconscious before we even get to the tomb.”

Katie looked utterly scandalised at the mere suggestion she could trip over. “I would never!”

“Do you remember when you tripped on your robes last week and almost fell flat on your face? You’re lucky Sam caught you, or you might have broken your nose. And let’s not forget the time you were dancing a merry jig to celebrate one of your zombies when you tripped over and nearly fell into the trapdoor we use to make cleaning your laboratory easier.”

Katie huffed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“If you can’t remember, it’s probably because of how many times you’ve tripped over your robes. There’s no telling how much brain damage you’ve suffered.”

“Master, my brain is in perfect condition!”

“It won’t be for long if you don’t start wearing more practical clothing. You can wear robes – we are necromancers – but you need to get them cut more practically.”

Katie scowled ferociously before nodding. It was one of the things he liked about his apprentice. She could be incredibly stubborn at times, but she wasn’t afraid to admit she was wrong. Well, that wasn’t exactly right. She would never admit she was wrong, but she would heed advice and do her best to avoid repeating her mistakes. And it was a good thing she did. He was not about to let his apprentice become yet another clothing-related statistic, something which was depressingly common amongst necromancers. Who could have guessed that wearing overly elaborate and billowy robes with long sleeves and hoods could be so dangerous? Anyone with common sense, but necromancers were not renowned for their common sense so much as they were renowned for their villainy and their ability to create nightmarish abominations.

If Katie were going to continue wearing black robes, then she would need to have them more sensibly cut. It wasn’t like anyone would really notice, and it would dramatically reduce the odds of her tripping over. In fact, he’d already altered the robe she was currently wearing. It wasn’t hard since the servants who did her laundry were his servants. He’d also convinced her to start practicing moving around in her robes instead of simply hoping for the best. Practice made perfect, and the best time to learn was before an angry monster tried to kill her. Perhaps one day he’d be able to convince her to stop wearing black robes, but it could take a while. For now, making her robes slightly more practical would have to do.

“Do you have all the charms I gave you?” Timmy asked.

Katie gave him another grumpy look. Hopefully, she’d lighten up as she got older, or she might have to worry about getting wrinkles before she finished puberty. His apprentice was practically covered in protective charms, and he’d sewn protective runes and seals into her clothing as well. “Yes, master, I do. But do I have to wear so many? It’s like you think I’ll fall straight into the first spike pit we come across.”

Timmy let some of his usual levity slip out of his voice. “Katie, this is the first time you’ve come with me to raid a tomb that might actually be dangerous. You’re my apprentice. I’ve invested a lot of time and effort into training you, and I actually happen to like you. I am not going to let you die because of some random trap. It would ruin all of my hard work.”

“Wow.” Katie’s lips twitched, and he could tell she was trying very hard not to smile. “I’m glad you care so much, master.”

“Don’t be sarcastic, Katie. You’re too young, and it’s rude.” He frowned. “You’re not picking up sarcasm from any of the servants, are you?”

“I think sarcasm can be funny,” Katie replied. “And I’m not learning from the servants. I’ve been learning from some of the ghosts in the castle.”

“Why am I not surprised? I should have sent some of them off to the afterlife years ago, but I wouldn’t be much of a necromancer if my castle didn’t have ghosts in it.” Timmy looked heavenward. He had to be the only person in the world who had to worry about impolite ghosts turning his apprentice into a pint-sized fountain of sarcasm. “Double check all of your charms and equipment. We’re not likely to be separated, but if we are, you need to remember what to do.”

“I know, master. Stay calm. Try not to get killed. Grab anything valuable if it’s safe to take.”

“Exactly.” Timmy commanded some of the zombies they’d brought along to follow them. The others, including the other zombie wyverns they’d brought, would either stand guard near the tomb or patrol the area. There was nothing worse than doing all of the hard work only to be ambushed and robbed on the way out. “What about your zombies, Katie? Are they ready to go?”

“Yes.” Katie gestured, and her zombies fell into step behind them. Her gaze shifted to the zombies he’d brought, and her green eyes took in every detail. “You brought a lot of different kinds today, master.”

Indeed, he had. The zombies that Timmy would be bringing into the tomb included two zombie mages, a zombie salamander, and a zombie hydra-chameleon to go with his zombie warriors and zombie gecko-drake. It was a veritable menagerie, and it left him with plenty of options.

Timmy chuckled and ruffled Katie’s hair, which earned him another vicious glare. She could glare all she wanted. It only made her more adorable. It was like being growled at by a puppy. “You never know what you’re going to run into in an ancient tomb, so it’s generally better to have too many zombies than too few, and don’t have only one type of zombie. Different types of zombies have different strengths and weaknesses, so having only one type available can leave you vulnerable if you’re up against something they’re weak against.” He pointed at the zombie salamander. “For example, if you run into a fire dragon, a zombie salamander isn’t going to help. Then again, not much will help against a dragon.”

“I guess.” Katie had brought her own zombie warriors, a zombie bear, and a pair of zombie trolls. It was an impressive group for a child her age although she still had a long way to go before she could command all of them at the same time with the same precision and coordination he could. However, being able to support all of them with her magic for an extended period of time was impressive. Timmy wasn’t ashamed to admit that her reserves of magic were at least two or three times larger than his had been at her age, maybe more. “How are we going to do this?”

Timmy sent some of his zombies ahead and motioned for her to follow him. Sending zombies ahead was common sense. If there were any traps, ambushes, or hungry animals, it was better for the zombies to take the brunt of the damage. If they ran into something truly threatening – like a dragon – the zombies could also buy them time to retreat.

“Tomb raiding is a noble necromancer tradition, Katie. The tricky part is finding a tomb that hasn’t already been raided. The one we’re raiding today has only recently become accessible. Prior to a volcanic eruption a few days ago, this whole island was buried under several hundred feet of turbulent water. Luckily, I happen to know some people who run smuggling routes in this area. For the right price, they make sure to tell me about anything interesting before they tell anyone else. In this business, all you need is to be a day or two faster than everyone else.”

“So that’s why this island wasn’t on any of our maps.” Katie glanced back. “And that’s why you’ve got your other zombies on patrol. You’re worried someone else might come while we’re in the tomb.”

“Exactly. I was hoping you would notice. Raiding a tomb can be tiring, and people often let their guard down on their way out. Don’t be one of them. You do not want to be surprised.” His expression grew serious. “If you ever have to choose between treasure and your life, choose your life. There’s plenty of treasure in the world, and if someone steals your treasure, you can always steal it back later. You can’t do anything if you’re dead.”

“I know, master. I don’t plan on dying any time soon.” Katie frowned. “You said the tomb used to be underwater. What if it’s still full of water?”

“Then we’ll have an advantage over regular tomb raiders. Zombies can operate underwater, and they don’t need to come up for air. If the tomb is flooded, we’ll send the zombies in to do what they can. It won’t be ideal, but we can make it work. Most tombs are designed to hinder magic from outside sources, so we might still have to go inside to keep control of our zombies. There are also usually puzzles and traps that are hard to deal with if you’re not there in person.”

“Traps?” Katie twitched. “Like the ones you make me practice against?”

Timmy grinned. Katie liked to complain about all the training she had to do, but she wouldn’t if she knew what his master had put him through. At least, his traps wouldn’t actually kill her if she made a mistake. “Yes, except you might be seriously wounded or even killed if you make a mistake here.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “But don’t worry. I wouldn’t have brought you if I didn’t think you were ready. So long as you listen closely and pay attention, you’ll be fine.”

They continued to make their way across the island toward the tomb. For a place that had been underwater until only a few days ago, there was a lot of plant life on the island. Even more strangely, Timmy couldn’t recognise any of the plants. They didn’t resemble seaweed or any other kind of aquatic plant life, and they bore no resemblance to the plants common to islands in this part of the ocean. Then again, magic could do a lot of weird things, and ancient tombs often leaked magic into their surroundings. Allowing weird plants to grow with unnatural speed would not have been the most unusual thing he’d ever encountered around an ancient tomb. But just to be safe, he ordered the zombies ahead of them to clear a path. If these plants were poisonous, he did not want to touch them any more than was absolutely necessary.

Finally, they reached the tomb. It was surrounded by large, cracked walls of grey stone, and there was a wide courtyard filled with statues and sculptures. Timmy shivered. There was something unwholesome about those statues and sculptures, something ever so slightly wrong with the proportions of the people and animals they depicted. There was something disquieting about the buildings too. The geometry of them both drew his gaze and filled him with revulsion. It was as if the architect had decided that right angles and flat surfaces were the enemy. Katie must have noticed it too because her zombie bear moved closer to her, drawn by her unease.

“See the statues and the architecture?” Timmy asked as his mind made the connection. “Based on some of the other tombs and ruins I’ve been too that looked similar, I’d guess this place is around three thousand years old. There was a line of mage kings that lived in this area back then, and many of them preferred this style. Most of their tombs have already been robbed, but this might be our lucky day.” He pointed. “The entrance to the tomb is usually in the central building, but we need to be careful. There will be traps around it.”

“Understood, master. I’ll be careful.”

“Good. Finding another apprentice would be far too troublesome.”

Timmy led them into the central building, past more rows of sculptures that had been worn smooth by so much time underwater in a turbulent part of the sea. The massive stone blocks that had been used to build everything were a marvel. The builders hadn’t used any mortar, but he would have been hard pressed to fit the blade of a knife in between any of the blocks. They passed underneath a vast arch, and Timmy bit back a chuckle as he read the badly worn words chiselled into it: behold the eternal splendour of the king. Splendour was overrated and far from eternal, even for kings.

They stopped at the top of a broad staircase that led underground. The carcass of a whale was in the way. It must have been caught inside the building when the volcanic eruption forced the island above water. Timmy ordered his zombie hydra-chameleon to deal with it. As he and Katie waited for the zombie’s potent acid to dissolve the carcass, Timmy activated a small crystal attached to his clothing. Light spilled out of it, and Katie hurriedly activated her crystal too.

“Always make sure you have several different sources of light with you when you go tomb raiding, and always check them before you go into the tomb. Having to wander around a trap-riddled, pit-filled tomb in the dark is not fun. Trust me.”

Katie grimaced. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not. Just know that it was extremely unpleasant.” The carcass had all but finished dissolving, and the zombie hydra-chameleon shoved the last remnants of the whale aside. Katie moved toward the stairs, but Timmy put one hand out to stop her. “Always send a zombie down first. You’d be amazed by how frequently staircases are booby-trapped.” He pointed at the stairs. “Now, before we send any zombies ahead, I want you to send some of your shadows down the stairs first. Don’t worry about making them too solid. You don’t want to waste magic. Instead, I want you to focus on whether or not anything feels unusual.” He gave his zombie hydra-chameleon an affectionate pat. It was a handy zombie to have around. “Consider this practice. You won’t always have zombies, but you will almost always have your magic.”

Katie’s brows furrowed, and several tendrils of shadow extended from her robes and made their way down the staircase, spilling down each step like folds of ebony silk. “I can’t feel anything strange, but the staircase goes a long way down.”

“It’s the right staircase then.” Timmy knocked a stray chunk of whale out of the way with his shovel. “It’s not unusual for tombs to have shorter decoy staircases with traps at the end, usually a spike pit or walls that move and crush people.” He sent a pair of zombies ahead, and they waited a few moments before following them down the stairs. “Your magic is very versatile, Katie. Get into the habit of monitoring your surroundings with your shadows. If they get damaged or destroyed, it’s not a big deal. You’ve got a lot of magic for your age, and you’ll have even more when you’re older. It’s better to lose some magic than your life.”

Katie gulped, and her shadows rapidly expanded to cover the surfaces ahead of them. He didn’t want her to become too paranoid, but it was wise to be cautious in places like this. Using her shadows this way didn’t take a lot of energy. It was making them more solid that drained her. They continued down the stairs, and he watched as Katie took careful note of the intricate carvings and reliefs on the walls. There must be some sort of preservation magic at work in this part of the tomb because the walls were in far better condition than the statues and sculptures outside. There wasn’t any water in here either. The floor was completely dry. Even after a few days above water, there should still be dampness in a place that wasn’t exposed to the sun or the elements. Did the tomb have drains built into it, or was there magic at work? Whatever it was, Timmy was eager to know. His castle could use better drainage, especially in the sections that had fallen into disrepair after decades, perhaps even centuries, of neglect.

For someone who loved history as much as his apprentice, the tomb had to be fascinating. The walls depicted scenes from the kingdom that had built this tomb, some of which made it clear how unpleasant the king had been. It was, after all, hard to mistake graphic images of human sacrifice, not to mention all of the executions. Still, the craftsmanship was incredible. He’d never seen human sacrifice depicted in such bone-chilling detail before. Eventually, the stairs came to an end, and they found themselves in a vast, open space covered with large tiles. A massive monument occupied the centre of the area. It was a gaudy thing, studded with gemstones and inlaid with ivory, silver, and gold. It must have been built down here too, or at least assembled down here, because it was far too large to fit down the stairs.

“As you can see, Katie, whoever built this tomb had far too much time and money on their hands. Not only have we already gone down one long staircase, but I bet there’s another staircase concealed inside the monument.” Timmy stopped their zombies before they could advance any further. “Whenever you see a place like this, be careful. An open space like this is a perfect place to set up some traps. Your average tomb-raiding fool will take one look at that big, shiny monument and run straight to it – and end up dead.” He took a pebble out of his pocket and tossed it across the floor. It rolled across three tiles before the last one gave way, and a series of spikes ripped up through the floor. “Cute, right?”

“I’m not sure that cute is the right word, master.” Katie winced. Those spikes looked extremely sharp.

“On the upside, the tiles are made of stone, and stone is something I can work with. They’re protected by runes and seals, so I won’t be able to stop traps from triggering, but I should still be able to sense where any traps are.” He tapped the floor with his shovel and used his magic to call the pebble back to him. “Follow me and only step on the tiles I step on.”

Katie peered around anxiously as he led them along a winding path across the tiles with their zombies travelling a tile or two ahead of them until they reached the monument. Up close, it was even more impressive. Some of the gemstones in it were gigantic, and the ivory, silver, and gold gleamed in the light of their crystals. A lesser tomb raider might have tried to pry a few of the gemstones loose, but Timmy knew better.

“Don’t get distracted by shiny things. The gemstones are almost certainly attached to traps. If you really do want to take them, wait until you’re already out before sending a zombie back to get them. At worst, you lose a zombie. At best, you can leave with some extra treasure.”

“What sort of traps would be attached to the gemstones?”

“Good question.” Timmy rubbed his chin. He should probably shave tomorrow. The last thing he needed was to grow a large beard. It would only give his enemies something else to grab in a fight, a tactic he’d used to defeat more than one malevolent dwarf over the years. “The most common trap would be for the gemstones to explode once you pull them out of the monument. Rubies, sapphires, and diamonds are quite hard, so the shrapnel could easily kill you. I’ve also raided tombs where pulling out the wrong gemstone can lead to the whole tomb collapsing.”

Katie laughed nervously. “We should definitely leave the gemstones alone, master.”

“Indeed. Now, what you need to realise is that most ancient kings were big on symbolism. Whenever you need to find a hidden switch, and switches are almost always hidden, you’re better off beginning your search near something symbolically related to a door, key, or gate.” He pointed his shovel at a panel on the monument. It showed a crowned figure throwing open the doors to the afterlife. He gave it a gentle but firm tap with his shovel, and it swung open to reveal a large keyhole. “See? Okay, it’s your turn. Since we don’t have a key, and I don’t plan on looking for one, I hope you’ve been practising. Trying to force the door open could take us a long, long time.”

Katie extended her shadows toward the keyhole. Once he’d seen how flexible her magic was, Timmy had immediately begun to teach her how to pick locks with her shadows. It wasn’t the most traditional skill for a necromancer to have, but it had served him well over the years. Better yet, Katie didn’t need to carry lock picks around. As long as she could access her magic, she could make her own lock picks.

“Easy,” Timmy murmured as Katie got to work. “This is an old lock. You don’t want to break it.” They both listened carefully as she slowly but surely adjusted her shadows to fit the lock. “Good. You’re almost there.” The lock gave a click. “And there it goes.”

The monument shuddered, and a large section of it swung open to reveal another staircase that led even deeper underground.

“Turn off your crystal,” Timmy said. Katie gave him a curious look and then deactivated her crystal. “Do you remember the basic rune for light?” She nodded and traced the rune in the air without putting any of her magic into it. “Good. Crystals are generally easier to work with, and they tend to be more efficient, but the basic rune for light is one of the most important runes you will ever learn. You don’t need to carve it onto anything, and it will work almost anywhere although it won’t last for more than a moment or two without a medium.”

Timmy took a small plate of metal out of his pocket. It was about the same size as one of Katie’s charms. “Carve the rune for light onto this with your shadows. Once you’re done, run your magic through it.” Several seconds later, the plate of metal began to emit a steady white light. “See? As long as you know the rune for light, you won’t have to wander around in the dark.”

“Then why did you have to wander around in the dark – you mentioned it earlier. Did you not know the rune for light?” Katie asked.

Timmy chuckled mirthlessly. “Sometimes, Katie, you’ll find yourself in a tomb with magical defences so well designed that they can stop runes and seals, even ones applied to independent mediums like charms and trinkets. If you ever run into a place like that, get out. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, it’s not worth it.”

“You’ve been to some really horrible places, master.”

“You bet I have. All right, deactivate the rune and put the metal plate in your pocket. Do you have the gloves I gave you?”

Katie nodded and slipped the gloves onto her hands. He’d sewn several runes onto them. He could have put seals on them too, but more complex runes and seals had a tendency to destroy regular cloth if they were activated for extended periods of time. Fortunately, the rune for light was fairly simple. If something happened, she could keep the gloves active for hours before they broke down. “What do we do now?”

“Turn your crystal back on. We’ll be using crystals since they’re easier and more efficient, but remember what I talked about. Next time, we’ll try using the rune for light instead – or maybe some specially made goggles.”

“Goggles?”

“Yes. If you make them right, you can make goggles that let you see in the dark although they are a bit cumbersome to wear.” Timmy sent one of their zombies ahead and gestured for Katie to send her shadows ahead too. “We need to leave a zombie or two up here. It shouldn’t be possible for anything to get past the zombies we’ve got on the surface without us noticing, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

* * *

They made their way down the stairs, mindful of any obstacles or traps. Katie kept shadows moving ahead of them on the walls, floor, and ceiling, and she could feel the faint rustle of her master’s magic. He was also keeping an eye on their surroundings. It was comforting. She was still learning how to recognise traps, but he had years of experience in dealing with them.

“This staircase is large,” Katie whispered. “It’s big enough to fit all of our zombies.”

Her master shrugged. “Bigger was better, or so many of the ancient kings believed. A lot of them also staged elaborate funeral processions – think of a military parade but bigger and with more dead people and gold – so they had to make the passageways and staircases big enough to fit everyone.”

“That sounds like a waste to me,” Katie murmured. This place gave her the creeps, and she felt much safer with her zombie bear and zombie trolls nearby. Even if there was something scary down here that they couldn’t beat in a fight, her zombies should be able to buy her enough time to get away. She’d even gone to the trouble of reinforcing her zombie bear, Gregory, by soaking his fur in potions designed to reduce the impact of physical and magical attacks.

In the pale light of their crystals, she took another look at the walls. There were more carvings and reliefs here, and they were done with the same attention to detail as before. Her master gave her another one of those smiles of wry amusement. She’d learned quickly that he was usually a practical man. He certainly wasn’t the kind of person to spend vast sums of money on a tomb. Instead, he would have spent his money on something useful while he was still alive, like fixing up their castle or purchasing more corpses to turn into zombies.

“The kings in this area once ruled over a vast chain of islands,” Timmy said. “From what people have been able to piece together, each island had its own king, all of whom answered to a High King.”

“What happened to them?” She loved history, but she could only spend so much time in the library each day reading about it. There were so many other interesting books in there, and she had plenty of subjects to cover as an apprentice necromancer. Luckily, the head librarian, a kindly zombie who seemed almost alive at times due to retaining his personality and intelligence, always knew where to find exactly what she needed.

“They were kings with stupidly huge amounts of power and very little common sense due to years of thinking of themselves as being half a step below the gods.” Timmy snickered. “You can guess what happened next. Remember where this island used to be until a few days ago – under the sea.”

“Ah, right.” Katie sighed. People who went mad with power invariably found ways to destroy themselves and anyone else unlucky enough to be nearby.

“They decided that since they were already almost gods, why not go the rest of the way and create a spell to turn themselves into actual gods?” Timmy’s expression told her exactly how unimpressed he was by the idea. “Well, you know what they say about pride and the fall.” He gestured with his shovel to clear away some rocky debris. Odd. The staircase didn’t seem damaged. It must have come from somewhere else. “When the spell backfired – because becoming a god through magic was never going to work – it did quite a number on the islands. Most of them immediately sank beneath the sea while the remainder were devastated by tsunamis, earthquakes, and other natural disasters. Out of the kings, perhaps only half a dozen survived, but their society was never able to recover. They were only a shadow of their former strength, and it wasn’t long before everything collapsed.” He peered at one especially gruesome carving. It showed a large group of people being sacrificed to some kind of sea monster. “There are still some people who claim to be descended from those long-dead kings, and two of them have even set themselves up as rulers on islands about a week from here, but no one knows if they’re telling the truth. However, some good did come out of the whole debacle. Since then, almost every nation in the world has passed laws forbidding the creation of spells designed to turn people into gods. No one wants a repeat of what happened.”

Katie had only been her master’s apprentice for a few years, but he’d always made a point of getting her to think through the possible consequences of her actions. Her magic was powerful and versatile, so she needed to be careful. It was rare for a necromancer to make it through their apprenticeship without losing at least one or two fingers, but Katie intended to get through hers with all of her fingers, toes, and limbs intact. Her master had started her training by making her memorise what he called the First Law of Necromancy.

Never turn anything into a zombie without having some way to either kill it or control it.

It was a simple rule, but her master had given her countless examples of how other necromancers, even Grand Necromancers, had met grisly ends after forgetting it or one of the other basic rules of necromancy. Paladins could afford to take risks. Their magic tended to make them very difficult to injure or kill. Necromancers had a tendency to be squishier.

Timmy paused as they reached the bottom of the stairs and came to another large hall. Katie’s brows furrowed. This place was huge. It must have taken a lot of time and money to build, time and money that could have been spent on something more practical and beneficial. “We should be getting close. Most ancient tombs follow the same general layout: a central area set aside for the king and wings to either side for his retainers and other staff. If there is a library or a reliquary, they will usually be off to one side.”

Katie shivered as a thought occurred to her. “You said there are usually places for his retainers and other staff… did… did they bury them alive in here with the king?”

Timmy shook his head and gave her a ghoulish grin. “I doubt it. They weren’t total monsters. I’m sure they killed them first.”

She scowled at him. “I’m not sure that’s better, master.”

“Well, there’s no changing it now, and it is something we can make use of.” He concentrated, and his magic stirred. Tombs like this probably had plenty of wraiths and ghosts. As necromancers, she and her master should be able to take control of them and learn from them. “The more powerful and skilled you are, the harder it will be for a wraith or ghost to lie to you or resist your orders. Even so, you should be careful. There are some powerful wraiths out there, and they can challenge even an experienced necromancer.” His magic flared briefly. “I’ll control them, but I’ll let you ask the questions. Think of it as practice.”

Two wraiths shimmered into being, most likely the spirits of two people who had been buried here. Like most wraiths, they had skeletal features and were wreathed in billowing shadows. Cold radiated off them, and frost crept along the floor nearby. They strained against her master’s magic before they realised what was happening.

“Necromancer,” one of them spat. His voice was the howl of winter, an avalanche of ice and fury. Any normal child would have run screaming in the opposite direction. Katie was not a normal child. She’d seen Sam when someone ate his cake by mistake. Compared to that, this wraith’s rage was nothing.

“If it helps,” Timmy drawled. “We’re here to liberate this tomb of its valuables. If it’s peace you’re after, I’ll be happy to send you off to the afterlife once you’ve answered a few questions.”

The wraith growled, and the temperature dropped even further. “You will not touch one single thing!” He surged forward, but a sharp gesture from her master drove the wraith back. Black light poured out of his eyes and mouth, and he vanished in a blaze of energy. He’d been sent to the afterlife.

“Don’t bother arguing with a wraith, Katie. It never turns out well.” He shifted his attention to the remaining wraith. “How do you feel about betraying the king who I’m going to assume had you murdered to be buried in here with him?”

The bitter cold ebbed away, and the remaining wraith laughed. It was the sound of a tree trunk being torn in two. “I never liked that idiot. Revenge won’t change anything, but I’ll take what I can get, necromancer.” The wraith peered down at them. “What do you wish to know?”

Katie glanced at her master, and he nodded. It was her turn. “What is the most valuable thing in this tomb?”

“Oh? What is this? There seems to be a little necromancer here. You’re so small that I almost missed you.” The wraith chuckled at her outraged glare. “I am already dead, little one, and I have spent countless years brooding and suffering beneath the waves. You’ll need to do much more than glare to worry me.” The wraith raised one bony hand and stroked his skeletal chin. “An interesting question, one with many possible answers. Tell me, which do you value more: gold or knowledge?”

“Knowledge,” Katie replied quickly. “Gold is nice, but the right knowledge is even better, and it can help you get plenty of gold in the future.”

“Hah! Those are wise words, little one. They remind of me of…” The wraith trailed off and flickered in and out of existence. Without her master’s magic to bolster his strength, he would have been reduced to little more than the occasional icy breeze or bout of mocking laughter. Yet to last this long, he must have been a person of incredible willpower in life. “I like you. Have you heard of the Crown of Torment?”

Timmy’s eye twitched, and Katie tugged on his sleeve. He knew a lot more about rare artefacts than her, at least for now. “Come on, master. Don’t keep it to yourself. Tell me what it is.”

The wraith answered before her master could. “The Crown of Torment is a legendary magical artefact. When worn, it grants its wearer the ability to inflict pain on others. It causes no physical damage, yet the pain it inflicts is beyond imagination, capable of driving even the mightiest of men insane within mere moments.”

Katie grimaced. “I’m not sure I would classify that as knowledge.” Inwardly, she was horrified. Were all ancient kings evil madmen? It certainly seemed like it. “What would we even do with it?”

“Many would use it to torture their enemies. You’re necromancers. I’m sure you have enemies.” The wraith chuckled mirthlessly. It was a sound straight from a nightmare. “Indeed, the king was quite fond of using it on those who opposed him. But there is more buried here than the Crown. The secrets to its creation were buried with it too.”

“Oh?” Her master’s eyes gleamed. “Tell me more.”

“Master!” Katie cried, rounding on him.

“Relax. We’re not going to make one. Think about it. The Crown can make people feel pain. It likely uses magic to do so, and from the legends I’ve heard, it didn’t matter what magic the wearer had. In other words…”

“The Crown isn’t amplifying someone’s magic.” Katie nodded thoughtfully. “It must be creating the effect on its own, kind of like how most magical swords work. But I’ve never heard of a magical sword that could make people feel pain without causing physical damage.”

“Exactly. That alone is interesting enough. But the legends go further. Supposedly, the Crown doesn’t use runes or seals.”

“It doesn’t?” Katie gasped, and the wraith gave another haunting chuckle. “But that’s crazy! If you don’t use runes or seals when imbuing an object with complex magic, then it either doesn’t last very long, or it requires exotic materials and complicated rituals to maintain. And if the Crown still works after all this time under the ocean... did they have some way of getting around those limitations?”

Her master ruffled her hair affectionately. “And that, Katie, is why you’re my apprentice. You might be short and kind of grumpy, but you’re clever too, which makes my life much easier.”

“Master…” She was tempted to swipe at him with her shadows, but the wraith was still there. Appearances needed to be maintained.

“And what if the Crown doesn’t have to induce pain?” her master asked. “What if we could make something similar, but instead of causing pain, it took pain away?”

“You’d have magical pain relief! It might even be better than what we have now, especially since you can run out of potions and not many people have healing magic. Plus, potions can be addictive if you take them too often. But if the Crown doesn’t cause physical damage…”

“It might not lead to addiction or overdosing either.”

The wraith tilted his head to one side. “You two are unlike any necromancers I’ve ever met. Instead of thinking about who you’re going to torture, you’re talking about helping people.”

Her master laughed. “Believe me, there are some people I wouldn’t mind torturing, but I have a castle in desperate need of upgrades and maintenance. There’s no money in torturing people, but there is plenty of money in helping them. Besides, I’d rather not have the Council come after me, which they absolutely will if I go around torturing people.”

“Common sense in a necromancer. Will wonders never cease?” The wraith gave a low rumble and stroked his chin again. “If the Crown is not to your liking, there is other treasure to be found here too. There are magical artefacts and books. If I am not mistaken, we even have a copy of The Tome of Forbidden Eldritch Wisdom. It should still be in good condition. This part of the tomb is protected by preservation magic.”

Katie rubbed her hands together in glee. “Did you hear him, master? We need to get that book! We don’t have one, not a complete one.”

“At this point, I don’t know if anyone does. The Tome of Forbidden Eldritch Wisdom is more than four thousand years old.”

“Then we’ll be the only ones.” Katie cheered mentally. Outwardly, she had the good sense to realise that cheering loudly in the middle of a tomb filled with traps and perhaps even monsters was a bad idea. “Can you tell us anything about the traps down here? Are there any monsters?”

“I cannot tell you much.” The wraith was beginning to fade. Even with her master’s expertise, it seemed like talking to them had drained the last of his strength. “I am bound to this area – my grave is under the floor nearby – and I was not here when they built this place although I was still alive when they brought in many of the tomb’s treasures.” The wraith gestured, and tendrils of ice formed a crude map on the floor. “This is the general shape of the tomb. Good luck. You two are my best hope of getting what revenge I can against the ones responsible for putting me here.” He paused. “Send me to the afterlife when I fade. I’ve lingered here long enough, and I have answered your questions as best I can.”

The wraith faded away. It would be hours, perhaps longer, before her master could summon him again.

“Most wraiths you meet are jerks, but some of them are actually quite nice. He was certainly helpful.” Timmy gestured, and his magic sent the wraith on to the afterlife. “He deserves his rest, and I don’t think he was lying to us. My magic should have made it impossible, but it can’t hurt to be careful.” He studied the map the wraith had left behind and made a rough copy of it on a piece of parchment. “Let’s get moving. We’ll head toward the library first.”

* * *

Katie was annoyed. No, annoyed wasn’t the right word. She was murderous. They had run into one trap after another. So far, there had been so many that it wouldn’t surprise her to find out that the entire tomb was actually made of traps. There had been pit traps, arrow traps, oil traps, acid traps, swinging blade traps… the list was endless. And the worst part? Whoever had built this place had clearly been prepared for necromancers because the traps were designed to also hit people who were walking what seemed like a safe distance behind the zombies who were taking the lead. It was crazy.

“You might want to duck,” Timmy said.

Normally, Katie would have argued. She was already short. What good would ducking do? Anything aimed at decapitating her master would not get anywhere near her. Not this time. The last time she’d thought about arguing – roughly fifteen minutes ago – her master had been forced to trip her over to keep her head attached to her shoulders. Wonderful. Either the people who built this place also liked cutting people in half, or they had planned for pint-sized tomb raiders too.

Katie ducked, and a blade whistled through the space where her head had been. A growl left her lips. The zombies ahead of them had triggered the trap. One of the tiles under their feet had moved. However, the trap hadn’t activated for almost thirty seconds, enough time for her and her master to wonder if it was broken and to get within its range. Unfortunately, one of her zombies was slow to duck. Despite its durability, the massive blade, which was bigger than Katie, made short work of it. She winced. The blade was still sharp, even after so many years. Her other zombies managed to grab the chain attached to the blade, and they brought it to a halt before it could swing back toward them. Naturally the chain was attached to another trap. Arrows shot out of holes in the wall, but her zombies were sturdy enough to take a few of those without flinching.

“Who designs something like this?” Katie grumbled. “I mean… they had to have been intelligent. The traps are too well planned for them to have been stupid, so why didn’t they use their intelligence to work on something useful?” Her shadows clawed at the air. “Instead of using their intelligence to build a tomb like this, couldn’t they have focused on, I don’t know, better sanitation and plumbing in their cities?”

“You raise some good points, Katie, but I think you greatly underestimate how fun it is to build deadly traps.”

He gestured for her to press herself flat against the wall, and she hurried to obey. The middle section of the floor fell away to reveal another pit trap, complete with barbed spikes because, clearly, normal spikes weren’t deadly enough. Wonderful. And was that poison on those spikes? Good grief. She used her shadows to make it easier to creep along the narrow ledge she was on. As for her master, he treated her to an impressive display of agility as he managed to make it to the other side despite his ledge collapsing halfway. Their zombies, far stronger and faster than most humans, simply leapt over the gap or were ferried across by the zombie gecko-drake.

“People have always been obsessed with protecting their treasure, so it’s no wonder people go overboard with traps.” Timmy grinned. “You should give it a try. We’ve got plenty of traps in the castle, but there’s always room for more. Who knows? You might even come up with something new and exciting.”

“Like what? A pit full of zombie honey badgers…?” Katie trailed off, imagining her enemies being torn to shreds after they plummeted into a pit full of ferocious zombie honey badgers. “Wait… how long would it take for us to get some honey badger corpses?”

He laughed. “And now you understand. As for the honey badger corpses… it’ll take at least a fortnight to get a reasonable number, less if you only want one or two.”

They continued until they reached the large corridor that her master suspected would take them to the library. He’d been to other tombs from this era. Given the wraith’s map and his own experience, he was confident of the library’s location. Katie frowned and signalled for them to stop. Their zombies were in front of them, but her shadows had sensed something further ahead. She raised her crystal to shine some light down the corridor – and then stumbled as her master pushed her out of the way. Her shoulder hit the wall hard, and she bit back a cry of pain. It would have been easy to bite off a snappy remark, but he wouldn’t have shoved her unless he had to. She turned her head –

Oh.

One of her zombies had been sliced in half, and a massive shard of ice was imbedded in the wall where she’d been standing. It must have moved too quickly for her zombies to react, but her master had somehow seen it coming. Their zombies rushed forward to form a protective cordon, and the zombie warriors locked their shields together. Katie got back to her feet and extended her magical senses. Their opponent was standing at the other end of the corridor. It was a lich.

“Master?”

He swung his shovel and smashed the shard of ice to prevent them from running into it if they were forced to retreat. “I’ll let you handle this one, Katie.”

She grinned. He was probably just feeling lazy, but this would be a good chance for her to learn. Liches were powerful undead that often specialised in ice magic. Even without a necromancer to guide them, they were often highly intelligent and cunning. Had she been alone, she would have been tempted to retreat, but she wasn’t alone. She had her zombies, and they made all the difference.

She sent a few of her zombies forward as her shadows raced toward the lich in the form of thin, narrow ribbons. Her shadows could cut through wood with ease, so she hoped they and her zombies could distract the lich while she prepared her real attack. Shards of ice shot forward, but her zombie warriors were ready this time. Their shields rattled from each impact but held firm. A wave of bitter cold rushed outward, and an icy wind roared to life in a bid to shove her zombies back. Her lips curved up into a small smile. Good. The lich was distracted.

There was a reason necromancers didn’t send small groups of zombies against other necromancers unless they had no choice. Zombies and other undead could be created through necromantic magic. Another necromancer could attack that magic, reducing zombies to little more than rotting corpses. Only the most finely made zombies – or berserk, rampaging, rebellious zombies – could resist such an attack, so the usual alternative was to rely on overwhelming numbers. A necromancer who was under attack by hundreds of zombies at the same time would be hard-pressed to deal with them before they were ripped to pieces, especially if the zombies were being reinforced by their creator. Katie wasn’t as skilled or as powerful as her master – yet – but this lich was on its own, and it did not have a necromancer to protect it.

Another volley of ice shards clattered into the shields of her zombies, and Katie’s necromancy surged. This was the opportunity she’d been waiting for. The lich staggered back and gave a hideous, keening wail. Violent spasms wracked its body, and chunks of ice flew every which way. With one last, grating shriek, the lich exploded. Bits of bone and rotting flesh flew through the air, along with more ice and snow. Katie grimaced as what appeared to be one of the lich’s fingers ended up in her hair.

“Yuck!” Katie screeched. “There’s a finger in my hair!”

“Stop squirming.” Her master plucked the finger out of her hair and tossed it aside. It crumbled to dust only seconds later. “Good work, Katie. But next time, try to be more focused with your necromantic attack. Don’t use your magic like a sledgehammer. That’s why the lich exploded. Use your magic more like a knife. Search for the spark of necromancy animating your target and then extinguish it. It’s quicker, less messy, and far more efficient magic-wise.” He pointed to where their zombies were clearing away the ice and snow that littered the corridor. “It’ll also save you a lot of trouble. Instead of exploding, the lich would either have been completely immobilised or crumbled to dust.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before I made it explode?” Katie asked. She ran her hands through her hair. Good. There weren’t any other bits of the lich in her hair. She didn’t consider herself a vain person, but she was not about to go walking around with bits of a dead lich in her hair.

“I thought you’d be more motivated to do better next time if I didn’t.” Timmy chuckled. “Plus, I thought it would be funny. You should have seen your face.”

“Master…” Katie growled.

“And you should consider yourself lucky. My master didn’t tell me, and I ended up exploding the zombie barracuda he slipped into my bathtub.”

Katie stared. “You’re making that up. Where would your master even get a barracuda from?”

“Never underestimate the resourcefulness of an evil, drunk necromancer who basically lived to torture his apprentices.” Timmy patted her on the head. “Don’t worry, I’d never slip a barracuda into your bathtub.”

“You’d better not!”

“Given how handy you’ve already gotten with your shadows, I’d have to go with some kind of shark if I really wanted to test you. It’s a pity, though, any shark big enough to make you work is going to be too big to fit into your bathtub.”

“Master, if I find a shark in my bathtub the next time I take a bath…” Katie’s eyes narrowed, and her shadows stirred ominously, forming a forest of jagged, black blades around them. “I will not be happy.”

“Yes, yes. I’m sure you’d attempt to murder me and seize control of the castle.” He grinned. “Don’t worry, I’m not like my master. If I ever ask you to fight a shark, it’ll be at the beach where I can find a suitably large one. And after you beat it, we can turn it into a zombie.”

“A zombie shark?” Katie’s eyes gleamed. “I haven’t made one of those yet.”

“Who knows, maybe we can even make it a composite zombie. How does a zombie shark-whale sound?”

“It sounds awesome.” Katie crossed her arms. “But you’d better not be lying, master. I want to make a zombie shark-whale.”

“Would I ever lie to you?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe. But only for your own good.”

Beyond the lich was the library, and it didn’t take them long to get the doors unlocked. Katie almost squealed in delight. There were so many books and scrolls in here, and she barely recognised any of them. And there, in pride of place on its own shelf, was The Tome of Forbidden Eldritch Wisdom.

“I know that look on your face.” Timmy put one hand on her shoulder before she could lunge at the ancient book. “But first we need to check for traps.”

There were only a handful of traps in the library although the biggest one, a pit full of acid, was right in front of The Tome of Forbidden Eldritch Wisdom. Once they were sure it was safe, it was time to go through the books and scrolls. Katie was still learning the language most of the books were written in – her master knew a lot of languages for someone who claimed not to spend much time on them – but she’d already learned enough to do some rough translations. It wasn’t long before she had a big grin on her face. This library was a treasure trove.

“Here.” Her master tossed her a sack. “Put the books you’re interested in into the sack.”

Katie caught the sack. Her eyes widened. “Wait… doesn’t the corpse dealer, I think Mike is his name, have a sack like this?”

“You’ve got good eyes. I bought this from him a while back when I first started raiding tombs on my own. It’s a lot bigger on the inside than the outside, a lot like the wagons Mike and his family use to transport corpses. It does something about the weight too, so you don’t have to worry about being strong enough to lift what you put inside it. The magic and seals involved are extremely complicated, and it’s designed to self-destruct if you try to take it apart or reproduce it. It also takes a considerable amount of magic to use, but it’s worth it. Can you imagine how long it would take for us to transport so many books and scrolls the normal way?” He gave her a wry smile. “We’re going to empty this library of anything worthwhile, but it’ll take us multiple trips because we’ve only got two of those sacks. Pick out what you want the most. Once the sack is full, and you’ll know when it’s full, we’ll have one of the zombies take the sacks and retrace our steps back to the surface.”

Katie put a book into the sack and then paused. “Master, if this sack is bigger on the inside than the outside and makes things lighter… why not put multiple sacks inside each other? Wouldn’t you be able to fit even more things in that way?”

Timmy stared at her. “Katie, that is a brilliant idea. Never do it.”

“What?” Katie yelped. “Why not?”

“Logically, your idea is perfectly sound. In fact, I even suggested it to Mike. He didn’t say a word. He just put one sack inside another sack and then threw it as far as he could.”

Katie didn’t like the sound of that. “What happened next?”

“Do you remember what happened when Sam tried to drag something from his home dimension into our world without conducting the proper ritual first?”

She shuddered. Sam had attempted to bring what passed for food in his dimension into their world, so they could understand why he thought cake was so much better. Alas, all he’d managed to do was tear a gaping hole in reality that had oozed unearthly energy and threatened to drive everyone in the castle insane. “I remember.”

“Good. Because if you put one of those sacks inside another one, you get something a lot like that.”

“Oh.” Katie gulped. “I guess we won’t be doing that then.”

“Indeed, we won’t.”

“Anyway,” Katie said, changing the subject to avoid thinking about Sam’s mistake. “You seem to know a lot about raiding tombs, master. How many have you raided?” She giggled. “Maybe you’re more of a tomb raider than a necromancer.”

He chuckled. “Katie, raiding tombs is an ancient and noble profession, which has helped countless necromancers achieve their financial ambitions. You can’t really call yourself a necromancer until you’ve raided a tomb or two.”

“Whatever you say, master.”

“Plus, there’s nothing like some ancient gold to help pad out the budget.”

Katie gave him another dry look. Her master was very good at making money, but the castle needed a lot of repairs. Tomb raiding might be the only way they could afford it without resorting to some of the more unsavoury methods that were available only to necromancers. If only her master’s master hadn’t been so stingy, the castle wouldn’t have fallen into such disrepair. True, cutting back on maintenance saved money in the short term, but it was almost always more expensive to repair something than to simply keep it well maintained. Besides, what sort of necromancer allowed their castle to fall into ruin? Her master could be a bit odd at times, but he could certainly appreciate the importance of a properly maintained and appropriately menacing castle. Turning her attention back to the books and scrolls, she used her shadows to pluck promising titles off the shelves before placing some of them into the sack and stacking others into different piles. Since she only had one sack – her master had the other one – she’d have to prioritise.

As Katie continued to work her way through the library – it was such a pity they couldn’t linger here for a day or two – her mind drifted to one of the most important things she’d learned from her master. Power was a nice start, but knowledge, wisdom, cunning, and planning could lead to victory, even against overwhelming odds. The problem with power was that there was always someone more powerful, but power backed by knowledge, wisdom, cunning, and planning was far more difficult to beat.

He’d also taught her that victory wasn’t always possible. Knowing when to retreat and cut her losses was something she’d learned by playing various games of strategy against her master, the castle’s zombie librarian, and some of the servants. Admittedly, most of those games were bizarre variants of traditional games that been heavily altered to push her creativity, adaptability, and powers of analysis to their limits, but they were fun, and there were some lessons that even the best book couldn’t teach. Staring across a game board at her master after realising she’d been playing right into his hands for the better part of an hour was a lesson worth its weight in gold, even if she had grumbled about it for days afterward. She never had been a good loser, and her master had been annoyingly smug for someone who’d beaten a child in a game of strategy. Then again, she had spent much of that particular game warning him about his impending defeat. Perhaps some smugness had been warranted.

Katie wasn’t stupid. She was actually exceedingly – her master would say obnoxiously – clever for her age, and her magical abilities and senses were similarly advanced. Her master had a lot of magic. He was a Grand Necromancer, after all, but there were others who had much, much more. He’d faced several of them since she’d become his apprentice, and she’d heard stories of his encounters with even more of them. He’d beaten most of them, eked out draws against several others, and retreated without suffering any permanent harm from the rest. It wasn’t always glorious, but her master was absolutely brilliant at either winning or at least avoiding a decisive defeat. He always lived to fight another day, and when that day came, he would have a plan, a backup plan, and a backup plan for his backup plan.

Not long after she’d become her master’s apprentice, someone had decided to target her. She was the weak link. She had a lot of potential, but her potential wouldn’t matter if she got killed before she reached it. Her master had whacked the would-be assassins over the head with his shovel before ushering Katie out of the room and letting his zombies finish dealing with the immediate problem. He had then quietly informed Katie that he would be going on a short trip to deal with the source of the problem. She’d been worried – she’d even told him as much – but he’d simply ruffled her hair and told her to make sure there was enough cake for Sam while he was gone.

He’d returned two weeks later, limping and looking very much the worse for wear. She hadn’t even known whom he’d gone after since he hadn’t told her. She’d only found out when she’d read that month’s edition of her favourite necromancer magazine. Three powerful necromancers had formed an alliance. They had taken up residence in a castle protected by powerful magic and thousands of zombies, and someone had reduced it to a big, misshapen lump of molten rock. She’d asked her master how he’d managed to do it, and all he’d done was smile and tell her that anything was possible with enough time to plan, a good knowledge of geology, runes, and seals, and opponents who hadn’t yet realised that their castle was built on top of a massive reservoir of magma that fed a nearby semi-dormant volcano.

Needless to say, attempts on her life had decreased markedly although her master had upped her training to ensure that even if she couldn’t beat her assassins – she was still a child – she could live long enough to either escape or get help. In a castle filled with their zombies and creatures like Sam, help would never be far away.

“Is your sack full?” Timmy asked.

“Almost, I think. I’m putting all of the most important ones in it, so they can go up on the first trip. It took us a while to get down here, but our zombies should be able to make the trip back much more quickly.”

“Good. We’ll do two… maybe even three trips before we move on. We’ll head to the reliquary next. It’s on the other side of the tomb, and if we’re lucky, we’ll find plenty of nice, harmless, and extremely valuable artefacts.”

“And if we’re unlucky?”

“Then the artefacts are part of a gigantic golem that will attempt to murder us.” Timmy put another book in his sack. “Remember, Katie, gold doesn’t make the world go round, but it definitely makes life easier.”

Katie made a sound of agreement as she continued to search the shelves. As necromancers, they weren’t always able to rely on strictly legal sources of income, and repairing and maintaining the castle wasn’t cheap. Her master had noticed her proficiency with numbers and had begun to introduce her to the economics of owning and operating a castle. It was fascinating and extremely expensive although his use of zombies, as well as runes and seals powered by the things that lived underneath the castle did help to keep costs down. It also helped that he didn’t spend vast sums of money on overly complicated plots to assassinate members of the Council or to try to take over the world. Apparently, the latter was a rarity amongst necromancers since there was an alarmingly strong correlation between necromancy and megalomania.

Their trip to the reliquary was every bit as fun as their trip to the library. Clearly, whoever had designed this place believed in making things symmetrical. From the central area, there were exactly as many traps on the way to the reliquary as there were to the library. Alas, the designer’s love of symmetry hadn’t extended to using the same traps. No, that would have been too easy. Instead, the reliquary’s side of the tomb seemed to be full of projectile-related traps, and Katie got plenty of practice with her shadows as she blocked or deflected knives, daggers, arrows, crossbow bolts, and what she strongly suspected were frying pans. Even her master had been caught off guard by the frying pans although, to be fair, what kind of maniac built a trap that shot frying pans at people? It must have been another one of those eccentricities that ancient kings were so famous for.

But even the frying pans couldn’t compete with the zombie cobras.

“Duck!”

Katie ducked as a serpentine blur shot over her head. “Was that…?”

Her master raised the decapitated body of a zombie cobra. “It was.”

“So that trap…?”

“Just shot a zombie cobra at us.” The only thing bigger than the smile on Timmy’s face was the smile on Katie’s. “You know what this means, right?”

Katie batted another zombie cobra aside with her shadows as their zombie warriors locked their shields together to deflect a hail of zombie cobras that promptly met their ends courtesy of the weapons and boots of the zombie warriors. “We need to build a trap that shoots zombie cobras at people when we get back to the castle.”

“Yes, we do, Katie. Yes, we do.” Timmy cackled, and it wasn’t long before she joined him. True, cackling inside a tomb like this wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but if they couldn’t cackle at the thought of building their own trap that shot zombie cobras, what could they cackle about?

Unfortunately, the frying pans and the zombie cobras were the highlights of the journey to the reliquary. However, she was able to get in some more practice with her shadows. Why have a zombie carry her over a pit that was too big to jump over when she could use her shadows to build a bridge sturdy enough to stand on? In a pinch, she could even anchor her shadows by digging into the walls or roof before using them to swing across. It made her glad for all of the times her master had come up with seemingly crazy training exercises to improve her control over her shadows. Her magical power might still be growing, but her shadows were already incredibly versatile.

In front of the reliquary was a long, broad corridor lined with metal statues. Katie stopped. What were the odds that a place like this would have a corridor lined with harmless metal statues? Practically zero. This had to be a trap.

“I’m glad you stopped.” Timmy smiled. “This is obviously a trap. Those aren’t statues. Those are metal golems. We could try to avoid triggering them, but from experience, it’s usually better to deal with them now rather than be caught off guard later when we’re carrying something valuable. Trust me, tombs like this always have multiple levels of redundancy when it comes to activating their main traps. Our best bet is to get it over with since our zombies should be able to handle them.” He took a pebble out of his pocket. “Oh, and always bring some pebbles with you. They’re good for setting off traps. Now, get ready.”

He rolled the pebble across the floor between the golems. The golems sprang into motion. They jerked out of their positions and took up a defensive formation. The smallest of them towered over both her and her master, and the largest was even bigger than the zombie hydra-chameleon they’d brought along. As per her master’s instructions, the zombie hydra-chameleon had yet to revealed itself. Instead, it was doing its best to blend in with the walls and shadows. Given how deadly a hydra could be, even a single moment of surprise could swing a battle in their favour.

“What do you think they’re made of?” Timmy asked, not the least bit bothered by the plethora of weaponry aimed in their direction. Most of the golems had swords and shields although there were a few with spears and more exotic weapons. The golems had yet to advance. They were most likely designed to stay close to the reliquary.

Katie studied the golems intently as some of their zombies moved forward, not close enough to engage the golems but close enough to keep the golems from attacking them. “Well, they’re made of metal, but it’s not one of the usual metals like copper, tin, bronze, iron, or steel.”

“Correct. Think about what we’ve seen so far. Do you think whoever built this place would go for something so pedestrian?”

Katie shook her head. “No. They’d use something more exotic, which could stand up to the common methods of fighting a golem.”

“Exactly. Heat and acid are two of the most common ways to destroy golems, and I’m willing to bet that neither will work very well on these golems. Oh, people do make mistakes, so it might be worth a try. However, I wouldn’t get my hopes up. Send a zombie in and watch how the golems react. If you can, get a feel for any magic they might be using.”

Katie sent a zombie warrior forward. It was crushed underneath a gigantic war hammer. Ouch. Her necromancy definitely couldn’t fix that. Moreover, the golem hadn’t used magic. Its war hammer wasn’t enchanted. It was simply a big, big piece of sturdy metal.

“Golems typically rely on magical crystals or something similar to operate. Sometimes, my magic can affect them since crystals and other gemstones are often vulnerable to earth magic unless the proper precautions are taken. Do you think that would work here?”

“No.” Katie sent her next zombie warrior in. It smoothly evaded the golem’s war hammer, only to turn into a smear on the wall when one of the other golems lashed out with its mace. These golems were good. “I doubt it. You would have done it by now if you could. But trying, even if it doesn’t work, can still tell us something. If they’re using runes and seals or some other form of protection, it should be revealed when you try to use your magic on them.”

“Excellent.” Timmy pointed his shovel at the nearest golem. Runes and seals flared to life across its body. It lurched forward, and a trio of zombie warriors beat it back. Despite the weight of their blows, it remained standing although it was unable to get past them.

“So they are using runes and seals…” Katie murmured. “Which means they aren’t made of anything highly resistant to magic. But if they can resist heat and acid… could they be made of an alloy with orichalcum in it?”

“Not a bad guess, Katie, but orichalcum alloys tend to look similar to copper. These golems don’t look like they’re made of anything similar to copper.”

The golems were made of dull, reddish metal, not unlike faded rust. One of their zombie mages stepped forward, and a buffeting gale filled the corridor. Their zombie salamander took a deep breath and then spat a long tongue of flame. The wind caught fire, and a shockwave of intense heat slammed into the golems. The golem at the front began to glow, but it held its position. Her master nodded at the other zombie mage, and a jet of water struck the golem. The construct recoiled and raised its shield in a belated attempt to ward off the attack, but it was too late. Cracks spread across its body, and it stumbled to its knees. One of the zombie warriors landed a heavy blow with its sword, and the golem’s entire upper body shattered to reveal the intricate mechanisms within.

Timmy grinned. “What does that tell you?”

Katie considered what she’d just seen. Extreme heat followed by rapid cooling, leading to cracking and fragility. Alloys made of orichalcum and other ‘legendary’ metals tended to be highly resistant to such attacks. But what about – she gasped. “They’re made of an alloy with powdered hydra scales in it!”

“Correct.”

Her master grinned and reached forward to ruffle her hair. She almost managed to duck in time, but he got her anyway. She scowled. One of these days, she’d be quick enough to avoid getting her hair ruffled. Even Sam liked to ruffle her hair, but avoiding him was even harder than avoiding her master. Her master only had two hands to ruffle her hair with. Sam had more than a dozen tentacles, and he could easily extrude more if he wanted to.

“Powdered hydra scales increase the durability of most alloys toward heat and acid. However, alloys containing hydra scales are often vulnerable to rapid heating followed by rapid cooling. Orichalcum is better overall since it doesn’t have this weakness, but it is difficult and expensive to make. In contrast, hydra’s naturally shed their scales. From what you’ve told me, master, most tomb raiders are thieves looking for an easy profit. Few of them are as prepared as we are.”

Timmy gestured again, and their zombies changed tactics. They closed ranks and used their shields to create a solid bulwark to hold the golems back as the two zombies mages and the zombie salamander attacked again and again. Recognising the danger, the golems abandoned their defensive formation and pressed forward, but their zombies held firm. True, several of their zombie warriors were crushed by the thunderous blows of bludgeoning weapons like war hammers and maces, but their shields did a fine job of warding off the swords and spears of the golems.

“In this situation, we have the upper hand. Our zombie warriors can’t beat the golems on their own, but the golems don’t have an answer for our zombie mages and our zombie salamander.” Timmy pointed and the zombies mages and the zombie salamander began to target the largest golems, which were the ones armed with bludgeoning weapons. “As long as they can’t get to our zombie mages and our zombie salamander, we win. That is why I’m targeting the golems with bludgeoning weapons. They are the only ones capable of breaking through our zombie warriors.”

Katie paid close attention as her master continued to direct their zombies. This was what separated a good necromancer from a great one: the ability to coordinate groups of zombies of varying types to maximise their effectiveness. Once the golems with bludgeoning weapons went down, the golems would have no way of breaking through the shield wall their zombie warriors had put up. Sure enough, the unrelenting attacks from their zombie mages and zombie salamander began to take their toll. Golem after golem went down, and her master finally gave the order for their zombie warriors to advance. Outnumbered and badly damaged, it didn’t take long for the remaining golems to be completely overrun.

“Is it worth salvaging the remains of the golems?” Katie asked. Even if they couldn’t be fixed – and maybe they could be repaired since her master did know a bit about tinkering with artefacts and machines – a broken golem could still be melted down and sold. It was actually the most common fate for golems made of more mundane materials. Indeed, her master had confessed to her that the chandelier in the dining room was actually made out of the remains of a particularly vexatious golem he’d encountered while raiding a tomb. It had taken him almost an hour to beat it into scrap metal with his shovel, so he’d decided to commemorate his victory by turning it into a chandelier.

“Not really. After what we’ve done, the alloy won’t be much good. Melting it wouldn’t be enough. We’d need to separate it back into its components, which would not be cheap.” Timmy’s eyes narrowed as the last golem fell. Malevolent energy filled the corridor, and an elaborate collection of symbols appeared on the floor. The symbols hurt to look at, and they gave off an eerie black light. “You might want to pull your zombies back.”

“Why?” Even as she asked the question, she pulled her zombies back. Her two zombie trolls and her zombie bear took the lead and placed themselves in front of her as she used her necromancy to repair the damage her other zombies had taken. Even after being turned into zombies, trolls retained their incredible regeneration, and she’d even made them matching bright pink bracers. Her master hadn’t been pleased about those. Apparently, pink was not an appropriate colour for zombies. She disagreed. As for her zombie bear, he not only had great size, strength, and durability but his fur had also been soaked in potions designed to reduce the effectiveness of physical attacks and magic. It was just a pity that her master had forbidden her from dyeing his fur pink. A pink-furred zombie bear would have been awesome to behold.

Her master didn’t answer her question. He didn’t have to. There was a brilliant flash of light before a tremendous wave of oppressive heat rolled outward. Smoke filled the corridor, along with the acrid smell of sulphur. A massive form draped in shadows and flame stood before them, and its bat-like wings spread as far as the corridor would allow. In each of its clawed hands, it held a sword made of black fire that hurt to look at. One of her zombie moved forward, and it was gone an instant later, obliterated by a blast of searing flame. Their zombie salamander fought to keep the flames back, and its efforts reduced the temperature from instantly fatal to highly unpleasant.

“That’s a demon!” Katie shrieked. “A strong one!” She coughed and rubbed her eyes as the smoke grew thicker. “What do we do?”

“I know what to do, but you need to slow it down for me.” Timmy’s eyes narrowed. “Or we could run.”

Running would definitely be the safer option, but they’d already come this far. “What are you going to do?”

Timmy gave her an infuriatingly cheerful smile. “It’ll be a surprise.”

“A surprise? I don’t think you should be joking about this, master.” Katie bit her lip. “Whatever you’re going to do, are you sure it will work?”

“Oh, it’ll work. All I need is enough time to pull it off.”

“Fine. I’ll do my best.”

“Good. I’ll give you control of my zombies as well.”

The demon bellowed and stomped forward. Heat poured off its body, and she immediately pulled their zombie warriors back. Against a demon of this calibre, she’d simply be throwing them away. Instead, she ordered the two zombie mages to combine their attacks. A high-pressure jet of water lanced into the demon. Most of the water turned into steam the instant it hit the demon, but the sheer quantity of water began to overwhelm the demon’s heat and drive it back. As the demon staggered and fought to regain its balance, she sent the zombie warriors back in. Their weapons couldn’t do any real damage. Demons were enormously durable, and the immense heat of the demon’s body was bound to damage any weapons that hit it, but she needed to keep the demon away from her master as long as possible. The demon roared, and a broad sweep of its sword cut down four of the zombie warriors before it simply crushed another underfoot and unleashed a blast of fire. Their zombie salamander was barely able to turn the blow aside, and the trio of zombie warriors caught in the blast were reduced to little more than ash. Katie’s jaw clenched. This wasn’t going well at all. It was time to send in her zombie trolls. In the meantime, she ordered their zombie salamander to stay behind her and her zombie bear. If their zombie salamander were destroyed, it wouldn’t be long before the demon simply burned them alive.

Her zombie trolls were some of her finest work, and she’d used several months of her allowance to purchase their weapons. Their spears had been crafted out of excellent materials and enchanted to leave wounds that worsened over time while preventing healing and regeneration. Added to their innate ability to regenerate, their spears made her zombie trolls perfectly suited to battles of attrition where they could gradually wear down their opponents. Unfortunately, this wasn’t going to be a battle of attrition.

The demon gave another bellow and stomped the floor. Cracks spread across the stone, and tongues of flame burst upward. Her zombie trolls dodged the worst of the attack, and the demon waded forward, intent on crushing them both with a single blow. However, her trolls were ready. They swayed away from the demon’s attack as another jet of water drove the infernal creature back again.

“Use your shadows,” Timmy said. “I need more time.”

Katie couldn’t see what he was doing since she couldn’t risk taking her eyes off the battle for even a second, but she didn’t hesitate to follow his instructions. Her master had fought plenty of demons over the years. If he said to use her shadows, then she would use her shadows. One of the only good things about this demon was that all of the fire and smoke meant there were plenty of shadows to work with. Tendrils of shadow shot toward the demon from the walls, floor, and ceiling. Despite their seemingly flimsy nature, her shadows were surprisingly durable. They wouldn’t be strong enough to actually kill the demon, but she didn’t need to kill it. All she had to do was hold it back until her master was finished with whatever he was doing.

The demon howled as tendrils of shadow wrapped around its limbs and tore at its wings. Another jet of water slammed into it, and her zombie trolls darted forward with their spears at the ready. They struck over and over again, but the demon scarcely seemed to feel the blows as it fought to tear itself free of her shadows. As Katie issued her next set of orders, she realised something unsettling. A demon this powerful should have had an aura that induced fear, terror, panic, and despair. She was definitely scared, but it was well within the normal range, considering she was facing a large demon with swords made of black fire. How was she still able to think clearly?

She must have spoken aloud because her master answered her question. “Different forms of magic can have different effects on the mind.” She still hadn’t turned around to look at him, but it sounded like he was carving something into the floor. “People with shadow magic tend not to be afraid of the dark or the things that dwell in it. Your magic, well, it comes from a place even worse than this demon, but don’t think too much about it. You can’t choose where your magic comes from or who had it before you, but you can choose what to do with it. Besides, you’ve spent plenty of time around Sam and the others of his kind. You’re already used to fear-inducing auras.” He chuckled. “Okay, we’re ready to go now. Aren’t we lucky that the same summoning trap that brought this demon here also weakened the barriers between this world and others? Otherwise, I’d never have been able to pull this off. Oh, you might want to get behind me too. This could get messy.”

Katie scrambled behind her master as another brilliant flash of light filled the corridor. It was so bright that even though she’d closed her eyes, it took several seconds for her eyes to recover. What had he summoned? Slowly, the world came into focus again…

Sam had appeared.

Although Katie got along well with Sam – she considered the protoplasmic horror a friend – she still wasn’t sure exactly what he was. Sometimes, she wondered if even her master truly comprehended his real nature. Most of the time, her master’s favourite description was accurate: Sam was a trans-dimensional, protoplasmic horror who happened to love cake. He also liked stories, and Katie had swiftly gotten used to him floating through the walls of her bedroom each night, so he could read a story with her. She was still learning the nuances of his language. It involved sounds, as well as changes in shape and colour, but her master had warned her about relying on Sam’s form of telepathy. It would certainly help her communicate more easily with Sam, but it could also make her brain explode. Katie quite liked having her brain in one piece, so she’d wisely chosen to invest more time in learning his language. It wasn’t easy, but it was also not likely to end in her death.

She’d seen how powerful Sam was when he’d annihilated an abomination one of her master’s rivals had sent to the castle. His main weakness, if it could be called that, was his inability to venture too far from the castle – unless he was summoned to a place where the boundaries between worlds were weaker, which allowed him and his kind to remain for a short time before returning to the castle, provided the right rituals were used. Her master, of course, knew all the necessary rituals. And a demon like this was not going to bother someone like Sam.

Sam bobbed up and down in the air, a large, amorphous sphere of warped flesh that almost completely filled the corridor. He extruded several tentacles and patted both Timmy and Katie down to check for any injuries before dozens of his eyes turned to the demon. The demon gave a deep growl, undoubtedly recognising Sam for what he was. A mantle of black fire erupted around the demon, and Katie hastily called their zombies back as her shadows disintegrated. Not even their zombie salamander would be able to protect them from that kind of heat. The stone at the demon’s feet began to melt, and the sound that came from its mouth as it rumbled forward was the howl of an inferno burning down a mountainside.

Several of their zombies were too slow to retreat, and they were turned to ash by the demon’s mantle of fire. Beads of sweat rolled down Katie’s face, and the other shadows she had on the walls, floor, and ceiling flickered and vanished. The demon’s blades took on a more solid form, the flames giving way to a jagged, obsidian-like substance.

“Hmm…” Her master tilted his head to one side. “That demon is stronger than I thought. Whoever made that summoning trap was good. Oh well, it doesn’t matter. Get him, Sam.”

The demon charged, and the living inferno within it exploded outward. Katie winced as their zombie salamander’s powers were completely overwhelmed. Black flames rushed toward them, but Sam merely waved his tentacles in a dismissive fashion and then expanded to fill the entire corridor in front of them. Katie’s eyes widened comically as Sam simply weathered the assault before he surged forward and enveloped the demon. An eerie silence fell over the corridor, one broken only by the occasion howl, scream, or roar as the demon struggled to fight its way out of Sam. Slowly, the sounds grew quieter and less frequent until they finally stopped entirely. Sam quivered several times, the great, roiling mass of flesh that was his body momentarily covered with countless teeth and claws. Several bursts of black fire poured out of his mouths, the last remnants of the demon’s struggles, and then Sam returned to his original size.

“Nice work, Sam.” Timmy grinned. “So… how did the demon taste?”

Sam changed colours in a dazzling display of blues, oranges, and yellows. He also extruded more tentacles and waved them in what Katie was fairly sure was an expression of curiosity and concern.

“Not very tasty, huh?” Timmy reached over and patted one of Sam’s tentacles. “Well, don’t worry. We’re fine, and there’s plenty of cake back at the castle. And speaking of the castle… you should head back now. I’ll probably pass out if I try to keep you here any longer, and Katie isn’t old enough to be raiding a tomb on her own.” Sam’s body began to fade, but Timmy stopped him. “Wait!” He hurriedly wrote something down on a piece of parchment. “I almost forgot. Take this. It’s the name of a kind of cake you haven’t eaten before. The new cook knows how to make it. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

Sam flashed through the colours, shape changes, and tentacle gestures for happiness and gratitude and then vanished. Her master chuckled, and Katie tensed as she finally noticed how hard he was breathing. He was still sweating heavily too although the heat that had filled the corridor had vanished along with the demon. He’d used a lot of his magic.

“Master?” Katie murmured. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine, but summoning Sam isn’t easy if I’m not near the castle. The longer I keep him here and the farther I am from the castle when I summon him, the more power it takes.” Timmy straightened and wiped the sweat off his brow. “But, hey, we needed to get rid of the demon without doing anything that might bring down the tomb, and you have to admit, watching Sam eat the demon was pretty funny.”

Katie giggled. She could only imagine how the demon had felt after summoning all of its power and putting on such an impressive display only to be devoured in a matter of moments. “It was funny.”

“Hopefully, that was the last summoning trap. I don’t think I can summon Sam again.” He gave her a stern look. “The reliquary should be right through those doors, but we can’t get careless now. The library had traps, so the reliquary will too. We need to deal with all of them before we start taking things.”

The reliquary was full of weapons, artefacts, and other trinkets. It was also full of traps although none as dangerous as the summoning trap. They dealt with the traps first and then began to separate everything into different piles. Shiny things that could be sold for money went into one pile whereas useful things, like magical weapons or artefacts, went into another pile. Even with the sacks, which their zombies had returned to them after leaving the books with the zombies on the surface, they could only take so much. They had to prioritise the most valuable objects and the most useful ones. For example, Katie quite liked the silver and ivory chest in the corner, but it was large, heavy, and unwieldy. However, the magic mirror beside it had the potential to be far more useful. They’d come back for the chest later if they had the time, and they did have several zombie wyverns that they could load things onto. They could also make return trips to the island although Katie wasn’t sure how long they had before someone else came. Her master had paid for the information about the island to be given to them first, but it was only a matter of time before someone else found out. She liked the chest, but it wasn’t something worth fighting or dying for.

“All right,” Timmy said once they’d finished going through the reliquary. “We’ve got one more stop to make. Let’s go get the Crown.”

* * *

Timmy sighed as he stared at the Crown of Torment. He should have expected this. There hadn’t been nearly as many traps on the way to the Crown, which meant one of two things: either the builders of the tomb had gotten careless, or the Crown didn’t need traps to protect it. Unfortunately for him and Katie, it was definitely the latter.

Some idiot, most likely the king, had connected the Crown to the currents of magic flowing through the area. Without anyone to control it, the Crown was simply broadcasting unimaginable amounts of pain into its immediate surroundings. The Crown’s area of effect only had a radius of ten yards, but the intensity of its magic was enough to disrupt the magic animating his zombies. He’d already sent one in, and it had gotten all of two steps before being overwhelmed by the Crown’s magic and collapsing to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. It was just a good thing that zombies couldn’t feel pain.

“What should we do, master?” Katie asked as they used their zombies to mark out the boundaries of the Crown’s influence.

He pursed his lips. The Crown was on a dais that connected it to the local currents of magic. If they could get it off the dais, it should deactivate. “Let’s see if we can get it off the dais.”

“What if it breaks?”

“Trust me. Anyone who took the time and effort to make something as horrific as the Crown would do their best to make sure it wasn’t fragile.”

“What should we try first?” Katie asked.

“I doubt it’ll work, but let’s try your shadows.”

As Timmy expected, it didn’t work. The Crown’s magic was too intense for Katie’s shadows to hold their form. They managed to get about two yards in before they simply faded away.

“That’s okay,” Timmy said. “If magic doesn’t work, try the mundane.” He got some rope and aimed it at the Crown. “If we’re lucky, I’ll be able to just pull it off the dais.”

They were not lucky. He did manage to get the rope around the Crown, but no matter how hard they pulled, it didn’t budge so much as an inch. They even had the zombie hydra-chameleon pull on the rope, and all they did was break the rope.

“It has to be magic,” Katie said.

“I’m sure it is, but we’re not out of options yet.”

Alas, it wasn’t long before they were out of options. They tried shooting water at the Crown, as well as using wind to blow it off the dais. They even had the zombie hydra-chameleon throw one of the smaller zombies at the crown in a bid to dislodge it, but that didn’t work either. They also tried targeting the dais itself, but it was magically protected too. It shrugged off everything they threw at it. Not even the zombie hydra-chameleon’s acid was able to damage it.

“What now, master? We’ve tried everything.” Katie glared at the Crown and the dais. “Should we just leave it here? We’ve already gotten a lot of stuff from this tomb.”

“We could, but I’d rather not.” Timmy grimaced. “And we haven’t tried everything, not yet. If I’m right, then the only way to deactivate the flow of magic from the dais to the Crown is for someone with magic to get over there and deactivate it manually.” And given that Katie hadn’t endured a childhood full of pointlessly brutal training, that left only one person.

Him.

Wonderful.

If only he could summon Sam again, but he wasn’t sure he had enough magic. There was also a chance that the Crown’s magic would do something very unpleasant to his friend. Sam and his kin didn’t feel pain the same way people did, but their bodies weren’t like people’s either. Sam wasn’t from this world, and it was magic that allowed him to stay in it. If the Crown’s magic disrupted Sam’s body, his friend might end up stuck in own dimension for days, maybe even weeks. No, Timmy couldn’t risk it. Oh well, at least he’d get a chance to put his master’s pain-tolerance training to the test because this was going to hurt – a lot.

“Katie, I’m going to deactivate the dais and get the Crown.” His apprentice stared at him as though he’d grown not only a second head but also a pair of wings and possibly a tail. “What? Do you want to do it?” She shook her head so quickly he was worried she might need a healing potion. “Look, I’m not an idiot. This is not going to go well.” He took part of the rope they’d used earlier and tied it around his leg. “Take this. If I start flailing around, convulsing, or bleeding from my eyes, or anything else weird, then drag me out of the Crown’s area of effect.” He ruffled her hair. “And, yes, I know my untimely demise would mean you get the castle, but you should wait a few years before trying to get rid of me. You still have a lot to learn.”

Katie made a face and grabbed the rope, along with several of the zombies. “Don’t worry, master. I’ll pull you back if something bad happens.” She grinned impishly. “Like you said, I still have a lot to learn, and finding another master to teach me would be so troublesome.”

Timmy took a deep breath and then ordered one of his zombies to throw him at the dais. It was the quickest option, and there was no way he’d be able to stay coherent long enough to walk there. This way was quicker, and he wouldn’t have to worry about losing his way while stumbling around in a haze of unimaginable, sanity-destroying agony. Once he got to the dais, all he had to do was deactivate it. If it were anything like the artefacts he’d encountered in the past, there would either be a switch or some runes and seals. It would definitely hurt, but it shouldn’t take too long.

At least, that was the idea.

The reality turned out to be somewhat different.

The instant that Timmy entered the Crown’s area of effect, his entire world was reduced to pure, undiluted agony. It dwarfed all of the pain he’d endured at his master’s hands in the same way the sun dwarfed a candle. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear, he couldn’t think. Driven only by instinct, he forced himself to move. He had to deactivate the dais and cut off the flow of magic to the Crown. If he could do that, the pain would stop. He had to make the pain stop. He had to.

The next five minutes – Katie would later tell him it had only taken five minutes, but it had honestly felt more like five years – were arguably the worst of his life, and that was saying something, considering what his master’s training had been like. He couldn’t even remember reaching the dais, never mind deactivating it, but he must have because the pain finally stopped. He flopped onto the floor, barely conscious, and he was lucky not to hit his head on the dais on his way down. Katie had one of their zombies grab the Crown while she helped him into a sitting position with her shadows.

Timmy slumped against the dais and spent the next fifteen minutes pondering the meaning of life and cursing the makers of the Crown. It was on days like this that he could easily imagine himself opting for an easier career like carpentry or farming. Sure, being a necromancer came with a lot of perks, but it wasn’t all rainbows, puppies, and unicorns.

“Can you stand, master?” Katie asked. She’d ordered the zombie with the Crown to stand as far away from them and the dais as possible. Without the dais to feed it magic, the Crown was most likely harmless, but she wasn’t about to take any chances.

It took Timmy several attempts to make his reply intelligible. “Potion. Give me a potion.”

“Ah, right!” Katie handed him a healing potion. He had no idea if it would work since the Crown didn’t do physical damage, but healing potions also had a mild pain-relieving effect, and he was definitely still in pain.

“Always bring healing potions,” Timmy slurred. He was finally able to focus his eyes again. Hmm… the tomb’s builders really hadn’t done a good job decorating the ceiling, had they? It was a rather unattractive grey. He tried to stand up and then thought better of it. “Even if you’re not badly hurt, healing potions can reduce the pain and help you focus.” He forced himself to breathe evenly and deeply. He still felt like someone had stabbed him in the gut with a knife, but that was a big improvement compared to earlier. At least now, he could think. “Pain can make it hard to think clearly, which can get you killed.” He nodded in the direction of the Crown. “It’s not much to look at it, is it?”

Katie nodded slowly. The Crown itself was hideous. It was made of a substance that closely resembled bone, and it was hewn into the rough shape of a badly deformed humanoid skull with three eye sockets. It was, in all honesty, extremely creepy.

“Do me a favour, Katie. Have the zombies search the area around the dais thoroughly. The Crown’s area of effect would have been the safest place to hide something important. I’d use my magic to look, but it’ll be a while before I can use it properly.” Timmy slumped back against the dais. “Actually, search this whole area. I’ll just… take a quick break over here. Oh, and by the way, give me another potion if I pass out or starting vomiting blood.”

* * *

It had been almost two weeks since he and Katie had returned from the tomb with their spoils. Their little jaunt had proven to be extremely profitable in terms of both knowledge and money. Unfortunately, Timmy was still dealing with lingering aches and pains. The Crown certainly lived up to its reputation as a legendary magical artefact. At this rate, it could take another week before the last of its effects faded away.

As for the Crown itself, he’d placed it in one of the most secure rooms in the castle since it was too dangerous to put anywhere else. A shiver ran down his spine. The Crown was creepy. He’d originally thought it had been carved out of bone, but he wasn’t quite right. It was made of bone, but it hadn’t been carved. No, it was the skull of something, something that wasn’t human, something that had no business being in this world at all.

The research notes they’d found regarding the creation of the Crown had not helped his mood either. Apart from being written by someone who had clearly been insane – half the notes seemed to be made up of rambling, barely coherent rants about other artificers and mages – the notes described a ritual, one which was very similar to the rituals Timmy could use to summon Sam and his ilk. Given what the Crown was made of – the skull of some inhuman, otherworldly being – he’d asked Sam if recognised it.

The protoplasmic horror had confirmed Timmy’s suspicions. The Crown was made out of the skull of an entity from another dimension. According to Sam, such an entity shouldn’t have left a skull behind. Its body should have disintegrated upon death. However, there were… ways of getting around that problem. The entity belonged to a species that specialised in telepathy, mind control, and other mind-related abilities. If the correct rituals were used and a suitable sacrificial body was provided, then it might have been possible for the entity to possess a human body, which would, naturally, begin to mutate to match its new controller. Upon death, that body would remain mostly intact. Timmy winced. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Anyone willing to create something like the Crown would not have baulked at dealing with otherworldly beings and sacrificing people.

Sam had been oddly wistful when he’d spoken of the entity. Apparently, his kind had once waged a war against such entities. They had fought for countless years, and Sam had been under the impression that all of them were dead, wiped out in a cataclysmic final assault led by Sam’s superiors – beings whose power defied human imagination and description. If Sam was to be believed, and he had no reason to lie, the final assault had brought about the complete destruction of several dimensions. This was all supposed to have taken place aeons ago, yet the Crown itself was only thousands of years old. Some of the entities must have survived, and Sam had been very pleased at the thought. Why? Sam had given what passed for a smile amongst his kind. The entities had been tasty, almost as nice as cake.

Timmy shook himself out of his thoughts. There would be plenty of time for him to research the Crown in more detail now that it was safely back at the castle. Perhaps he could find a way to link it to the castle’s barriers. A barrier that induced unbelievable agony in anyone who tried to get through it would certainly be effective. Even if someone managed to get through, they’d be in no shape to fight afterward, and his zombies would make short work of them.

He flared his magic, and Sam drifted up through the floor. “I’m done studying the Crown for today. If I’m right, then it’s no wonder the king who used it went mad. Based on what it’s made of and what prolonged exposure to otherworldly beings usually does to people, madness isn’t a possibility. It’s a certainty.”

Sam signalled his agreement and then used a brief colour and shape change along with a lazy flick of his tentacles to ask a question.

“No, it’s not a complete loss. Even if I can’t work out how to link it to the castle’s defences, I can still learn a lot from it. The Crown is incredibly good at broadcasting magic into its surroundings although its range is fairly limited. If I can work out how it does that, I should be able to create more efficient and effective barriers. If worse comes to worst, I could always hook the Crown up to some magic and throw my enemies at it. It’ll be harder to control since I won’t be wearing it, but I won’t have to worry about going insane, and I can always use a rope to drag people out once they’ve had enough.” His expression hardened. “I don’t like torture, but I might have to make an example out of someone if anyone targets Katie again.”

Sam followed Timmy down the corridor. He made another suggestion, trilling and changing colour.

“Good idea. If we could imbue even a fraction of the Crown’s power into projectiles and aim them at our enemies, we’d have a weapon capable of non-lethally incapacitating almost anyone.” Timmy twirled his shovel around as he ran some ideas through his head. “How about we get some lunch? I also need to look at the newest batch of hatchlings that your people have had. If they’re as troublesome as the last lot, I’ll have to put down some extra runes and seals.”

Sam’s tentacles moved through the air in an intricate pattern of apology as he changed colour and shape again.

“Don’t worry. I’m not blaming you. They’re basically kids, but I can’t have them wandering the countryside and eating random villagers. Until they have better control over themselves, they’ll have to stay in the lower levels of the castle.” Timmy rubbed his chin. “We should get Katie to come too. It’s about time I dragged her out of the library, and she needs to learn how to deal with the young ones. You’re friendly enough, and most of the others are fairly reasonable. She needs to learn how to deal with some unreasonable ones.” He chuckled. “And who knows? Maybe she’ll have some ideas of what to do with the Crown. She can be surprisingly evil sometimes.”

The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company

(Set Shortly After Two Necromancers, a Dragon, and a Vampire)

Spot woke up hungry, which wasn’t the least bit unusual. He was a young, growing dragon. He was always hungry. The only thing that ever changed was exactly how hungry he was. Sometimes, he was hungry enough to eat an entire cow. Other times, half a cow would leave him feeling a tad bloated.

His constant hunger probably went a long way toward explaining the horrible fates that had befallen all of the other people who’d tried to raise dragons in the past. Newly hatched dragons had a tendency to be cranky, eager to set things on fire, and very, very hungry. Luckily, Spot was a cheerful dragon, his mother was there to help him manage his fire, and the idiot – also known as Timmy – always had more than enough food on hand to keep Spot’s stomach reasonably full, not that he was about to eat any of the others even if he got really hungry.

His mother had been quite clear on whom he could and could not eat. He also liked to think of himself as a nice dragon. If his mother said that he couldn’t eat someone, then they wouldn’t get eaten. Even so, he did worry about the paper pusher who most people called Gerald. Even a wolf could eat him without much trouble, and wolves weren’t strong at all. Spot would miss the paper pusher if he got eaten, so he’d have to keep a close eye on him in the future. It was also a bit sad. It wasn’t like the paper pusher didn’t try to fight. He did, but he was just so bad at it. Spot wasn’t even six months old, and he was already much better at fighting than the paper pusher.

He’d miss the others too if something happened to them since it was fun to go on adventures with them. Spot got to meet a lot of interesting people and eat a lot of tasty things. Thankfully, the others were all much better at fighting than the paper pusher, so Spot usually didn’t have to worry about them in a fight. They could look after themselves.

On most days, Spot was hungry enough to eat around half a cow when he woke up. Today, he was only hungry enough to eat a quarter of a cow, maybe even less. It must have had something to do with the large dinner he’d eaten last night. The twerp – also known as Katie – had ordered a special basilisk from a rare creature dealer. Unfortunately, it had been attacked by an ancient hydra before delivery, and it had turned up dead and absolutely drenched in hydra venom. It had been too badly damaged for the twerp to use, so she’d asked Spot if he wanted to have it.

Spot had been only too happy to agree since he’d never eaten a basilisk before, and he was not the sort of dragon to pass up an opportunity to try something new. He’d done his best to savour the basilisk, but he’d still ended up devouring it in a matter of minutes. It had tasted a lot like snake although the hydra venom had added a pleasant tanginess to it as well. He’d felt pleasantly full, and he’d dozed off not long after dinner. He could vaguely remember his mother carrying him back to their part of the castle. She’d grumbled about how big and heavy he was getting, but she’d sounded oddly pleased too.

One day, he’d be big enough to carry his mother on his back when he flew. They could rain fire down on their enemies together and bring suffering and woe to those who opposed them! He could see it now: their enemies engulfed in flames, entire nations ablaze, and the two of them rolling in a mountain of treasure. He could hardly wait.

Spot spent a few more moments savouring the images in his mind before he got to his feet and looked around. He’d awakened because of how nice the sun felt on his scales. It was part of being a dragon. He instinctively knew when the sun rose although during the week, he was often up before sunrise because of all the training he had to do, not that he minded. Getting to stretch his wings and practice with his fire, his claws, and his teeth was always fun. But today was Sunday. He didn’t have training. Instead, he was free to do as he pleased. If he wanted, he could go back to sleep, or he could find a nice spot on the battlements to bask in the sun all day long. He could even go to the lake and swim around. Roger, the giant zombie shark-hydra-drake, spent most of his time there, and Spot had yet to beat him in a race through the water.

The dragon’s brows furrowed. Now that he thought about it, why did people call today Sunday? It didn’t make any sense. The sun was there every day, so why was this one day of the week Sunday? Shouldn’t every day be Sunday? Oh well. Humans were weird. If it were up to him, Spot would have called this Rest Day Two since Saturday was Rest Day One. As for the other days, he’d have called them Training Day One all the way through to Training Day Five. That would have been the sensible thing to do, but humans were rarely sensible. He might be a young dragon, but he’d already learned that about them.

His mother was still asleep beside him. She was snoring softly, and she had one arm draped over him as she pressed her face into the scales of his belly. He’d have to be careful. It was better to let her sleep in whenever possible. She didn’t like to be woken up early on weekends even if it was to play. If he wanted someone to play with early in the morning, he was better off finding some of the rats, Chomp, or possibly the twerp.

However, the three-headed dog was still asleep too. He was under a nearby tree, which had metallic leaves that were as sharp as daggers. He had a big smile on his face, and his legs were moving as if he were chasing after something. Spot tilted his head to one side. Was Chomp dreaming about chasing people again? Probably. Chomp had chased a lot of bad people through the labyrinth where Spot’s mother had found him. He’d eaten most of them too.

Slowly, carefully, Spot eased away from his mother and padded over to where some of the rats were discussing something. They squeaked a greeting, and he smiled and trilled an invitation to them. These rats were great. They liked explosions and fire as much as he and his mother did, and they didn’t mind answering all of the questions he had about the world.

Spot would never admit it, but being on his own could be scary. He might have been a dragon, but he was still a young dragon. There was so much about the world that he didn’t know about or fully understand yet. His fight against the giant acid blob had shown him that there were things out there strong enough to hurt him, maybe even kill him. He hadn’t been able to beat it on his own, but by working together, he, Gerald, and the rats had managed to win. When he got older, he’d be big and strong enough to beat anything on his own, but Spot didn’t want to be on his own. Having friends was nice, and having friends who fought with him made him stronger than he’d ever be alone. Even his mother, who was stronger than anyone Spot had met except maybe the vampire lady and the shiny woman, had admitted to Spot that fighting alone could be dangerous. The others might not be as strong as her, but all of them helped in their own way.

For a while, Spot wandered around his mother’s gardens, but his rumbling stomach soon demanded his attention. He needed to find something to eat, which meant he had several options to choose from. He could go to where the idiot kept some cows and eat one, but he was in the mood for some exercise. It was also good to patrol once in a while. The castle wasn’t his – it belonged to the idiot and possibly the twerp – but everyone seemed content to let his mother do whatever she wanted with the bit she and Spot lived in. Regardless of whether he owned it or not, the castle was his home, and it was only natural for a dragon like him to keep an eye on the area around his home. It wouldn’t do for some wyvern or drake to move in and act like it owned the place.

He waited patiently for the rats to latch onto him and then took to the air. With speed that only a dragon could hope to match, he shot up into the sky over the castle. His keen eyes swept over the area. There was a forest close to the castle, and there was bound to be something there worth eating. If he was lucky, he might even find a whole herd of deer. He licked his lips. He’d eaten deer before. It was delicious, and the rats knew exactly how to cook it to bring out all of the flavours.

As Spot flew toward the forest, he passed several birds. He gave each of them a speculative look. He might be a little dragon, but even for him, chasing a normal bird wouldn’t be worth the effort although it would be fun to scare them a bit. He was about to bank toward the nearest bird, an especially plump pigeon, when he noticed something going on below him. Dragons had some of the best eyesight in the world, and the only person in the castle who could see farther than him was his mother.

There were two children running through the forest, and they didn’t look like they were playing a game. He asked the rats to take a look, and they quickly put on some goggles that used magic to let them see farther. The rodents made some worried sounds and conferred amongst themselves. They wanted to have another look, so Spot slowed down and swung around. Something odd was definitely going on. There weren’t usually children in this part of the forest. It was too dangerous for them. Soon, it became clear why the children were running. There was a pack of wolves closing in on them.

One of the rats scrambled onto Spot’s snout and explained what they thought. The dragon listened intently. The rats were clever and cunning, and there was a lot he could learn from them. Strength was all well and good, but strength backed by cleverness and cunning was even better. Spot had heard from the twerp about how her master, the idiot, had defeated a more powerful mage through cleverness and cunning. If he was going to train his wings, his flame, his claws, and his teeth, then he needed to train his mind as well.

The idiot liked to keep things simple, so he’d only given Spot a few rules to follow. One of the most important was for Spot to avoid eating any of the villagers, no matter how tasty they looked or how annoying they were. Instead, he wanted Spot to take care of them. According to the idiot, helping the villagers today would pay off in the future. Spot wasn’t sure how that would happen. The villagers weren’t especially strong, clever, or cunning, but his mother had agreed with the idiot, and she’d told him to help if he saw any of the villagers in trouble. However, she’d given him a much better reason to help. Many of the villagers grew crops or raised livestock. If he helped, there was a good chance that he’d get something tasty to eat.

The children also reminded Spot of the twerp. They were small like she was, although the twerp was always saying she’d grow more when she was older, but the twerp wouldn’t have run away from some wolves. She would have used her shadows to kill them all before turning them into zombies. With his mind made up and wearing a decidedly toothy grin, Spot folded his wings and dove. It had been almost a fortnight since he’d eaten a wolf. This time, he’d let the rats cook it. Yes, a bit of pepper and some garlic would go perfectly with a wolf or two. His stomach rumbled. But would fried wolf taste better than roasted wolf, or should they go for smoked wolf? He licked his lips. He’d let the rats decide.

* * *

William and Tabitha lived in a village near the outskirts of the forest. William was nine years old, and Tabitha was five. As villagers went, their family was fairly well off. Their parents owned a small but productive farm, and things had only gotten better since the current ruler of the big castle had taken over. From what they’d overheard when their father was enjoying some wine with his friends, the old ruler of the castle had been a horrible person. If even a quarter of what their father had said was true, then it was a miracle that any of the villagers had survived. But their father had to be making some of it up. No one could be responsible for so much killing, stealing, and kidnapping.

The new ruler of the castle still broke the law from time to time, but their parents had told them that his crimes were directed at other bad people. The worst the villagers had to put up with was the occasional zombie patrolling the area, and they’d gotten used to that easily enough. Admittedly, some of the zombies were the stuff of nightmares, but the ruler of the castle was a necromancer. They’d have been worried if the zombies had been too normal. The new ruler of the castle had also been kind enough to deal with the majority of the bandits in the area, and he’d even built them a new lake although it might have been by accident since there had been a big explosion right before the new lake had appeared.

Their parents and many of the other villagers didn’t like the new ruler of the castle. He was a necromancer, and necromancers were bad news. However, they did respect him. He’d already done more for them since taking over than any noble or bureaucrat would have. Lately, he’d also begun to cull some of the dangerous animals in the forest although he was careful not to wipe them out. If the rumours were true, he still needed them for his necromancy. Nevertheless, he’d killed enough of the most dangerous creatures to put the fear of man and zombie into them. The majority of them had learned to leave humans, which included the villagers, and zombies well enough alone. A bear wasn’t going to risk going after some random villager, not when such attacks typically resulted in the perpetrator getting a personal visit from one of the necromancer’s more terrifying zombies.

The wariness of the forest’s animals had convinced William that it would be safe to take Tabitha with him when he went looking for mushrooms and herbs. Their mother had apprenticed to an apothecary before marrying their father, and the potions she made could be sold to other villagers for a fine price. All she needed were the right ingredients, and William had been sure to ask some of the village elders about the best places in the forest to find those ingredients.

William was still only a boy, but his father had begun to speak to him about what it meant to be a man. He would own the farm someday, and his father wanted him to understand how to run it properly. Recently, his father had talked about needing another horse to help out around the farm, and selling some more potions would definitely help pay for a horse.

Everything had gone well at first. He and Tabitha had found several rare herbs right where the elders had said they would be – and then they’d run into the wolves. The wolves must have been very hungry indeed because all they’d needed was one look at William and Tabitha before they had bared their teeth and charged.

William had grabbed his sister and run as quickly as he could, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew how this was going to end. They were too far from the village, and he hadn’t seen any huntsmen or woodcutters around. The wolves were going to catch them and eat them. It wouldn’t be a pleasant way to die, but he would gladly have given his life if it meant his sister got away. He’d been the one to take them into the forest. If anyone deserved to get eaten, it was he. His sister should be safe at home. Instead, she was here with him, and she was going to get eaten too. He tripped over a root, and the two of them tumbled to the ground. The wolves surrounded them.

“Get back!” William shouted as he grabbed a nearby stick and waved it around. “Stay away!”

Tabitha whimpered miserably behind him, and the wolves snarled. One of them, the leader, stepped forward. It was the biggest of the pack, all lean, deadly muscle. Its eyes were a muddy brown, and it seemed to savour their fear for a long, long moment before it gathered itself and sprang –

THUMP.

The wolf was driven into the ground as if it had been hit by a giant hammer, a black hammer with a short, stubby tail, a pair of wings, and a patch of white on its snout.

Hi. The hammer smiled. Its teeth were very, very big, and they looked very, very sharp.

William blinked. Had he heard a voice in his head? He could have sworn he had, and it sounded almost like a little boy. Before he could say anything, the other wolves lunged at the interloper. A group of rats leapt off the creature’s back and hurled themselves into the fray. The rodents threw needles and unleashed an assortment of different weapons as the creature drew his – and William was somehow sure the creature was male – head back and unleashed a blast of flame so hot that William was forced to grab his sister and stumble away.

He didn’t see it happen, but he could hear and smell the result of the creature’s attack. Some of the wolves were burning. Despite the terrible heat, William forced himself to turn around. He had to see what was happening. The wolves were in complete disarray as the rats tore into them. One of the rats even had a miniature pickaxe. Some of the wolves tried to force their way past the rats, and they ran headlong into the creature. The creature merely smiled that toothy smile of his and then showed the wolves that his claws and teeth were every bit as sharp and deadly as they looked. Wolf blood splattered across the creature’s snout, and a long, serpentine tongue flicked out to lick it away.

In less than a minute it was over. Most of the wolves were dead, and the others were all doing their best to escape. The creature toddled over to one of the wounded wolves, and the canine tried to bite him. With something that could almost have been a chirp of laughter, the creature tore the wolf’s throat out. In the meantime, the rats checked the other wolves. Satisfied that all of the wolves were either dead or gone, the creature walked over to William and Tabitha.

Although his snout and teeth were covered in blood, there was something utterly adorable about the creature. It could have been the way he wagged his stumpy tail at them like a dog, or maybe it was the low crooning sound he made, but the creature didn’t feel like a threat to them. Tabitha reached out to pat the creature on the head, and William bit back a curse. He might seem friendly, but what if he turned those teeth on William’s sister? But all the creature did was make a happy trilling sound before leaning into his sister’s touch. One of the rats squeaked, and the creature moved away from Tabitha and seized one of the dead wolves in his teeth. He tossed it to the ground at William’s feet.

Eat. Tasty.

William gulped. He hadn’t been hearing things. The creature was talking to them somehow. But what kind of creature could do that? Slowly, it dawned on him. Wings. Fire. Teeth. Only one creature in the world had all of those characteristics and the ability to talk to people through their minds – a dragon. “Um… we don’t really… eat… wolves.”

The dragon shrugged. More for me. He looked over at one of the rats, and the rodent squeaked several times before darting off with incredible speed. Finding parents. Stay here. I protect.

“The rat is going to get our parents, and you’ll protect us?” William hoped he’d interpreted the dragon correctly. Sure, he wasn’t very big. He was only around six feet long, and dragons were supposed to be huge. But William had seen what he’d done to the wolves. If the dragon said he would protect them, then they would be fine.

The dragon nodded and walked over to nudge Tabitha with his head. The little girl giggled and rubbed the scales in between the dragon’s wings. The dragon made a pleased sound, and William caught a momentary glimpse of something sharp along the front edges of the dragon’s wings.

“I’m… I’m William,” he said. It seemed only polite to introduce himself to the dragon that had saved him and his sister. “And she’s my sister, Tabitha.”

The dragon smiled again. William was still taken aback by the sheer size and sharpness of the dragon’s teeth, but there was definitely a friendly glint in the dragon’s eyes. I’m Spot. The rats waved, and the dragon puffed a bit of fire at some wood the rats had gathered. Were they… going to cook the wolves? I’m a dragon.

“I thought so,” William said. “It explains…” He glanced around at the dead wolves and the scorch marks. “Well, it explains everything.”

* * *

Spot headed back to his castle having done his good deed for the day. Of course, no good deed ever went unrewarded. He had a belly full of roasted wolf seasoned with pepper and garlic. It had been absolutely delicious. He’d also made two new friends. The little girl, Tabitha, had been happy to rub his scales, and Spot had promised to drop by her village in the future. Tabitha had hugged him, and William had patted him on the snout. Their parents had looked a bit worried when they’d eventually arrived, but Spot had only rolled his eyes at their concern. If he’d wanted to eat William and Tabitha, he would have done so long before their parents arrived. Before leaving, he’d warned the children to be more careful in the future. They weren’t strong enough to fight off wolves, so they needed to avoid them instead. Then again, it wasn’t always possible to avoid trouble. The paper pusher – Gerald – did his best to avoid trouble, but it always seemed to find him anyway.

He was angling toward his mother’s part of the castle when he smelled something truly wonderful. He didn’t have to think about it. He changed course. Anything that smelled that good needed to be investigated. The smell came from the kitchens, which he was more than familiar with. He landed and made his way through the kitchens on foot, chirping greetings to the cooks. They chuckled, and one of them tossed an apple toward him. Spot gobbled it up in one bite. Their reactions were a far cry from the terror they’d shown the first time he’d visited, but they knew him better now. He was not about to eat the people responsible for making such wonderful food each day. In fact, the only people he’d be eating were those foolish enough to harm the cooks. Sure, he liked to start his day with a good helping of cow, but Spot also enjoyed a variety of dishes throughout the day, from finely seasoned quail to turkey stuffed with ingots of iron and dressed in half-melted copper.

It wasn’t unusual for the cooks to slip him a treat whenever they saw him, and they made a point of letting him try any new recipes they came up with. Dragons were notorious for their appetites, but they also had incredible senses of taste and smell. Spot could notice even the most minute and subtle of flavours if he wanted to, and he could easily determine what ingredients had gone into even the most elaborate and complicated of dishes, provided he’d already tasted the ingredients at least once before.

There were also ovens in the kitchen, and ovens were hot. Dragons liked heat. Sometimes, when he was bored, he’d come and take a nap in one of the ovens. It wasn’t like the ovens could get hot enough to hurt him. At full heat, they were still only pleasantly warm. The first time he’d done it, he’d almost given one of the apprentice cooks a heart attack. The poor fellow had been convinced Spot was about to eat him. Since then, he’d taken to leaving extra food out whenever Spot was around. The rats thought he was trying to convince Spot to spare him with food. Spot wasn’t going to eat him, but he wasn’t about to tell him that either. He liked having the extra food.

Finally, Spot located the source of the wonderful smell. It was one of the ovens used for baking, but the young woman watching over the oven wasn’t one of the cooks or the bakers. Spot knew all of them. She was one of the maids, older than the twerp but younger than the idiot. She had blonde hair and blue eyes, and all of her attention was devoted to the oven. Spot noticed a bowl on a nearby bench. There was dough in it as well as on her fingers. Moving as quietly as he could, and he could be quiet when he wanted to be, thanks to the lessons he’d gotten from the rats and Chomp, he crept forward and licked her fingers to get a taste of the dough.

It tasted amazing.

Alas, he didn’t get to enjoy the flavour of the dough for more than a second before the maid turned, looked down, and then jerked away from him with a scream.

“Ah!” The maid scrambled back. Luckily for her, he’d reacted quickly enough to open his mouth. What had she been thinking? She could have cut her hand on his teeth by yanking her hand out of his mouth. The maid pressed herself flat against the nearby bench, her hands raised defensively. “Please,” she begged, eyes shut in sheer terror. “Please, don’t eat me!”

Spot gave the maid a quizzical look and tried to smile as reassuringly as he could. It did not help, and the way the terrified maid leapt onto the bench and brandished a butter knife at him jogged his memory. Unlike his mother and the others, most people got scared when something with large, sharp teeth smiled at them with those large, sharp teeth. He smiled again, inwardly this time. This was yet another reason he loved his mother. She understood the proper dragon way of smiling: teeth, teeth, and more teeth. She even smiled like that herself although her teeth weren’t as long or as big as his.

But as amusing as it was to see the maid wave the butter knife around – she was holding it wrong, and she’d need something a lot sharper to hurt him – he wanted to know what the maid was making, which meant he needed to be less scary. And he wasn’t very scary to begin with. He’d seen himself in a mirror. He was absolutely tiny compared to an adult dragon.

Spot sat down on his haunches and did his best to appear friendly. When a few minutes passed, and she continued to look terrified, he nudged one of the rats with his wings. They’d been busy sneaking dough out of the bowl instead of helping. The rodent licked his lips and hopped onto the bench. All of the castle’s servants were used to the rats, so he should have more luck at calming the maid down than Spot.

It took the rat ten minutes of patient squeaking and gesturing to calm the maid. Spot listened closely. He even scratched a few notes onto a piece of wood with his claws. He liked having friends, and being able to calm people down would help him to make more friends. After all, he only wanted to make friends with good people, and they didn’t have to worry about getting eaten. He only ate bad people, and only if his mother said it was okay.

Finally, the maid climbed off the bench.

Hungry. Spot nudged her leg with his head and pointed at the oven with one claw. What’s inside?

“Oh?” The maid laughed nervously and wiped her hands on her apron. Spot tilted his head to one side. Was she hot? She was sweating, and humans tended to be more sensitive to heat than him. Or maybe she was still afraid. Humans also had a tendency to sweat when they were afraid. “I’m… I’m baking cookies.”

Spot was familiar with cookies. He’d swiped a few from the twerp once before she’d pointed her shadows at him and told him to find some of his own. Despite her threats, she’d ended up sharing more of the delicious cookies after he’d pouted and wagged his tail at her, but she hadn’t had all that many to begin with. He’d also gotten a few from his mother, but she was more of a cake person than a cookie person. Eventually, he’d forgotten all about cookies when the idiot had given him a cow and some metal to eat, but this was a good opportunity to learn and taste more about cookies. He hopped into the air and opened the oven, so he could stick his head inside.

“Wait!” the maid shouted. “You’ll get burned…”

She trailed off as Spot poked his head around in the oven, his wings beating the air to keep him aloft. Spot chortled. Burned? He was a dragon. It would take something a lot hotter than an oven to burn him. In fact, this was one of the ovens he’d taken a nap in before. It had been pleasantly warm. His eyes gleamed as he studied the cookies, the source of the lovely smell. They looked great, but they smelled even better. The cookies were light brown, but there were chips of darker brown in them too. He plucked one off the tray and examined it intently before putting it back and closing the oven.

What kind of cookies?

The maid wiped her hands on her apron. “Those are chocolate chip cookies.”

Chocolate chip?

As the maid explained, Spot’s hunger only grew. He’d eaten chocolate before. His mother liked it, and so did the vampire. It was one of the few things the vampire ate or drank besides wine and blood. Spot grinned as his mind swiftly put together the pieces of the puzzle. Cookies were great. Chocolate was great. Chocolate chip cookies must therefore be even better than great. There was only one problem.

How long?

“Until they cook?” The maid bit her lip. “Maybe… twenty minutes.”

Spot growled, and the maid backed away. Twenty minutes? He had to wait twenty minutes? The dragon breathed a small jet of fire into the air. Fire help?

The maid waved her arms around frantically. “No! Don’t! If you use your fire on the cookies, it won’t help! They’ll be ruined! They’ll taste horrible!”

Spot bristled. The thought of waiting didn’t sit well with him. He was a dragon, and he believed firmly in the ability of his fire to improve any situation. However, he couldn’t risk ruining the cookies. He had to know what they tasted like. So instead of opening the oven and unleashing a blast of searing flame, he found a comfortable place nearby and curled up to have a short nap. Twenty minutes was a long time, and it would pass more quickly if he napped. If the cookies tasted as good as they smelled, then they would be worth the wait.

When the cookies were ready, one of the rats woke him up. He rushed over as the maid took the tray out of the oven with a thick woollen glove and put some cookies on a plate. He wagged his tail furiously and stretched his wings.

“Here you go.” The maid put the plate on the floor in front of him. “But don’t rush. Eat them one at a time. They’ll taste better that way.”

Spot leaned forward and then paused. He was supposed to be careful about eating food strangers gave him. His mother was worried about people trying to poison him although there were hardly any poisons strong enough to give him indigestion, never mind actually harm him. He knew the cooks, so they didn’t count as strangers, but did he know this maid? His eyes narrowed, and he sniffed the air. His sense of smell was incredibly keen. If there was any poison in the cookies, he should already be able to smell it.

“What’s wrong?” the maid asked. Despite her earlier fear, she seemed mildly offended that he hadn’t eaten any of the cookies yet. “Don’t you want any?”

Spot glanced at one of the rats. The rodents were all trained in detecting poisons. One of them would definitely have said something if there was anything to be worried about. The idiot – Timmy – was also very careful about only keeping trustworthy servants. Since the maid worked for the idiot, Spot should be able to trust her.

And the cookies smelled so wonderful.

Spot lowered his head, flicked one cookie onto his mouth with his tongue, and bit down. The cookie all but melted in his mouth, and he devoted his full attention to savouring every nuance of the cookie’s flavour. He gave a trill of delight and beat the air with his wings. The maid gave a yelp and stumbled back in the sudden gale. The cookie tasted amazing! The cookies he’d eaten before had tasted great, but this cookie was as far beyond them as his fire was beyond a candle! He was too excited to form words. Instead, he fired a rapid burst of telepathic praise at the maid, one that consisted more of images, impressions, and raw sensations. The maid staggered and then blushed as her mind began to make sense of his praise.

“Um… thank you. I’ve always wanted to be a baker, but my family desperately needed money. It’s how I ended up working here.” She paused and fiddled with her apron for almost a minute before speaking again. “I… I’d like to practice making cookies, so how about this? I’ll be baking in the morning several times a week. Why don’t you come by and try them? I can make other flavours, and it would be nice to have someone else’s opinion.” She chuckled nervously. “I… I want to make cookies that other people can enjoy, but I’m a little embarrassed about asking the cooks or the other servants about what they think.”

If the cooks or the other servants didn’t enjoy these cookies, then they were idiots. Spot grinned toothily. Other flavours? There were other flavours? Spot licked his lips. He’d already made up his mind. He would make time in the morning for this. There was absolutely no way he’d turn down a chance for more cookies!

* * *

Spot expanded his daily routine to include free cookies. It meant getting up even earlier than usual on weekdays, but he didn’t mind. He was a dragon, and as long as there were delicious cookies to eat, he would be there to eat them. Having a bite to eat before or after training also meant he had more energy throughout the day – energy he could use to train more and to grow more quickly. And there were few things nicer than curling up on the battlements in the midday sun with a stomach full of cookies and a nice, big slab of cow. His mother usually joined him once he’d finished eating and had moved on to basking. She would read a book, tend to her weapons, or discuss things with the rats.

The rats were busy creatures. Apart from all of their duties at the castle and the work they did for his mother, they also kept tabs on any criminal activity in the surrounding area. His mother was a kind, caring person, so she would go and deal with any bad people the rats found. Even better, dealing with all of those bad people earned her a lot of money. Sometimes, if they were especially bad, she even brought Spot along. Even if he’d already eaten, he could always find some more room in his stomach for a bad person or two, and the weapons they always tried to stab him with tasted delicious.

He liked the background noise too. More than once, listening to his mother and the rats talk had lulled him to sleep. Other times, he’d find what they were discussing interesting enough to listen to and learn from although the main thing he’d learned so far was that criminals like bandits were a great source of money. Spot might not have been as greedy as some dragons – according to the idiot, golden dragons were by far the greediest dragons – but he did enjoy the occasional roll in a pile of treasure. He’d asked the idiot if he could roll around in the castle’s treasury every now and then, and he’d agreed, provided that Spot didn’t steal or damage anything. Spot had happily agreed, but for some reason, the idiot had told his mother that she couldn’t go into the treasury with him. Was he worried about her stealing some of his stuff?

As for the maid, Spot had learned that her name was Alicia, and she always had cookies ready for him in the morning, and there were so many different kinds. It made him wonder why the maid hadn’t followed her dream to become a cookie maker. She’d mentioned something about her family being in urgent need of money in the past, but what about now? It didn’t make sense to him, but he wasn’t like most people. Most of the time, dragons took what they wanted, and when they didn’t, they always had a good reason, like a bigger, stronger dragon being around to stop them. There was also his mother. On the few occasions that Spot had tried to steal some of the cake she ate from time to time, he’d gotten a swift rap to his flanks and a stern glare. It wasn’t enough to hurt him, but it was a firm reminder that dragon or not, she expected him to behave appropriately.

It took a week for Alicia to explain more about her past.

“I come from a very poor village,” Alicia explained as the two of them waited for the newest batch of cookies to finish. It was still about an hour before sunrise.

Spot’s mother was still asleep, and he was still a little sleepy himself. It was fine though. Once the sun rose, he’d be much more energetic. It was how dragons were – well, most of them. The idiot had told him about dragons that preferred the night, but Spot wasn’t one of them although that could change in the future. Older dragons tended to require less sleep aside from the occasional long slumber some of them indulged in. Besides, all he needed were some cookies, and he’d feel perfectly fine.

“My village isn’t close, but I do have some cousins who live in one of the villages nearby. When my parents got sick, I was the oldest child. I had to find work. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to afford the medicine and healers we needed to help them.”

Spot made a face. If his mother somehow got sick, not that she ever would, he wouldn’t look for a job. There were other, quicker ways to make money. Take money from bad people.

Bandits and other bad people always had money, and nobody cared if they got burned, or so his mother said. Given how many times she’d already gone after bandits and other bad people since he’d been born, it had to be true.

Alicia giggled. She was a lot more comfortable around him now that she understood that the only things he was interested in eating were her cookies. “I’m not a dragon or someone like your mother, Spot. I’m not strong enough to fight bandits. I would get killed or badly hurt.”

Spot nodded slowly. She was right. The others – even the paper pusher if he could stop panicking and think – all had powerful magic or were good at fighting. But Alicia wasn’t like the others. He could easily kill her with one swipe of his claws. To Spot’s senses, magic was like a flame inside someone. His mother and the vampire burned most brightly of all, but the twerp, the idiot, and the paper pusher were all strong too. In fact, the twerp had more magic than any child Spot had seen. She even had more than most of the adult mages they fought during their missions. It was a worrying thought, and Spot patted Alicia’s leg with one of his wings. She was a good person, and she made cookies for him every day. Anyone who tried to hurt her was going to get eaten.

But there was something he still didn’t understand. Why work here?

“It’s true, there are plenty of other places to work, and this place is a bit weird.” Spot snorted. He wasn’t even a year old, and he already knew the castle was weird. But he liked it. It was fun. “I was only fifteen when my parents got sick, and I needed a lot of money quickly. My parents… they were barely hanging on.” Alicia smiled bitterly. “There aren’t a lot of decent places for a fifteen-year-old to work, Spot, not if they need as much money as I did to help my parents.

Decent places? Spot had felt her unease when she’d spoken the words, but what made some places decent to work at and other places not decent to work at? Humans were strange, and why was she blushing? He huffed. He’d have to ask his mother or the rats about it later. Chomp wouldn’t be able to help. The three headed-dog was a good friend and playmate, but he’d spent most of his life in a labyrinth. He didn’t know about humans the way his mother or the rats did.

“Anyway,” Alicia said, the words all but tumbling out of her. “When my relatives nearby told me about a necromancer who ruled a castle and was looking for maids and other servants, I decided to come here. They told me that he was a good man, at least as necromancers went, and I wouldn’t have to worry about him taking advantage of me or sacrificing me or anything crazy.” Spot chirped his agreement. The idiot was nice to his servants. In fact, Spot’s mother was much bossier to the servants than the idiot, and they weren’t even her servants. “So I came here. I was desperate. Lord Bolton –”

Who?

“Lord Bolton… you know, the ruler of this castle, Lord Timothy Walter Bolton.”

Oh. Spot made a face. Why did people have to use so many different names for the same person? Spot and his mother called him ‘idiot’, the twerp called him ‘master’, and the others called him ‘Timmy’. But now that he thought about it, the servants did tend to call the idiot ‘Lord Bolton’ or ‘my lord’. His fire kindled in his jaws. It was all so complicated. Everyone should just call him ‘idiot’ the way Spot and his mother did. He said as much to Alicia, and she laughed.

“I don’t think I can call him that. I’m not your mother or a dragon.” Alicia smiled faintly and gave Spot a scratch behind the ears. He preened. She’d gotten good at that. “Lord Bolton might be a necromancer, but I soon learned how right my cousins were. The other servants I talked to only had good things to say about him, and once I got past all of the zombies, the weird experiments, and the… things from under the castle, it wasn’t so bad. The pay is great, much better than I could earn anywhere else since not many people are willing to work at a place like this. To me and the other servants, Lord Bolton is a generous man.”

He’s also good at brushing teeth. Spot smiled and showed off his teeth. They always felt so clean once the idiot brushed them. Even the rats couldn’t do as good a job. It must be why his mother was always finding excuses to make the idiot brush his teeth instead of her. His mother only wanted what was best for him.

Alicia smiled. It was a warm smile although it wasn’t nearly as toothy as Spot’s. “Is he? Well, most necromancers would have either tried to enslave you or turn you into a zombie. Instead, Lord Bolton brushes your teeth. He also takes good care of Lady Morrow.”

Lady Morrow? Spot frowned. Wait. That was another name for the twerp. He gave a low rumble of annoyance. Everyone should just call her twerp. It would make life easier. The twerp?

“She lets you call her that?” Alicia giggled. “Then again, you are a dragon. You might still be young, but I doubt there are many people who can make you do something you don’t want to. As for Lady Morrow, when I saw how well Lord Bolton treated her, I knew I was in the right place. I didn’t have any experience as a maid, but he needed people to handle the things zombies can’t do well. The older, more experienced maids taught me everything I needed to know, and I’ve been here ever since. It’s been… strange at times, and there have been some scary moments like when someone accidentally ate Sam’s cake, but I’ve earned more money working here than I could ever have earned working somewhere else.”

She reached over and gave Spot another scratch behind the ears. She seemed to find the texture of his scales fascinating. “The money I earn even gets ferried straight to my family via zombie wyvern, so I don’t have to worry about it getting stolen.” She smiled warmly. “And when some bandits threatened my village, Lord Bolton sent Lady Morrow to deal with it as a test for one of her zombies.” Her eyes lit up. “It turns out that a zombie hydra-basilisk is more than enough to deal with some bandits.”

The idiot is nice and so is the twerp. Spot glanced at the oven. He’d memorised the steps involved in making cookies, and he’d gotten a feel for how long it took to bake them. Soon, the cookies would be ready, and then they would be in his stomach. He has lots of treasure too. Spot didn’t have a proper hoard of his own yet, but he was working on it. It was a pity that cookies were so fragile and could go stale. A giant pile of cookies to roll around in sounded great.

* * *

It was only a matter of time before Spot’s mother decided to find out why he’d begun to get up earlier each morning. The sudden of appearance of cookies, exceedingly tasty cookies, amongst the rats only hastened the process. Much like Spot, the rats were more than mere observers. Like Spot, they offered their opinions on how the cookies tasted. However, some of them were skilled bakers in their own right, and they were equally happy to offer suggestions, many of which Alicia at least considered.

Spot grinned and nudged his mother happily as she walked toward Alicia. Her amber eyes gleamed, and the temperature rose ever so slightly. Small beads of sweat broke out across Alicia’s brow, and the maid gulped and stepped behind a nearby bench, almost as though she were using it as a shield. Spot tilted his head to one side. Was Alicia afraid of his mother? Well, he supposed his mother could be scary, but she was only scary to bad people. Alicia was a good person, so she had nothing to worry about. Besides, if Alicia thought that hiding behind the bench would help, she was wrong. His mother’s fire would either burn right through that bench like it wasn’t there or blow it to pieces in the blink of an eye. The best place in the room for Alicia to hide would be behind Spot. His mother wouldn’t want to hurt him, and his scales could withstand far greater temperatures and forces than any piece of wood or metal. Unfortunately, he wasn’t very big yet. In a few years, Alicia would be able to hide behind him easily. Right now, Alicia would be lucky to fit even half her body behind him unless he unfurled his wings.

“So…” Spot preened as his mother stopped beside him and scratched his belly. Her fingers were coated in fire hot enough to turn wood into charcoal, but all he felt was a pleasant rush of warmth. “Is this where you’ve been running off to Spot? What are you waiting for?”

Spot wagged his tail in excitement. It was still a bit short and stumpy, but one day, it would be a serpentine coil that would whip out with enough force to carve through steel and stone with ease. He’d heard stories from the idiot and the twerp about how older dragons could slice entire groups of heavily armoured knights to ribbons with a single swipe of their tails. He couldn’t wait until he was old enough to do that. Plus, he could use his tail to cut multiple cows to pieces at the same time.

Cookies.

“Cookies? So that’s where those little bastards have been getting them.” His mother’s eyes narrowed at Alicia. The maid shivered, and Spot chortled. His mother was a dragon without wings. She had fire, ferocity, and the ability to terrify people with a glance. “How much longer until they’re done? If Spot is eating them all and not bringing any back for me, then they must be good.” She shifted her gaze to Spot, and the dragon shifted nervously.

Hungry.

“Yeah, yeah.” His mother rolled her eyes. “I’m not mad. I swear you eat enough to feed at least a whole village of people, maybe more. I’m not surprised that you’re not bringing me any cookies. I bet you gobble them up the second they’re done.”

Spot nodded. Very tasty!

“I bet they are.” His mother looked at Alicia. “Well? How much longer? Don’t make me ask again. Spot might like these cookies of yours, but he’ll eat anything if you give him the chance. I want to try some for myself.”

Alicia gulped. “Um… another ten minutes, ma’am… uh… my lady… uh…”

“Don’t give me any of that crap. I’m not some dumb ass noble. I actually work for a living, and I fight my own damn battles. Call me Avraniel.”

Alicia nodded silently. The other servants had all emphasised the importance of maintaining decorum despite the eccentricities of their master and his apprentice. They had suggested that she extend the same courtesy to the castle’s current guests, no matter how odd their behaviour might be. If the blonde elf wanted to be called Avraniel, then that was what Alicia would call her.

“Ten minutes, huh?” His mother sat on top of one of the benches and patted her lap. “Come here, Spot. I need to sharpen one of the daggers I took off a bandit the other day, and I forgot to bring a sharpening stone with me.” She twirled the dagger around so quickly that it was little more than a blur of metal. “A skilled dwarf made this dagger, but the idiot who had it had no idea of how to use it, never mind take care of it. His dagger and his gold are better off with me, and he’s better off in jail instead of on fire. It’s a win for everybody.”

Spot hopped onto his mother’s lap, so she could run the blade of the dagger along his scales to hone its edge. All he felt was a tickling sensation, and he belched a small jet of flame as the dagger found a particularly ticklish area.

“Watch it,” his mother warned, dousing the flame with her magic. “The idiot is going to be pissed if we set the kitchens on fire and so am I. The food here is great.”

Ten minutes later, the cookies were done. Spot cheerfully began to munch on his share while his mother nibbled thoughtfully on a single cookie before quickly coming to a decision and reaching for more. Within seconds, she had seized all of the remaining available cookies.

“Spot, there is no way that I’m getting up any damn earlier than I have to. I did enough of that when those bastard elves in the forest spent decades trying to catch me, so I’m not about to start doing it again. But you’d better save some of these cookies for me.” His mother held his gaze for a long moment to make sure he understood before she turned her attention back to Alicia. “As for you… I want more cookies. If you need more money to buy ingredients or anything else, ask me. If anyone gives you trouble or tries to stop you, tell me. These cookies of yours are great, and I’ll show anyone who stops me getting some the error of their ways.” She smirked, and the air behind her shimmered as a sudden wave of heat filled the room. “Understand?”

Spot perked up as his mother’s magic saturated the air. Were they going to set someone or something on fire?

Alicia trembled. Like most people who barely had any magic, standing next to someone like Spot’s mother when she loosened her hold over her magic was like standing next to a raging inferno. “Yes, ma’am… um… I mean… yes, Avraniel.”

“Good.” His mother chewed on one last cookie. She eyed the handful of cookies that remained on Spot’s plate, and the dragon hunched over them protectively. She might have been his mother, but he was not about to let her take his cookies. An amused smile crossed her lips, and she nodded in approval. No dragon would ever allow someone to simply walk over and take their cookies. “Now, tell me, can you make these but with hazelnuts in them too?”

“I guess I could…”

“Guess what you’re making tomorrow morning then.”

“Uh… these but with hazelnuts in them?”

“Yep.” Spot’s mother smirked and then strode out of the kitchen. It was only when she’d reached the door that Spot realised that she’d somehow swiped one of his cookies.

My cookie! Spot gasped.

His mother turned and tossed the cookie back to him. “You’re a dragon, Spot, but you’re young. There’s still plenty for you to learn. It’s about time the rats and I started teaching you how to steal things without getting caught.” She sneered. “I’ll ask that bastard Rubens to help. He’s a sneaky son of a bitch, even when he isn’t turning invisible. I doubt it will be much use when you’re fully grown. Adult dragons are crap at sneaking around, but until then, it could come in handy.”

Spot watched his mother go and trilled a thank you to her as he devoured the last of his cookies. He wasn’t surprised she’d given it back. She’d only been trying to make a point. Dragons had excellent senses, but they could still be fooled. The best way to avoid having something stolen from him in the future would be to learn how to steal things.

He turned back to Alicia who was still gaping at the door his mother had walked out of. He chortled. His mother had that effect on people. He nudged Alicia’s leg with his head. She wasn’t joking.

“I know,” Alicia murmured. “Which is why I’m worried.” She shook herself and looked around frantically. “I need to find out where the hazelnuts are kept!”

* * *

Timmy was in the middle of brushing Spot’s teeth, which had become strangely common since Avraniel continued to find increasingly ridiculous reasons to foist the task onto him like claiming she was allergic to Spot’s toothpaste, when he again noticed something that had begun to bother him. There were bits of cookie wedged in between Spot’s teeth. On its own, that wouldn’t have been unusual. Cookies were hardly rare in Everton. What was unusual was that Katie hadn’t reported any of her cookies missing – and she would definitely have complained if someone had filched some of her cookies – nor could he recall any of the kitchen staff making any cookies with hazelnuts, chocolate chips, and caramel in them. He wiped some sweat off his forehead with the back of one hand and considered the matter further. He kept finding bits of cookies wedged in between Spot’s teeth, so the dragon had to be getting cookies from somewhere. And these were good cookies. Even half crushed and covered in dragon saliva, they looked fantastic.

“Where do you get these cookies from?” Timmy asked as he resumed cleaning Spot’s impressively deadly teeth.

The dragon was growing at an impressive rate, but his teeth still looked too big for his mouth. If this kept up, Spot would have trouble fitting into the castles corridors within a decade, maybe less. Then again, dragons did tend to grow more slowly as they got older, and astral dragons were supposed to have an assortment of abilities related to intangibility and astral projection, not that Spot had shown much potential in either area yet. Timmy would have to see if there was a friendly astral dragon out there that was willing to pass on some advice since Avraniel was unlikely to be any help. The elf was definitely better suited to helping Spot master abilities from the corruption dragon side of his heritage since they generally focused on destroying things.

Alicia made cookies. Spot turned his head and licked the bit of cookie that Timmy had pulled free.

The necromancer sighed as it promptly got stuck between a different pair of teeth. No wonder dragons were cranky all the time. Not only did they have to contend with adventurers trying to steal their treasure all the time but also their risk of tooth decay was incredible. Hopefully, Spot’s teeth would fit his jaw better as the dragon got larger. It would make his teeth so much easier to clean.

Wait.

Did dragons have baby teeth like humans did? Was it possible that Spot’s teeth would simply fall out as he got older, allowing a new and even more menacing set to emerge in adulthood? Adult dragons were able to regrow teeth, but he didn’t know if the same applied to younger ones like Spot. Dragon researchers had a depressing tendency to get eaten before they could learn too much. However, dragons were basically nature’s ultimate killing machines. It would have been weird if even young dragons couldn’t regrow teeth to replace any they lost or damaged. Alas, even if Spot could get new teeth, Timmy still wasn’t getting out of brushing the little dragon’s teeth. A dragon with a sore tooth was an irritable dragon, and an irritable dragon usually resulted in a dead everything else.

The name Spot had mentioned was familiar. Alicia was one of the maids who worked at the castle, but she wasn’t a member of the kitchen staff. Interesting. He’d have to do a bit of digging. Getting good cookies at the castle was a pain in the neck, and he hadn’t been able to convince a suitably skilled cookie maker to move in yet. Just getting a skilled baker to ensure a steady supply of cake after his master’s years of tyranny had been hard enough.

Timmy reached for a tool that resembled a hook and motioned for Spot to open his mouth wider. The dragon did, and it was suitably terrifying. No wonder Spot was capable of practically inhaling a cow. Timmy sighed and shoved his arm into Spot’s mouth. There was no sane way to do this. Getting at those back of teeth of his was practically impossible. “Tell me more and do not close your mouth. I enjoy having a right arm.”

* * *

Alicia had enjoyed the last fortnight or so immensely. Once she’d realised that Spot was not, in fact, interested in eating her and was actually quite friendly, her morning baking routine had become much more enjoyable. The dragon – and the rats that tagged along – had grown increasingly adept at offering useful and thorough critiques about her recipes, most likely due to how much keener a dragon’s senses were than a human’s. As for the rats, they’d brought along some of their bakers. Apparently, they did a lot of their own baking, and they’d offered to share some cookie-making techniques from their homeland. She still didn’t know how she could make sense of the rats’ speech since they didn’t use telepathy like Spot. Perhaps it was some kind of magic. After all, magic could create nightmarish zombies that were a mishmash of half a dozen different creatures, so it wasn’t too far fetched to think it could let rats communicate with people. She had asked some of the other servants who dealt with the rats on a regular basis, and they’d told her to get used to it. The rats had their ways, and it was better not to ask too many questions. These were, after all, the same rats that specialised in assassination, demolition, and a host of other nefarious activities.

Alicia had even gotten used to the extremely terrifying elf that Spot called his mother. Avraniel had checked on them several more times to make sure that Spot was okay – and that he hadn’t been eating any of her share of the cookies – but she’d mostly left Alicia to her own devices. All Avraniel wanted was a regular supply of cookies in the flavours she liked. She was even willing to pay for ingredients. Alicia had a feeling the money came from any criminals unfortunate enough to cross the elf’s path, and when one of her hazelnut suppliers had been threatened by a criminal syndicate, the entire syndicate had mysteriously vanished with their heavily fortified lair reduced to a smouldering pile of ash. In a remarkable coincidence, both Spot and Avraniel had been absent that morning. However, witnesses who lived near the lair had reported hearing the sounds of a woman cursing and a reptile of some kind roaring in a manner that was equal parts adorable and terrifying just prior to the lair’s destruction.

Despite how scary it was to know people who could – and would – annihilate a criminal syndicate for threatening their supply of cookies, it was strangely reassuring to know that those same people would be willing to kill or mangle her enemies if necessary. Perhaps it was because of how long she’d worked at the castle, but Alicia was fairly certain that a normal person would not have found mass murder over cookies to be reassuring even if the victims had been members of an evil crime syndicate. Then again, was it any weirder than having a trans-dimensional protoplasmic horror that liked cake wander into the kitchen in the middle of the night for a snack? And it certainly wasn’t any stranger than working for a necromancer who made his apprentice file his tax returns not only because he was lazy but also because the apprentice in question, a young girl, was incredibly good at toeing the line between proper adherence to the law and tax fraud.

And speaking of the castle’s master, Lord Bolton himself had come to observe this morning’s baking session. It was hard not to tremble in his presence. Although he didn’t go over the top with his clothing the way Lady Morrow was prone to doing – voluminous black robes and clogs could not possibly be practical in a fight – he still cut an imposing figure despite the laid-back attitude he often affected to put the servants at ease despite his awesome power. The casual ease with which he swung around a shovel with one hand hinted at the strength he possessed, and anyone who had the courage to stick their entire arm into Spot’s mouth simply to clean the dragon’s teeth had to have nerves of steel. Lord Bolton might look more like a casually dressed mercenary than a necromancer, but Alicia had some inkling of what he was truly capable of.

Lord Bolton was a Grand Necromancer. There weren’t many of them in the world, and he’d achieved his rank at a far earlier age than his peers. His necromantic powers were thus sure to be beyond her comprehension. She’d seen him befriend horrors and monsters that defied human understanding. Indeed, it wasn’t at all unusual to find Lord Bolton and Sam sharing cake in one of the courtyards, and she and the other servants had all been warned not to stare at Sam too closely lest they be driven insane. If the rumours were true, Lord Bolton could even speak the bizarre, arcane language used by Sam and his ilk. Who knew what matters of cosmic importance the necromancer and the horror discussed while they were enjoying cake or playing cards?

She’d also heard of how he had robbed the haunted tombs of countless ancient kings and waged war against other villains, robbing them of their treasure and destroying their fortresses. Lately, she’d even heard whispers of how he and the others had gone on missions of the utmost difficulty and importance for the Council. If the Council, the wisest and most powerful of Everton’s elite, needed his help, then his power must have been truly incredible.

But there was more. The Supreme Cleric of the Order of the Blessed Dawn had come to the castle personally to discuss things with Lord Bolton. Alicia had seen her floating through several walls on her way to the dining room, the unbelievable might and radiance of her magic all but driving Alicia to her knees in awe.

And now? Now the Lord of Black Tower Castle, the man who paid her salary, the same man who, as kind as he was to his servants, was also capable of fighting and defeating some of the most powerful and dangerous people in the world… that same man was now staring right at her and waving a hand in front of her face because instead of listening to what he’d been saying, she’d been too busy speculating about him.

“Are you okay?” Lord Bolton asked. “You’ve been mumbling to yourself and staring into space for about two minutes.”

Alicia immediately composed an elegant reply, one that would doubtless assuage any concerns that her employer might have about her sanity. What emerged from her mouth was rather different. “Blabargarh!”

Lord Bolton stared.

Alicia coughed and cleared her throat. “I mean… good morning, Lord Bolton.” She bowed formally and almost hit her head on the bench.

He chuckled. “Lord Bolton? It’s too early in the morning to be so formal.” He snickered. “You should see Katie when I try to get her up early in the morning. She’d give Avraniel a run for her money in the murderous rage department.” He nodded at Spot. “You have a lot of cookies on your plate Spot, and the next batch is about to finish. Can I have one? I’m feeling a bit hungry.”

To Alicia’s horror, the dragon growled and wrapped himself protectively around his plate of cookies. He even lashed the air with his tail, which wasn’t nearly as threatening as it would one day be, considering how short his tail currently was. The dragon also bared his teeth, and she saw the shimmer of flame kindle in his jaws. But Lord Bolton merely rolled his eyes and then stepped forward. Spot lunged at him, and the two of them rolled across the floor briefly before Lord Bolton emerged with a cookie in one hand.

“Not bad, Spot.” Lord Bolton patted the dragon on the head. “But you need to work on your technique. There aren’t many things big, strong, or crazy enough to wrestle an adult dragon, but you’ve still got a lot of growing to do. And once you have grown up, you’ll want to have an edge, something to help you deal with other dragons and anything else that might want to wrestle you. Good technique can give you that edge.” The dragon nodded solemnly and then gave a huff before nudging Lord Bolton with his head. “Relax, I’m only going to have a tiny bit of your cookie, and I’ll make sure you get an extra one from the next batch.” That seemed to placate Spot, and the dragon sat back on his haunches. “Now, time to find out what all of the fuss is about.”

Alicia waited with bated breath as Lord Bolton bit off part of the cookie and munched on it. His expression was utterly inscrutable as he chewed, chewed, chewed, and finally swallowed.

He grinned. “Alicia, is it?” She nodded. “How would you like to make a lot of money?”

* * *

Whether he liked it or not – and for the most part, he did like it – Timmy had been a villain for the majority of his life. The only time in his life when he hadn’t been a villain of some sort was prior to being dumped at the castle by a family who had been less than enthusiastic about one of their children being a necromancer. Oh well. Life wasn’t always fair, and his had turned out quite well, all things considered. He even had his own castle, albeit one that had been built over lightless chasms of horror and despair within which lurked primordial beings of incalculable power from another dimension that wanted to bring about the apocalypse. But those were minor details. He had a castle.

Part of his villainy stemmed from the nature of necromancy itself combined with how easily necromancy could be used for evil purposes. Making zombies was considered creepy and evil by most people, and virtually all of the necromancers he knew who worked for a government were employed by tyrannical regimes bent on oppressing their enemies through the liberal use of wave after wave of zombies, most of which were made up of their former enemies. Fortunately for Timmy – and the world – that wasn’t his style. Tyrannical regimes invariably ended in oceans of blood, and he happened to enjoy living in relative comfort and minor villainy in his own castle. Being rich was nice, but being rich and dead was not. On the upside, he had recently gained access to a treasure trove of new opportunities.

Everton had a long history of conflict with other nations that either wanted to enslave its people or simply annihilate it. As a result, Everton’s governments had a highly pragmatic bent, which was why, a few zealots aside, no one had ever made a truly serious, concerted effort to wipe out necromancy in Everton. A single powerful necromancer could change the flow of a war since wars tended to devolve into battles of attrition, and it was hard to beat someone in a battle of attrition if they could turn every corpse into another soldier. Of course, good, patriotic necromancers were almost always in short supply. Timmy and Katie could easily be the only two in Everton, which would explain the Council’s decision to offer them a pardon against the wishes of the previous Supreme Cleric.

Before the recent change to his legal status – pardon pending – Timmy had made ends meet in a variety of different, often less than legal, ways. Raiding tombs helped. The riches of long dead kings were rarely taxed if only because the authorities hardly ever knew of their existence, and Timmy certainly wasn’t about to tell them. Preserving the archaeological value of a tomb could also prove to be profitable. There were people who would pay handsomely to learn more about the past, so he could often sell any information he had about an ancient tomb for a fine price, especially if he could guarantee that any traps or other dangers had already been dealt with.

Alas, there were only so many tombs worth raiding, and he often kept what he stole instead of selling it. There was also the issue of some things being far too dangerous to sell. He might have been a necromancer, but he had a conscience as well as plenty of common sense. Some of the artefacts he’d found over the years were the stuff of nightmares. Sure, an artefact that could bring about the apocalypse via a demonic invasion would fetch an incredible price, but what was the point? If it fell into the wrong hands, he – and the rest of the world – would be dead long before he could enjoy any of the money he made.

Dead men had no use for money. His master had once said that, and Timmy had accepted it as being one of the few pearls of wisdom that his master had ever been generous enough to give him although he had also been drunk and waving his sword around at the time.

Squabbling with other necromancers and villains was another way to make money, but it could be dangerous. Long, drawn-out conflicts could also turn into money pits. More than one necromancer he knew of had become impoverished after being dragged into a decades-long conflict that resulted in all of the participants either ending up dead or so poor they wished they were dead. Thankfully, Timmy was skilled in the art of legal-loophole identification. He had managed to set up a number of different accounts that managed to comply with the law while giving him access to revenue streams that should have been barred to a man of his questionable legal status. Over the years, they’d closed many of the loopholes he’d used, but they’d been too late to stop him.

He would have liked to use his money more transparently since it was only a matter of time before they turned some of loopholes he’d used against him, but his legal status made it tricky. Without the proper legal standing, his assets could be seized although actually taking them when they were defended by hordes of zombies would be easier said than done. However, that was no longer an issue. He might not have earned a full pardon yet, but he’d done enough to secure completely legal access to key financial opportunities. He’d checked, and he’d gotten Gerald to check too. The bureaucrat might not have been the bravest man, but he was an absolute genius when it came to understanding bureaucratic and legal documents. Timmy had even gotten personal confirmation from Vicky and James. The other man had muttered angrily to himself the entire time, which had only added to Timmy’s joy.

And then there were Alicia and her cookies.

Alicia’s cookies were extraordinarily good. If he hadn’t already checked them, he would have sworn than she was using some form of magic to make them taste better, and it would have to be truly incredible magic to affect a dragon like Spot. But, no, they really were just that good. He’d spoken to Spot, and the dragon had gleefully informed him that she had plenty of other recipes, and they were all fantastic.

Timmy hadn’t survived, even prospered, through adversity the way he had without being able to spot an opportunity. And all opportunity came down to a combination of skill, preparation, and good, old-fashioned luck. Information was also critical. Being well informed could easily be the difference between him walking away with more sacks of gold than he could carry and him walking away with nothing more than the clothes on his back.

Years ago, his master had shoved the books containing the castle’s accounts and budget details at him with a thinly veiled threat to either balance the books or else. Timmy hadn’t known his master for very long back then, but he’d know him well enough to know that he absolutely did not want to find out what ‘or else’ meant. To survive and bring the castle back into financial security, Timmy had not only learned how to cut costs, balance a budget, and find good deals but he had also learned the importance of information.

He was familiar with all of the major markets in Everton and overseas, and he had learned how to eke out profitable margins in all of them. Currently, he possessed several powerful advantages. He had a castle, large quantities of gold and other valuables, and access to an incredibly large and sophisticated information and logistics network, courtesy of the rats, the friends and contacts he’d made over the years, and the countless zombies at his command. Now that he no longer had to worry about being arrested or imprisoned on sight, those advantages had only grown more potent. He no longer had to hide in the financial shadows. He could, to some degree, act openly and decisively.

The cookie market in Everton was tough. One of the key issues was transportation and storage. Cookies were perishable goods, and although there was magic capable of preserving food, it often made the food taste bland since it had been designed primarily for military use. As a result, local bakeries bought and sold cookies only in their local area. More powerful preservation magic – the kind that could preserve flavour almost perfectly – was too expensive to use on a large scale. Transporting cookies across the nation was also difficult. Due to their shelf life, transporting cookies via wagon was not fast enough, and transporting them by griffin or wyvern would be prohibitively expensive.

Bakers were also notoriously secretive. Many of them considered sharing their recipes with anyone except for their chosen successors to be a crime comparable to high treason. Vicky had been forced to intervene more than once after warring groups of bakers had turned the streets of the capital into a war zone after allegations of recipe theft.

Attempts to sell fresh cookies nationwide on a regular basis had thus failed repeatedly due to problems with the logistics.

It didn’t have to be that way.

One of the first things any necromancer learned how to do was how to preserve bodies. Without a ready supply of useable corpses, necromancers were little better than glorified grave robbers. To that end, necromancers learned how to use their magic to maintain corpses before developing their own runes and seals to help preserve bodies and other organic matter. As a child, Timmy’s master had rationed his food severely, not because they lacked food but because he was that big of a jerk. Timmy had learned through painful trial and error that it was possible to use his magic and the runes and seals he would eventually develop to preserve food without corrupting it and rendering it inedible.

Later, he’d experienced a break through of sorts after coming across the ‘proper’ runes and seals for food preservation. After careful experimentation and several severe cases of food poisoning, he’d learned how to combine the two sets of runes and seals into something better. No wonder craftsmen and mages were able to charge such exorbitant prices for their products. Preserving food, and particularly its taste, was hard. If things had been different, Timmy could have taken his knowledge and started a company specialising in food preservation. But as a criminal, he would have run the very real risk of having his company and research seized. Now? He might not have a full pardon yet, but he was already entitled to far greater legal protection than before. True, he wasn’t naïve enough to think that legal protection alone would keep him safe. But legal protection plus an army of zombies should do the trick. With his recently improved legal status, he could not only use his knowledge without fear of reprisal but also sell it for a tidy profit.

Timmy smirked. How would Everton’s cookie market react if there was a group that could not only make delicious cookies but also preserve their flavour for long periods of time while transporting them across the country, all while maintaining prices that were, if not cheap, at least quite reasonable?

Oh wait.

There was a group like that.

He could handle the preservation of the cookies and their flavour, and the rats and his zombies could see to their safe and speedy transport across Everton. All he needed now was an expert cookie maker who was willing to work with a Grand Necromancer. Ordinarily, the odds of meeting someone like that would have been close to zero. Luckily for him, he happened to know just the person. After all, she’d been working for him for years, albeit as a maid.

“Alicia,” Timmy said. “Let’s talk. We can use my office.”

* * *

Alicia stared at Lord Bolton’s chair. It was an exquisitely crafted chair, intricately carved and seemingly made to make whoever sat in it look as regal and imposing as possible. It was also made entirely of bones, quite possibly human bones.

“Ah, you’re wondering about the chair.” Lord Bolton chuckled. He’d slouched into the chair in a way that Alicia knew would have provoked a comment about his posture from Lady Morrow if she’d been present. “I didn’t choose it. It came with the office. Katie thinks it’s wonderfully atmospheric. Then again, she thinks the same thing about books bound in human skin. Me? I’ve been hoping to get rid of it for years. It might look good, but whoever made it clearly had no idea of the importance of lower back support. Unfortunately, it’s an ancient relic that helps control some of the more… unusual things in the castle and underneath it.” He chuckled again. “Believe me, there are other ways to handle those things, but they involve a bit more blood.” He mimed stabbing someone, and Alicia squirmed. “I have added some cushions to it since bone is so… well, bony, but I made the mistake of getting Katie to make them.” He gestured. “Which is how I ended up sitting on a chair made of bones with bright pink cushions. But enough about the chair, let’s get down to business.”

Alicia listened with growing incredulity as Lord Bolton explained his idea. It was crazy. It was madness. It would never work. Yet the longer she listened, the more brilliant it sounded. She knew how good he was at planning. He had to be to stay one step ahead of Lady Morrow and the authorities, but this… this was incredible. He outlined their main advantages: excellent cookies, the ability to preserve them and their flavour, and the ability to transport them across the country at virtually no cost. With those three things, they could seize control of the national cookie market. Just the thought of it made her head spin. Was this how villains felt when they thought about conquering the world because if so, it was no wonder so many of them were megalomaniacs.

Her cookies in every city, town, and village in the country – she could barely wrap her mind around the idea of it. But each word Lord Bolton spoke made it seem less like a dream and more like an opportunity simply waiting for her to reach out and take it. Before she knew it, she found herself agreeing with him although she still had the good sense to hold back when their discussion turned to the specifics of the agreement. She’d have to talk to some of the other servants and her relatives, perhaps even ask the bureaucrat, Gerald, for advice. According to the other servants, Gerald was timid but scrupulously honest and exceptionally good at anything even tangentially related to bureaucracy. However, selling her cookies across the nation was not an opportunity she could ignore.

“We still have to hammer out the details,” Lord Bolton said. “But we do need to start thinking about a name. Have you got any ideas?”

Alicia thought back to the morning that had started with the terror of being eaten before turning into one of the most important days of her life: the day a hungry dragon had wandered into the kitchens and convinced her that her cookies really were delicious. “How about… the Hungry Dragon Cookie Company.” Her lips curved up into a smile as she pictured Spot inhaling yet another batch of cookies. “And if we have a name, then we need to have a slogan too. How about… cookies so good that even a dragon can’t resist?”

Lord Bolton grinned. “Perfect.”

* * *

Victoria munched on another cookie. She wasn’t half bad at baking, but these cookies were amazing. It was, as the slogan on the pack proudly proclaimed, a cookie so good that even a dragon couldn’t have resisted. Then again, having met the dragon in question, she highly doubted that Spot would be able to resist eating any cookie, never mind one this good.

All of the speculation about the people behind the Hungry Dragon Cookie Company amused her. Timmy had done an exceptional job of concealing exactly who owned and operated the company. It was probably for the best. If people knew the magic used to preserve the cookies had originally come from a necromancer, there would be no shortage of screaming and wailing although she doubted that anyone would actually stop eating the cookies. She’d already had to use her magic to prevent her assistants from stealing some whenever they thought she wasn’t looking – the cookies were that good. It made her wonder what else Timmy and other necromancers had hidden up their sleeves. After all, the foremost textbooks on anatomy had all been written by a necromancer who had also possessed healing magic and the desire to experiment.

It was just a shame that James hadn’t worked it out yet. He’d talked about wishing he could meet the people responsible for making such delicious cookies, and he’d bought enough cookies to last a normal person a year. She gave it a month at the most before he had to buy some more.

The look on James’s face when he found out would be absolutely glorious. She’d have to break it to him later when she could make sure that someone with image-preserving magic was around. Timmy would never forgive her if he missed out.

Food Supply

(Set Shortly After Two Necromancers, a Dragon, and a Vampire)

Timmy was used to unusual requests. After all, he was a necromancer. Unusual requests came with the territory. Katie, for instance, was a seemingly endless source of unusual requests. Whether it was a request for a bright pink hydra or a lavender salamander – both of which he’d managed to acquire thanks to knowing so many rare creature dealers – he’d learned that it was generally better to not ask too many questions.

What possible use could a bright pink hydra have? What good was a lavender salamander? Those were questions that only Katie could answer, and Timmy, eminently sensible person that he was, could not hope to understand his apprentice’s mind. Her eccentricities aside, his apprentice was both highly intelligent and equipped with just enough common sense to avoid doing anything too dangerous without informing him first. Katie might have enjoyed meddling with the primal forces of life and death, but she also enjoyed living. She did not want to become yet another unfortunate necromancer statistic.

Of course, Katie was still a child. There were times when he had to intervene, but they were few and far between. More often than not, Katie could be counted upon to avoid doing anything that could result in her death, the destruction of the castle, or both. Throughout her apprenticeship, Timmy had done his best to instruct her on the finer points of sensible villainy. He’d already invested a lot of time and effort into training her. The last thing he needed was for her to blow herself up. He’d been fortunate enough to find a good apprentice the first time around. There was no guarantee he’d get that lucky a second time. Fortunately, Katie tended toward minor to middling levels of villainy. She’d shown no inclination toward wanton slaughter, senseless murder, or any other such atrocities. Indeed, the closest she’d come to committing an atrocity was when she’d outfitted a whole group of her favourite zombies in bright pink. With magic like hers, it would be so easy for Katie to become a little psychopath with a penchant for using her shadows to turn people’s insides into their outsides.

Sam and some of the other more exotic residents of the castle, or rather the lightless caverns of infinite doom, woe, and despair underneath the castle, also came up with their fair share of unusual requests. Most of the time, it was about wanting something new to eat although they weren’t always pleased with the results. Sam had been distinctly unimpressed by caviar, and he hadn’t been able to understand why caviar was more expensive than the peerless miracle that was cake. On another occasion, some of Sam’s fellows had taken a shine to apple cider made using apples from a specific orchard. It had taken everything Timmy had to keep them from leaving the castle in search of the orchard and more cider. He wasn’t sure how the orchard’s owner would have taken the arrival of half a dozen protoplasmic horrors from another dimension, but he doubted that he’d take it well. There would probably be a great deal of screaming and wailing involved, possibly even a heart attack or a stroke, maybe even both.

Spot’s requests were more straightforward. If the little dragon could eat it, he wanted to try it. Given that Spot was part corruption dragon and therefore impervious to almost every poison in existence, there was very little he couldn’t eat. Timmy had seen Spot devour flesh soaked in hydra venom without developing so much as a case of indigestion. On another occasion, he’d caught Spot munching on the remains of a rusty bear trap. The old trap had been no match for Spot’s fire and teeth although the dragon had grumbled about the quality of the metal. Apparently, metal tasted best when it was either finely forged or fresh out of a mine.

Yet even with all of the unusual requests he’d handled in the past, what Amanda was asking for was definitely something new – and not necessarily in a nice way.

“I’m sorry.” Timmy shook his head in disbelief. “But I think I misheard you. Would you mind repeating that?”

Amanda accepted his apology with an elegant wave of her hand. She was wearing gloves today, and the blood-red fabric made for a perfect contrast to her pale skin and blue eyes. “Certainly. I would very much appreciate it if you could help me to procure several comely, young virgins to see to my needs.”

Timmy twitched. She had to know how her request sounded. “And by your needs, you mean…?”

Amanda gave him a flat look, and slivers of crimson bled into the brilliant blue of her eyes. James often gave Timmy that look, but it was much more imposing coming from an ancient vampire who was older than Everton. “I am a vampire. What needs do you think I am referring to?”

Timmy decided that it would be better if he didn’t mention some of the things he’d heard about vampires. Not only were ancients usually more eccentric than their younger kin but they were also far more powerful. “Do you have any idea how weird your request sounds? Think about it from an outsider’s point of view.”

“I thought it best to be as specific as possible.”

Timmy ran one hand through his hair. “I’m not sure you understand how helping you would make me look. I’m already a Grand Necromancer who lives in a big, scary castle atop what might as well be a mountain. Oh, and did I mention my army of nightmarish zombies and the things underneath the castle? People already think I’m strange and probably evil. If I start asking comely, young virgins if they want to come to my castle, they’re going to assume the worst. I’ll have to deal with a band of angry villagers waving torches, stakes, and pitchforks – again. I’m trying to earn a pardon. I don’t need to make my reputation any worse. I’d also like to avoid too many people finding out what you are.”

“Oh?” Amanda raised one eyebrow in truly aristocratic fashion before giving him a look of exquisitely regal disdain. “Are vampires illegal in Everton now?”

“Actually…” Timmy paused.

As an expert in no less than fifteen different forms of villainy, he was also something of an expert when it came to the law. In fact, he had taken and passed a correspondence course in law two years ago after Katie had bet three months of her allowance that he would fail. The look on her face when he’d passed had been more than worth it although he wasn’t quite evil enough to take his apprentice’s money. Instead, he’d given it back after she’d agreed to do his paperwork for three months. As clever as she was, Katie had needed a stern lesson in not underestimating her opponents, and he’d needed a way to reduce his paperwork. It was a win-win situation. Alas, he’d been forced to complete the course under an alias. His real name had become far too well known after he’d become a Grand Necromancer, so he wasn’t actually qualified to practice law.

“Vampires aren’t currently illegal in Everton. They never have been. What are illegal are certain kinds of feeding, especially unsanctioned and unwanted feeding. Provided that any feeding is legally sanctioned and conducted in accordance with all relevant laws, it is not illegal to feed. Furthermore, as strict as the law is concerning feeding from humans and other species of similar legal standing, it is somewhat laxer when it comes to feeding from livestock.”

“How very amusing,” Amanda drawled. Her dress was every bit as fashionable as her gloves. Like all of her clothing, it was designed to convey both beauty and sophistication. She’d most likely chosen red because it would be harder to notice any bloodstains, and he’d noticed she had a tendency to get a little messy when she fought. Ancient vampire or not, there was hardly a vampire alive who wouldn’t get a little bit excited at the sight and smell of fresh blood. “I happen to know a bit about the law myself. As a citizen of Everton in good standing, not to mention a former member of the Council, I should have no trouble whatsoever in securing the necessary permits.” She tossed some of her long, dark hair over her shoulder, and Timmy bit back a grin. No wonder Katie wanted to know how Amanda looked after her hair. Vampire or not, her hair was in incredibly good condition. “You can rest assured that there shall be no legal issues.”

“Okay. But we’ve got to come up with a less creepy way of phrasing your request. I am not going to put up help-wanted posters for comely, young virgins.”

Amanda frowned again. She was normally more easy-going, but she’d most likely been limiting her blood intake since she’d arrived. As an ancient vampire, she didn’t need a lot of blood to survive, but there was a difference between merely surviving and enjoying life. It was like the difference between eating gruel each day and sitting down to a hearty, home-cooked dinner each evening. He had paid some of the villagers to obtain blood, but their blood was merely acceptable. Amanda wanted more than acceptable.

In a way, it was a good thing that she’d brought her request to him and not one of the others. Avraniel would use Amanda’s request as an excuse to go out and set something on fire. Spot would eat something – or someone. Old Man would smile gently and then offer Amanda some tea and possibly a chance to watch him prune one of his bonsai trees. Gerald would panic and file an emergency assistance request. And Katie? Katie would undoubtedly start imagining any number of bizarre scenarios.

“I suppose I can talk to some friends of mine, see if they know anyone who might be interested. I can also put up some posters and maybe even take out some help-wanted ads in local publications. There are always people interested in work that pays well even if that work is a bit odd. But if you don’t mind my asking, I do have a few questions since you’re the first ancient vampire I’ve met who hasn’t tried to kill me.” Timmy chuckled. “Although to be fair, most of the ancient vampires I’ve met, I’ve met while robbing their tombs or covens. Do you really need comely, young virgins, or is it just tradition?”

Amanda folded her gloved hands together in her lap. “I am certain you have some ideas of your own about that particular issue.”

“I’d rather not assume too much since making a lot of assumptions usually ends with me running for my life. Vampirism is basically magical in nature, and although magic follows some rules, those rules aren’t always obvious or sensible. Apart from being incredibly powerful, ancient vampires are often the custodians of vampire history.”

Amanda gave a deep sigh. He wondered if she’d done that deliberately. Vampires didn’t need to breathe, so could they even sigh without planning to? “You must be extremely hard to kill. Few can say they have faced even a single angry ancient vampire and lived. From what you’ve said, you’ve managed to escape several.”

“You can thank my master,” Timmy replied. “He had a very… pragmatic approach to training. I could either get better, or I could get dead.”

“I can imagine. He sounds like quite a pleasant fellow.” Amanda’s expression grew thoughtful, and she glanced over at the window on the other side of the room. As a courtesy, Timmy had drawn all of the curtains. In place of sunlight, several magical crystals built into the walls and ceiling lit the room. As an ancient vampire, sunlight was scarcely more than an annoyance, but it was the thought that counted. “I shall answer your question as best I can, but even I cannot be sure of how much is truth and how much is mere legend. We vampires live a very long time, but I doubt that even a single one of the First Bloods is still alive. They would be so old as to make me look like nothing more than a child and so evil and twisted as to make your master look like a saint.”

“Thank you.” Timmy prepared to take notes. He had a good memory, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Ancient vampires rarely spoke of the true history of their kind, so he needed to make the most of this opportunity. “And consider yourself lucky. Katie has pages and pages of questions for you, but you have a knack for escaping whenever she starts throwing questions your way.”

“Katie is an incredibly intelligent and curious child.” Amanda chuckled. “But I am not a history book. I am not about to reveal everything I know about vampires. Tell her to select ten questions, and I may consider answering them.”

Amanda had to try very hard not to smile. Katie reminded her of some of the more clever and inquisitive children she’d met over the long years of her life. She had always had a soft spot for children, perhaps because of how fiercely she’d loved her own. She leaned back in her chair. No matter how many years passed, she still missed her children. It would have been so easy to turn them, but once she’d realised what vampires truly were – and fate had conspired to teach her in the most brutal way possible – she hadn’t been able to bring herself to inflict that burden on any of her children.

The vampire forced herself to focus on Timmy’s question. There was no point in dwelling in the past. It was what drove so many of her kind insane. “As you know, vampires must consume blood to survive. In general, the younger a vampire is, the less efficient they are at making use of the blood they consume. That is why fledglings have a reputation for being voracious, reckless, little monsters who must be watched closely at all times lest their appetites draw unnecessary attention to the coven.”

Timmy winced. The growing scowl on Amanda’s regal features hinted at some serious unpleasantness in the past. Combined with her disdain at the mere thought of starting her own coven now that she’d returned to Everton, and it was obvious there was a story there, presumably, one full of blood, corpses, and a lot of dead vampires. It was rare for ancients to turn against their own covens. Timmy had only heard of it happening three times. In all three cases, the ancient had emerged victorious, leaving burned out ruins and piles of ash in their wake.

“Some fledglings need to feed several times a day although most only need to feed once a night. Ancients are the opposite. So long as I do not exhaust myself through combat, regeneration, or the use of my magic and powers, I can go years without feeding. It would not be pleasant, and I might even go a touch insane, but I could do it. And if enough time passed without me feeding, I would fall into a… coma of sorts. However, ancients still generally try to feed at least once a week if only to ensure our powers are at full strength.” Amanda’s lips curled, and Timmy caught a glimpse of elongated canines. “Ancients rarely engage in real combat. For a coven, it would be a mark of incredible weakness if they had to rely on the strength of one of their ancients. The only time an ancient usually fights is when another ancient has been sighted upon the battlefield. You can imagine how destructive a conflict between two ancients would be. Only a fool would enter such a battle at anything less than their full strength.”

Timmy shuddered. One of the most infamous battles in necromancer history had been waged between two ancient vampires with necromantic magic. The battle between Lord Ulric of the Ebony Tower and Lord Jarvis of the Broken Quay had involved tens of thousands of zombies, hundreds of vampires, and had resulted in the complete annihilation of the kingdom they’d been fighting over. Oops. It had taken two centuries for anything except strange, misshapen weeds to grow there. Both had been ancient vampires of considerable power. Neither had been as old as Amanda was now.

“That would explain why the ancients whose tombs I’ve robbed were so cranky. Not only was I robbing them but they had also been down there for years, possibly centuries or millennia.” Timmy snickered. “No wonder they chased after me. They must have been dying for something to drink.”

“Indeed. But unless they took the appropriate measures before entering their sleep, they were most likely insane. Only the consumption of large quantities of blood would have restored their sanity, and I can hardly blame you for failing to volunteer.” Amanda’s eyes gleamed crimson. “We ancients have a tendency to appear less… human when we allow our vampiric heritage to manifest more openly, and extreme hunger has a way of bringing such unpleasantness to the fore.”

“How does consuming blood work?” Timmy asked. “I’ve studied vampire corpses before. It took some quick thinking to keep them from turning to ash, but the process seems to be magical as opposed to mundane.”

“Impressive. A truly dead vampire will almost always turn to ash within moments although older vampires will linger for longer, especially if they were in their true forms when they died.”

“I was curious,” Timmy said. “And after you’ve had a vampire attempt to kill you and feed off you for the fiftieth time, you start looking for more efficient ways to deal with them. I found myself up against a coven once. This was before Katie became my apprentice. When I took over after my master died, a lot of people thought they could march in here and take the castle from me. I showed them, all of them, how wrong they were.”

“An entire coven? You continue to surprise and impress me. Shall I assume that you have dealt with all of them… permanently?”

“Fire was quite handy.” Timmy smiled faintly at the memory. Horrible screaming aside, it had been so therapeutic to watch the coven go up in flames after all of their attempts to murder him. “And it works even better when you combine it with dozens of barrels of explosive, flammable acid and plenty of sunlight.”

“How thorough. You’ll have to share the story with me someday.” Amanda had a wistful expression on her face. “Not even something like that would kill me although it would sting.” Her voice grew sombre. “Blood contains power. As a necromancer, you understand that better than most. Vampires are not what most people think they are. We come from… somewhere else, or at least, what makes us vampires comes from somewhere else. I imagine it – the source of vampirism – comes from a place not dissimilar to the place your friend, Sam, calls home. Blood binds us to the here and now and to our human bodies. Without it, the parts of us from somewhere else begin to turn on the human parts. It is why blood-starved vampires act and look so inhuman. Ancient vampires have a true form, which better reflects what we truly are. I hope you never see mine. I usually only show it to people I either intend to capture or kill, and I would hate for us to become enemies. You have been a most gracious host thus far, and you and Katie are the nicest necromancers I have ever met.”

Timmy nodded. “Thank you. We do try to avoid going overboard when it comes to our villainy. It’s one thing to make a horrifying composite zombie. It’s quite another to simply go around murdering innocent people.”

“Indeed. As for my true form, I will say this: Sam would find it most nostalgic.”

Timmy poured himself a glass of water. He wasn’t averse to the occasional glass of wine, but his master’s frequent drunkenness – and increased nastiness and incompetence – had shown him the dangers of overindulging. He offered some to Amanda, but the vampire merely smiled and shook her head. Wine was one of the few things she drank other than blood. However, she preferred older vintages, and Timmy’s wine budget wasn’t close to big enough to accommodate her tastes. As he drank, he considered Amanda’s words. He’d long suspected a lot of what she’d said, but it was nice to have his suspicions confirmed by one of the oldest and most powerful vampires in the world. Was there any chance she would agree to a few experiments? Maybe, but he shouldn’t get ahead of himself. If her true form were anything like Sam, he would need to take a lot of precautions first.

“So… about the comely, young virgins…?”

“The blood of comely, young virgins is best because the person who became the very first vampire used it as a catalyst in his rituals. As a result, the blood of comely, young virgins has always been more potent for vampires.” Amanda made a face, her brows furrowing in aggravation. “If only he’d had the decency to use criminals in his rituals, he’d have saved us all a lot of trouble. I doubt vampires would have developed such a poor reputation if criminals were our prey of choice.”

“You’re probably right. If vampires went around eating criminals instead of comely, young virgins, you guys would be heroes instead of villains. It’d be way less creepy too.”

Amanda frowned. “Vampires do not eat people. We drink their blood.”

“I’m not sure the distinction matters to the people whose blood you’re drinking.” Timmy wrote down a few more ideas he wanted to follow up on in the future before he spoke again. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you.” He paused, and his eyes narrowed as a troubling thought occurred to him. His magic bled into the surrounding area, not a lot but enough to let Amanda know he was serious. “You haven’t been… sampling any of my servants without asking first, have you?”

“I most certainly have not,” Amanda replied. “I am a guest in your home. Dining on any of your staff without your permission would be unconscionably rude.” The vampire pouted. It was an unbelievably beguiling expression. “I would like to hire the aforementioned comely, young virgins as my maids although they would still answer to you in matters pertaining to the castle. My part of the castle is also rather dreary, and I think I disturb some of your servants.”

“First of all, the castle isn’t dreary. It is menacing and awe-inspiring. Second, you’ve done the whole turning into mist thing in front of them. It’s kind of freaky, but they’ll get used to it. They got used to Katie’s shadows, Sam’s love of cake, and they’ve even gotten used to the rats. Believe me, they’ll get used to you too. All they need is some time.” He took another sip of water. “Although if your true form is as terrifying as you say, you might want to keep it to yourself. Well, you could show Sam. I doubt he’d mind.”

“Fair enough,” Amanda conceded. “So when will we begin our search for comely, young virgins?”

“Could you please stop saying it like that,” Timmy pleaded. “Give me a few days. I’ll reach out to some people I know first.” He glanced at his water. Given how well this was likely to go, he’d be replacing it with wine soon, regardless of how he felt about overindulging in alcohol.

* * *

“Master, are we really going to do this? It makes us look weird, and not in an ominous, necromancer way.” Katie’s glare left no doubt as to her utter lack of faith in his idea although it should really have been called Amanda’s idea. “Can’t we write something else instead?”

Unfortunately for Timmy, his attempts to obtain comely, young virgins without drawing too much attention had gone less than well. None of his contacts, most of which specialised in fields more relevant to necromancy, such as rare creatures or corpses, had been of much help. He’d also gotten quite a few strange looks from them too. To supplement his efforts, he had decided to take out some help-wanted ads in a variety of newsletters and journals, as well as put up posters in various towns and villages. In a bid to cut costs, he’d trimmed the ads down to a single line. After all, longer ads cost more money.

Help wanted. Comely, young virgins to work at necromancer’s castle.

Timmy grimaced. Substantial savings aside, that just sounded weird and creepy. “It is pretty awful, isn’t it?”

“It’s the most awful help-wanted ad I’ve ever read,” Katie replied. “We sound like we’re going to enslave them or something… or murder them in their sleep and sacrifice them to the things underneath the castle.”

“You know,” Timmy murmured. “I think my master mentioned something about someone trying something similar a few centuries ago – the sacrificing, I mean. It didn’t work out so well.”

Katie grimaced. “Ouch.” The things underneath the castle were unfathomably powerful. If something had gone wrong, it was highly likely that everyone involved had died horribly or had suffered a fate so terrible that dying horribly would have been a mercy.

“Yes, well, I suppose we haven’t got a choice then. If Amanda wants comely, young virgins, she’s going to have to help us find some. If I have to look like a creepy weirdo, you can be sure I won’t be the only one.” He folded his hands together on the table in front of him. “We’re going to do this the old-fashioned way.”

“There’s an old-fashioned way to do this now?” Katie huffed. “We’re not going to go around kidnapping people, are we? Because we’re necromancers, not kidnappers.”

Timmy ruffled Katie’s hair. His adorable apprentice could be so naïve at times. “Katie, necromancers have kidnapped plenty of people in the past. I know you’re well versed in necromancer history, so you should know about some of the more unsavoury things our past and present colleagues have done.” Timmy reached for more parchment. “But we’re not like them. We won’t be kidnapping anyone. We’ll be doing interviews.”

“Interviews?” Katie groaned and immediately put the pieces together. Clever girl. “Just you and Amanda, right? I don’t have to be there, right? Right? Right?”

“Oh, you’re not getting out of this so easily. You’ll be there. As my apprentice, it will be your glorious honour and privilege to suffer beside me.” He chuckled as she spluttered in outrage. “Besides, you never know when you’ll need to hire some servants of your own. Consider it a learning experience.”

* * *

Timmy sat on one side of a large table while a young woman sat on the other side with her hands folded together in her lap. She’d managed to stop fidgeting, but only a few moments ago, he’d been worried that she might tear her dress from how hard she’d been wringing it. Beside Timmy were Katie, Avraniel, and Amanda. Gerald had managed to avoid participating by pointing out all the paperwork he had to do, and Old Man had said something about needing to tend to his bonsai trees before adjusting his hat and teleporting away.

Traitors.

He knew for a fact that Gerald kept on top of his paperwork and that Old Man had already tended to his bonsai trees for the day. Those two simply wanted to avoid being subjected to this horror. On the upside, Spot had decided to spend the day exploring the forest with Chomp and Mr Sparkles. The last thing Timmy needed was a cranky dragon, and Spot would definitely get cranky if he was stuck inside all day doing nothing except listening to people talk. And a cranky dragon would mean terrified interviewees. The young lady in front of him was already extremely nervous. If Spot had shown up and so much as growled in her direction, she would have given herself a heart attack or a stroke. Timmy would then have to make sure she was all right before coming up with an explanation that people would actually believe since no one was going to believe she’d suffered a dragon-induced heart attack/stroke. No, they’d most likely come up with their own explanation, something involving necromantic evil and general villainy.

“So, Lillian,” Katie began as she shuffled a stack of papers in front of her. “What makes you think that you have what it takes to serve as a maid in Black Tower Castle? After all, this castle is ruled by a Grand Necromancer with a very capable apprentice.”

Timmy managed to hide his snigger behind a cough. His apprentice might not have liked participating, but in typical Katie fashion, she’d come up with an excessively detailed plan for identifying the most suitable candidates. Contentment filled him. It was so nice to have such a competent apprentice even if she did try to overthrow him on a semi-regular basis.

Lillian shifted nervously in her chair. “I’m… I’m a very good cook, and I can sing, sew, and clean. I also have some healing magic.”

Timmy sat up a little straighter. Katie had told him not to slouch while they were interviewing people, but this was his castle. He’d slouch if he wanted to. “Is your healing magic holy-based or light-based?” When healing magic was based on holy magic or light magic it could injure or even kill lesser vampires. Naturally, Amanda would be fine. Unless someone like Vicky showed up, the ancient vampire was unlikely to get anything worse than a case of indigestion from any holy magic or light magic she encountered.

Lillian shook her head. A lock of her chestnut hair fell across her face, and she hurriedly pushed it back into place and almost punched herself in the face at the same time. Katie winced and Avraniel laughed. Lillian was a very nervous person. Could she be related to Gerald? “My… my village’s healer said it was closer to accelerated regeneration.”

“Good.” Timmy breathed a sigh of relief. Healing based on accelerated regeneration usually worked as intended on vampires, werewolves, and other similar beings. However, he was curious to know what would happen if Amanda was in her true form. Based on some experiments he’d run on a tentacle or two that Sam had been kind enough donate, regenerative magic tended to do hilariously bizarre things to otherworldly entities. In Sam’s case, the tentacle had turned bright green and then grown a mouth and a pair of wings before it had tried to eat Timmy. A stout hit or two with his shovel had put an end to it, and he and Sam had enjoyed a good laugh and some cake.

“Here’s a question: if you had to kill someone, how would you do it?” Avraniel tossed the question out like a flaming dagger.

“Excuse me?” Lillian stuttered. Her emerald eyes had gone wide with shock. “Kill someone?” If Timmy didn’t know better, he’d have said she was about to throw up. Luckily, his time around Gerald had led to him carrying a paper bag around for just such an occasion since the older man wasn’t always able to use his magic properly when he was in the midst of losing his lunch.

“Think fast!”

This time, instead of a question, Avraniel had tossed an actual flaming dagger. Timmy could immediately see that it wasn’t going to hit. It was aimed a few inches to the side of Lillian’s head, but the young woman wasn’t as perceptive. She gave a terrified wail, and the dagger jerked to a stop an instant later. Katie had caught it out of the air with her shadows. Timmy gave his apprentice a thumb’s up. She’d gotten faster with her shadows. All her training with the rats and her constant squabbling with Avraniel was paying off.

“What are you doing?” Katie growled. More shadows stirred, and Rembrandt brandished his sword.

“What does it look like, twerp? I’m testing her. What’s the point of having a maid if they can’t defend you from murderous assassins?”

“Just because you have a garden full of poisonous and carnivorous plants, a three-headed dog the size of a warhorse, and Spot doesn’t mean that everyone else has to be as paranoid as you. We’ve got the rats, thousands of zombies, enough runes and seals to hold off anything short of the apocalypse, and… other things for security. If our maids have to fight, and I’ll admit that some of do know how, then something has gone horribly wrong, and the world is probably about to end.” Katie glanced at Amanda. “Amanda can do her own fighting.”

“Fine. But don’t blame me if someone sneaks in and sets the people eater on fire.”

Timmy was about to point out that fire would not, in fact, kill Amanda before realising that if anyone were going to set the ancient vampire on fire, it would be Avraniel. And as much as Avraniel liked to brag, her fire magic was on a completely different level.

“All right,” Timmy said. “Let’s move on. Lillian, how do you feel about zombies as co-workers?”

They asked Lillian more questions, but Timmy could tell that Amanda had already made up her mind. Being an ancient vampire could have given her miraculous powers of insight… or maybe the paper cut on Lillian’s right index finger had already told Amanda everything she needed to know.

“I think we’ve asked enough questions,” Amanda said. “Lillian, I think you are eminently suited for the position. However, I do have a few questions of my own.” She glanced at Timmy, and he nodded. “Lord Bolton is the ruler of this castle, but you would be working for me. I’m sure you’ve been wondering why we wanted comely, young virgins.” Lillian gulped and nodded. If Timmy had to guess, she was probably wondering if this was where they dragged her off to a dungeon to sacrifice her to some primordial entity from beyond the stars. “Tell me, how do you feel about vampires?”

“I’ve… I’ve never met any.”

Apparently, Lillian hadn’t put it all together yet, and Timmy fought the urge to bash his head on the table. After having to put up with Katie and Avraniel bickering throughout the whole interview – he really shouldn’t have let them sit next to each other – he was going to scream and hit someone with a shovel if Lillian freaked out and turned down the position because she couldn’t handle vampires. He sat up straight and took on his most regal demeanour. Time to get this over with.

There were times for subtlety. This was not one of them. “Lillian, we want to hire you as a maid but also to feed her.” He pointed at Amanda. “She is a vampire. You are a comely, young virgin. You are thus the perfect snack for our blood-drinking friend.”

“She’s – she’s going to eat me?” Lillian jerked back. Her chair would have toppled over with her in it, but Katie steadied it with her shadows. “And – and it’s still daytime! Why isn’t she on fire?” Lillian stared at the rays of sunlight touching Amanda’s skin. “Vampires are supposed to catch fire in the sun, right? Is… is she some kind of super vampire?” Lillian looked like she was about to hyperventilate, and Timmy tossed her the paper bag he’d brought. She had to be related to Gerald. There was no way someone could go from wanting to throw up to hyperventilating the way Gerald could without being at least a little bit related to him.

“Vampires do not eat people,” Amanda replied archly. More of her noble lineage had seeped into her bearing, and Lillian immediately adjusted her posture, sensing that she was in the presence of a true noble, someone who had earned her title through excellence instead of merely inheriting it. “We merely drink blood. But, yes, I am a… super vampire although the correct term is ancient vampire.” She softened her expression and smiled. It didn’t help, possibly because it showed off her elongated canines. Timmy snickered. The fact that Amanda hadn’t bothered to conceal them with an illusion made him certain that the smell of Lillian’s blood was getting to her. She was hungry, and Lillian was a feast. “Lord Bolton is correct. I would like to drink your blood. It smells… absolutely delicious.”

“Oh.” Lillian gulped again and bit her lip. “I… the… the amount you’re offering to pay… it’s… it’s real, right?”

Amanda nodded. The ancient vampire had personally guaranteed the very, very generous remuneration packages her maids would be receiving. She had invested her money wisely over the years, and she had lived for an extremely long time. “Indeed, it is.”

Lillian took a deep breath to regather her composure. “Then… I’d like to ask some questions of my own.”

“Go ahead.” Timmy leaned back in his chair and gestured vaguely at Amanda. “We’ll do our best to answer. If you have any questions about vampires, ask Amanda. She’s the vampire. I’m just a necromancer.”

Lillian wrung her hands together. “When you say ancient vampire, what do you mean exactly?”

“I am older than Everton, and I am as far above a normal vampire as a dragon is above a lizard.”

“And like a dragon, you eat people,” Avraniel taunted. Katie took one look at Amanda and leaned back. The vampire gave Katie a small smile of gratitude and then plucked the dagger off the table. A flick of her wrist launched the weapon at Avraniel. All most people would have seen was a blur, but the elf snatched the dagger out of the air with a mocking laugh. “Oh, please, people eater. You’re not even trying.”

Lillian went back to breathing out of the paper bag for a few moments before she asked her next question. Timmy couldn’t blame her. If Amanda had thrown the dagger at a regular person, they’d be dead. All he could have done was dodge. Avraniel, however, was nowhere close to normal, and her speed and reflexes put other elves to shame. “Would… would I become a vampire if you drank my blood?”

“No,” Amanda replied calmly. “At worst you might become a ghoul, which is the fate of those who are drunk completely dry by a vampire who then uses their power to reanimate them as ghouls. However, I have no intention of drinking you dry, nor do I have any intention whatsoever of using my powers to turn you into a ghoul. When it comes to your blood, I shall only require some every few weeks. At worst, you might feel faint for a day or two. You shall most certainly not be in any danger of death or serious injury.”

“Oh.” Lillian’s hands were shaking so badly that Timmy was worried she would tear the paper bag. On the upside, she hadn’t run out of the room screaming at the top of her lungs. She must not have been related to Gerald, after all. It was what he would have done. “And about the accommodation…?”

“You would be staying in a room in my part of the castle, your own room.” Lillian’s eyes widened. It wasn’t unusual for maids to share rooms with each other, but the castle had plenty of room. “I shall admit that it is a tad dreary at the moment, but I am in the process of redecorating.” Amanda gestured at her dress. As usual, the dress was exquisitely stylish, cut perfectly to flatter her figure with a colour designed to accentuate her features. “As you can see, my taste is impeccable.” Even her hair was perfect, her long, dark tresses pulled into an elaborate braid. “You may rest assured that my quarters and yours shall soon better reflect my sense of style. In addition to monetary compensation, you would also be receiving other forms of remuneration.”

“Other forms of remuneration?” Lillian clutched at the paper bag. “Do you mean… like… like blood?”

“Not exactly.” Timmy chuckled. “Allow me to explain.”

Timmy outlined the various other forms of remuneration Lillian would receive in addition to her pay, which was already very generous for a maid. She was entitled to a range of side benefits including, but not limited to, receiving combat training from the rats, getting zombies to smite her enemies, and having wraiths and various other spirits see to the safety of her loved ones. Such measures had proven to be quite useful in the past since some people didn’t seem to understand that messing with his employees was a bad idea. It was hard to find good employees, so Timmy went out of his way to take care of the ones he could find. It also gave him and Katie an excuse to test out their newest zombies and rituals.

Once he’d finished explaining, Lillian took several deep breaths out of the paper bag. Finally, she lowered the paper bag into her lap and gave them the most determined look she could muster. It was less than impressive. “I… I would like to be one of Lady Arthurs’s maids.”

“Excellent,” Timmy said. “Let me give you a copy of the contract we expect you to abide by. You have a week to think it over before we need a signed and notarised commitment. Does anyone have any objections?” The others all shook their heads. “Good. Lillian, you’re welcome to stay at the castle while you think things through, or I can offer you a flight and escort to one of the nearby villages.”

“If… if it’s all right, I’d like to stay here.”

“Is that so?” Amanda licked her lips. “Then allow me to show you to your room.”

Timmy frowned. “No snacking on her until she signs the contract.”

Amanda chuckled. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. The best meals are worth waiting for.”

* * *

Timmy grimaced as he laid eyes on the next candidate. After striking gold with Lillian, the next several candidates had all failed to pass muster. The most common complaint from Amanda was that they failed to meet her requirements. They’d all been young and comely enough, so that only left the, uh, virginal part. Timmy had no idea how she could tell without even getting out of her chair, and he wasn’t about to ask her. Some things were better left unexplained.

Spot and Chomp had also arrived two interviews ago. The pair was covered in mud, leaves, and what appeared to be bits of at least two separate deer. The dragon and the three-headed dog had curled up in one corner, and the interviewee, a young woman named Irene, had given a fairly blood-curdling shriek and then fainted. Timmy sighed. He wouldn’t have minded the would-be maid fainting if Spot or Chomp had looked like they were about to eat her, but the not-so-little reptile and the enormous canine had barely looked at her at all. Instead, they’d been more concerned with finding a nice position to nap in. Spot, apparently, enjoyed using Chomp as a pillow.

However, squeamishness was not what worried him about this particular candidate. If anything, it was the exact opposite.

“You wouldn’t happen to know Gertrude Cuthbert, would you, Francesca?” Timmy asked. He wasn’t sure why he even bothered. He knew precisely three people with eyes that exact shade of purple. It was the result of a family-specific form of magic. It made the aforementioned family eminently suitable for a certain occupation, one that involved a lot of corpses.

Francesca smiled. She was younger than Lillian had been. Lillian had been a month past her nineteenth birthday. Francesca Carter couldn’t be more than seventeen, and there was something familiar about her surname. “Yes, Lord Bolton. She would be my mother.”

“Good grief,” Timmy muttered. “I didn’t even know she had children. And given how old you are, she’d already given birth to you before she paid my master a visit.”

“Master, who is Gertrude Cuthbert?” Katie asked. Avraniel was doing her best to appear uninterested, but a small twitch from her ears gave her away. The elf wasn’t as well informed as she could be since she’d spent so much of her life in and around the forest dealing with the elves, which was a polite way of saying she’d been robbing them, setting them on fire, and generally making them miserable.

“You know how my master was kind of an idiot who made a lot of enemies?” Katie nodded. It was true. Her master’s master had been awesomely powerful, but he’d made so many enemies, most of who had not only tried to assassinate him but also her master. Even in death he was still causing trouble. “The Cuthbert family specialises in assassination. In the entire world, I’d say they rank in the top five. In each generation, one of them is born with eyes like her. It’s a side effect of their magic, and it is powerful magic. Her mother fought my master and lived. Sure, she didn’t win and I might have given her some help, but I can count on one hand the number of people who tried to assassinate my master while he was sober and got away alive.”

“And what kind of magic do they have?” Katie asked. It was always fascinating to learn more about her master’s past although most of his stories seemed to involve people trying to murder him or his master. It was probably why he’d often said he would be happy with a nice, boring life after retirement. She didn’t think he would get one, not as a Grand Necromancer.

“Their magic alters their perception, so it tends to stain their eyes purple. When they’re out of magic, their eyes tend to be blue. As for why they need altered perception.” Timmy picked up the dagger – they really should have put it away by now since leaving pointy objects out near Avraniel was a recipe for disaster – and threw it at Francesca’s head. It passed right through her head before one of Katie’s shadows nabbed it. “There you go. That is what her magic does.”

Katie frowned. Her master definitely hadn’t missed. He had very good aim when it came to throwing things. In fact, she’d yet to defeat him in a snowball fight even with her shadows. He was a bad winner too. He normally celebrated by shovelling snow on top of her to proclaim his victory. Sam was worse, though. The protoplasmic horror could throw dozens of snowballs at a time, courtesy of his many tentacles. Sam also used his victory to proclaim ownership of as much cake as possible. “What did she do?”

“It’s a form of intangibility. If she looks at an object, she can temporarily make it intangible. How much magic it requires and whether or not it works depends on the object’s mass, volume, composition, and magical energy. It’s why they need altered perception. When it comes to assassination, it is extremely useful. They can use it to get through walls and fortifications or to evade traps and attacks.” Timmy scowled. “There are some other things they can do, but I’d rather not mention them. Her family owes me a favour since I helped her mother escape, but they might try to assassinate me if I say too much.” He shrugged. “I can handle them if they try, but I am very busy right now.” He peered at Francesca. There was definitely something familiar about her, something that reminded him of someone other than her mother. “Does your mother still have a scar on her brow?”

The girl smirked. “Yep. It was a nice trick you pulled, making it look like you were fighting her, so she could get away. How did you do it? She couldn’t make your shovel intangible.”

“A prototype anti-magic shovel. The one I had then wasn’t nearly as good as the ones I have now, but it got the job done.” He stopped and stared as something clicked in his mind. “Wait! Your name is Francesca Carter. I know a man with Carter for a surname. You’ve got the same nose as him. You don’t mean to tell me…” He groaned as Francesca grinned impishly and nodded. “Oh, for love of…”

“Is this another one of those things you can blame on your master?” Katie asked with a giggle. She was enjoying this far too much, Timmy thought. She was lucky his idea of fun was rigging a trap outside her door to pelt her with flour instead of one designed to shoot magically enchanted nails. Avraniel was enjoying it too, but she wasn’t even trying to conceal her amusement. Amanda had the decency to keep her opinions to herself although there was a faint twinkle of amusement in her eyes.

Timmy gazed heavenward. “After my master started a war with a legendary family of assassins – some of who came after me for a while, which is why you’ll have to work extra hard if you want to overthrow me – the law got involved. Adam Carter is, or rather was, a Law Enforcement Mage of considerable skill and power. We worked together for a while since I was one of the few people who’d met his target – Gertrude – and lived, and my master wasn’t known for being cooperative. Me? I was more interested in putting an end to the whole thing. He’s not in law enforcement anymore. He’s in private security now, but we still write to each other from time to time. He did not mention having a child with the assassin he was so obsessed with finding and arresting.”

“It was love at first stab. My mother liked a man who could keep up with her daggers and blow her through a wall with his magic,” Francesca supplied, sighing wistfully. “They actually had an affair years before my mother tried to assassinate your master. I was born not long after, and my father began to search for us after he found out about me.” She smiled sunnily. “Thanks to your help, they’re happily married now.”

“Okay…” Katie scratched the back of her head. What kind of love story was that? “Wait… how old were you when her mother tried to assassinate you, master?”

“Fourteen.” Timmy chuckled at Katie’s shock. “Katie, they’re a family of legendary assassins who’ve been murdering people for money for centuries. They were not going to feel bad about murdering a fourteen-year-old necromancer, especially if they thought I was even half as bad as my master. And, hey, my master thought it was great. Either I continued to get better, or I got dead.”

“If it helps, my mother now feels kind of bad about trying to murder you.”

“Great. Let’s move on. Why are you here? I wrote to your father last month, and he never mentioned you looking for a job. In fact, he’s never mentioned you at all. I’ll have to ask him why in my next letter.”

“It’s partly for my protection. We are a family of assassins, but he wasn’t sure how to break it to you. I know you and my mother had a truce, and she does owe you a favour, but she almost killed you several times.”

“Fifteen times. I counted.”

“Yeah, fifteen. So…”

“So…?”

“Here.” Francesca reached into her pocket and handed him a sealed letter. “I don’t know what’s in it, but they told me to give it to you. They said only you could open it. It should explain everything.”

Timmy read through the letter three times and scrutinised the signatures and magical insignia at the bottom a further four times before conceding it was real and authentic. “Your parents want you to be a maid at my castle because the assassins of the world are about to wage a horribly bloody civil war that will likely involve at least fifty different groups trying to kill you if you remain with your family.”

Francesca groaned and shook her fist at the sky. “Mother! Father! I told them I could look after myself!”

Avraniel smirked. “You know what? I like her. Assassins don’t like picking fights unless they have to, which makes this damn castle about as safe as it gets. You’ve got thousands of zombies, the rats, runes and seals, Sam and those other bastards, and all sorts of other crap.” She bared her teeth. “I doubt any assassin in the world has the guts to come here looking for a fight, but I wouldn’t mind it if a few of them dropped by. It would keep me from getting bored, and I don’t think Spot has eaten an assassin before.”

Tasty? Spot stirred briefly and then went back to sleep. Apparently, napping was no barrier to knowing when people were talking about eating things.

“Fine. I have agreements with most of the assassins’ guilds because of the help and zombies I’ve lent them over the years.” He looked at Katie. “Assassins, mercenaries, and thieves, Katie. Make sure you’re on good, or at least reasonable, terms with all of them. It pays off.” He turned his attention back to Francesca. “I guess I can hire you, provided Amanda approves.”

Amanda’s gaze sharpened, and she took a deep breath. “Her blood smells delicious, but I don’t think I have ever met anyone her age with so much blood on her hands.”

“You don’t mind donating blood to a vampire, do you?” Timmy asked. “Because it’s part of the job description.”

Francesca laughed. “I’m a trained assassin. I can handle giving a little blood. I can also promise that while I am a servant at your castle, you will have access to my other talents.” She grinned, and there were suddenly a pair of daggers in her hands. “Which means you have a world-class assassin at the ready.”

“Great. Welcome to the castle, I guess.”

Amanda stared longingly at Francesca’s neck. “I am feeling a mite peckish, would you mind horribly if I had a little taste?”

Francesca tilted her head to one side, exposing more of her neck. “I can’t say I’ve ever had my blood drunk by a vampire before. It should be interesting.”

“While you two are getting acquainted, the rest of us are going to get something to eat.” Timmy was halfway to the door when a certain reptile leapt onto his back and gave his cheek a happy lick. “Yes, Spot, you can get something to eat too.” He staggered as Spot flapped his wings happily. “Weren’t you asleep? Or do you automatically wake up whenever someone mentions food?”

* * *

The second day of the interviews had not started well. They were up to their fourth interview, and they had yet to meet a suitable candidate. One of the candidates had even accused Amanda of being a fraudulent vampire, suggesting she was simply a weirdo with a blood fetish. Amanda had taken the insult about as well as any ancient vampire would. The would-be maid had been escorted from the castle, shaking like a leaf, after Amanda had demonstrated, quite graphically, that she was, in fact, an actual vampire. Naturally, things only got stranger from there.

“You’re a Barisian heretic.” Timmy could scarcely believe his eyes. “I was under the impression they’d executed all of you. If I recall correctly, most of you were burnt at the stake.”

“Heretic?” Both Avraniel and Spot perked up. The dragon was sitting in her lap and sprawling across half the table. “Burning?”

“Katie, enlighten our fire-loving friends.” History was one of his adorable apprentice’s favourite subjects, and the Barisian Heresy was the sort of gruesome, bloody incident she enjoyed reading about.

“The Barisian heretics were a group from the imperial province of Barisia. They were supposed to have been destroyed more than a hundred years ago when the Eternal Empire cracked down on them. They were renowned for their expertise in summoning magic and magic pertaining to the creation of familiars. However, they worshipped different gods from the rest of the Empire and were widely thought to be supporting secession from the Empire, which eventually led to their destruction. Supposedly, they were all either killed in battle or executed in the aftermath of defeat.” She winced. “The Empire was extremely thorough. According to most accounts, the Empire didn’t stop at wiping out the heretics themselves. They annihilated every single bloodline connected to them. Master, what makes you think she’s one of them?”

“It’s her skirt,” Amanda murmured. The vampire’s lips curved up into a genuinely warm smile. “Your master has a keen eye for details, Katie, so he would have noticed it. Her skirt doesn’t move the way it should. It was especially noticeable when she sat down. I’ve read about the Barisian heretics myself. I believe one prominent family specialised in invisible familiars.”

The girl – Elyssa – grinned. “You have good eyes.” The formerly invisible creature coiled around her waist revealed itself. It looked like a cross between a snake and a gopher. “You’re an ancient vampire, aren’t you? Snuggles – my familiar – says you are, and he’s never wrong when it comes to things like vampires, zombies, demons, or werewolves.”

“I am indeed an ancient vampire. However, I am curious. What sort of creature is Snuggles?”

“They don’t have a name for themselves that humans can pronounce. They can’t usually take on a physical form without becoming someone’s familiar.”

“Interesting.” Amanda studied Snuggles intently. For something that looked like a cross between two such disparate animals, Snuggles was incredibly cute. “Should you become one of my maids, you would be expected to provide blood on a regular basis. As someone who deals with familiars, I am sure you understand.”

“Ah, right. I think my father mentioned something to me about vampires preferring the blood of comely, young virgins. It has something to do with their origins. Well, I don’t mind. It makes perfect sense.”

Timmy and Katie stared at each other. Really? It made perfect sense?

However, Amanda couldn’t have been more delighted. “What a lovely, young woman you are. And you must tell me more about your father. He sounds quite knowledgeable. Naturally, we will not be mentioning your heritage to anyone who might pose a threat to you.”

“Given how much the Empire would pay for ours heads, I’m not about to rat you out.” Timmy ducked as Rembrandt tossed a needle his way. “Oh, come on. You know what I meant.” The rat squeaked angrily several more times.

“Don’t worry, Rembrandt,” Katie whispered. “He’s not very sensitive. We can get revenge on him later.”

“You mean you’ll try to get revenge on me,” Timmy replied. “I’ve managed to stay one step ahead of both you and the rat, and I intend to keep it that way.”

“I won’t become a vampire, will I?” Elyssa asked.

“Not unless you would like to,” Amanda said. “And even then, it would be some time before you were turned. I would have to be sure you would make a suitable vampire.”

Timmy shot a sideways glance Amanda’s way. This was unexpected. Ancient vampires rarely offered to turn people themselves. Anyone turned by an ancient vampire would be far more powerful than a normal fledgling. She must have seen something in Elyssa.

“Hmm… my familiars – and I do have others – live a very long time. Some of them can’t die of old age. Becoming a vampire would let me spend more time with them.”

“Please, don’t turn people into vampires here,” Timmy said. “We’re close to a pardon, and I’m sure there’s a clause built in there somewhere about us not starting a coven.”

“One extra vampire is hardly a coven.”

“I know. Legally, you need three extra vampires before you get classified as a coven, but I think I’ll look it up.” Timmy rubbed his chin. “Actually, Katie, you look it up.”

“Master!”

“Think of it as practice. If you’re going to run this castle one day, you need to be good at reading through contracts.”

* * *

“You’re cleaning the room…” Timmy stared. “You’re actually cleaning the room.”

“I am indeed, Lord Bolton.” Erina Iris, their last candidate, nodded cheerfully at him as she continued to clean the room they were holding interviews in.

As strange as it was to see, there was no denying it. She was doing an absolutely outstanding job. Good grief. He’d spent years trying to get rid of that bloodstain on the wall, but nothing had worked. She’d gotten rid of it in less than a minute. And the floor! It looked clean enough to eat off.

“I’m of the firm belief, Lord Bolton, that a maid should do more than merely talk about her abilities. I prefer to demonstrate.”

“I can see that.” Timmy pointed at the fireplace. Erina had somehow convinced Spot to start a fire there, and she was cooking a delicious-smelling steak for the dragon. “And the steak?”

“The little fellow looked hungry,” Erina replied. “And he has such an adorable smile.”

“I’d say his smile is more toothy than adorable, but I’m more curious about why you’re not scared of him. He’s a dragon.”

“He most certainly is. However, I doubt you would bring him to an interview if he weren’t safe to be around. Besides, he is a resident of this castle, is he not? What sort of maid would I be if I could not even prepare him a simple meal?”

“Right.” Timmy and the others exchanged glances. This was… weird. “So… why do you want to work here?”

Erina’s smile shifted into a look of unshakeable determination. “Lord Bolton, my mother was a maid. She served the previous head of the Council. My grandmother was a maid too. She served the Supreme Cleric of her day. All of the women in my family have served as maids, and all of them have served with utmost distinction. They have served through wars, famines, plagues, and countless disasters without ever faltering in their duty. When the Empire attempted to retake Everton shortly after we declared our independence, one of my ancestors was right there on the frontlines, making tea, scones, and toast for the First Council.”

“I thought you looked familiar,” Amanda murmured.

“I am also a firm believer in each generation hoping to outdo their predecessors. As illustrious as my ancestors have been, none of them ever served a Grand Necromancer, to say nothing of your other esteemed guests. Why, you have an ancient vampire, an elf of extraordinary power, a precocious apprentice, a young dragon, and from what I’ve heard, a bureaucrat of some renown and a peerless swordsman. I have been raised to be the greatest maid of my generation, Lord Bolton. Working for you will allow me to prove it.”

“You sound kind of fanatical about being a maid,” Timmy said.

“I suppose I do,” Erina replied. “But being a maid is like any other occupation. Being the best requires more than mere talent. You must also work harder than everyone else.” Timmy nodded thoughtfully. She had a point. He’d seen many talented necromancers fail to achieve their full potential due to laziness. True greatness required talent and hard work. “I have trained extensively in all of the duties that a maid might be called upon to perform. If you require any assistance whatsoever in cooking, cleaning, entertaining, gardening, sewing, or writing, then you may rest assured that I can do whatever needs doing.”

Avraniel rolled her eyes. “You talk too much. If you’re really as good as you say you are, then you’ll be able to give Spot a bath and clean his teeth before that steak there is done cooking.”

Erina looked from Avraniel to Timmy. “Lord Bolton, should I consider that an order?”

Timmy had a feeling that Avraniel was just trying to get out of giving Spot a bath and cleaning his teeth since it was her turn, but he was also curious to see if Erina could pull it off. Beside him, Amanda gave a small nod. If anyone could appreciate a truly skilled maid, she could. “Give it a try.”

Precisely fifteen minutes and thirty-two seconds later, Spot was so clean that Timmy could see his reflection in the dragon’s scales. Spot preened, admiring himself in a mirror that Erina had positioned in precisely the right way for the dragon to use. She hadn’t done a bad job of cleaning his teeth either although Timmy could do better.

“I apologise for the state of his teeth, Lord Bolton.” Erina bowed. “I am not especially familiar with draconic dentistry, and I’m afraid I lack both the appropriate tools and the physical strength to clean them to the highest possible standard.”

“No, you did fine.” Timmy could practically see the gears turning in Avraniel’s head. The second they hired Erina, the elf would undoubtedly foist all of her teeth-cleaning duties onto her, at least, the ones she hadn’t already foisted onto Timmy. “As long as Amanda approves, I’d say you’re hired.”

Amanda got to her feet and gave Erina a formal bow. “Erina, I knew your ancestor. She was truly a maid amongst maids. I can see you are much the same.”

Erina’s eyes widened, and she replied with a deep, deep bow. “You honour me, my lady! It would be my greatest joy to serve you and Lord Bolton.”

“Okay.” Timmy sniffed the air. “It smells like your steak is just about done. Do you think I could have some?”

Erina opened her mouth to reply, but Spot’s snarl gave Timmy his answer. Incredibly clean or not, Spot still wasn’t about to share something that smelled so delicious if he could help it.

* * *

Amanda watched her newly acquired maids redecorate her part of the castle with quiet satisfaction. They were an unusual group, but she was sure they would handle their duties with admirable aplomb. Indeed, with Erina there to ensure that the appropriate standards were adhered to, she had no doubts about their future performance. They’d made a good start too, hanging up the artwork she’d brought in and seeing to the furniture and other details. As an ancient vampire of noble descent, she had an affinity for creature comforts although it had been some time since she’d truly indulged herself.

And speaking of indulging herself…

“Lillian, would you mind terribly coming here for a moment? I am feeling a tad thirsty.”

Uncle Gerald

(Set After Two Necromancers, a Dragon, and a Vampire)

Gerald would have admired the view from atop the zombie wyvern – and it was a very good view – if his stomach hadn’t been in the midst of yet another violent rebellion. Alas, beggars could not be choosers, and bureaucrats could not fly without assistance. Due to his lamentable inability to fly, teleport, or otherwise magically transport himself across vast distances, Gerald really only had three choices: he could borrow a zombie wyvern, he could go on foot, or he could go on horseback.

Flying via zombie wyvern was not only faster than going by foot or by horseback but also much safer. Everton did a better job than most countries of dealing with random bandits and miscreants, but Gerald had always been a stickler when it came to safety. Why risk being on the ground where bandits and other criminals could reach him when he could be soaring through the sky, safely out of reach? Losing his lunch was a lot better than losing his life. If the others had been with him, he wouldn’t be so worried. As crazy as they could be – it said a lot that Timmy was the most normal person in the group – Gerald had absolute confidence in their ability to deal with run-of-the-mill bandits and criminals. If anything, the criminals were the ones who should be worried. Avraniel was always on the lookout for easy money, and bandits were as easy as it got for her. All she needed to do was blast a few of them and pummel the rest, and she could turn them in for whatever reward money was available – after she’d liberated them of any valuables they might have.

Despite doing fairly horrific things to his stomach, travelling via zombie wyvern was also the only way Gerald could get to his destination in time. Had Spot been larger, Gerald would have been perfectly happy asking the dragon to take him. The two of them got along reasonably well, and Spot could be relied upon to incinerate or eat anyone and anything that threatened them. Unfortunately, the dragon still had a lot of growing left to do before he could comfortably carry people on his back. Based on his current rate of growth, Spot would need at least a few more years, and Gerald needed to travel now.

His stepsister had sent him a message through one of his scrying spheres. He had far more of them than any normal mage, but he was loath to sell or trade any of them. It might have been because of his magic, but he had, on more than one occasion, been accused of being a hoarder. It was a tad unfair. Scrying spheres were extremely useful, and having more than one meant that he always had access to spares if bad something happened. Given the life he now led – his regular company included an elf pyromaniac, an ancient vampire, a young dragon, and a pair of necromancers – it couldn’t hurt to have more than one way to call for help in the event of an emergency, and he could also use his scrying spheres to keep an eye on his surroundings. Maybe it was because of how bad he was at fighting, but monsters seemed to love chasing after him and trying to eat him.

His stepsister had arrived in Everton several days ago, but she would only be spending a few days in one of the major towns near the border before she had to leave again. Since Gerald and the others didn’t have any missions scheduled, at least none major enough to warrant his personal oversight, Gerald had decided to take some time off to meet with his stepsister and her family. Since he was a little paranoid, he had also asked Timmy if he thought the world was going to end any time soon. The Council would not be pleased with Gerald if some nightmarish apocalypse occurred and he wasn’t around to take notes. Timmy had asked Sam, and the protoplasmic horror had asked some of the bigger and scarier things that lived underneath the castle. If the world were going to end some time in the next week or so, it wouldn’t be because of them.

The others had congratulated Gerald about his impending time away from the castle. Timmy had praised him, citing the importance of family even though he wasn’t on speaking terms with his. Being dropped off at a castle full of zombies to become the apprentice of an evil, cruel madman could not have been conducive to a good relationship with his family. Katie also offered her support although, much like Timmy, she too had been abandoned at the castle by her family. Thankfully, Timmy was not an evil, cruel madman. At worst, he was a quirky, occasionally lazy, and mostly benevolent necromancer.

Old Man had echoed Timmy’s comments before pointing out that like Timmy and Katie he might not have been the best person to talk to when it came to family. Apparently, everyone in his family was either dead or thought he was dead. Old Man’s comments had certainly piqued Gerald’s curiosity, but he knew better than to pry more deeply, especially with how Old Man had tipped his hat down ever so slightly to hide his eyes. There was a story there, but it wasn’t a happy one.

Avraniel had urged Gerald to go, shouting something that might have been about the importance of family. It had been hard to tell through all of her cackling. She was probably glad to see him go for a few days, so she could indulge in whatever fire- or explosion-related craziness she wanted to without him noting it down in one of his many, many reports about her behaviour. Amanda had been the only one to offer anything even vaguely resembling actual advice. The ancient vampire had smiled gently and told Gerald to treasure his time with his stepsister and her family. After all, nothing in the world lasted forever, and family was important.

Awkward praise aside, Timmy had also offered concrete assistance. The necromancer had sent Gerald off with a zombie wyvern, some of the rats, and Sam. The protoplasmic horror wasn’t normally able to venture so far from the castle, but he and Timmy had been experimenting, and they were keen to see how some of the heavily modified rituals worked out. The key to the whole thing – and what put Gerald on edge – was that underneath the town where he would be meeting his stepsister was a well of eldritch power not unlike the one underneath the castle, albeit far weaker.

It would certainly explain some of the stranger things he’d heard about Crossington, as well as the alarming tendency for animals of strange and unusual size and appearance to be spotted in the woods near the town. By using heavily modified rituals and by giving Gerald a special talisman, Timmy had said it should be possible for Sam to accompany him, provided he stayed within several miles of Gerald and that they reached Crossington within a day or two, so Sam could draw off its power. If something went wrong, then Sam would simply be dragged back to the castle, leaving Gerald’s protection to the rats and the zombie hydra Timmy had given him to use in case of an emergency.

Thinking about Crossington made Gerald shudder. He’d taken a trip there as a boy, and he would never forget the mass of claws, eyes, and teeth that had chased him after he’d gone to a stream to fetch some water. It would explain a lot of his nightmares although it hadn’t helped that both of his parents thought telling children terrifying stories before bedtime was a good idea. Perhaps he could ask Sam to investigate while they were there. If there was anything like the cake-loving horror lurking around, then Sam should be able to find it and, hopefully, deal with it. After all, according to Timmy, Sam was basically the one in charge of his kind in the castle since the leaders of his species spent most of their time either sleeping or engaged in a titanic cosmic conflict that they were all better off not knowing about.

In any case, Gerald was glad to have Sam with him. There was very little Sam couldn’t deal with. If someone or something tried to kill Gerald, then Sam would most likely consume whoever or whatever was responsible before asking for some cake. Gerald, of course, had brought plenty of cake along with his magic. If push came to shove, he could bribe Sam with cake, and it never hurt to be on Sam’s good side since he also did a fine job of wrangling all of the younger horrors that could occasionally be found drifting through the walls, floors, and ceilings of the lower levels of the castle. They might not look particularly dangerous, but Gerald had seen what they could do. Even a little horror was capable of wiping out a group of bandits, its mere presence enough to drive most of them insane before it put its claws, teeth, and tentacles to work.

It had been three years since Gerald had spoken to his stepsister in person, and she had three little boys – non-identical triplets – who were probably too young to remember him from back then. They’d be six years old now, which was old enough to remember him and have a proper conversation with although he’d never been terribly good with kids. Oh, he and Katie got along well enough, but the precocious necromancer was hardly normal. Hopefully, his stepsister and her family were doing well. Life on the road could be hard for travelling merchants, but she and her husband were both intelligent and cunning. She also had a ruthless streak that Gerald lacked, and she and her husband made an excellent team thanks to their complementary talents and expertise.

Gerald also felt a bit bad about not mentioning his family to the others sooner, but they’d understood. The less people knew about Gerald’s family – and his stepsister already had a different surname due to her marriage – the better. They all had their fair share of enemies, and the recent missions against the Eternal Empire would only make them more. If the Eternal Empire hadn’t already put a bounty on all of their heads, it wouldn’t be long before they did. Timmy and the others were used to that, but Gerald wasn’t. He couldn’t see himself killing his enemies en masse or humiliating them enough into leaving him alone. He also liked to keep any problems he had at work separate from his life outside of work. It had been relatively easy when he’d been a regular bureaucrat. In those days, the worst thing he had to deal with each day was either some incorrect paperwork or a drunken colleague. Now? Spot was living proof that their actions during their missions had real consequences, and he doubted that all of the consequences would be as friendly and helpful as Spot tried to be, or as sophisticated and refined as Amanda was.

Gerald’s stomach did another backflip, and he summoned a paper bag with his magic. He would have asked the zombie wyvern to go slower, but he’d already tried that. It hadn’t helped at all. If anything, going slower only made it worse since it did nothing to reduce the bumpiness of flight while increasing how long they had to spend in the air. At this pace, it would take Gerald most of the day to reach Crossington since he had no intention of pushing the zombie wyvern to its limits. If something went wrong, he couldn’t simply use his magic to repair or empower it the way Timmy or Katie could. He also planned to take regular breaks at safe locations to give his stomach some respite.

Stopping regularly would also give the rats time to update the maps they were making of the area, as well as a chance to bury caches of weapons and other supplies. From what they’d said to him about their past, they had once lost their home, and they had painstakingly recorded the harrowing retreat their clan had been forced to endure before eventually being driven from their homeland. If something truly terrible happened and they were forced to flee the castle, the rats planned to have hidden stockpiles scattered throughout Everton to ease their plight. However, from the grim look of determination on their faces as they buried the supplies and concealed them with magic, Gerald had a feeling that their enemies would have to kill every single last one of them before being allowed to set foot inside the castle.

Yet despite the rats’ concerns and his own natural pessimism, Gerald had a hard time believing that anything less than a full Council-backed army with at least two or three Councillors present could take Black Tower Castle given what Timmy could throw at anyone who tried. And if Timmy got desperate enough to awaken one of the things that lived underneath the castle, well, it was better for Gerald’s sanity to not even consider the possibility. His memories of the titanic… thing they’d faced at Lord Taylor’s castle were mercifully scrambled by extreme panic and terror, but what little he’d glimpsed of the entities Sam answered to made him certain they were far more powerful and far more dangerous.

A couple of hours before nightfall, the zombie wyvern reached Crossington. It wasn’t the largest town, but it was in an excellent location. It was built on the intersection of two major roads. There was also ample space around it to set up fairs and markets. During busy periods, like when the harvests had just come in and there was plenty of fresh produce to sell, the town’s population would more than triple as people came from near and far to buy and sell their wares. Fortunately, his stepsister had chosen a quieter time of year to make her return although she would undoubtedly spend at least some of her time in Crossington acquiring goods to sell elsewhere.

A squeak from the rat perched on his shoulder broke Gerald out of his musings. He looked down and then had to bite back a scream. There were a bevy of archers and mages on the walls of the town, and all of them were aiming weaponry and magic at him. It was almost enough to make him reach for another paper bag until he remembered something important: he was riding a zombie wyvern. No wonder the people down there were worried. He’d have been worried too. As quickly as he could, Gerald sent one of the rats down with the necessary paperwork as he ordered the zombie wyvern to maintain a polite – and safe – distance from the town below.

The rat used a modified parachute to make his way down to the mage in charge of the town’s defenders. It was a testament to the man’s composure that after gaping at the rodent for a few seconds, he swiftly recovered his senses, examined the paperwork to verify its authenticity, and then signalled to Gerald that he had received approval to land. Gerald was sorely tempted to kiss the ground in gratitude, and he might have if he’d been alone. As it was, he thanked the mage for allowing him to land and then waited for the rest of the rats to climb off the wyvern before he stored it away with his magic.

Gerald could just barely feel Sam’s presence nearby, but he couldn’t see him. Sam had chosen to stay mostly invisible and intangible during their journey, and he was wise enough to keep out of sight around so many people. Not everyone appreciated a cake-loving, protoplasmic horror from another dimension the way Timmy did. But although people wouldn’t notice Sam, there were creatures that would. Throughout Crossington, dogs began to howl and bay, and cats hissed and clawed at the air. One of the rats shook his head sadly and squeaked, and Gerald nodded in agreement. Sam was actually quite sociable, provided people weren’t trying to invade the castle or steal his cake. Unfortunately, people – and Gerald was honest enough to admit he’d been one of them – had a tendency to get hung up on the fact that Sam was a trans-dimensional, protoplasmic horror capable of consuming dozens of people in the blink of an eye if he was so inclined. To date, Sam was still the only one who’d managed to defeat Spot in an eating contest, much to the little dragon’s displeasure.

Gerald took a quick look around to get his bearings and failed miserably. He hadn’t been to Crossington in some time, and it appeared to have changed substantially. Luckily for him, he had a map, and it was only a year or two old. He wasn’t exactly perfect at reading a map, but the rat on his shoulder, a slightly crazy rodent named Picasso whose magic could distort time and space, had an excellent sense of direction. In seemingly no time at all, they reached the inn where his stepsister and her family were supposed to be staying.

Circumstances occasionally forced travelling merchants to stay in less than reputable places, which was why so many of them employed personal bodyguards, in addition to the guards they employed to protect their wares. To Gerald’s relief, this particular inn looked warm and inviting – if he ignored the brawl that was currently taking place right in front of it. He sighed and then hastily scrambled back as a brawny body thumped into the ground only a few inches from his feet courtesy of a vicious-looking left hook. Merchants were not typically gifted fighters, but that didn’t stop them from getting into the occasional brawl. As long as a fight was limited to fisticuffs and no one was seriously injured, the authorities often looked the other way. Merchants were going to squabble with each other one way or another, and it was supposedly better for them to get it out of their system quickly rather than letting it build up. Indeed, Gerald had once been told to ignore any brawling he saw while serving as a bureaucrat in a busy trading town. The higher-ups had insisted that it wasn’t worth the paperwork. After watching five brawls unfold in his first five hours at the gate, he’d been forced to agree. But this brawl was not one he could ignore. His stepsister and her husband were right in the middle of it while their three children crouched behind the railing of the inn’s porch and lobbed the occasional makeshift projectile.

“Gerald!” His stepsister, Caroline, spotted him. “You’re here! Good. Do me a favour and hit someone wearing green and red.”

Gerald blinked. His jaw might have dropped too. Ah, right, yes. She wanted him to hit someone. Contrary to what someone might have believed if they’d only met him and not the rest of his family, his family did have something of a reputation when it came to hitting people. His father had been a skilled warrior in his youth before becoming a warrior bureaucrat, and his stepmother had been a soldier. His stepsister had shown promise as a warrior too before settling into the life of a travelling merchant. It was more profitable, and she still got to hit people now and then.

Gerald, however, was a bureaucrat right down to the soles of his shoes. His family wasn’t disappointed in him. They acknowledged bureaucrats as being a necessary evil to keep the world functioning, kind of like how periodic plagues were a great way to ensure quarantine standards were up to par. However, they did like the new direction his career had taken. He hadn’t been able to tell them much, but they did know that he’d gone through a bevvy of near-death experiences and possibly killed someone with a pogo stick. He’d mentioned it the last time that he’d spoken with his father by scrying sphere, and the older man had smiled broadly before suggesting Gerald use a sword instead of a pogo stick next time although he had praised Gerald for being able to improvise. Gerald wasn’t sure why being able to seriously injure or even kill someone with a pogo stick was worthy of praise, but his father had looked so happy about it. Since it made him so happy, Gerald had refrained from mentioning that it hadn’t been on purpose so much as it had been the result of overwhelming fear, panic, and desperation. He could only have people throw fire at him so many times before he panicked and lashed out with whatever he had available.

Gulping, Gerald took a moment to steady his nerves before he summoned a frying pan with his magic. It was so heavy he needed both of his hands to lift it, but some of the people brawling had begun to reach for their weapons. It was the same frying pan he’d used on a mission to hit someone over the head with, and it had proven its worth then. Hopefully, it would be up to the task here too.

“Get out of my way!” someone bellowed as they rushed toward him.

“Ah, right. Sorry.” Gerald was already moving out of the way when he noticed the burly fellow pushing past him was wearing green and red. Caroline had told him to hit someone wearing green and red…

He clenched his jaw, tightened his grip on his frying pan, and swung.

CLANG!

The man dropped to the ground, and Gerald suddenly found himself surrounded by half a dozen people who looked very angry with him. Picasso’s eyes narrowed, and the rat gave a few quiet squeaks. Gerald might have picked a fight, but the rats were there to keep him safe. It was time for them to get to work. Their small size combined with their invisibility meant that their opponents would never see them coming.

“Thank you,” Gerald whispered. “And, uh, don’t kill anyone. This is supposed to be a brawl, not a proper battle.”

Five minutes later, the fight came to a halt as the local authorities arrived, dragging people apart and firing a few warning bursts of magic at anyone who seemed reluctant to stop fighting. Gerald put his frying pan away and summoned a paper bag with his magic. It took him several minutes of breathing out of the paper bag to calm himself. The rats had done their job perfectly, using pressure points and other ninja techniques to knock out or stun anyone who went after Gerald. All he’d needed to do was swing his frying pan whenever someone got near enough. His accuracy hadn’t been very good. He’d only hit three more people, but he must have swung the frying pan at least a dozen times, maybe more. His arms ached, and he breathed a sigh of relief as Caroline and her husband, Derrick, gestured for him to follow them into the inn.

Gerald was glad to see they all looked well. Despite the brawl, neither Caroline nor Derrick showed any signs of injury. He’d almost had a heart attack the last time he’d spoken to Caroline face to face. She’d arrived with an eye patch and a story about an angry hydra. A hydra’s acid, blood, and venom were all exceedingly dangerous. Even a single drop could leave someone blind for life unless they had access to a skilled healer. Thankfully, his stepsister had been able to hire a healer of sufficient skill, but Gerald was worried that one day she would bite off more than she could chew. Unlike him, she didn’t spend most of her time around insanely powerful people like Avraniel who could simply roast anyone foolish enough to annoy her.

Caroline and Derrick found a table and called their sons over. Gerald sat down as well, and his back gave a ponderous creak. Clearly, his physique was not suited to swinging a frying pan repeatedly. Picasso was still invisible, and the rat clambered down his back and struck a few pressure points with his paws. Immediately, Gerald’s back felt better, and the bureaucrat made a mental note to get Picasso a nice gift later. Lower back pain was one of the dangers of being a bureaucrat, and the rodent had seemingly dealt with Gerald’s in an instant.

Turning his attention back to his stepsister and her family, Gerald took a moment to study his nephews. They weren’t identical triplets, but they had similar expressions of excitement on their faces. Like many young boys, they liked the idea of a scrap, and their apparent victory had them feeling quite pleased even if all they’d done was throw things at people from a position of relative safety. Gerald couldn’t blame them. He’d have done the same thing if he’d been given the choice. Two of the boys took after Caroline with sandy blonde hair and green eyes. The other one looked more like Derrick with dark brown hair and brown eyes.

“In case you’ve forgotten,” Caroline began with a grin, pointing at the two boys who shared her features. “Michael here is the oldest, and Jon is in the middle.” She smiled at the boy who shared his father’s appearance. “And Darren there is the youngest.”

“Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten.” Gerald had an excellent memory when he wasn’t panicking and running for his life. It was part of what made him such a skilled bureaucrat. He smiled at the three boys. “Good afternoon. I’m not sure if you remember me, but I am your Uncle Gerald. It’s good to see you again.”

Darren’s eyes lit up. “Our uncle is the frying pan guy? Awesome.”

Gerald twitched.

“You were really good with your frying pan,” Jon added. “I mean you missed a few times, but when you hit people… CLANG!”

Gerald twitched again.

“But why did you use a frying pan, Uncle Gerald?” Michael asked. “Wouldn’t a staff have been better?”

Gerald managed to keep himself from twitching this time, but he could feel Picasso’s small body shaking with laughter as the rat did his best not to give his presence away.

“Well,” Gerald said at last. “It’s about my magic. I can store things away and take them out later. A frying pan seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Michael nodded slowly and then leaned over to whisper to his mother in a voice loud enough for all of them to hear. “Mom, you said Uncle Gerald was a bureaucrat.”

“He is,” Caroline replied with a grin that was directed more at Gerald than her son.

“Do all bureaucrats know how to fight with a frying pan?” Michael asked.

“Not all of them, but your Uncle Gerald can.”

A shiver ran down Gerald’s spine. He had a horrible feeling that his nephews were forming an extremely incorrect assessment of his abilities. He could already see the admiration in their gaze. Clearly, they believed that he was no mere bureaucrat. No, they probably thought he was some kind of warrior bureaucrat who swung paperwork by day and frying pans by night. He should have corrected them, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. They looked so happy to have an uncle who could whack people with a blunt piece of metal.

“Now, boys, I wasn’t lying when I told you about your Uncle Gerald. He really is a bureaucrat. It’s just… sometimes, even bureaucrats need to be able to hit people.”

Gerald laughed nervously. Caroline’s explanation wasn’t far from the truth at all. He was happy to help out on missions with his magic, but he invariably found himself having to hit people after they tried to maim or murder him.

“So how has life on the road been?” Gerald asked. He looked around and waved hopefully at the nearest serving maid. He hadn’t been hungry in the air or during the journey, but now that he was on firm ground, his stomach was not happy about being empty.

“It’s been okay: tough but rewarding, the usual.” Caroline caught sight of the serving maid headed their way and gave Gerald a grateful look. He wasn’t the only one feeling hungry. “We were going to head toward the Desert of Glass, but we’re not sure if we should. There have been these strange rumours.” The serving maid arrived, and she quickly ordered food for her family and waited for Gerald to order some as well before continuing. “People are saying that someone blew up the prison they have there. There’s supposed to be a lot of finger pointing going on with all of the desert lords trying to blame each other. Honestly, I doubt they even care who did it. They’re more interested in seizing more power for themselves.”

Gerald somehow managed to keep a straight face. Barely. His family knew that he was doing riskier work, but he couldn’t share the details with them. The less they knew, the safer they would be, so he definitely hadn’t told them about his involvement in an all-out attack on one of the most secure prisons in the world. At least, it had been one of the most secure prisons in the world. Given how much damage they’d done on their way in and their way out, he wasn’t sure how long it would take them to rebuild.

“Um… if you do decide to head toward the Desert of Glass, I know someone who might be able to help you. He’s Master of the Gate at Kargahd.”

“Really?” Derrick leaned forward. He spoke softly, but his gaze was razor sharp. “You know the Master of the Gate at Kargahd? It would be wonderful if you could write to him on our behalf.”

“How do you know him?” Caroline asked. “I don’t think you’ve been to Kargahd.”

“He’s a friend of a friend,” Gerald said. His family might have been pleased about him adding some excitement to his career, but people tended to not like necromancers. Zombies weren’t exactly everyone’s cup of tea, and his family didn’t know Timmy and Katie the way he did. They might have been necromancers, but they were also people Gerald trusted with his life. Indeed, they’d already saved his life on several dozen occasions. “How has business been? Has there been any trouble?”

“War is coming,” Derrick murmured. Caroline scowled, but he pressed on. Gerald could understand her concern. The boys were still young, but Derrick was a very astute man. It was what made him such a good merchant. “We’ve been hearing rumblings of it for years now, but they’re different this time. Supplies are being bought up, along with materials crucial for waging war. And then there are the recent events. There has already been a large fleet battle, and there are rumours a secret Eternal Empire base was attacked and destroyed by elite agents from Everton. If you ask me, it’s only a matter of time before all of the proxy battles and skirmishing give way to real war.” His lips curled. “On the upside, business has been exceptionally good lately. People are worried, and worried people buy more of the essentials because we all know that if war breaks out, trade will slump. We sell a lot of things people feel they need, so we’re making money hand over fist.”

Derrick folded his hands together on the table. They weren’t the hands of a merchant who’d spent his life in luxury. They were the hands of a former soldier who’d decided to pursue a life as a merchant after meeting Caroline. “We passed through the clan zone recently. Things were supposed to have been quite rough in the area until someone dealt with a large group of marauding ogres. One of the villages not far from the border was destroyed, and there are rumours that some of the Eternal Empire’s Lords of Magic even fought a Councillor there.”

Gerald would have to inform Councillor Winters about how many rumours had begun to spread. Unless this was deliberate, it suggested that some people were talking about things they should be keeping to themselves. Potential leaks aside, it was nice to know that he’d helped his family, albeit indirectly. “I’ve heard those rumours too.”

“In any case,” Derrick said. “We made a lot of money in the clan zone selling magical supplies, medicine, and other goods they’ve been struggling to get because of the ogres.”

“Is that all you’ve been trading in?” Gerald asked.

Derrick shook his head and grinned. “You know us. It’s never good to put all of your eggs in one basket. A rising market can certainly be good if you’ve invested heavily in it, but a falling one can wipe you out if you’re overcommitted.” He patted Darren’s shoulder. “We have sons to support, so we need to be careful about our inventory. Apart from magical supplies and medicine, we’ve been dealing in everyday products and magical goods that can be used by everyone, things like warding stones, heating stones, and the like. More recently, we’ve begun to sell herbs and rare plants. Everton has elves, so we have access to a lot of herbs and plants that other people don’t.”

Gerald nodded thoughtfully. It was well known that Everton had access to many rare and exotic plants. He’d met one of them himself. Mr Sparkles, an Everton giant man-eating rose, was considered little more than a myth by many people. Gerald might have been one of them until Mr Sparkles had almost eaten him. All of the rare herbs and plants Everton’s apothecaries had access to gave them a powerful advantage. They were not only skilled but also had the best supplies to work with. He’d have to ask Timmy who made his potions. Gerald had never taken any that were so effective, and his stepsister would surely be able to sell them for a handsome profit. Apothecaries were often underappreciated, much like bureaucrats, so whoever was making Timmy’s potions was unlikely to refuse to do business.

“By the way, I was wondering if you’d come across anything we could sell.” The food had arrived, and Caroline took a moment to warn the boys to eat in a civilised manner. “I know you’ve been venturing out of your office more, and you do have a knack for finding trouble.”

“I might have something.” Gerald summoned a flask with his magic. “How about this?”

“That’s…” Derrick stared at the flask intently. “That’s hydra acid! How concentrated is it?”

Gerald told him. He hadn’t tested it himself. He wasn’t crazy. Just a drop of it could easily melt through armour and kill someone. Timmy, however, had tested it before giving some to Gerald, and the necromancer was quite skilled in anything related to alchemy. For some reason, Gerald was now entitled to hydra acid. It could be another one of those fringe benefits Timmy had mentioned, like being able to borrow a zombie wyvern for travel or being able to borrow a zombie wyvern-griffin to deal with any irksome pigeons. The necromancer had shown him how to handle it safely, and it was now up to Gerald to decide what to do with it. Since they had a stable supply of hydra acid – Timmy had a veritable menagerie underneath the castle and no shortage of zombie hydras – there was no harm in sharing.

“Amazing.” Caroline’s brows furrowed. “But how did you get this? Hydra acid of this quality is almost impossible to get. A normal hydra can’t produce acid this concentrated. You’d have to get it from an ancient hydra. And, well, not even I want to go near one of those.”

“I bet he killed an ancient hydra with his frying pan,” Jon said. “And then took its acid.”

“Not exactly, Jon. I happen to know someone who deals with rare creatures.” Gerald wisely refrained from mentioning that Timmy didn’t so much as deal with rare creatures as transform them into nightmarish abominations that occasionally haunted Gerald’s nightmares. Oh, and Timmy also used those nightmarish abominations against his enemies and for more mundane tasks. Gerald had once seen the necromancer ordering a zombie hydra-manticore-chimera to stand still, so he could climb up it instead of using a ladder. “Anyway, you’re welcome to have it.”

“Do you have any idea how much this is worth?” Derrick asked incredulously. His face had gone a bit red. “We can’t just accept this without paying you something.”

“Not really, no.” Gerald had recently received a generous pay rise, on account of having to deal with ‘extenuating circumstances’ on a regular basis, which was a polite way of saying that the Council liked the work he’d done and sympathised with his lack of aptitude for life-and-death situations.

“We’re paying you for it.” Caroline reached for a pouch and handed him some coins. Gerald stared. It was a lot of money. “Don’t look so shocked. Even after paying you, we’ll more than double our money on this. Trust me. Hydra acid of this quality is almost impossible to get, and any good artificer, apothecary, or mage will pay handsomely for it since most of the people who try to get it end up in a hydra’s belly. We might even be able to sell it here before we leave.”

“Is that right?” Gerald supposed it was probably true. Hydras were exceptionally vicious creatures. Their blood was a deadly poison, their venom could kill all but the mightiest of creatures within moments, and their acid could melt through solid steel with ease. Then again, Timmy wasn’t like most people, and neither was Katie. Neither of them would have any trouble incapacitating a hydra.

All the talk of hydras had the three boys listening intently. They were undoubtedly hoping for an epic story about Gerald singlehandedly defeating a hydra with a frying pan.

“Don’t worry, boys, I don’t have a story for you, but I do have a gifts.” He summoned some more items with his magic. He’d been forced to ask Timmy and Katie for advice since he knew practically nothing about what young children liked these days. Hopefully, they hadn’t steered him wrong. “Now, this one is for you Michael…”

* * *

Gerald was walking with Caroline and her family through Crossington. It was a fine, sunny morning, and he’d enjoyed a good night’s sleep under the watchful eyes of the ninja rats. There might have been some inhuman power slumbering underneath the town, but Sam had done his best to shield Gerald from its influence by soaking up as much of the eldritch power as he could before he’d left to search the area for interlopers. Sam and his kin were bound to the castle, and he and the others generally followed Timmy’s rules. Any horror lurking in the shadows around Crossington was unlikely to be so civilised, and Sam had Timmy’s permission to devour anything that posed a threat to the locals. Gerald had wisely not inquired any further. The less he knew about how Sam actually went about devouring other horrors, the better.

The boys had been pleased with their gifts, and Gerald smiled inwardly. His faith in Timmy and Katie had not been misplaced. He’d gotten the youngest boy, Darren, a magical kite. It used magic to fly if there was no wind available, but it was horribly inefficient. However, more efficient flying contraptions tended to be far more difficult to make, requiring much more effort and far more expensive materials. Jon, the middle boy, had received a magical flute. Caroline had once mentioned Jon’s love of music, so Gerald had gotten him a flute that could teach him how to play it, which would come in handy since all of their time on the road made it difficult to find a good tutor for music. Jon was only six years old, but an early start was critical. Why, Gerald’s parents had started asking him to store things for them the moment they’d learned what his magic was capable of. He still had a few of his father’s old swords stored away, along with some of his stepmother’s old armour. As for Michael, the oldest of the three had already begun to show great interest in the study of magic and its history. Gerald had gotten him a copy of one of the books that Timmy had used to help teach Katie about the subject. Katie had spoken fondly about the book, and Michael had given a cry of delight before spending the rest of the previous evening reading it.

“Have you heard from any of your siblings?” Gerald asked. Caroline was his stepsister, but she had half-siblings who Gerald had never met. It was all very complicated, and it had taken Gerald some time to properly map out his new family tree.

“They’re doing well, but I do worry. They’re all soldiers, and most of them are stationed along the border with the clan zone. If there is a war, they’ll be amongst the first to feel it.” Caroline shook her head. “Whether it’s your side of the family or mine, we seem to have a knack for finding trouble.”

And speaking of trouble, they were about to run into more of it.

The first sign Gerald had that trouble was headed their way was the screaming. He sighed and braced himself for the worst, which, given his luck, was likely to be only moments away. Screaming, he’d learned through painful personal experience, was invariably followed by something horrible, something he would normally have dealt with by quickly retreating behind someone like Avraniel or Spot because plenty of fire was usually enough to kill almost anything. Alas, neither Avraniel nor Spot were here, and Sam, currently the most terrifying thing in Crossington, had decided to spend the morning observing all of the bakeries in town to determine which one had the best cake.

With senses he’d honed to a fine edge during his recent rash of near-death experiences with Timmy and the others, Gerald quickly identified the reason for all of the screaming. Actually, it was rather hard to miss it given how big it was and the fact it was flying through the sky.

There was a dragon above Crossington.

“Is that a dragon?” Darren cried. “A real one? Awesome!”

To his supreme credit, Gerald did not give a high-pitched wail of terror. On the contrary, he managed to keep his voice even as he replied although there was definitely more than a little glumness in it too. “Yes, Darren. That is a dragon.” He paused. “And it being here is the very opposite of awesome.”

A dragon? It just had to be a dragon. Couldn’t it have been something smaller and less deadly? He would have gladly faced – more like asked the rats and Sam to face – a group of ogres or a couple of hydras instead of a dragon. In fact, he was certain Picasso could kill an ogre all by himself in less than a minute, to say nothing of what the rats could do if they worked together. A dragon was a different story. Dragons were flying engines of death and despair. Sure, the majority of them were unbelievably arrogant, but they had good reason to be. They were virtually impervious to most weapons and magic, and their claws and teeth could tear through solid steel like it was paper. Their fire was hot enough to reduce the walls of even the mightiest town to little more than molten rock.

“We need to get out of here,” Gerald mumbled. “We need to get out of here right now.” But how could they? Using a zombie wyvern was out of the question. Dragons weren’t stupid. Anything that could fly was a threat, and as strong and agile as Timmy’s zombie wyverns were, they couldn’t stand up to a dragon in the air. Getting away on foot or on horseback would also be impossible. A dragon was simply too fast to outrun.

“Why is it here?” Caroline had frozen mid-stride, shock and horror on her face. Dragons tended to have one of two effects on people: either they froze or they ran around screaming and wailing. Gerald had learned from Spot that it was better not to run. The little dragon had explained that his eyes were often drawn to motion. If something ran, it was alive, and live prey often made for the tastiest food. Gerald did not want any of them to end up as food.

“We’re not far from the border,” Derrick muttered, gazing up furtively as the dragon swept overhead, ignoring the barrage of spells and projectiles that lanced up toward it from the town’s defenders. “Dragons have been known to use magic to evade detection despite their size.” He swallowed thickly. “And Black Scales is dead. He had a lot of territory, and only the greatest of dragons would ever have dared to face him. But now that he’s gone… dragons are territorial. This dragon might be headed toward the forest to claim territory for himself. Without Black Scales around, who is going to stop him? But still, what kind of magic could conceal a dragon of this size? The border is well guarded, and the mages in Crossington are skilled and experienced. It should have been impossible for a dragon of this size to get this far into Everton without being intercepted.”

Gerald had devoted plenty of time to researching dragons ever since Spot had hatched. Dragons respected power, so the best way to avoid getting eaten was to be more powerful than a dragon. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option for most people, including Gerald. Outside of power, knowledge was the key. Dragons were ridiculously powerful, but they were not invincible. Learning more about the habits and behaviour of dragons would help Gerald to stay as far away from them as possible. If that failed, knowing more might help him to escape with all of his limbs intact. As a result of those studies, Gerald could not only identify many different breeds of dragons by eye but he also knew countless facts of varying degrees of usefulness. For instance, he knew exactly how much force Spot could generate with each bite and how much force he’d be able to generate as he grew. It was absolutely terrifying.

“It’s a distortion dragon,” Gerald said.

“A distortion dragon?” Caroline finally broke out of her shock, and she quickly reeled in Darren’s kite before the dragon could go after it and the little boy holding it. “Quick! We need to get off the street.”

They ran into the nearest stone building for shelter. Dragon fire could melt stone easily, but it would still last longer than a wooden building. Still invisible, Picasso scrambled onto Gerald’s shoulder and offered what advice he could. It wasn’t looking good. The rats would be hard pressed to fight a dragon in the air. If it landed, they might be able to do something, but if it stayed in the air, they would be forced to rely on some of the weaponry the demolition rats had developed, which did not bode well for property values in Crossington.

“Distortion dragons are dragons that possess magic capable of altering space and time.” Gerald gulped and tried not to remember the gory pictures that had accompanied the text he’d read. “In addition to being extremely hot, their fire breath can also channel their magic. Anything they hit will fall prey to the ravages of time in mere moments or will be shredded as the space they occupy is violently torn apart. However, physically, they are weaker than the more common breeds of dragons.” He paused. “Which doesn’t mean much. A weak dragon is still stronger than almost anything else.”

“When did you learn so much about dragons?” Caroline asked. Outside, there was a flash of eerie, ghostly flame before one of the buildings down the street exploded, the shattered pieces of its roof and walls crumbling away before they could even hit the ground.

“I read a book about them,” Gerald replied. “There was more, but I don’t think you want to know.” The ‘more’ had consisted of some very depressing statistics regarding the likelihood of someone surviving an encounter with a distortion dragon.

Perhaps the only thing going their way was that the distortion dragon was not a titan like Black Scales. It was roughly a hundred feet long, which was only one fifth as large as Black Scales. Even so, it was still a dragon. Considering what Spot could do at around six feet in length, the thought of facing something sixteen times the size of the little dragon was terrifying. Gerald saw another wave of spells and projectiles race up toward the dragon. Before the attacks could hit, the space around the dragon bent and warped, reflecting some of the attacks back and simply throwing the majority of them far into the distance. With another roar that shook the whole town, the dragon dove and unleashed a long blast of ghostly flame.

The roof of the building they were in vanished, along with the upper floor. Watching it all happen turned the blood in Gerald’s veins to ice. The stone was being stripped away as though it were undergoing the weathering of a thousand years in a matter of seconds. Any wood was even quicker to disappear, crumbling away in an instant. The three boys weren’t smiling or excited any more. They were terrified.

“Get out!” Gerald shouted as the dragon banked around for another attack. “We need to get out! It’s going to hit the building with its fire again!”

They stumbled out of the building in a daze, and the dragon unleashed its fire once more. Instead of focusing on the buildings beneath it, it was going to bathe the entire street in its fire.

“Picasso!” Gerald shouted. Caroline and the others stared at him like he’d gone insane, but Gerald simply grabbed them and tried to drag them out of the dragon’s path.

The dragon’s fire raced toward them – the paved street in front of them was suddenly little more than dust – but Picasso met the attack with his magic. Had the dragon been exerting the true strength of its magic, they would all have died. Had the dragon known Picasso was there and bothered to increase the heat of its flame, they would all have died. But the dragon was toying with them, and it had no idea Picasso was there until the brave rat leapt onto Gerald’s head and poured all of his magic into deflecting the dragon’s attack.

In the end, Picasso failed. As brave as he was, he was only a ninja rat and his opponent was a dragon. But Picasso’s desperate defence, coupled with the teamwork of some of the other rats to throw up a defensive barrier, had bought them just enough time to scramble clear. The dragon swept past them, and Gerald managed to catch Picasso as the rat swayed and then fell off his head, utterly exhausted.

“Are those rats?” Caroline asked. “Did we get saved by rats?”

“Technically, they’re ninja rats,” Gerald replied. The rats were no longer bothering to hide their presence. Instead, they had set up a makeshift ballista to fire projectiles at the dragon. Their first projectile, a ballista bolt tipped in some strange material, was deflected by the dragon’s magic. However, the explosion that rocked the sky was a testament to the weapon’s origins. Clearly, the demolition rats had been working very hard.

“We need more firepower,” Gerald cried.

He wracked his mind for a solution. The distortion dragon didn’t seem to use its magic defensively when it dove. Instead, it channelled its magic into its fire. But waiting for the dragon to dive before attacking it was crazy. Even if they somehow managed to wound it, it would almost certainly be able to reach them with its fire. Still, there had to be something he could do – wait! Timmy had given him an emergency zombie hydra to call upon in case of an emergency, and this definitely qualified as an emergency. There was also Sam, but he’d gone off to look at cake. There was no telling when he’d be back, and Gerald had been frantically pouring his magic into the talisman Timmy had given him in a bid to alert Sam to their dragon-shaped problem.

“Get out of here,” Gerald told Caroline and the others. He was beyond terrified, but this wasn’t a battle his stepsister and her family could win. He summoned a bottle of brandy he’d once confiscated from a colleague and took a generous swig of it. It was strong, maybe too strong, but he needed some courage right now, and if the liquid variety was all he could get, well, he’d take it. “I’ll distract it.”

The zombie hydra shimmered into existence as Gerald’s magic released it. The mighty beast immediately rounded on the dragon as Gerald blurted out commands. He was tempted to babble – he babbled when he was scared, and he was currently far more than scared – but then he remembered Timmy’s advice. Gerald wasn’t a necromancer, so he needed to keep his orders clear, simple, and easy for the zombie hydra to understand.

“When the dragon dives,” Gerald said. “Hit it with as much acid as you can.”

The hydra bellowed its acknowledgment, and Gerald scurried away. The hydra would undoubtedly draw the dragon’s attention, and he had no intention of being near it if the dragon decided to attack it. Normally, a hydra would never have been able to hit a dragon in flight, but this dragon was preparing to dive, and Timmy had made numerous improvements to this particular hydra. As the necromancer had said, if he were going to give Gerald a zombie hydra, it might as well be a good one. Gerald sincerely hoped those improvements turned out better than the gorgon head Timmy had added to one of his zombie salamanders. The creature had given a mighty roar, burst into flame, and then turned itself into stone. Oops.

As the distortion dragon swooped in to unleash its fire again, the zombie hydra hissed and drew its heads back. A blast of eerie fire rippled down, but it was cut short as five streams of super-high pressure acid lanced toward the dragon. Dragon scales were largely impervious to acid. However, this zombie hydra had been an ancient hydra, and distortion dragons were not as robust as some of their kin. A corruption dragon like Spot could have drunk the hydra’s acid without suffering anything worse than a bit of indigestion. This dragon, though, gave an inelegant squawk as the streams of acid came dangerously close to its eyes. It jerked upward and broke away, flapping its wings to gain height. The acid on its scales bubbled and gave off strange black fumes. Interesting. Hydra acid didn’t normally do that. It might be one of the improvements Timmy had mentioned. Gerald wouldn’t put it past the necromancer to create a zombie hydra that spat hydra acid combined with a host of other toxins and poisons to enhance its effectiveness.

“What is that?” Caroline shrieked as she jabbed one finger in the direction of the zombie hydra.

“It’s a long story. Just… I’ll explain later. Get somewhere safe, okay?” Gerald clutched the talisman under his tunic. His legs were shaking so badly that he would have fallen over if one of the rats hadn’t tapped a few pressure points to keep his legs from giving way. The rodents were still firing away with their ballista, and a couple of them were readying what looked like massive snares, but Gerald knew what they needed to win this fight. “Sam, I could really use your help right now, and I’m willing to pay you in cake. Lots of cake.”

Sam must have heard him because the air in front of him quivered as though it were a leather hide being stretch taut before a large sphere of writhing, protoplasmic flesh rippled into existence. People who’d finally managed to stop screaming after the dragon had appeared began to scream again as Sam used some of his eyes to look at Gerald, Caroline, and the others as his other eyes locked onto the dragon. Sam’s tentacles moved, and the horror changed his shape and colour.

“Huh?” Gerald fumbled for the phrase book Timmy had given him to help translate Sam’s ‘speech’. “Wait… you weren’t looking at cake? You were… oh. I get it!” Gerald felt bad for wondering if Sam had abandoned him. “You were gathering more power, so you could fight the dragon properly! Great. Does that mean you’ve got enough power now?”

Sam bobbed up and down in the air in what was unmistakably his equivalent of a nod, and then he began to change. His already massive body – he was a sphere of flesh roughly five yards across – expanded. Wings appeared, strange fibrous wings with beady eyes and hungry mouths, and his tentacles joined, fusing into claws and blade-like appendages. Instead of a sphere, Sam’s new form was vaguely draconic, a mocking, twisted reflection of the dragon circling overhead. The dragon must have thought the same because it gave a roar of outrage and unleashed a wave of fire that would have swamped both Sam and Gerald.

“Ah!” Gerald threw his arms up as the rats readied another defensive barrier, but he needn’t have worried.

Sam twisted, launching himself into the air and spreading his makeshift wings to take the brunt of the attack. The ghostly flame enveloped him, but Sam scarcely seemed to feel it. Dimly, Gerald realised why Sam hadn’t bothered to dodge. His kind weren’t subject to the ravages of old age, and their bodies barely obeyed the laws of nature. What threat were distortions in time and space to a being like Sam who came from a dimension where concepts like time and space were utterly without meaning?

Even so, the dragon’s fire was still immensely hot. Chunks of Sam’s body were burnt away, and although Sam had protected Gerald from the attack, his immediate surroundings were less fortunate. The paved stone immediately beneath him was stuck in an endless loop of cracking and then fixing itself as the flow of time stopped, started, and twisted into a loop. The sunlight around Sam was even eerier. It formed jagged arcs of radiance interspersed with long arcs of absolute darkness as space was torn asunder. With a ponderous groan, Sam shook off the attack and heaved himself into the air, more of his flesh sloughing off as he rose. The space around him rippled again, this time of his own doing. Sam grew larger still, expanding like the world’s scariest balloon until he was every bit as big as the dragon.

“I don’t even know what to say about… about… that… that thing!” Caroline waved her arms in the general direction of Sam. “But we are definitely going to talk about this later!”

Gerald could only nod as Sam hurled himself into battle. Timmy had once mentioned that as affable as Sam was – and he was very affable indeed if he had plenty of cake – there was a reason the other protoplasmic horrors listened to Sam and a reason why Timmy’s master had gone out of his way to bind Sam in particular with extra rituals and magic. Sam’s size wasn’t merely for show. Oh, he could simply swallow his enemies and devour them, but Sam had been around for a very long time, and unlike many of his brethren, he had learned how to fight instead of relying purely on instinct.

The protoplasmic horror crashed into the dragon at full speed, slamming a pair of those enormous claw-like appendages into the dragon’s side. The dragon’s scales held firm, but the ear-piercing shriek that filled the air when Sam split his claws apart and raked them down the length of the dragon’s side made it clear that even dragon scale couldn’t shrug off Sam’s attacks. The dragon whipped its head around and tried to blast Sam with its fire. Sam extruded a barbed tentacle and grabbed hold of the dragon’s throat. There was another cacophony of shrieking sounds as the barbs ground against the scales on the dragon’s throat. Desperately, the reptile wedged a foot in between them and managed to kick Sam away.

The dragon backed off, trying to get some distance as it peppered Sam with blasts of its unearthly fire. But the horror barely seemed to notice the attacks at all as it lumbered after the dragon. Oh, Sam wasn’t anywhere near as agile in the air as the dragon, but he was fast, and he’d abandoned his clawed appendages in favour of longer tentacles. If Gerald had to guess, Sam would probably try to grab the dragon, maybe even drag it to the ground. The dragon must have seen the danger because it upped its speed, wheeling through the sky and firing ever more panicked bursts of fire at Sam.

Sam simply waded through the attacks. When too much of his flesh was burned to allow easy movement, he simply used some of his tentacles to tear it away. It didn’t matter. Within seconds, his flesh had regenerated, and unlike the dragon, Gerald had a feeling that Sam would only need to land one solid hit to end the fight. This dragon wasn’t like Black Scales. It wasn’t a living legend of incomprehensible power. No, it was an upstart hoping to claim some territory for itself after the aforementioned legend had met his end. In a century or two, perhaps, it might be big and strong enough to challenge Sam in a place full of eldritch power that the horror could draw upon. Right now, however, it was in big, big trouble.

Seemingly fed up with being unable to reach his opponent, a vast mouth opened up along what Gerald supposed was Sam’s back. Teeth the size of grown men parted to reveal a gaping maw filled with seething energy. Reality shattered and tore as Sam unleashed a withering salvo of otherworldly energy at the dragon. The dragon gave a cry of alarm and banked sharply to avoid the attack. It was only partially successful. It had managed to avoid the worst of the attack, but Sam had still managed to score a glancing hit along the dragon’s flanks. Yet even that glancing hit had done terrible damage. Blood bubbled up from between dozens of cracked and broken scales, and the dragon gave an agonised hiss before it used its magic to flee. Sam lingered for a few moments to make sure the dragon was truly gone before he began to shrink and fade from view. Just before he disappeared, the horror gave Gerald a meaningful look. The bureaucrat gulped. He would definitely have some cake ready for Sam later.

As the townsfolk cheered, a bit bewildered but glad to be rid of the dragon and the abomination that had driven it away, Gerald dismissed the zombie hydra and looked around for the rats. To his relief, they were all still alive although some of them were definitely a bit worse for wear. His stepsister marched up to him with an inscrutable expression on her face before she grabbed him by the sleeve and began to drag him toward the inn, which had miraculously emerged from the battle undamaged.

“We need to talk.”

* * *

Caroline stared at Gerald as though he’d grown a second head as he gave her a highly edited account of what he’d been doing recently. He could trust her to be discrete, but he doubted she would have believed him at all if she hadn’t seen what Sam and the rats were capable of with her own eyes. To be fair, his story was quite unbelievable. How many people could honestly say they’d seen a zombie kraken throw the wreckage of a galleon at a fort? Gerald could.

“So… you… you go around and… and do missions…” Caroline shook her head. “With… with necromancers… and… and the dragon today wasn’t even as big as the one you dropped a tower on? I mean…” She lowered her voice, and her eyes widened in realisation. “You killed Black Scales?”

Gerald nodded.

“…” She took a deep breath and then nodded firmly. “It’s official. I no longer understand how the world works.”

“If it helps,” Gerald said. “I mostly ran away and screamed a lot, and I was very lucky. If they hadn’t been hitting the same spot over and over, I doubt even a tower to the head would have stopped him for long.”

“But you still killed him!” Caroline shrieked before lowering her voice again. “You still struck the killing blow.”

“I suppose I did.” Gerald shivered. “But you have no idea how terrifying it was. It was a miracle I wasn’t killed in the first ten seconds of the fight. If he’d thought I was a threat – if he’d even suspected what I could do – he would have incinerated me as soon as he laid eyes on me. I got lucky. The people I was with are much more of a threat than I am, so he went after them first. They’re good at giving orders too. All I have to do is listen and follow their instructions. It’s worked reasonably well so far.” He smiled. “And whenever I’ve fallen behind, they always come back for me.”

“They’d better,” Caroline growled. “But can you really trust them, Gerald? They sound like criminals.”

“They are for the time being, but I can trust them.” Gerald wasn’t sure about a lot of things in his life, but he was sure he could trust the others to keep him alive.

Caroline held his gaze for a long moment. “Okay then. If you’re sure, I’ll trust your judgement.”

“Thank you. But you need to keep this a secret, okay?”

“Oh, I will. And who would ever believe me if I told them?” She shivered. “And… that… thing from before… you asked him to help?”

“His name is Sam. He lives in the castle. Some of his people want to, uh, end the world, but he’s quite nice as long as you don’t try to steal his cake. As for what he is, he’s a protoplasmic horror from another dimension. He’ll be dropping by for cake later, so I can introduce you if you want.”

“I think I’ll pass.”

“And the rats?” Derrick asked. The rodents were watching over the boys as they played outside. The boys were captivated by what the rats could do. Picasso, who was up on his feet again if a little less spry than usual, was teaching the boys how to juggle. The boys were using beanbags that Gerald had gotten with his magic. Picasso? The rat was juggling miniature daggers.

“I don’t know where they’re from, but they are handy to have around. They’ve saved my life several times already, and they are absolutely loyal.”

His stepsister sighed and took a sip of what Gerald strongly suspected was alcohol. “Well, it’s good to know you’re being taken care of.” She smiled. “Can you stay for a few more days? I don’t think we’ll be able to do much today given what happened, and I’m not up to doing any wheeling and dealing today either.”

Gerald smiled back. “I can do that.” He paused as a familiar presence drifted past, invisible and intangible although the innkeeper’s cat hissed and swiped at the air. “Give me a second. I’ll be right back, but Sam wants his cake now.”

The Bank

(Set Before Two Necromancers, a Bureaucrat, and an Elf)

One of the problems with being a semi-villainous necromancer who lived in a castle built atop lightless chasms of unfathomable doom was finding a place to store all of his valuables. True, Timmy kept the majority of his wealth in his castle. It was an eminently practical approach since breaking into a castle full of thousands of his zombies, not to mention Sam and who knew how many other protoplasmic horrors from another dimension, was essentially a death sentence for anyone who wasn’t either an exceptionally gifted thief or a brilliant assassin. And that was assuming whoever tried to break into his castle could somehow get past its many, many magical defences and traps. However, Timmy had realised long ago that being a necromancer with a range of enemies, some of who were actually intelligent and powerful enough to be real threats, meant that he might one day have to abandon his beloved castle.

The most likely scenario involved him fleeing after a full army marched on the castle with a large complement of war mages and siege mages, as well as several members of the Council. However, there were other possibilities. Perhaps his enemies in the necromancer community would band together to defeat him, or perhaps his enemies in the tomb-raiding business would do the same. He was confident he could handle any two of his enemies on his own, but there was a reason people talked about strength in numbers.

If he was forced to flee the castle, then storing all of his valuables there would leave him destitute, and that was assuming he managed to escape at all. He somehow doubted that his enemies would simply let him walk away unscathed. There was also the issue of verifiable wealth. It was all well and good to tell prospective business associates that he had plenty of gold back at his castle, but not everyone would believe him, and simply carrying a lot of gold around was asking for trouble. What he needed was a place to store some of his valuables that could also vouch for his financial status should the need arise, such as during a business transaction. Semi-villainy occasional entailed doing business with some very ruthless people, people who did not like to take chances when it came to money.

In other words, what Timmy needed was a bank.

Banking happened to be one of Everton’s most important industries. Due to its incredibly developed – some would say overdeveloped – bureaucracy, Everton’s banks were considered some of the most secure and stable in the world. Moreover, there were a plethora of banks available to cater to different markets. There were retail banks, which specialised in serving the general public; there were commercial banks, which saw to the needs of businesses; and there were even investment banks, which helped link businesses to investors. For prospective villains and heroes there were also banks that invested aggressively in individuals, providing funds to help them pursue their dreams and ideals in exchange for a slice of any profits those dreams and ideals might generate in the future. Naturally, there were also companies that insured those banks, just in case any of those individuals happened to run into a dragon or something similarly likely to end in death en route to achieving their dreams and ideals. Apart from banks, there were also guilds and other non-bank entities that offered similar services.

There was a guild for necromancers, but the level of dysfunction involved was horrendous. Apparently, asking a bunch of people who could create zombies and who were used to ruling in a fairly tyrannical manner to cooperate was a recipe for disaster. Indeed, studies over the years had shown quite conclusively that any gathering involving more than four or five necromancers inevitably devolved into complete bedlam, usually after some seemingly minor incident, such as a disagreement over zombie nomenclature, escalated into full-blown zombie-based mayhem.

As a result, the necromancers’ guild was one of the most shambolic in the world, and that ineptitude extended to its ability to offer attractive financing options. The thieves’ guild was a more reliable source of funding, even taking into account all of the theft and treachery that was likely to occur whenever someone took out a loan. Thus only very young and inexperienced necromancers or those who had committed acts of truly genuine and despicable evil relied upon the guild for funding. Everyone who could went elsewhere, and Timmy was no different.

His fondest memories of the necromancers’ guild were of the free cookies he’d gotten whenever his master had visited their closest office. His master had done his best to deprive Timmy of baked goods because he was a jerk, so he had looked forward to those visits. The cookies hadn’t been very good – necromancers were not usually known for their baking prowess – but mediocre cookies had been better than nothing. The old necromancer who’d watched over the foyer hadn’t liked Timmy’s master, which was likely why he’d given Timmy cookies in the first place. It was a pity the old fellow hadn’t lived long enough to hear of his master’s demise. Timmy had a feeling the old man would have replaced his usual dour look and shamble with a sunny smile and a merry jig.

As a necromancer who specialised in what were generally classified as minor to semi-major acts of non-apocalyptic villainy, Timmy did not have to rely on the guild for additional funding. That didn’t mean he could use a regular bank like the Everton First Kingdom Bank – one of the greatest banks in the world, and the number one bank in customer satisfaction for ten years running – but he could use one of its subsidiaries, the Everton First Kingdom Secondary Bank.

The Secondary Bank had been founded shortly after the original when it had become apparent that certain individuals, amongst them mercenaries, assassins, and various independent mages, possessed significant assets that they wished to place in a bank, either for safekeeping or as part of an interest-generating account. Bankers being bankers, they had wisely opted not to deny them service, especially since the authorities were mostly willing to turn a blind eye, provided taxes were paid on time and in full and that any particularly heinous individuals were not served. The bank vetted out the worst of the bunch and split the Secondary Bank off as a subsidiary to protect the reputation of the original bank, all while making deals with the authorities to report any legitimate attempts to cause the end of the world or the destruction of Everton. Naturally, the Secondary Bank charged higher fees and demanded greater interest on loans to compensate for the questionable legal status of its customers, but they were still a far more palatable option than the various loan sharks, guilds, and other dubious organisations that certain individuals had previously been forced to rely on.

Indeed, the Secondary Bank prided itself on maintaining the same excellent and exacting standards as the original bank, and Timmy had been banking with them for years. They’d even let him stay on as a customer after his master had attempted to assassinate a member of the Council. Timmy had kept that little bit of leniency to himself. If his master had known, he would undoubtedly have tried to access the bank’s services through Timmy. Now, to be fair, Timmy had, on more than one occasion, attempted to assassinate James, but everyone knew those weren’t serious attempts. They were more like pranks. As if a hydra could actually kill James. It would take several hydras to even get him to break a sweat. His master, though, had not been messing around. He’d tried to tear the soul out of one of the Councillors before levelling the man’s estate when the attempt had failed. This was not something the Secondary Bank could ignore, which had led to them instituting a permanent ban on his master. As a result, Timmy’s master had been forced to rely almost entirely on the necromancers’ guild for additional funding, which had made him even more unpleasant to be around than usual.

Despite having access to the Secondary Bank, Timmy had always done his best to avoid taking out any unnecessary loans. The bank’s terms were fair, but interest was interest. Whenever possible, he liked to pay his bills up front and in full using his own funds. It was better in the long run, and he’d seen more than one necromancer meet their financial downfall after relying too heavily on credit and succumbing to the horrors of high interest rates. Admittedly, raiding tombs and robbing other villains could be risky, but the risks were relatively straightforward to deal with. Taking out a large loan and falling behind on the repayments could end with the bank taking possession of the castle, and Timmy had no intention of losing the castle he’d worked so hard to repair and renovate. However, he was happy to make use of the bank’s other services, and he’d long maintained a number of interest-accruing savings accounts, as well as a well-stocked vault of valuables.

Timmy had made a habit of visiting the closest major branch of the Secondary Bank regularly to maintain a good relationship with its staff and to check on his investments and other accounts, many of which the bank handled. Today, he had other business to attend to. He had recently acquired an apprentice, and the suitably cunning and fiendish little girl needed a bank account of her own. Unlike his master, he intended to ensure that she was financially prepared for a life of what would hopefully be minor to semi-major villainy of the non-apocalyptic variety. Given all the effort he would be putting into training her, it would not do for her to end up in prison or worse after trying something crazy like attempting to assassinate a member of the Council.

“Why are we here, master?” Katie asked.

She was fiddling with her glasses again, a nervous habit he hoped to wean her off in the future. Hmm… he should probably book an appointment with an optometrist for her. Being an apprentice involved a lot of reading, and he didn’t want his favourite apprentice to suffer any eye problems. Admittedly, she was his only apprentice, but that was just a matter of semantics.

“Master, are you listening?” Katie pouted. “Why are we here?”

Timmy fought the urge to ruffle her blonde hair before giving in and ruffling it while ignoring the vicious glare she sent his way. His apprentice was truly the most adorable apprentice in the world. Other necromancers would have scoffed at the thought of having an adorable apprentice. They would have wanted someone stern, evil, and menacing. But deep within her adorable exterior beat the intelligent, cunning, and creative heart of a true necromancer. She’d already shown a wonderful grasp of the basics of zombie construction, and he didn’t even have to force her to read up on all of the various subjects related to necromancy. On the contrary, she’d devoured every book, scroll, or ancient tablet she could get her hands on. And those shadows of hers were truly menacing. Once she really learned how to use her magic – shadows and necromancy – she would a pint-sized force of necromantic devastation.

His young apprentice had already displayed a distinct talent for numbers and other academic pursuits. She could already write more neatly than him. Her cursive was a thing of beauty, and she’d started budgeting her monthly allowance in a way that children twice her age wouldn’t even have considered, never mind actually managed to do. Katie also liked Sam, which made her close to perfect as an apprentice in Timmy’s eyes. The protoplasmic horror was one of his oldest friends, and he wouldn’t have kept an apprentice who couldn’t at least get along with him. The only thing missing was her ability to do his taxes, but at the rate she was learning, and with the books about tax law he might have accidentally left near her chambers, it wouldn’t be long before she could handle those too and achieved the status of perfect apprentice.

“You need a bank account,” Timmy said. “It’s all well and good to keep your savings in the secret compartment under the floor beneath your bed, but you need something more reliable, especially if you plan to carry out business transactions with reputable and semi-reputable merchants in the future.”

Katie gave him another one of those glares of hers. Had she been two decades older and twice as tall, he might have been worried. As it was, her surprise amused him. The chambers he’d given her had been his when he’d been an apprentice. He’d hidden his meagre savings in the same spot until he’d found somewhere better. His master had also placed a bevvy of traps and other nasty surprises in his chambers, but he’d opted not to follow that approach. Katie would need to learn how to deal with traps and ambushes, but there was a time and place for everything. Timmy had not been his master’s first apprentice. Sam and the older servants had told him about some of the others, but the others had died, gone insane, or fled the castle. It was such a wasteful way of doing things, and Timmy had no intention of repeating his master’s mistakes. Katie was his first apprentice, and he had no intention of getting another one until she’d become a skilled, powerful, and successful necromancer in her own right. Plus, what were the odds he would get two good apprentices in a row? She’d also begun to show some talent for scheming, so giving her a co-conspirator might not be the best idea.

“Oh.” Katie frowned and tugged at the sleeves of her robe. Despite her tender years, she’d already shown herself to be a traditionalist, forgoing his more practical attire in favour of the voluminous black robes preferred by most necromancers. “What kind of bank would work with people like us?”

Timmy chuckled. He would have ruffled her hair again, but her shadows had formed into spectral jaws, all but daring him to try again. Clever girl. The jaws weren’t as sharp and distinct as they could be, but the training exercises he’d given her had already begun to pay off. He’d have to wait until she was distracted, which would be good awareness training for her. “Where there is money, Katie, there is a way. There are also conditions, so if we don’t follow the rules, they won’t do business with us.”

“I see.” Katie followed him down the street, and he slowed his pace to allow her to keep up. Her family had not reacted well to her necromancy after she’d used it for the first time to reanimate her dog, Patches. They’d left the zombie dog back at the castle, but he wouldn’t be lonely. He was incredibly friendly for a zombie dog, and many of the castle’s servants had taken a shine to him. Indeed, Patches was every bit as cheerful and happy in death as he had been in life. Timmy had met a lot of zombies over the years. None of them had been as cheerful as Patches, and none of them had ever had so much fun chasing their own tail. “Where is the bank?”

It was a reasonable question. They were currently walking through one of the more dubious parts of the city. Yet that was merely camouflage. The bank situated itself here because the vast majority of its customers felt more at home in a neighbourhood like this than in the more heavily patrolled parts of the city. It also kept their more snobbish customers from the original bank from having to mingle with the customers of the Secondary Bank. It was a wise policy since many of the customers of the Secondary Bank did not appreciate being looked down on by snobbish nobles and merchants, and unhappy mercenaries, assassins, and independent mages could occasionally get overenthusiastic in expressing their displeasure. And by overenthusiastic, Timmy meant violent. Very violent.

Timmy led them to a weather-worn building beside a dilapidated garden, and the two of them walked toward the front door under the watchful eyes of several golems and some guards.

“You’ve got company today,” the leader of the guards remarked.

Timmy grinned. Paul had worked at the bank for as long as Timmy had been banking there. “Katie here is my apprentice.”

“Your apprentice? That’s new. Well, she’s a cute, little thing, isn’t she?” Paul chuckled. “She reminds me a lot of my granddaughter.”

Katie mustered her most impressive scowl, which only made Paul laugh harder. Even the golem beside him gave what was either a snicker or some kind of mechanical fault.

“Give her another decade or two, and she’ll be terrifying,” Timmy said. “Is Weaver in today? I told him I’d be dropping by around this time.”

Paul nodded and motioned for one of the other guards to open the doors. “He’s expecting you.”

Timmy slipped Paul a coin, and he and Katie entered the building. It never hurt to be on good terms with the guards, and veterans like Paul had plenty of useful connections elsewhere too.

If the outside of the building had been shabby, the inside was the complete opposite. As they passed through a second set of doors, it was like stepping into another world. Lush carpets covered the polished stone floor, and several fireplaces fought off the autumn chill. They could have used magic to provide warmth, but there was something comforting and impressive about the scent and crackle of a real fireplace. Smartly dressed members of staff were on hand with refreshments while others offered to take their coats and guide them to a comfortable chair. Timmy savoured the surprise on Katie’s face. Despite her humble origins, his precocious apprentice was not easily impressed.

“Appearances matter, Katie. You can’t ask a self-respecting villain to sit on the floor, you know.” Timmy put one hand on her shoulder. “We can spend some time in the foyer later. We have an appointment, and I’d rather we weren’t late.”

They continued past the foyer and walked through a series of corridors before they stopped at an office Timmy was very familiar with. The guards at the door opened it and ushered Timmy and Katie into the large, square office. There was a big table on one side, along with a fireplace and a whole wall of bookshelves. The man behind the table was skinny and a little on the short side. His balding head only added to his seemingly harmless appearance. He was only in his mid forties and already almost entirely bald, but his eyes were sharp and knowing, and the smile he gave Timmy reminded the necromancer of a very hungry and very intelligent shark. On the upside, this shark was on his side, for the most part, anyway.

“Lord Bolton,” the man said, rising to his feet and extending one hand in greeting. “As always, it is a pleasure to do business with you.”

“We’ve talked about this before. Just call me Timmy, Weaver. This young lady is my apprentice, Katie.” Timmy shook Weaver’s hand and then lifted Katie up to let her do the same after she tugged expectantly on his cloak. Weaver chuckled at the display and dutifully shook Katie’s hand too. Timmy set the girl down on the chair beside his. “Lord Bolton makes me sound like some kind of uppity noble.”

“A little bit, yes,” Weaver agreed. “Which is why I do it.” His piercing green eyes locked onto Katie. He was a sharp one, all right. He knew Timmy well enough to realise that he wouldn’t have agreed to take on an apprentice lightly. If Katie was his apprentice, he must have chosen her or accepted her for a reason. “So… you have an apprentice now. She’s quite young.”

“She is, but she has a lot of potential,” Timmy replied. “And I’ve been meaning to take on an apprentice ever since I reached my current rank.”

“Ah, yes. That’s right. Congratulations.” Weaver smiled. Timmy was one of the youngest Grand Necromancers in history, and perhaps the only one to ever achieve that rank without being considered a major villain worthy of being arrested or even executed on sight. “Are you here to open an account for her?”

“I would like to, yes. For now, keeping her savings in the castle is acceptable, and I will set aside some room in the castle’s treasury for her when she gets older. However, I’d like her to get used to having an account. She won’t always be little, and if she realises her full potential, she’ll have more than enough assets to make having an account worthwhile.”

“I see.” Weaver nodded at Katie. “Good morning, Katie. Since you’ll be opening an account with us today, I would like to introduce myself properly. My name is Lord Jeffrey Jonathon Weaver, and I am the manager of this branch of the Everton First Kingdom Secondary Bank. On behalf of the Secondary Bank, I would like to offer you my warmest welcome and to congratulate you on choosing to bank with us. Believe me, you will not regret it.”

Katie replied in a voice far too serious and grave for a girl her age. Timmy barely managed to bite back a chuckle. He’d caught her practicing this voice in her room when she’d been certain no one was listening. She wanted to sound like a proper necromancer, and proper necromancers apparently sounded an awful lot like bankers. “Thank you, Lord Weaver. Allow me to introduce myself as well. I am Katherine Juliet Morrow, and I would be honoured to bank with you.”

Weaver laughed. “It’s nice to meet you, Katie.” He inclined his head at Timmy. “She’s very polite, Timmy, not like another apprentice whose master brought them here to open an account.”

“To be fair,” Timmy replied, grimacing at the memory. “My master was a jerk, and he brought me here to open an account not long after throwing me at a pack of starving wolves for fun. Oh, wait. He called it a survival exercise. He also wasn’t pleased that we had to talk to you instead of the manager of the bank at the time.”

“My father was occupied with another customer, and, to be honest, I don’t think he liked even being in the same room as your master.”

“He wasn’t the only one,” Timmy muttered.

Katie gaped at him in disbelief, and both Weaver and Timmy shared a smile.

“It seems you have yet to learn exactly what sort of person your master’s master was, Katie. You should ask your master about it. I’m sure he has plenty of stories, all of them thoroughly unpleasant. Now, before we open an account for you, I would like to go over some of the most important rules. I will, of course, provide you with full documentation that covers all the rules in great depth, but the rules I am about to cover are the most important ones. If you break them, we may have to cease doing business with you. If you have any questions at all, feel free to ask. As your banker, I’m here to help.”

The most important rules were fairly straightforward, so Timmy had no doubt that his apprentice would be able to understand and abide by them. Essentially, the bank would look the other way when it came to acts of villainy, provided Katie avoided certain especially heinous crimes like slavery, unnecessary murder of innocents, attempting to overthrow Everton, and so on. The bank also expected Katie to be honest when it came to reporting any dangerous items that she wished to store with the bank. They did not want to find out that they were holding an artefact of apocalyptic power in one of their vaults after it had already triggered the apocalypse. Likewise, the bank expected prompt payment on any fees or interest they were owed. In the event that such payment could not be made on time, Katie would need to contact them in advance to come to an arrangement. Conversely, the bank promised to fulfil all of its obligations, such as the paying of any interest earned by Katie’s accounts, in a prompt and timely manner and to do their utmost to ensure the safety of her valuables.

“It might seem like a lot to take in,” Timmy said once Weaver had finished. “But most of it is common sense. Consider the rule about not trying to overthrow Everton. Sure, a lot of people talk about trying it, but what happens if they succeed? It’ll be chaos, and it won’t be long before someone, probably the Eternal Empire, conquers us. It’s better for everyone, both the bank and its customers, if Everton has a stable government that is largely amenable to ignoring or at least tolerating certain levels of villainy. If people like us leave the Council alone, the odds are good that they’ll leave us alone too. Oh, some of them might threaten us and talk about starting a necromancer purge, but that’s all it will be – talk. The way things are right now, everybody wins.”

“Exactly.” Weaver smiled thinly and folded his hands together on the table. “The status quo is profitable for all parties, which is why we support it.” He unlocked a drawer and took out a crystal. It was glowing faintly, and a host of runes and seals flickered across its surface. “Are you familiar with this kind of crystal, Katie?”

Katie’s brows furrowed. “I can feel magic in it.” She peered at the crystal and sharpened her magical senses as much as she could. “Is it… a key?”

Weaver’s eyes widened. “Well, well, well. Impressive. I can see why your master is happy to have you as his apprentice.” He put the crystal down on the table. “How is she with numbers, Timmy?”

“She’s already learning how to balance a budget, but you are not going to steal her.” Timmy put one arm around Katie. “Find your own apprentice, Weaver.”

“Well, it was worth a try.” Weaver grinned good-naturedly. He and Timmy had known each other for years. He could still remember the boy Timmy had been, all knees, elbows, and tenacity. They were friends of a sort now, as well as business associates. “This crystal is similar to a key. It’s a magical resonance crystal. Once you run your magic through it, we’ll have a record of your magic, which we can use to make locks that only your magic can open. It’s similar to the process used to create runes or seals that can only be activated by certain people.”

“Will anyone else be able to open my vault?”

“Good question.” Weaver looked pleased, and Timmy was tempted to ruffle Katie’s hair again. His apprentice was wonderfully cunning. “In principle, we have access to your vault, but only under the strictest conditions, such as when carrying out transactions on your behalf or when paying any interest we might owe you. These situations will be outlined in the documents I will be providing you with, but we generally only enter your vault for three reasons: to carry out transactions, if you’ve broken the rules, or if you’re dead. Your vault will also contain a safe that not even we can open. I suggest you leave more typical assets, like gold or jewels in the main part of the vault. Use the safe for things of a truly important or personal nature. I should note, of course, that you are not to use the vault for anything on the restricted item list.”

“Restricted item list?”

“He’ll give it to you later,” Timmy said. “But it’s pretty simple. If you’ve got an artefact that could blow up the world, usher in the apocalypse, or otherwise severely harm the bank or its interests, the bank doesn’t want it on its premises.”

“Indeed. We are a banking institution, and although we are happy to store most items, we are not equipped to store items of an extremely dangerous nature.” Weaver pushed the crystal across the table. “Please, run your magic through the crystal until I tell you to stop, Katie.”

Katie did as he asked, and the crystal pulsed. Its formerly transparent interior grew dark and stormy. Tendrils of darkness seemed to be trying to claw their way out of the crystal. Timmy leaned forward. Interesting. Crystals like this responded differently to different kinds of magic. It looked like there was more to his apprentice’s magic than he thought. He’d have to do a bit of digging. Her parents hadn’t been very interesting from a magical perspective, but it wasn’t unheard of for magical talent to skip a few generations. Finally, the crystal grew clear again, but it had begun to emit a faint hum.

“Good. We’ve taken a recording of your magic. Allow me to show you to your vault.”

The vaults were built underneath the bank and protected using the kinds of materials and magic that would make even Timmy think twice before trying to break in. If he factored in the additional security that was doubtless hidden until it was necessary, it was almost certainly impossible to break into the vaults without obliterating a large chunk of the city as well. And this was only one branch of the Secondary Bank. Any attack on it would bring down the full might of the Everton First Kingdom Bank, and whoever was responsible would either be dead or rotting in one of the world’s worst prisons within a week at the most. Even his master, fool that he could be, had not been stupid enough to attack the bank directly after they’d banned him from using their services.

“The vault beside yours has recently become vacant,” Weaver explained as they walked past an empty vault with open doors. He lowered his voice and continued, “I’m afraid that Aiden Grant is no longer amongst the living, and we’ve distributed the contents of his vault to his next of kin, in accordance with his wishes.”

“Aiden Grant?” Katie asked.

Timmy wasn’t surprised that she didn’t know. His apprentice might be a tiny prodigy, but she had yet to become acquainted with all of the circles he moved in. “He’s an assassin – or he was an assassin – who specialised in eliminating high-difficulty targets outside Everton. I knew him reasonably well. He was getting a bit long in the tooth for an assassin, but I always thought he’d make it to retirement.” He paused. “He was going to become a radish farmer, I think.”

“As did the bank. I was in the midst of finalising his purchase of some farmland.” Weaver shook his head. “We did a lot of good business with him over the years, and he helped us with certain… matters. Unfortunately, he was betrayed. The assassins’ guild is in uproar over it. I daresay it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better, and it’s going to be very, very messy.” Weaver opened the doors of Katie’s vault. If Timmy were a betting man, he’d put his money on Weaver being worried about all the paperwork he’d be stuck with in the near future. If the assassins’ guild got into another civil war, quite a few of the bank’s customers were likely to end up dead, and dead customers were bad for business. Well, except for corpse dealers, but good business for corpse dealers usually meant bad business for everyone else except necromancers. “Here is your vault, Katie.”

Katie peered into the vault and then glanced back at the corridor. Good. His apprentice had noticed the discrepancy. “It’s bigger on the inside than the outside.”

“It is indeed.” Weaver’s voice radiated pride. “Admittedly, we’re not as adept at manipulating space as corpse dealers, but we make do, and our magic is far more stable and difficult to interfere with. A corpse dealer has to contend with transporting vast numbers of corpses across great distances. As a bank, we are more concerned with the security and stability of our vaults. Now, do you have anything you’d like to put in here today, or will you be coming back later to make a deposit?”

Katie reached into her robe and pulled out a sack. Without her shadows to support it, she’d never have been able to carry it, and it would have jangled noisily with each step she took. “My master asked me to bring this. Where should I put it?”

“Are those coins?”

“Yes.” Katie smiled shyly. “I’ve been saving a portion of my allowance each month.”

“An excellent idea, Katie. Developing good financial habits early is the key to future financial success. I recommend the chests over by the wall there. Much like this vault, they are larger on the inside than the outside.”

Katie carefully sorted her coins into the chest. As Timmy had expected, she separated them according to their composition. Gold coins went into one chest whereas the silver and copper coins went into other chests. She looked over at the safe. “Can I use that today too?”

“By all means.” Weaver strode over to the safe. “Let me show you how to operate it.”

Interesting. Katie hadn’t known they would be opening an account for her at the bank today although Timmy had advised her to bring some of her spare money. Whatever she was about to put into the safe, she must have been carrying with her for some reason. From what he’d learned about his young apprentice, it was likely something of great sentimental value rather than monetary value. Weaver took a moment to explain the workings of the safe before he and Timmy looked away and let Katie use it. Once she was done, they left the vault and shut the doors.

Weaver took out the crystal he’d asked Katie to touch and pressed it against the door. The crystal flashed, and a host of intricate symbols flared to life. They curled across the whole surface of the door and even along the walls nearby before they swept back around to the pair of crystals imbedded in the doors themselves. “The doors are now partially keyed to your magic. To gain entry, you need to run your magic through those two crystals and the doors. If for any reason, your magic is not working properly or is too depleted to let you operate the doors normally, please come and see me.”

“Partially keyed?” Katie asked. “And can’t someone copy my magic with one of those crystals?” She pointed at the crystal Weaver held.

“More good questions. Not many of our customers think so deeply about matters of security.” Weaver gave Katie another appraising look, and Timmy frowned at him. He was not about to let Weaver steal his apprentice. “The doors are only partially keyed to your magic, which is why I must now ask you to open the doors. Those two crystals will take an even more detailed and complete sample of your magic, something that cannot be copied without your presence. They will also take a small sample of your blood. The crystal I have is only a partial key. It can only unlock the doors of your vault when combined with the magic and keys of certain employees of this bank, such as myself, who are authorised to enter your vault for the reasons I mentioned earlier. It should not be possible for anyone else to open those doors once they have been fully keyed to your magic.”

Katie gulped at the thought of the door taking a sample of her blood, but she stepped forward and reached for the crystals. There was only one problem. “Master,” she whispered. “Can you lift me up?”

“Ah, right.” Timmy managed to not smile as Weaver hid a laugh behind a cough. Katie wasn’t tall enough to easily reach the crystals on her own, and she most likely didn’t want to use her magic to lift her up for something so important. “It’s a good thing you’re so small, or I might hurt my back lifting you whenever you need to reach something.”

Katie scowled adorably but refrained from saying anything until she’d done as Weaver asked and opened the doors. “One of these days, master, I’m going to be taller than you.”

“Not likely. I’ve met your parents. There is no way you’ll end up taller than me.”

“We’ll see,” Katie grumbled as they closed the doors again.

Weaver led them back to his office, and they were about to leave when the banker motioned for them to stay. “If you don’t mind, Timmy, I’d like to ask you for your help in dealing with a certain… issue.”

“Oh?” Timmy sat back down. “Is this in an official or unofficial capacity?” Depending on Weaver’s answer, he might have to refuse. He wasn’t an especially wanted criminal, but there were places he couldn’t go without risking immediate arrest and imprisonment.

Weaver’s expression grew pinched. “It’s a bit of both, I’m afraid. The son of one of my… associates was recently kidnapped by bandits. I don’t think they realise his connection to the bank or me, but I’m not willing to rule it out. My associate has been communicating with the bandits, and he is willing to pay the ransom. Unfortunately, the bandits involved are a highly unsavoury bunch, even for bandits. I’ve done some digging, and I have reason to believe they have no intention of returning the boy alive. I would ask the assassins’ guild to take care of this – they are extremely efficient at dealing with bandit riffraff – but there may be some complications, and the other guilds have thus far been reluctant to lend their aid because of those… complications.”

“You think people from the assassins’ guild are involved?” Timmy sat up straighter. If the guilds, especially the assassins’ guild, were involved and they were doing this to put pressure on Weaver and his associate, this could be taken as a declaration of war. “Why not go through the official channels? You’re not like me, Weaver. You can go to the authorities, and Everton has some of the finest law enforcement officials in the world.”

“I would prefer to keep this as quiet as possible,” Weaver said crisply. “And I would prefer not to have to answer any questions that might arise during any investigation. The boy’s father and I have an understanding, but it would be best for everyone if the exact nature of that understanding remained private.”

Well, that was interesting. Weaver’s associate must be involved in some serious criminal enterprise if he didn’t want to involve the law. Given Weaver’s expertise, the most probable explanation was that the boy’s father was involved in illegal financial activities aimed at Everton’s enemies or the bank’s enemies. Due to the potential fallout if the boy’s father was discovered, and he would be if law enforcement were involved, it really would be best for everyone if more informal channels were used to secure the boy’s safety.

Timmy’s brows furrowed. He’d heard vague rumours of some uncommonly bad luck amongst certain merchants. “Is your associate targeting the holdings of Eternal Empire-aligned merchants in Everton?”

Weaver winced. “Yes. Yes, he is. I’m impressed you were able to figure it out from such little information. As you can imagine, his activities also benefit the bank since the chief backer of many of those merchants is the largest bank in the Eternal Empire, which just so happens to be one of our main competitors. I would definitely prefer it if he were allowed to continue his activities.” He wrote a number down on a piece of paper and pushed it across to Timmy. “This is how much money he’s been able to embezzle from Eternal Empire-aligned merchants in the past year alone.”

Timmy had to read the number three times to convince himself it was real. “Wow. He’s a busy guy, and I can see why you think he’s worth keeping around. Okay. I’ll handle it, but I need as much information about those bandits as you can give me.”

* * *

Timmy and Katie headed back to the isolated clearing about half a mile from one of the roads that led into the city from the surrounding hill country. They’d undertaken the final part of their journey on foot, but they’d done the majority of their travel via zombie wyvern. Once they reached the clearing, Timmy checked to make sure they were truly alone before he gestured sharply with his shovel. The ground split open, and the earth parted to reveal two zombie wyverns and a dozen of his zombie warriors. He smiled. Earth magic wasn’t as visually impressive as fire or lightning magic, but it was incredibly handy. Because zombies didn’t need to breathe and were very durable, his magic let him use the entire countryside as a hiding place for his zombies.

Katie studied the hole in the ground. “Master, how should I hide my zombies when I start using them more? I don’t have earth magic, and I don’t think I can hide them for long with my shadows unless I stay close to them.”

“You’re overthinking things. Keep it simple. Your shadows are getting stronger and more flexible every day. It won’t be long before you can use them to dig a hole for your zombies. If not, you can always get the zombies to dig the hole and then smooth it over with your shadows once they’ve gotten into it. At night, it’ll be even easier. You won’t need to use your shadows at full strength to hide things. Even a sliver or two of your shadows should be enough to hide your zombies unless someone runs right into them. In the meantime, it’s not like you’ll be running around on your own. You’ll have me around.” Timmy ruffled her hair and then stepped back to avoid a clumsy swipe from a shadowy claw. “You’ve got potential, but you still need more time to turn your potential into real power and skill. It’ll be at least a couple more years before you can come tomb raiding with me and at least a decade before I even think of letting you wander around on your own.”

The zombies climbed out of the hole, and Timmy lifted Katie up onto one of the zombie wyverns and then climbed up behind her. She wasn’t ready to ride on her own yet, and she hadn’t gotten far enough with her shadows to make wings that could fly or even glide. “Hold on. We know roughly where the bandits are, and we’ll be coming in low.” He glanced up at the sky. The sun was setting. By the time they reached the bandits, it should be dark. “While we’re flying, use your shadows to conceal us. It’ll be good practice, and it will make us much harder to see.”

Wrapped in shadows, the zombie wyvern would be almost impossible to see against the night sky, particularly if the cloudy weather held. As for the other zombie wyvern, Timmy had ordered it to fly slightly higher than them. If he’d been on his own, he would have ordered both wyverns to fly much higher, but he wasn’t sure how Katie would handle the thinner air and the cold. As much as he joked about her being small, she really was tiny. He’d been a scrappy kid growing up, but she was much smaller than he’d been at her age. Oh, well. He’d simply have to make sure she drank plenty of milk and ate all of her vegetables. He bit back a snicker. Getting his apprentice to eat healthily would be very fun – for him. It would also keep him on his toes. He had a feeling that telling her to eat all of her broccoli might bring out some of her innate villainy, possibly in the form of an attempted murder or two.

He’d split the zombie warriors between the two wyverns, and as they flew he went over everything Weaver had told him. The bandits were supposed to be holed up in an area perhaps an hour and a half north of the city by wyvern. It was a secluded spot, with only one or two roads into the area. Luckily, the zombie wyverns allowed him to avoid those roads because he was certain they would be closely watched. Weaver had also told Timmy about the building the boy was likely to be kept in. It was near the centre of the bandits’ camp beside a small hill. Weaver couldn’t be sure, but he strongly suspected that several members of the assassins’ guild were involved. Prominent members of the guild had betrayed Aiden Grant, and not everyone liked the bank or its influence over the guild.

The bandits shouldn’t be a problem. With his earth magic and his shovel, Timmy could simply have flattened the camp and buried them under a landslide. However, there were two problems with that approach: he needed to get the boy back unharmed, and he needed to be ready for the assassins to intervene. Bandits were easy enough to deal with, but a skilled assassin could be a nightmare. He’d certainly faced enough of them over the years to know. He also had to get all of this done while watching over Katie. To be fair, he could have left her with Weaver, but her magic was extremely useful for sneaking around. Even at her age, she could already hide incredibly well with her shadows. More importantly, she was skilled enough with her magic to conceal someone else as well. Timmy wouldn’t have to fight anyone if they didn’t even realise he was there until he’d grabbed the kid and run for it.

They continued flying until they spotted the bandits’ camp. It was built around a small cluster of hills with some rough fortifications around it. What worried Timmy was how little magic he felt from the camp. Either there were no mages or assassins there, or they were smart enough and wary enough to conceal themselves even though they weren’t expecting an attack.

“What do we do, master?” Katie asked. She had a studious expression on her face, the one she always wore whenever she was trying to tease out the solution to some problem or puzzle. Good. She was taking this seriously, but she wasn’t panicking.

“Relax.” He patted her on the head. “They’ve got a lot of people patrolling. Even with your magic, I doubt we can get in unnoticed unless we have a distraction. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to drop the zombie warriors first and have them pick a fight. Once they’re occupied, we’re going to land nearby and then sneak in. You need to use your shadows to conceal us. Since they’re using tents and what look like buildings with dirt floors, I should be able to use my earth magic to locate the boy. Weaver said he should be in the building in the middle, but it never hurts to be sure.” He paused. “Katie, I will do my absolute best to protect you. Unless something goes very, very wrong, you shouldn’t have to do any fighting. If we get separated or if something bad happens, you need to hide or run away. The zombie wyverns and zombie warriors will listen to you. Use them to get back to the castle or Weaver. Don’t worry about leaving me behind. I’ll be fine.” He smiled ruefully. Trust me. I always am.”

“Master…” Katie blanched.

Timmy ruffled her hair, and this time, she didn’t try to hit him with her shadows. It couldn’t have been easy for her to be dumped at the castle by her family. He was the first person to ever accept her despite knowing about her necromancy and shadow magic. She would never admit it, but it hadn’t taken her long at all to enjoy life at the castle. She’d already stopped thinking about it as the place where her family had left her. It was home. “Don’t worry. After the training I’ve been through, it’ll take a lot more than some bandits and assassins to kill me.”

* * *

Robert the Relentless, as he liked to call himself – or Bobby the Bastard as his colleagues referred to him behind his back – was a mid-level bandit who dreamed of becoming a bandit king. Unfortunately, Everton was not a good place for bandits due to their actually enforcing their laws and their tendency to carry out periodic campaigns to eradicate bandits, but he had high hopes. His current group was reasonably skilled, and they’d begun to work with some assassins of high standing. If everything went well, he would have more than enough money to expand his group, obtain better equipment, and establish a proper stronghold in this area. The backing of powerful assassins would also open many doors, and cut many throats, that he wouldn’t otherwise have been able to reach.

Yes, he’d been laughed at before, but those days would soon be behind him. In time, all would grow to fear Robert the Relentless, King of the Bandits!

Alas, things were about to take a turn for the worse. The exact cause for Robert’s change in fortune was currently fifty feet above him and dropping fast.

Timmy’s elite zombie warriors were made using the finest corpses. They were then reinforced by his necromancy and a variety of other techniques until their strength, speed, and durability far exceeded those of normal people. It was no exaggeration to say that his zombie warriors could fight ogres barehanded and win. Of course, he wasn’t an idiot. There was no way he’d ever let them march into combat unarmed. He hadn’t put so much time and effort into making them only to let them enter battle unprepared. Each of his zombie warriors wore high-quality armour and used high-quality weaponry. They also wore charms designed to protect them from fire and holy magic, two of the more common weaknesses amongst zombies. By the time he was done with them, each of his elite zombie warriors stood around seven feet tall and weighed more than three hundred pounds.

Robert the Relentless – also known as Bobby the Bastard – was crushed almost flat without ever knowing what hit him, as were another eleven bandits who had the misfortune of being outside. Timmy had very good aim with his zombies, and it never hurt to be efficient.

Roaring their fury to the skies and banging their swords and spears on their shields, the zombie warriors stomped away from the bandits they’d crushed and hastened to obey Timmy’s command. It was a simple one: wipe out the bandits but leave any food untouched. Timmy and Katie were already late for dinner, so they might have to help themselves to a little bit of food. Given what else was about to happen – zombies weren’t known for their mercy – losing their food was the least of the bandits’ concerns.

* * *

Timmy and Katie landed their zombie wyvern in the forest not far from the bandits’ camp. Screams and panicked yelling filled the night as the zombie warriors methodically hacked their way through the bandits. It was totally unfair. The bandits were riffraff, capable of robbing and murdering random villagers and travellers, but they had no chance whatsoever against Timmy’s zombies. They were so badly outmatched that Timmy would normally have captured them and turned them over to the authorities, but he wasn’t about to take any chances with Katie around. Weaver had also asked him to deal with the bandits decisively to prevent any future trouble. It would also send a message to anyone who might be watching. Plus, it was common sense. If a group of bandits were willing to go after someone with connections to Weaver, it wouldn’t be long before they caused more trouble.

“Use your shadows to hide us,” Timmy told Katie. “It’s time for us to move.”

Katie tensed, and shadows enveloped them. Timmy plunged his shovel into the ground and reached out with his magic. The ground around them rippled, and chunks of dirt rose into the air. Another gesture of his shovel filled the camp with clouds of dust and dirt, dousing torches and fires and leaving the whole area in darkness. Perfect. The bandits might not be able to see properly, but with his magic, Timmy could feel the ground and their surroundings. He waited for Katie to grab his hand before they made their way through the storm of dust and dirt toward the central building.

Timmy used his magic again. Was the boy in the building? His magic gave him an answer, mapping the shape of all the earth and stone in the area, as well as giving him some idea of what was on top of all that earth and stone. Odd. The central building had a stone floor, but he couldn’t use his magic to get a better grasp of its interior. It must be magically protected, which made him certain the boy was there.

“Keep moving,” Timmy urged. A bandit ran in their direction, screaming and wailing, only to be picked up and thrown like a sack of noisy potatoes by one of the zombie warriors. “I don’t think he saw us. I think he was trying to get away from my zombies.” He stepped to one side, so Katie wouldn’t have to see one of his zombie warriors use its mace to reduce one of the bandits to a fairly awful-looking splatter on the ground. “Anyway, let’s keep moving. We’re here for the boy. The zombies can handle the bandits.”

“I guess…” Katie looked a little queasy.

“I’m sure this all seems horrible,” Timmy said. “But these bandits aren’t exactly nice, people, Katie. Given half a chance, they’d rob us and leave us to die in a ditch.” He squeezed her shoulder gently. “Focus on the mission. We’re here to help a little boy.” He paused. “Think of this as a lesson for the future. If you have a big, difficult mission, don’t panic. Break it down into more manageable pieces and always remember your objective. We’re here for the boy, but to get him, we need to sneak in. To sneak in, we need a distraction. To make a distraction, we sent in the zombies.”

“Yes, master.” Katie stayed close, and her shadows quivered as she held them in place against the clouds of dust and dirt that swirled through the air at Timmy’s behest. She was used to hiding herself, but hiding someone else in these conditions was more difficult. It didn’t help that her master was a lot taller than her. In a way, concealing the zombie wyvern had been easier since she only needed to hide them from people looking up at them from below. Now, she had to make sure her shadows covered every inch of her and her master since there were a lot of bandits still running around and screaming.

They managed to make it into the building before something went wrong. Timmy felt and heard the rush of air being displaced and shoved Katie out of the way. The girl stumbled, still hidden by her shadows, and Timmy faded into view. He gave her a brief warning look – she needed to stay hidden – and then dove to the side to avoid the shockwave of compressed air that would have blasted a hole through both of them if they hadn’t moved. The attack slammed into the stone floor, and the magically reinforced stone cracked and buckled. Timmy rolled away as another blast shot toward him, wider but less focused than before. Good. Whoever was attacking him hadn’t aimed at Katie. They probably thought he’d used a magical artefact or charm to conceal himself.

He got to his feet and swung his shovel to deflect a pair of daggers. One had been aimed at his chest and the other at his leg. His lips curled. Those daggers had to be poisoned. Any decent assassin could put a dagger through a man’s eyes at this range, but a smart assassin didn’t have to. With the right poison, even a scratch could prove fatal, and the chest and leg were large targets.

In the same instant, there was a flurry of movement. He twisted and drove his shovel up and back to block the attack he knew would come. He caught the incoming blade on his shovel and then jerked back as fluid sluiced off his opponent’s weapon. A drop of it hit the floor, and the stone smoked and bubbled.

Wonderful.

There were at least three of them, and they knew what they were doing. If his master had been any less sadistic in his training, Timmy would have been caught off guard and overwhelmed by the initial ambush. He’d managed to survive, so the battle would simply move on to its next phase.

His gaze swept over the building’s interior. Only one of the assassins was visible: a thin man with a sword who appeared to have the ability to create acid with his magic. It was a good thing Timmy had made his shovel out of the finest materials he could get his hands on. Regular steel wouldn’t last more than a few seconds against acid that potent. There was another assassin hiding in the shadows cast by the pillars that helped hold up the roof, most likely the one with the knives since the weapons had raced toward him along a downward trajectory. Whoever they were, they hadn’t revealed their magic yet. If the knives were poisoned, it could easily have been done manually. Finally, there was the one with the wind magic who was probably hiding amongst the beams that crisscrossed the ceiling.

His eyes narrowed. This was a tricky situation, but many assassins were not as dangerous in a normal fight as they were in an ambush. Oh, a good assassin could announce their arrival with a parade and still murder most people, but Timmy wasn’t most people. He’d cut his teeth getting pummelled by his master, who had been one of the greatest swordsmen and warriors in Everton when he was sober. He’d also fought countless warriors, mercenaries, assassins, and other individuals with violent tendencies. This was a fight he could win although it wouldn’t be easy. He glanced to the side. There was a patch of slightly darker shadows near the door. His lips twitched. Katie had listened to him. She was close enough to help but also ready to run if something went wrong.

“Good evening,” Timmy said to the assassin he could see. It never hurt to try to cut a deal first. “Let’s cut to the chase. Give me the boy, and I’ll leave. He’s all I’m after.”

The thin man’s reply came in the form of a blindingly fast attack. Damn. He was good with that sword, and his technique and footwork were impeccable for both the initial lunge and the three subsequent attacks that Timmy was forced to parry or dodge. He caught another attack on his shovel and twisted away to avoid the spray of deadly acid that followed. Some of the liquid splashed onto his cloak, but he kept his focus on his opponent. His cloak could survive a bit of acid, which was one of the more frequent dangers necromancers encountered since hydra-based zombies were immensely popular for their durability, regeneration, and fighting prowess. However, he would have to replace it after this mission.

Timmy backed away, searching for an opening as the assassin continued his assault, but the other assassins leapt back into the fray before he could seize the initiative. He jerked away from a blast of wind and almost tripped as he hastily retreated from a hail of knives. This was beginning to get annoying. He needed to even the odds, or they’d wear him down. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the shadows twitch. Anyone else would have missed it, but his little apprentice’s magic had forced Timmy to pay closer attention to the shadows around him lest she manage to catch him off guard. She’d almost surprised him several times before he’d gotten good enough to spot the minute changes her magic made to the shadows. Right now, she was trying to tell him where one of the assassins was. He smirked inwardly. Whoever this assassin was, they might be good at concealing themselves in the shadows, but Katie could see and feel everything the shadows around her could. The assassin might as well be waving a bright pink banner around.

He pulled a pebble out of one of his pockets and struck it with his shovel. His magic turned it into a projectile faster than a crossbow bolt. There was a muffled scream, and a woman with throwing knives tumbled off one of the beams. Interesting. She’d been hiding up there, not amongst the pillars. The woman hit the ground heavily and lay still. He doubted she was dead. Assassins were fairly durable, and he’d put the pebble through her shoulder not her chest, but she wouldn’t be doing anything else in this fight.

Timmy had no more time to think as the swordsman pressed forward again. The swordsman was fast and skilled, and his blade was a constant blur of motion that left trails of acid in its wake. If the assassin could prolong the fight, it would only be a matter of time before he managed to hit Timmy with some acid, but Timmy had no intention of letting the fight drag on. He dodged another blast of wind and charged forward. His shovel ground against the assassin’s sword, and a sharp flick of his wrist wrenched both weapons loose. The assassin gasped. He couldn’t believe that Timmy would abandon his weapon. Timmy drove one fist into his opponent’s chin, and the other man stumbled back. Before he could recover, Timmy took his other shovel from its place on his back and struck the assassin upside the head. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

One left.

More blasts of wind rushed forward, but they were easier to dodge since he could now devote all of his attention to them. Katie was trying to show him where the assassin was, but he had a better idea. The stone floor was designed to resist his earth magic, but his necromancy worked perfectly well on things outside the building. A bandit shambled into the building, freshly reanimated by Timmy’s magic, and he heard a muffled curse. There! He called for one of his zombie warriors, and the creature came crashing through the roof on top of the assassin. The assassin hit the ground hard with his zombie warrior on top of him, and Timmy winced. The poor fellow was lucky to still be alive, given how heavy his zombie warriors were.

With the assassins unconscious, he ordered two of his zombie warriors to tie them up and stand guard. If they so much as twitched funny, the zombies knew what to do. In the meantime, he and Katie went deeper into the building. They found the boy in a cell near the back of the building. Timmy broke the cell open, and the boy stumbled back to press himself against the far wall.

“No!” the boy shouted. “Leave me alone!”

“Easy there.” Timmy smiled. “I work for a friend of your father.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a note that Weaver had gotten the boy’s father to write. “Here, read this. It’s from your father.” The boy relaxed slightly, but he still refused to come forward. He didn’t look injured. Hopefully, all the bandits and assassins had done was threaten him. “Katie, show yourself.”

The shadows behind Timmy receded, and Katie appeared.

“See her? Katie is my apprentice. Do you really think a bad person would have a little girl with them?” Timmy asked. “Especially one as adorable as her?”

“I am not little!” Katie grumbled. “And I am definitely not adorable!”

“You totally are.” Timmy chuckled and beckoned the boy forward. “Come on. It won’t be long before your father gets here.”

“But the bandits…” the boy sniffled miserably and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “And… and the other ones… the strong ones…”

“Did you hear the screaming earlier?” Timmy asked. “It’s because I brought stronger people here to deal with them. It’s quiet now, which means its safe.” Timmy sent a pulse of magic through the amulet Weaver had given him. It was a signal. They’d secured the boy, so Weaver should bring the boy’s father and some reinforcements to clean up the mess. “Come on. It’s safe. I promise.”

Less than an hour later, Weaver arrived with reinforcements. They’d come on griffins, so he must have called in some favours too. The boy’s father was there, and he and the boy ran to one another as Weaver came over to speak to Timmy.

“You have my thanks,” Weaver said. He nodded at the boy’s father. “He’ll thank you too once he’s hugged his son almost to death. You will be very well compensated for this.”

“And the assassins?” Timmy asked. “Do you recognise them?”

“I do. The assassins’ guild has already demanded their return, and I do plan to hand them over. However, they will have to agree to certain conditions, and I expect a number of concessions in return.” Weaver nodded at Katie. “You have my thanks as well, Katie. You have a bright, prosperous future ahead of you.”

Katie grinned. “I want to rule the castle.”

Timmy ruffled her hair and then ducked to avoid the shadow that swiped at his head. “Not yet, Katie, not just yet.” He stretched and worked a kink out of his neck. “Now, if you don’t mind, Weaver, we need to get going. It’s well past Katie’s bedtime.”

* * *

Weaver had maintained a very good – and very profitable – relationship with Timmy and Katie over the years. They were, in many respects, the two people he could most rely upon when a problem needed an… unofficial solution. It was why he was so glad they were earning themselves pardons. He wanted Timmy and Katie to succeed, and their success was now tied to Everton’s prosperity. Today, however, was not going to be one of their usual visits. Timmy had sent a message earlier to inform him they would be opening an account for someone else. That piqued his curiosity since Katie already had an account, and the elf staying at Timmy’s castle had an account with the bank as well although the contents of her vault were still in the process of being transported to this branch from one closer to the forest of the elves.

At the appointed time, Timmy entered his office with Katie, Gerald, the elf, and… was that a little dragon?

“Good morning, Weaver.” Timmy pointed to the winged reptile that had hopped onto the table and was now eyeing Weaver with piercing silver eyes. “Meet Spot.” He patted the dragon on the head. “Spot, meet Weaver.”

Hi.

The elf laughed at Weaver’s expression and lifted the dragon up into her arms. The creature was around six feet long and had teeth that would have looked far more appropriate on a larger animal. “We’re here to open an account for him.”

“I… I see.” Technically, it wasn’t illegal although it was certainly unconventional. Not all creatures had the legal standing necessary to open bank accounts, but dragons were more than intelligent enough to qualify. Of course, few dragons bothered with bank accounts. The vast, vast majority were either content to guard their treasure personally – being a practically invincible, flying emissary of fiery death was great for security – or they were disqualified from having an account due to their conduct, which typically consisted of burning settlements, eating people, and engaging in all sorts of malevolent and tyrannical behaviour. “May I inquire as to his history?”

Timmy handed him a certificate. “Here you go.”

Weaver read through the document carefully. Spot had been personally certified as an upstanding member of Everton society and awarded full citizenship for his deeds in service to the Council by no less than the Supreme Cleric herself. “Very well. This all seems to be in order. Is Spot his legal name?”

“It’s what we usually call him since these losers can’t say his actual name.” The elf sneered. “His real name is…” The bizarre series of noises that followed had to be some ancient dialect of the elves.

“You’ll have to write that down for me although we can draw up documents to make Spot a legal alias too.” Weaver turned back to the dragon. “Now, Spot, before you open an account with us, there are some things you need to know…”

The dragon listened intently and even asked a few questions to help clarify what Weaver was saying.

“Now that we’ve gone over the basic rules, I need a sample of your magic – wait!” Weaver leapt back. “Don’t use your fire!”

Spot huffed and closed his mouth.

“We don’t want to burn the bank down. If you have to use your fire, lower its heat and let me put the crystal in the fireplace.”

“Give the crystal to me,” the elf said. “Spot can’t burn me.”

Spot blew a small tongue of black flame at the crystal. It promptly disintegrated.

“Corruption dragons are powerful indeed. Luckily, I have spares.” Weaver took out another crystal.

“Use your white fire this time, Spot,” Timmy said. “It shouldn’t destroy the crystal if you’re careful.”

“White fire?” Weaver asked. “Ah, right. It was on the certificate.”

“Yes, he’s part corruption dragon and part astral dragon.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever heard of that combination before,” Weaver said.

“We’re trying to keep it quiet, so we’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone,” Timmy said. “We’re going to get another certificate done that doesn’t mention it.”

Once they’d sorted everything out, they trooped down to Spot’s vault. It was next to Katie’s.

“Will you be putting anything into your vault today?”

Spot nodded at Gerald. The bureaucrat’s magic activated, and they were soon standing knee deep in various bits and pieces, ranging from random knickknacks to pieces of treasure and old weaponry.

“He’s got more, but he wanted a place to keep things in case of an emergency.” Timmy chuckled. “Right now, he’s more interested in food than treasure, so we’ll be keeping it here since he doesn’t like people going through his hoard.”

Weaver gulped. “Is it wise to separate a dragon from his hoard?”

“It’s fine. We let him roll around in the castle’s treasury now and then.” Spot’s tail knocked a gold coin into the air, and Timmy caught it. “He’s also worried about not being big enough to defend his hoard yet. Once he does get bigger, I’m sure he’ll want most of it back. I’ll have to find him a cave under the castle, or I could use my magic to extend the rock the castle is built on.” Timmy rubbed his chin. “It might take a while. His father was large even for a dragon, but I don’t know how big Spot will get.”

“Well,” Weaver said dryly. “When the time comes, you can rest assured that we will most certainly not get in Spot’s way when he wants to make a withdrawal.”

Research and Development

(Set After Two Necromancers, a Dragon, and a Vampire)

Katie was welcomed to a brand new morning by the merry clapping of cymbals, courtesy of some of her favourite ninja rats. Well, they would be some of her favourite rats once she’d gotten over the unbelievable din they made to wake her up. She had tried to get them to adopt a less obnoxious way of awakening her, but they’d insisted that only cymbals would do. Apparently, she slept like a log, so it was their solemn duty as her loyal and faithful minions to awaken her in the most efficient way possible, which obviously equated to using cymbals. No, the rats weren’t crazy. Her limited human mind simply failed to understand the intricacies of ninja rodent reasoning. Well, it wasn’t like she could call them weird. She lived in a castle filled with zombies built atop lightless chasms of unfathomable doom and despair – and she loved it. If the rats were weird, what did that make her?

Adorably weird – or so her master had said, the last time she’d asked him.

It would have been nice to sleep in since it was a Saturday, and sleep was essential for growth. She was already short. If she somehow managed to not grow much during puberty, her life as a necromancer would become considerably more difficult. Power counted for a lot, and she’d spent countless hours practicing the appropriate demeanour and mannerisms for a legendary necromancer, but having to look up at everyone was not going to help her to intimidate people.

To be fair, being short hadn’t hurt Spot in the intimidation department. He was six feet long, but he wasn’t very tall. Yet all he had to do was growl at someone, and they’d be petrified, unable to move, think, or even speak in fear of drawing his attention. However, he did have several important advantages. First of all, he was a fire-breathing dragon with large, pointy teeth and claws that could tear through steel like it was paper. And, well, he was a fire-breathing dragon with large, pointy teeth and claws that could tear through steel like it was paper. What other advantages did he need? Just those were more than enough.

Despite her desire to grow taller, and she had to end up taller than her master, if only so she could tease him for once, sleeping in on a Saturday was not something she did very often. She had important things to do, so she made up for it by going to bed earlier on a Friday evening. Some people liked to go out on a Friday evening, perhaps for a drink or some time with their friends at a local inn or tavern. She was a ten-year-old necromancer. She was too young too drink, and all of her friends lived in the castle.

Since their arrival and subsequent decision to join the winning team – namely, Katie and her master – the rats had proven to be excellent minions and loyal friends. They were also exceedingly intelligent, maniacally cunning, and wonderfully creative. Moreover, they loved to show off the fruits of their labour. Her master had astutely pointed out that knowing what they were up to was in everyone’s best interests since they were now taking missions to earn a pardon. The rats had a knack for creating useful things. The shaped charges the demolition rats had recently created were perfect for blowing holes in walls and doors. But they also had a tendency to create things that were somewhat less than perfectly safe. The new lake not far from the castle was a perfect example of what happened if certain rats were left without appropriate supervision for too long.

Each Saturday, Katie would look over some of the projects the rats were working on. It made them happy, and it gave Katie a chance to flex her intellectual muscles while also minimising the odds of the castle getting blown up in some horrible rodent-related accident. And the less she thought about what would happen if the castle were destroyed, the better. The things that lived underneath it would most likely go on a terrifying rampage and usher in the apocalypse. Even if they didn’t, Sam might bring about the apocalypse himself once he realised his supply of cake had been destroyed.

Katie washed her face and put on some of her more fire-resistant robes and an especially durable cloak. She’d learned the hard way that the rats, not just the demolition rats, often came up with explosive ideas. After losing several robes and cloaks in the span of a month, she’d switched to more durable clothing. She would also wait until afterward to bathe. Otherwise, any ash or soot that got on her would linger for hours.

Rembrandt hopped onto her shoulder as she finished washing her face and adjusted his eye patch. She wondered if he still had an eye under it or if he’d lost it completely. She’d never seen him without it, and it seemed rude to ask. The sword-wielding rat gave a few quiet squeaks as he began to fill her in on anything important that had happened while she was asleep. The only event of consequence related to Spot. He’d noticed the dragon flying away from the castle not long ago. Katie giggled.

Avraniel slept in a lot. Years of being a criminal on the run had taught her the importance of resting when she could, or so the elf claimed. A better explanation was that she couldn’t be bothered to get up until she wanted to eat breakfast. With Avraniel sleeping in and Chomp, the three-headed dog, most likely doing the same, it was little wonder Spot had gone for a flight. Knowing him, he’d fly around for a while, find something to eat in the forest, and then come back with whatever unfortunate animal had caught his attention. Last time, he’d brought back a bear. Katie had been surprised he could carry it, but he was a dragon. The usual rules regarding a predator’s size relative to its prey clearly did not apply to mighty winged reptiles capable of spewing fire that could melt solid rock. To be on the safe side, Spot always took a few rats with him as well, so she wasn’t worried about him running into any trouble. The rats would make sure he didn’t do anything too crazy, like set the whole forest on fire, and if Spot somehow managed to find something he couldn’t beat in a fight, the rats should be able to distract it long enough for them to make an escape.

From his perch on her shoulder – it was one of his favourite spots when he wasn’t in one of her pockets – Rembrandt spoke to the other rats, issuing orders and taking in reports. Katie, likewise, paid careful attention, fascinated by the sheer amount of information the rats were able to gather. Her master had ordered them to set up outposts in nearby settlements, and they had expanded their operations to include larger towns and cities. No one looked twice at a rat, and there were so many good hiding places. Her master had even surreptitiously purchased property in key locations throughout Everton that some of their servants and the ninja rats occupied. It gave the castle eyes, ears, and teeth in places that would normally be beyond their reach.

There was a definite hierarchy amongst the rats, and Rembrandt was near the top of it. As a warrior, he was one of their strongest, which was why he usually came along on missions to ensure her safety. He was also one of the first rats she’d befriended. He had hopped onto her shoulder not long after the rats had settled in and announced that he would be personally seeing to her safety. Her master had shrugged and told Katie to get used to it while calmly explaining to Rembrandt that he would hold him and the rats personally responsible for any harm that befell her. Rembrandt had scowled right back at her master and informed him in an equally calm manner that he would not make any mistakes whatsoever when it came to her safety.

Since then, she had derived many hours of amusement from watching Rembrandt and her master argue with each other. It reminded her of how her master and Councillor Arthurs acted. The difference was that Councillor Arthurs appeared to be a fairly blunt and straightforward person whereas Rembrandt had a cunning streak a mile wide, which impressed her master although Rembrandt had yet to truly outwit him. As easy-going as he could be, her master was not easy to get the better of.

Katie made her way from her chambers to the large courtyard the rats used to show their work to her. Depending on how dangerous it was, the courtyard also gave them easy access to some magically protected rooms and the walls of the castle. On her way there, many of the rats greeted her. Some even snagged a ride by latching onto her cloak or her robes. She couldn’t help but giggle. Compared to her, the rats were small, so scurrying around the castle, which was very large, must have gotten tiring. Rembrandt watched the other rats like a hawk, and he gave a sharp gesture when he thought enough of them had grabbed on. He had insisted that she wasn’t a form of transportation, so this was a great privilege for the rats, not something they should expect.

Most of the time, if a rat was tired and needed to get somewhere, it could simply wait until a zombie walked past and climb aboard. And speaking of privileges, it hadn’t escaped her attention that only Rembrandt and a select number of other rats got to sit on her shoulder for more than a few seconds at a time. It was, she supposed, the favoured position for any rat that was assigned the duty of being her bodyguard since it offered an excellent view of her surroundings, and it would be easier for a rat to react to an attack from her shoulder than from inside one of her pockets. As she walked, she glimpsed a familiar rat out of the corner of her eye and used her shadows to scoop him up.

“You’re one of the rats that helps look after the plumbing, right?” Katie gave him a warm smile. “You’ve been doing good work. It’s been working much better since all of you started helping.”

The rat preened and puffed out his chest while striking a pose with his plumbing wrench. Katie grinned. Her master was good when it came to plumbing. Indeed, he had a bizarrely diverse skillset for a necromancer, most likely because his master had been a total cheapskate who had either refused to hire or had scared off tradesmen before foisting all of the maintenance work onto Katie’s master. However, the rats had made a big difference. They could get to almost every part of the castle with ease and there were a lot of them, so they ran regular patrols to check and maintain the castle’s plumbing. They could fix any minor issues thanks to their own skills and the seminars her master had run to teach them more. If they couldn’t fix something, they could report it and get it fixed before it became a major problem.

Katie had spent the first several years of her life in a village. She couldn’t remember it particularly well, but she had visited her family a few times since becoming her master’s apprentice. Setting aside her family’s less than stellar opinions of necromancy and shadow magic, the lack of plumbing was a major issue. She could put up with it when she went out on missions since there really was no helping it, but there was nothing quite like having access to a proper shower and a flushing toilet. They beat buckets and holes in the ground any day.

When she reached the courtyard, an elderly rat came forward to greet her. He looked positively ancient, and she quickly used her shadows to lift him up onto her other shoulder. Rembrandt might be able to leap incredible distances and scramble up her clothing with ease, but she’d rather save this rat the trouble. Based on his clothing and the staff he carried, this rat was a cleric. From what she could tell, the clan’s clerics spent much of their time mediating between the different groups within the clan and maintaining peace and order. The rats could get rowdy at times. She’d once caught them holding a mock battle, complete with catapults, nets, and what appeared to be some kind of golem. However, the clerics kept them from doing anything too foolish. The clerics also tended to have magic suited for healing and defence, which was important given how ambitious the rats could be when it came to their experiments.

Katie giggled as she remembered one of the demonstrations from the previous Saturday. The rats had attached explosives of some sort to a specially made glider. The result was incredible. The glider had shot off into the distance like an arrow, propelled by the explosives. Unfortunately, the rat on the glider had lost control of the contraption as the sheer force of its acceleration shook it to pieces shortly before it exploded. Thankfully, the protective magic one of the clerics had woven around the rat saved him from suffering anything worse than some bumps, bruises, and some scorched fur. Katie had used one of her zombie falcons to catch him before he hit the ground, and the rats had conceded that the idea needed more work. However, the possibilities were tantalising. What if they removed the pilot and simply added more explosives, which would detonate on impact? Or what if they could refine the design, perhaps changing the explosives to ‘explode’ in a slower, more controlled fashion to make the glider easier to steer and less likely to fall apart? They’d either have a deadly projectile, or they’d have a way of moving through the air with incredible speed.

“So,” Katie began as the rat cleric wove some protective magic around her. “Who’s going first?”

The first group to approach was one she knew very well. They specialised in developing protective clothing and equipment. The rats’ fur was much more durable than the fur of normal rats, but there was still ample need for protective equipment. For example, the rats made use of protective suits when they worked with volatile substances, such as acids, poisons, or other chemical agents. They had also spoken to Katie about upgrading her clothing. Although her master had already ensured her clothing surpassed the standards for durability and toughness set by most necromancers, she still relied heavily on her magic to protect herself. Against the more dangerous opponents they’d begun to face, she needed every advantage she could get.

The rat at the front of the group pointed to the other side of the courtyard where they’d set up a human-sized dummy. Katie raised one eyebrow. This ought to be interesting. The rat nodded at the dummy, which had a scrap of cloth pinned over where its heart would be, and the other rats brought a crossbow forward.

They were preparing to shoot it, but Katie shook her head. “Let me do it. I could use the practice.” She took the crossbow and examined it quickly. It was a standard crossbow, but the draw on it was a little too much for her to be comfortable with. She used her shadows to ready the weapon and then took aim. She wasn’t normally one to use a crossbow in a fight, but her master had insisted she learn since a crossbow could pierce through non-magically reinforced armour fairly easily. “You want me to aim for the cloth, right?”

The rat squeaked his reply, and Katie fired.

The bolt thudded into the dummy – and then punched right through it. Katie tilted her head to one side. Was that supposed to happen? If that had been her, she would now be sporting a very large hole in her chest. One of the rats darted forward and then scampered back with the cloth. Katie’s eyes widened. It hadn’t been pierced. In fact, it was wrapped tightly around the tip of the crossbow bolt.

“Incredible.” Katie pursed her lips. “It didn’t stop the bolt, but the bolt wasn’t able to tear it, which means it should be able to stand up to a knife or even a sword. On its own, it might not stop someone from getting hurt, but if you layered it over something like metal plate or chainmail…”

The rats squeaked excitedly amongst themselves and rubbed their paws together in glee.

“Good work,” Katie said. “Weren’t you working on some kind of force-absorbing material before? If you could combine that with this cloth and put it in between plates of metal, you’d have really great armour, even if it would be a bit bulky.” She grinned. “Keep working on it.”

The rats squeaked again.

“There’s more?”

The rats reattached the cloth to the remains of the dummy and began to pelt it with vials of fluid. In a mater of moments, the dummy caught fire and began to dissolve. Katie winced. They’d used a combination of something flammable and something acidic, but the cloth was still intact.

“Wow. We need to make more of this. Even if we don’t use it for armour, it would still be perfect for gloves since it’s tear-resistant and can stand up to fire and acid. How do you make it?”

Their explanation was long and detailed. The rats knew she had a quick, agile mind, and Katie usually wanted to know as much as possible. The main issue was that producing the cloth they’d used for the demonstration had taken almost a month. She had no doubt they’d be able to hasten the manufacturing process, but by how much? In any case, this cloth was definitely worth investing in.

“Good work.” Katie patted each of the rats on the head and offered them a small token of thanks: little badges that they could attach to the pink jackets she’d made for them, which would show how many of their projects had received her and her master’s approval. “We’ll definitely give you access to more resources, but you should also talk to my master. He knows a lot about alchemy, and he also knows a lot of tailors. He, or the people he knows, might know of some ways to speed things up although even small amounts of that cloth would be useful. We could make gloves, pouches, or even just attach patches of it to existing clothing or armour to make them more durable.”

Katie turned as the rats began to tidy up the remnants of their demonstration. “Who’s next?”

Instead of staying in the courtyard, the rats directed her to the walls. There was a cannon of some sort up there, but they weren’t going to fire it from the walls. Instead, they would be taking it to the testing area used by the demolition rats. The rats used some zombie wyverns to transport the cannon and themselves while Katie flew there on wings of shadow. This group of rats was not made up of demolition rats. Instead, they were rats that specialised in developing projectile weapons, such as ballistae, catapults, and magical cannons.

Once they had landed amidst the barren, blasted area that the demolition rats used to test their inventions – her master dropped by once a week to fix it with his magic – Katie studied the cannon intently. She was familiar with magical cannons. The castle had some ready to deploy if they were ever attacked, but this looked more like a conventional cannon, like the ones the dwarves were famous for using. Those cannons didn’t use runes and seals to mimic the effects of different kinds of magic. Instead, black powder or other explosives were used to propel a projectile, often a lump of metal, at a target. Despite having several advantages over catapults and ballistae, such cannons seldom saw use over magical cannons, which tended to be more powerful, more accurate, and have longer range. The magical defences used in most fortifications also tended to do better against conventional cannons than magical ones, which meant conventional cannons were mainly used defensively.

The cannon the rats had built dwarfed – she giggled at the unintentional pun – the ones she’d seen the dwarves use. It also had a few unusual additions, such as crystals slotted into several sockets along the barrel of the cannon.

“Are you going to fire it?” she asked.

The rat in charge nodded eagerly and issued commands to the zombie who had come along. The zombie ogre loaded a large package into the cannon followed by a metal sphere, and the rats urged Katie to put earmuffs over her ears and brace herself. The resulting blast was deafeningly loud, even through the earmuffs, and the shock of it cracked the ground underneath the cannon. She strained to follow the projectile as it arced up into the air and vanished into the distance. She raised one hand to her face to shield it from the sun as she tried to figure out where the projectile had –

BOOM.

More than a mile away, a column of smoke and flame ripped upward. A sound like thunder followed a moment later, and Katie’s jaw dropped. “Explain,” she ordered as the rats exchanged smug grins and congratulations amongst themselves. “What did I just see?”

Katie wasn’t an expert in cannon manufacture by any means, but she knew enough to follow the general gist of the explanation. The cannon was cast out of an exotic alloy the rats had been working on for years. Access to the castle’s resources and some of the research her master had done when making his shovels had allowed them to finally get the alloy right. The alloy wasn’t as durable as legendary metals like adamant, but it had two important properties. First of all, the alloy spread damage equally along its volume, so the forces applied to one part of the barrel would be spread equally throughout the cannon. Second, with the right runes and seals, the alloy could channel the forces it was subjected to into the crystals along the barrel. As a result, the cannon had far greater range than other cannons since it could use much more powerful explosives to propel projectiles without blowing itself apart. The only downside was that the crystals were fairly expensive. They were a special kind of magical crystal, and they had to be replaced regularly since they shattered after absorbing a certain amount of force or damage.

As for the projectile, Katie was impressed. It consisted of a metal shell that was protected by magic during the firing process. Inside it were explosives that were designed to trigger when the projectile struck a hard surface like the ground or the walls of a fortress. The rats swiftly explained that although they had used explosives in the first projectile to make a good first impression, they could also shoot other types of projectiles. The most fearsome of these was a projectile filled with small bits of metal and just enough explosives to create a deadly hail of debris upon impact. Katie shivered as she imagined what that would do to tightly packed ranks of infantry or even unsuspecting cavalry. They’d be shredded.

“What do you want to do with this?” Katie asked. “And make sure you keep all of the plans and details of this secret from outsiders. We don’t want the wrong people to get their hands on this.

The rats launched into an enthusiastic rendition of their plans, complete with moving re-enactments of the carnage they could wreak upon their enemies. In short, the rats wanted to build multiple cannons like this one for the castle. They could rain death and destruction down on anyone foolish enough to attack them at a range that would make retaliating virtually impossible for most mages and projectile weapons. Sure, someone like Avraniel would be able to fire back, but Avraniel was monstrously powerful. And speaking of Avraniel, Katie could scarcely imagine what a cannon like this would be capable of if they somehow managed to build a version of it that could stand up to the elf’s magic. It was the stuff of nightmares.

Katie would definitely have to speak to her master about this. These cannons were the perfect complement to an army of zombies. The most common way of beating back an army of zombies was to close ranks and use heavy infantry, archers, and pikemen in conjunction with the occasional cavalry charge and magical bombardment. These cannons would force an army to spread out and break formation, which should make it much easier to overwhelm it with zombies.

“Excellent.” Katie rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “But I can sense minute cracks in the metal of the barrel with my shadows, and several of the crystals already look like they need replacing from just that one shot.”

The rats agreed, but this was still a prototype. They were likely several models away from a stable and affordable production model, and it would take them years to get there. This wasn’t a short-term project – the leader of these rats estimated it could take as long as a decade to work all of the kinks out. They had already wildly exceeded their budget, so they needed her personal approval if they wanted access to any more resources.

“We’ll have to discuss this in more detail since you’re asking for a lot of money.” Katie frowned. “I’ll see if I can set up a meeting with my master some time next week. You’ll need to present a more detailed plan as well as provide estimates of the various costs. We’ve made a lot of money on our recent missions and our other investments are generally doing well, but we have a lot of things going on now. We still have to finish renovating and repairing the castle, and we also have to consider other projects too, not just the ones you guys are doing but also the ones my master and I are doing.”

The rats nodded earnestly and promised to have something ready for the meeting. Katie was sure they’d expected something like this. Given their limited resources, she and her master had to balance long-term benefits against short-term gain. Too much focus on the former would not necessarily be wise with war against the Eternal Empire on the horizon. On the other hand, focusing too much on the latter was not exactly a recipe for long-term success.

“One more thing,” Katie said. “Don’t let Avraniel or Spot find out about this. If they do, they might start testing it, and who knows what’ll happen then?”

The next group’s display took place in the castle, not in the courtyard, but in one of the many chambers hidden away from prying eyes. This was something she’d been looking forward to for some time. She had asked the rats to… acquire things for her. Chief amongst her requests were books, scrolls, and tablets from the ancient days. The castle had one of the most impressive collections in the world, and Katie was always on the lookout for more. She’d devoted considerable time and effort to tracking down some of the most important ancient texts, and although she hadn’t managed to find any of them, not complete, anyway, there had been whispers and rumours of fragments here, shards there, and pages over there. Stealing those would have been almost impossible, even for the rats, since they were heavily guarded. But could they be copied? She was certain the rats could accomplish that, and a copy was almost as good as an original although the part of her that loved collecting things bristled at the thought of relying on copies.

She’d been right. The rats she was with had managed to sneak into a fortress containing pages from an extremely rare ancient book. They hadn’t been able to copy it at first, but they’d kept a close eye on everyone in the fortress. They couldn’t get into the room containing the pages, but the ruler of the fortress had made copies of those pages because he was afraid of damaging the originals through constant perusal. Those copies were not as heavily guarded, and the rats were exceedingly sneaky. It helped that the fortress had something of a rodent problem, and the ninja rats had ensured it stayed that way by intimidating all of the fortress’s cats. After a fortnight of observation, they managed to sneak into the room with the copied pages and copy all of them.

Katie pored over the copies the rats had made, her smile almost too big to fit on her face. This was good work. No, this was absolutely fantastic work. She scratched each of the rats behind their ears and gave each of them a small bandanna with the castle’s coat of arms on it. It was a sign of recognition, so the other rats would know they’d completed an especially difficult mission for her.

“Fantastic work.” Katie sighed. “It’s a pity that I can’t read these that well – the dialect seems to be an older variant of a language I do know – but I’m sure I’ll be able to translate them in a week or two at the most. If I’m lucky, we might even have a dictionary for this language in the library.” She considered the problem for a moment longer before realising she’d overlooked what could be a very simple solution. “The language this was written in was supposed to have been widely used by vampires during the ancient days. If that’s true, then there’s a chance Amanda might be able to read it.” One of the rats snickered, and Katie giggled. “You might have a point there. She might be old enough to actually know the people who wrote this.” She paused and patted the rat on the head. “But don’t say that to her. I don’t think she’d take it well.”

* * *

Her weekend meetings with the ninja rats were about more than merely keeping an eye on them. They were also an important opportunity to socialise. The rats had an extremely strong sense of clan and community. It was how they had survived such adverse conditions for so long. Katie had a hard time picturing it, but the rats had told her they’d been wandering for generations. Oh, they’d stayed in some reasonably comfortable places from time to time, but they’d only ever been guests or employees. They’d always known that once they’d finished a job, they’d have to move on. Some of their previous employers had been more than willing to take in some of them, but no one had been willing to offer the entire clan shelter for an extended period of time. Yet the rats would never forsake their clansmen, so they had continued to wander, searching for the place their prophecies had spoken of. The castle was the first place the clan could call home in a long, long time. As one of the two most important people in the castle – and the one they’d pledged their loyalty to – it was only natural for Katie to spend time with them. It made her wonder what had happened to their original master. Given the rats’ unflinching loyalty and unshakable determination, something terrible must have happened.

None of the rats had ever revealed what had happened, but Cezanne had hinted at it once. The greatest kindness the rats’ had ever known had also been the greatest cruelty they’d ever had to endure. His comment hadn’t made much sense to her, but Old Man had given her a sad smile when she’d asked him about it. He suspected that whomever the rats had once served, they had ordered the rats to flee and survive rather than perish in the face of overwhelming odds. Yet from the anguish that had been on Cezanne’s face it was clear that many of the rats would have preferred to perish alongside their master than live on without them. If Katie had her way, the rats would never have to make that choice again. The castle was not only her home and her master’s home but also their home, and Katie had no intention of ever abandoning it.

The younger rats were especially eager to talk to her. Like her, they were curious and wanted to learn as much about the world as possible. It fell to the older rats to temper their enthusiasm. None of them had shown any signs of being a necromancer, but some of them had shown talent in areas related to necromancy, such as anatomy, sewing, and even composite zombie design.

There were even rats that had been born at the castle. They were the youngest of all, and they had no memory of the harsh life the clan had endured travelling from one job to another with no safe haven. The castle was the only home they’d ever known, and Katie and her master were the only ones they’d ever served. Whenever a new rat was born, the proud parents would usually come to Katie to present their offspring, eager for her to provide a blessing of some sort. Katie wasn’t a cleric, so she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do, but her master had told her to humour them. Rembrandt had said the same thing when she’d asked him. Thus Katie dutifully patted each newborn on the head while murmuring some words of advice. It was odd, but she was a necromancer. Odd was what she did.

Cezanne claimed to be several decades old, and she’d kept a close eye on the rats she saw regularly. A normal rat might live a couple of years, but the ninja rats clearly lived far longer than that. The rats had been at the castle for a while now, but she had yet to notice any obvious signs of ageing amongst them although the newborns matured with incredible swiftness. Rembrandt claimed that they usually lived between twenty to thirty years, with more powerful rats living longer. She had no reason to doubt his words, and he hadn’t changed in the time she’d known him. However, their increased longevity seemed to be balanced by them reproducing much more slowly and less frequently than normal rats. Had they reproduced with the same swiftness as normal rats, the castle would already have been completely overrun.

Socialising with the rats also gave her a chance to discretely take reports from the various rats that were spying on people or places. They delivered reports to her master too – he was still the ruler of the castle, and they respected his expertise and experience – but he had insisted she listen to their reports too, as well as share her conclusions with him. Making zombies and crushing her enemies was all well and good, but many battles could be won simply through having better information, logistics, and resource management. As her master had once said, it was always easier and less expensive to win a battle without actually having to fight one.

It was why necromancers were so handy to have around during a war. Sure, creating zombies out of the enemy’s dead was terrifying, but zombies took almost nothing in terms of resources to maintain, and every enemy they killed only added to their numbers, which made winning a war of attrition against a necromancer virtually impossible. Sure, zombies needed weapons and armour to reach their full potential, but they didn’t need food or even shelter unless conditions were truly dire. Regular zombies made poor spies and scouts, but zombie crows and other zombie animals could handle those roles. Katie had to get used to dealing with living people since the living tended to be much better at spying and infiltration, and correct information was critical to success. The rats were fiercely loyal to her, so using their reports to hone her analytical thinking was good practice. One day, she might have to rely on the reports of those less loyal or less skilled than the ninja rats.

The rats had developed some great ways to pass on information. She knew the rats could sense each other, sometimes across vast distances. What she hadn’t known until they’d explained it was that they could conceal their presences from each other if they wanted to. By quickly concealing or revealing their presence, a rat could serve as a sort of beacon to the others. The most sensitive amongst them could detect these sorts of fluctuations across great distances, even between different towns or cities. The rats had thus devised a code of sorts, not unlike the smoke or light signals used by many armies throughout the world.

Katie had brought the idea to her master, but he’d pointed out that necromancers already had access to a similar technique. Necromancers were mentally connected to all of their zombies, which effectively connected all of their zombies to each other. It was the reason more intelligent or powerful zombies could be given command over weaker, less intelligent ones. Depending on the skill and power a necromancer had, this connection could span incredible distances. Moreover, a skilled and powerful necromancer could create zombies with a greater degree of autonomy that could be trusted to carry out instructions even when the necromancer was absent. As a Grand Necromancer, her master had no problems commanding his zombies, regardless of how far away they were. His zombies could also work together, pooling their knowledge with one another to better carry out their instructions.

Her master had given the rats another odd but effective method of communicating. His elite zombie warriors could share information with one another easily, and they had enough manual dexterity to write, albeit not very neatly. By having at least one zombie warrior at each outpost manned by the rats, the rats could send and receive messages through the link her master’s zombies had with each other. It was more secure than sending messages via zombie hawk although it still couldn’t transmit the sheer volume of information that a network of scrying spheres or scrying mages could. On the upside, it was far cheaper, and it was something Katie would be able to replicate as her skill and power increased.

There were rats with scrying magic or forms of telepathy, but they were exceptionally rare and generally kept away from the more dangerous missions. They were also encouraged to have more children, and Katie suspected that the clan was trying to improve its information network. Encouraging people with powerful magic to have more children was a fairly common custom throughout most of the world. Her master had made several comments about his friend, Councillor Winters, and how her family was subtly, and not so subtly, encouraging her to get married and have children. They didn’t want her to step down from any of her positions, but the fact was that she was by far the most powerful mage in her family’s history. She had surpassed even the legendary Light of Brereton, who had almost singlehandedly wiped out an invasion force from one of Everton’s neighbours. Her master had jokingly said that the only reason they hadn’t tried to arrange a marriage for Councillor Winters was because they knew what would happen to them if they did, and it would not be pleasant.

Katie bit back a grin. Her master had also said something similar about Councillor Arthurs, but in a far more aggravated tone. James was bad enough, her master had claimed. Having miniature copies of him walking around would be horrifying especially since he couldn’t actually do anything to them. Oh, it was one thing to send a hydra in a box to a Councillor who was powerful enough to kill hydras in his sleep. Children? No. Her master would have to put up with them, and James would be smart enough to use that to his advantage.

Today, the rats had some very interesting information, and it all came back to logistics. Everton traded with almost every nation in the world, so there were always merchants coming and going. Not even the Eternal Empire was strong enough to wage war using nothing more than its own resources. It needed more food, more metal, more wood, more everything, and what it couldn’t get from its own lands, it had to buy from elsewhere. Keeping track of all the wheeling and dealing was critical to predicting when the Eternal Empire would finally make a decisive move. Her master had asked the rats to infiltrate storehouses, ships, and ports. He’d even gone so far as to dispatch some of the most experienced rats overseas to infiltrate prominent trading cities. It was a tough job, but the rats accepted it gladly, mentioning how such foresight might have saved their original master.

And now, reports had begun to come back from overseas. The Eternal Empire was not only buying vast quantities of resources but also burning through them at an incredible rate. They were readying for war, and the first real strike could not be far away. The Eternal Empire’s huge purchases of food were especially telling. Food could only be kept for so long before it spoiled. They now had a time frame.

“I think we’re going to be very busy,” Katie murmured. “But in the meantime, how about a story?” She smiled and opened a book as the younger rats scampered onto her lap or fell into a loose circle around her. One of the youngest even had the gumption to clamber up onto her shoulder and reach for Rembrandt’s eye patch. The rat gave a chuckle and handed the little rat one of his spares. “We can start with the one about a princess and her pet rat…”

* * *

Katie concluded her time, for the day at least, with the rats and headed for the castle’s library with a spring in her step. Regardless of how horrible her master’s master had been, and everyone who’d known the man agreed he’d been horrible, he had at least seen fit to procure as many ancient tomes and sources of knowledge as possible. Admittedly, he’d acquired most of them through murder and other awful methods and he’d only been interested in using them for evil purposes, but she could hardly complain when she was reaping the benefits. Her master had added to the collection, and Katie had helped him. Unlike his master, however, they relied more on strategic acquisition than murder, which was a polite way of saying they raided ancient tombs for anything useful and occasionally stole from their enemies.

For a mage, there was more to power than mere magical strength. Knowledge was important. That was especially true for necromancers whose magic was excellent at taking advantage of the innovations people in the past had made. There were no less than two dozen different ways to create a zombie using necromancy. Most of them were suboptimal, but knowing all of them was still valuable. For instance, one method was terrific for creating aquatic zombies but practically useless for anything else. Likewise, the various esoteric rites and rituals mages had developed over the centuries could be studied and repurposed to better suit her needs. True, the odds of a summoning ritual summoning someone as friendly as Sam were practically nil, but summoning an uncontrollable, bloodthirsty monster could still be useful. She could, for example, sneak into her opponent’s base and summon it there before escaping in the ensuing chaos.

The library, which her master had plans to expand and upgrade, was also overflowing with books about other subjects, ranging from ancient legends and esoteric knowledge to carpentry and plumbing. Her master had spent much of his time with his master learning how to do various things to keep the cost of maintaining the castle down. His master had not left the castle in a good financial position despite making piles of money as a mercenary and assassin. Having gone over the castle’s books herself, she’d seen no shortage of blood and red ink. Thankfully, her master was as adept at making money to fund the castle as he was at avoiding arrest. The castle was now on firm financial footing, and they’d accumulated quite a stockpile of assets thanks to their investments, tomb raiding, missions, and other endeavours.

If she could, she would have slowed down time, so she could spend more time in the library. Her master had once teased her about it, saying that she might end up wearing an extra pair of glasses if she wasn’t careful. She’d tried to hit him with a book, but he was infuriatingly difficult to hit when he actually bothered to dodge. Of course, he’d been joking. Wearing a second pair of glasses wouldn’t help at all, and he spent a lot of time in the library too.

The librarian was another reason she liked the library. He’d once been a great scholar, but her master’s master had murdered him and turned him into a zombie before enslaving him and forcing him to take care of the library. Katie scowled. That was just evil. Sure, she and her master made zombies, but they didn’t really have personalities. The librarian was one of the finest zombies she’d ever seen, and he retained all of his personality and intelligence, which was a testament to the skill and power her master’s master had possessed. Her master, being far less evil than his master, had offered to send him on to the afterlife, but the librarian had taken a shine to the library and had chosen to stay. He wanted to keep learning and researching until he felt ready to depart the mortal world. Her master was happy to have him around although he had asked the librarian to give him two weeks notice if he ever wanted to move on to the afterlife.

Katie got along with the librarian splendidly. The fact that he was a zombie didn’t bother her. She was a necromancer. She made zombies on a regular basis, many of which were the stuff of nightmares. For his part, the librarian was glad to have someone around who loved the library as much as he did. Unlike most zombies, he could speak perfectly well, and he looked almost normal although his deathly pallor and the stitches that had been used to put him back together gave him away. Her master’s master had apparently decided to cut him into pieces on more than one occasion as punishment for his defiance.

The librarian looked up as she entered the library. Like her and her master, he had access to the library’s security and surveillance magic. No one could enter or leave without his knowledge.

“Good afternoon, Katherine,” Isaac said. The zombie’s lips curled up into the grimace she’d learned was his version of a smile. “I take it the rats have been busy. I saw the explosion earlier when I went outside to note the weather for today.”

Katie twitched. “Just call me, Katie, please. And, yes, they’ve been working on some things. If they can get it to work, we’ll be able to shoot explosives at people from more than a mile away.”

He chuckled and moved away from the pile of books he was reading, so he could walk alongside her through the library. Rembrandt had left to attend to certain matters, so a rat with a crossbow was on her shoulder instead. “I believe in being polite, Katherine. It is your name, is it not? Why not use it?”

Katie grinned. “If you believe in being polite, why don’t you stop calling me that? I asked you to a week after I got here.”

“Yes, you did. Yet here we are.”

She giggled. It was amazing to hear such dry amusement coming from a zombie. “I talked to the rats. They were able to copy something for me. I plan to take it to Amanda for translation, but I wanted to learn more about it first. What do we have about The Book of Endless Suffering?”

“Oh? That is a good question. We don’t know much about the book. I doubt anyone does. If I recall correctly, there was a purge almost two millennia ago that wiped out almost all of the copies, along with dozens of vampire covens although not without reason. Those covens were very much into summoning evil entities and human sacrifice. It was a horribly messy affair, lots of fire, stakes, and blood. A complete copy would be a priceless treasure if you could find one, but your master and his master have never been able to find more than a handful of pages.”

“This might get troublesome.” Katie sighed. It was a depressingly common story. Ancient books often contained methods they claimed could destroy the world, so they became popular amongst evil cults and other nefarious groups. There was usually other, much more useful information, in those books too, but the aforementioned cults and groups invariably focused on bringing about the apocalypse, which usually resulted in them and the book being purged by the authorities.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Isaac said. “But have you been able to recover more of it? You’re not planning to end the world, are you?” He gave her a stern look, which being a zombie only made more menacing.

“I quite like having the world around,” Katie replied. “But the pages the rats copied hinted at things I’m interested in. I want to know more about it before I take it to Amanda. She’s extremely knowledgeable, but she isn’t a necromancer. She might not be looking for the same things I am.”

“A fair point,” Isaac conceded. “But she may be more familiar with necromancy than you think. She has lived a very long time. She’s also been a frequent visitor here. She spends most of her time in the history section.”

“Really?” Katie hadn’t noticed Amanda on any of her trips to the library, but the vampire tended to be more active during the night while Katie slept.

Isaac chuckled. It was a rough, hollow sound. “She says she likes looking up old friends.”

Katie gave a short bark of laughter. She shouldn’t be surprised. Amanda was ancient. “I see. That makes sense. Well, can you gather what we do have about the book? I’d like to know as much as possible.” She rubbed her hands together gleefully. “If everything works out, I might be able to create a portal zombie.”

“A portal zombie?” The librarian’s brows furrowed. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the term.”

“Imagine a zombie who can act like a portal, belching out eldritch horrors from other dimensions to smite my enemies.”

Isaac nodded slowly. “Ah, right. Sometimes, Katie, I almost forget that you’re not simply a very clever, very precocious girl, and then you say things like that.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

“I’m not entirely sure I meant that as a compliment.”

“Oh.”

The Rules

(Set After Two Necromancers, a Dragon, and a Vampire)

Timmy had certain rules that he did his best to abide by. As a self-respecting necromancer who engaged in the occasional bout of villainy – state-sponsored villainy now that he was working toward a pardon – it was a necessary part of doing business. The majority of merchants and other businessmen were quite happy to do business with someone on the wrong side of the law, provided they knew what moral code they subscribed to. It was all about stability and trust. If they could trust Timmy to pay his bills on time and to not murder them on a whim, then they could overlook the questionable legality of his profession. With regards to the exact origins of his funds, they simply didn’t ask. After all, for all they knew, he was merely a humble farmer who just so happened to live in a castle full of zombies that was built atop lightless chasms of unfathomable doom.

Plausible deniability was definitely a thing although how plausible could their deniability really be?

One of Timmy’s most important rules was also the most simple: he kept his word. When he made a deal, he did his best to stick by the terms of the deal. He also avoided unnecessary murder and other activities of a similarly dubious moral or legal nature. Oh, he had blood on his hands. He was a necromancer. He’d killed before. But he wasn’t one of those maniacs who went around looking for random villagers to slaughter or random merchants to relieve of their goods and their heads. He acquired his corpses through wholly legal private transactions or from trustworthy corpse dealers. Despite their distaste for necromancy, most people were happy to sell their corpses for the right price.

He also didn’t go out of his way to target children or law-abiding civilians. If an angry mob with stakes, torches, and pitchforks came after him, he would certainly defend himself, but he wouldn’t mow them down en masse with whatever nightmarish zombie he happened to have on hand. He might show them the nightmarish zombie, but that was it. A single glare or growl from a zombie hydra-chimera-manticore was usually enough to disperse an angry mob. There was actually an intricate sort of give and take involved. What most angry villagers wanted was to feel as though they were standing up for themselves. If he let them wave their stakes, torches, and pitchforks around for a bit before frightening them away, everybody won. The villagers got to feel brave for a few minutes, and he got to test out how terrifying his newest creation was.

When it came to dealing with his rivals, he preferred to wage war via zombie. He would bring his zombies, his rival would bring theirs, and they’d both sit back and let their zombies do most of the fighting. He did play pranks from time to time. Sending someone a box with an angry badger in it was hilarious, but he would have been amazed and sorely disappointed if any of his rivals had received anything worse than a laceration or two and a brief scare. None of his rivals were pathetic enough to meet their demise at the hands of the old angry-animal-in-a-box trick although he’d have to be careful if he ever worked out how to fit an angry dragon into a box. Even a small dragon would make short work of anyone who wasn’t properly prepared. Spot, for instance, was tiny for a dragon, but the thought of an angry Spot bursting out of a box was terrifying. If Spot didn’t simply incinerate whoever was unfortunate enough to open the box, his claws and teeth would certainly make an impression of the fatal variety.

Timmy also avoided targeting the apprentices or families of his rivals. This was one of the few policies he and his master had agreed on but for very different reasons. His master wanted the survivors to suffer, to stew in the torment of how utterly powerless they’d been to stop him. Most of his rivals were estranged from their families – necromancers and other villains generally were – and Timmy preferred to avoid targeting children or those who were not directly involved.

Alas, not all of Timmy’s rivals and enemies followed the same rules he did. And as forgiving as Timmy could be about some things – like the many, many times his cake had mysteriously disappeared around Sam who pretended to know nothing about the aforementioned disappearances – there were some things he could not ignore.

Shortly after he and the others had returned from their mission to retrieve the Eye of the Abyss, the rats had informed him that one of his enemies was plotting to assassinate his adorable apprentice. Timmy had scowled and read through the rats’ report thoroughly. It made a frightening sort of sense. Katie was already powerful. In the future, she would be an absolute nightmare to face. Her magical reserves were amongst the largest he’d ever seen in a child her age, and they were still growing. Her grasp of her magic was also improving in leaps and bounds, and she seemed to discover some new trick or facet to her magic every day. She was also fiendishly cunning and extremely intelligent. Eliminating her now while she was still a child and Timmy was distracted by all of the work he was receiving from the Council was the perfect idea, or so it would seem to some of his enemies. Timmy, however, was not a fan of plans to assassinate his apprentice.

Setting aside how adorable she was, he’d invested a lot of time and effort into training Katie. He’d also gotten used to having her around. Despite her occasional attempts to overthrow him, it was rather nice to have her as his apprentice. It had taken him less than a minute to make up his mind. If someone were seriously planning to assassinate Katie, he had to take action. Whether that action involved murder, a simple whack over the head with a shovel, or turning over the plotter to the authorities for a reward, he had yet to decide. But he was definitely going to do something.

Timmy read through the report one last time before putting it in one of the drawers of his desk and locking it. The runes and seals etched onto the drawer flared briefly and then dulled. There was no reason to bother Katie with this right now. She was in the middle of some fascinating new research about a new type of zombie she wanted to make. Isaac, the castle’s zombie librarian, was very enthusiastic about it. She was also still quite young. In a few years, perhaps, he’d let her handle this sort of thing. For the time being, it was up to him, and it might also be time for him to remind certain people that although he was working toward a pardon, he had not gone soft. If they pushed him too far, he’d push back, and they wouldn’t enjoy it.

“I need a small group of rats,” Timmy told the rat in front of him. This particular rat was one of the clan’s finest spies. Had Timmy not known any better, he would have assumed he was simply another one of the rats common to large, old castles. “Rats suited for infiltration, sabotage, and demolition. Tell them to report to me in this office. Keep it quiet. There’s no need to trouble Katie yet.”

The rate gave a cute but menacing laugh before vanishing to do his bidding. Timmy smiled. If someone had told him that he would one day consider a bunch of ninja rats to be amongst his most capable minions, he’d never have believed them. Oh well. Results mattered, and the rats got results.

The next day, Timmy left the castle with a small group of rats. His excuse – he was going on a bit of a shopping trip – wasn’t even a total lie although Old Man seemed to have worked out what he was up to. The swordsman nodded gravely as Timmy left and cautioned him to be careful and thorough. Rembrandt must have worked it out too because the eye-patch-wearing rodent gave Timmy a brief salute as he left. They might not agree about everything, but Rembrandt was perfectly fine with Timmy’s decision to go after someone who had threatened Katie. It did make him wonder about Old Man, though. The swordsman had definitely sounded as though he was speaking from experience.

* * *

Renoir was a master infiltrator and saboteur. The brown-furred rat couldn’t fight as well as Rembrandt, nor was he was stealthy as Rubens. But if there was something or someone that needed to be brought down either figuratively or literally, then Renoir was the perfect rat for the job. Give him access to what his explosive-loving kin the demolition rats came up with, and he doubted there was a building in Everton he couldn’t demolish if he had the time to plan and the right rats to help him.

He had been Timmy’s first choice for this mission, and there had been no shortage of volunteers.

The Grand Necromancer was Katie’s master, so the rats respected him even if some of them, such as Rembrandt, rarely showed it. He had trained Katie well, and he had protected her from the many people who sought to either harm her or use her for their own ends. Katie would one day be incredibly powerful, on the same level, Timmy had told the rats, as titans like Vicky or Avraniel. However, she still had a lot of growing up to do first. When one of Renoir’s kin had uncovered a serious plot to assassinate her, as opposed to the usual deranged mumbling or lackadaisical speculation common to most of Timmy and Katie’s enemies, the rats had brought the information straight to Timmy.

Katie was intelligent, powerful, and cunning, but she was still a child. She had not dealt with many assassins yet, and she could be oddly sentimental. Her zombie dog, Patches, was a perfect example. When the ninja rats had first arrived, Katie had insisted that Patches was all the protection she needed while she slept. The zombie dog was definitely loyal, but he was not going to stop any real assassin. More than once, the rats had caught him chasing his own tail until he caught it and tugged it off, forcing Katie to reattach it. Luckily, Katie had accepted their help although she thought they were being paranoid. Timmy had been pleased. The castle was extremely well defended, but it couldn’t hurt to add another layer to its defences. Now, there was no less than a dozen elite ninja rats in and around Katie’s chambers at all times.

Katie had also begun to incorporate more of her master’s teachings into her daily routine, like using runes and seals to better protect her room. Timmy had made it something of a game by occasionally trying to break in and catch Katie off guard. The rats made no move to stop him because they understood what he was doing. He was teaching Katie how to identify and control potential access points and danger zones. It was a game, and it was hard to take it too seriously given Timmy had once rappelled down the side of the castle to swing through her window with a trumpet to wake her up early. Yet it was a game that would make it far harder for someone with malicious intentions to catch her unawares. Timmy had taken it a step further recently by occasionally asking Spot to help out. After waking up with an energetic dragon bouncing around on her bed and pawing through her closet in search of food, Katie’s security improved remarkably quickly.

Timmy was going to deal with the person plotting to assassinate Katie, and the rats were going to help him. The Grand Necromancer had faced many assassins in the past, and the report had made it clear that this was far more serious than the usual bluster involved when necromancers squabbled. His opponent had already reached out to elite assassins. In a week, at the most, there would be half a dozen world-class assassins after Katie unless Timmy and the rats acted now. No assassin would ever work for an employer who was unable to pay.

The plan was simple: they were going to demolish their target’s castle… with him in it. It shouldn’t be too difficult. Their target lived in a castle with no company to speak of except his zombies and whatever nightmarish creatures he’d summoned using the dark rituals necromancers were so famous for. Timmy had mentioned that the other man hadn’t always lived in such solitude. Once, he’d had servants and even some apprentices, but his growing obsession with power at any cost had driven all of them away. It was that same obsession that had driven him to go after Katie since he viewed assassinating her as an efficient way to eliminate a threat to his future power, as well as a way to get back at Timmy. Not everyone was pleased with Timmy and Katie’s recent success.

Renoir snorted. Living alone with nothing but zombies and monsters was so obviously a bad idea that he could scarcely believe someone as skilled as their target had allowed it to occur. Renoir was a rat, and even he knew better. Then again, necromancers were strange people. Timmy certainly was, and so was Katie although her version of strange tended to focus more on pursuing a classical necromancer aesthetic than an unhealthy obsession with power and world-ending secrets. Katie also loved to knit, and the jackets she’d made the rats were excellent. Renoir had one, but he’d left it back at the castle. He couldn’t risk damaging it on a mission, but he was proud to wear it around the castle whenever he had the chance.

Renoir and the others had used a zombie wyvern to fly as close as they could get to the target’s castle without being noticed. It was one of the problems of facing another necromancer. If they used one of Timmy’s zombies, their target would definitely sense them if they got too close. On this mission, Timmy and the rats would have to do all of the work.

“The first thing you need to know about Thomas, the man we’re here to deal with, is that he is not the most intelligent man. Oh, he’s not stupid, but he’s definitely not as smart as Katie or me. However, he is maniacally determined, which is what makes him so dangerous. Believe me, you could cut off his arms and legs in a fight, and he’d just growl and try to bite out your throat.”

Renoir chuckled at Timmy’s description of their opponent as the necromancer pulled out the map he’d brought. They were huddled in a cave not far from Thomas’s castle, which was built on a treacherous patch of the mountainside.

“His castle is not well maintained, or it wasn’t the last time I checked. He was never one to spend money on what he viewed as unnecessary maintenance.”

The rats snickered. Timmy’s desire to renovate the castle to its former splendour was common knowledge. Some of them wondered if it was worth the money, but Renoir happened to agree with Timmy. It was far cheaper to spend money on maintenance and renovations now than on emergency repairs later.

“I haven’t set foot in his castle for years, but I have spoken to some of the contractors he hired the last time he bothered to get something fixed professionally. This map should be accurate.” Timmy grinned. “And it should also serve as a warning. Pay your tradesmen well and make sure they agree to non-disclosure agreements. You already know that we’re going to bring the castle down. Here’s how we’re going to do it…”

Renoir and the other rats gave cackles of pure malevolence and glee as Timmy outlined the plan. The castle was not structurally sound. If Timmy was correct, the foundations had definitely seen better days, and the cost of fully repairing them had led to Thomas putting those repairs off over and over again. The only reason Timmy didn’t bring the castle down with his magic was that the castle’s magical defences were still strong enough to withstand a direct, large-scale attack. But those defences were built into the castle’s foundations, which was exactly where the rats would be making their move.

They were going to plant explosives all over the foundations and bring the whole castle down. Against what the demolition rats had come up with, even a properly maintained castle would be unlikely to survive. This castle? It didn’t stand a chance.

Once the foundations had been destroyed, gravity and physics would do the rest, and Timmy could nudge things along if he had to. If Thomas survived, the collapse would still wipe out almost all of his zombies, as well as his base of operations. Timmy could then decide what to do with him. Personally, Renoir thought they should cut Thomas’s throat and be done with it, but they could also earn a very nice reward and more favour with Everton if they turned Thomas over to the Council. Throughout the mission, the rats would do their best to conceal their involvement. The more people thought Timmy had done the whole thing himself, the less likely they would be to target his apprentice. After all, people had a tendency to take rats lightly, no matter what they were capable of.

The key to the mission was Timmy. He had to sneak into the castle and then pick a fight with Thomas while the rats got to work. There were few necromancers who could multitask the way Timmy could. For all intents and purposes, he could see and hear almost everything his zombies did. So Thomas shouldn’t notice the rats if he was focused on Timmy. By the time Thomas did notice what was happening – there was bound to be better security around the foundations – it should be far, far too late for him to stop them.

* * *

Sneaking into Black Tower Castle would have been almost impossible for anyone who wasn’t Timmy. He had dozens of different rune and seal networks in place to detect and repel intruders, magic, and anything else he could think of. If someone did manage to get past all of those, they’d have to worry about his zombies. Amongst his zombies there was a special group dedicated solely to preventing infiltration. It included zombies that had been modified to detect and counteract magic, as well as zombies with exceptionally keen senses and abilities chosen to make capturing and disabling opponents as easy as possible. These zombies had a priority link to not only him but also several scrying spheres that were constantly monitored by the rats and some of the castle’s most trusted servants.

And speaking of the rats, the ninja rodents were exceedingly good at infiltrating places and equally good at keeping people out. He doubted it was possible for someone to sneak past them, and if the rats were unable to repel an intruder, they should be able to last long enough for Timmy’s zombies or the castle’s other residents to reach them and offer aid.

Then there were the traps. Katie was especially fond of traps, and she’d proven to be very good at designing them too. More than one would-be intruder had been caught in her zombie octopus pit or her zombie honey badger pit. In fact, just last month, they’d allowed a bunch of thieves into the castle to test some of the new traps. They’d turned the thieves over to the authorities, but not before the thieves had triggered one of the traps. They’d ended up chest deep in tar while a zombie salamander lounged around nearby, waiting for an excuse to set them all on fire.

If someone somehow managed to get past everything and everyone else, there was still Sam and the other protoplasmic horrors. So far, the only person Timmy was confident he couldn’t keep out of the castle if they wanted to get in was Vicky, and she was monstrously powerful and had magic perfectly suited to dealing with the castle’s myriad defences. And even Vicky couldn’t get in without him noticing. There was a way he could stop her, but it would involve waking up at least a couple of the things that lived underneath the castle, and he’d rather avoid that if he could. Besides, it was Vicky. Not only was she one of his friends but knowing her she would also find some way to pummel the things that lived underneath the castle despite their otherworldly power and indescribable might. Besides, whenever she did drop by, it was either to discuss a mission or to hang out, which was a nice way of saying that she occasionally enjoyed shirking her responsibilities for a while.

Compared to Black Tower Castle’s security, the security around Thomas’s castle was severely underwhelming.

There was little in the way of real security around Thomas’s castle, and Timmy wondered if the isolation had finally driven his rival mad. Thomas had set up only the thinnest of magical barriers, which Timmy was able to slip past without much effort. The zombies on patrol were not very intelligent, and without any specifically attuned to magic, all he had to do was have the rat in his pocket make both of them invisible. The castle had wraiths and ghosts, but Timmy was skilled enough to subtly influence them with his magic without drawing undue attention. In his castle, an intruder would never have been able to do that. The wraiths and ghosts of Black Tower Castle were instructed to report or detain any intruders and to report any attempts to influence them that didn’t come from him or Katie. The ones here seemed to have been left to fend for themselves, adding less to the security of the castle and more to the general creepiness of the place. If he had to guess, they were the spirits of whomever Thomas had recently turned into zombies or used for rituals.

The rat in Timmy’s pocket had other skills beside stealth. This quiet fellow was also one of the clan’s premier defensive specialists. If necessary, he could use his magic to create barriers and shields, not that Timmy thought it would be necessary. Thomas was powerful – he had to be to have evaded capture or assassination for so long – but he was like a bull in an artificer’s workshop: all fury and force and no subtlety. Timmy wasn’t the most powerful mage around, but he was cunning and creative. It took some serious power to simply overwhelm him. Vicky could do it, but Thomas was nowhere near as powerful as her.

Thomas had also made a mistake with his zombies. He had severely underinvested in composite zombies. Unless he was hiding them somewhere, almost all of his zombies seemed to be of the human type. A zombie human could be deadly, but against another necromancer who could interfere with the magic that animated zombies, nightmarish horrors like zombie hydra-dragon-bears or zombie salamander-basilisk-griffins were far more useful. If they had been properly made, they would be able to withstand far more of Timmy’s magic before beginning to either fall apart or go wild. If Thomas were actively defending them with his magic, they would also do a far better job of ripping Timmy limb from limb than a standard human zombie. It was much harder to beat a zombie hydra-dragon-bear to death with a shovel than it was to whack a zombie human over the head. To his credit, Thomas did have some runes and seals set up to detect intruders and trigger traps, but they were woefully out dated. Katie still had a lot to learn about runes and seals, but she could have handled these ones in her sleep.

In almost no time at all, he reached the throne room. Timmy rolled his eyes. The vast chamber was lined with tattered banners bearing Thomas’s heraldry, and there were even zombie courtiers and the like milling about the edges. Really? Thomas had his own zombies fawning over him. What was the point of that? It wasn’t like they had a choice. It was only half a step from being overjoyed about patting himself on the back, which Timmy had never been a fan of. More often than not, all it resulted in was a dislocated shoulder.

To make matters worse, Thomas was sitting on a throne made out of what appeared to be human bones. Timmy grimaced. The bones hadn’t even been cleaned properly, and the throne itself was lopsided. His anger faded ever so slightly. Thomas was clearly not handling being on his own well. He’d always been eccentric, all necromancers were, but now he was worryingly weird. Something that was almost pity tugged at Timmy before he clamped down on it. Thomas had been a worthy rival once. Timmy would have to deal with him first before looking into whether there was more to this than the unfortunate descent of yet another necromancer into madness.

“Cut the invisibility,” Timmy murmured to the rat in his pocket. “And get ready. He won’t be happy.”

The instant Timmy appeared, Thomas gave a bellow of rage. “You!” Unlike most necromancers, Thomas was tall and powerfully built. If Timmy hadn’t known better, he would have guessed he was a paladin. The war hammer he wielded only added to the impression. “You dare enter my castle?”

“Well, yeah, I do.” Timmy shrugged and took a big step to his right.

A blast of magic thundered through the space he’d occupied only a moment ago. It struck a clump of zombies, and they immediately turned to dust. Timmy grimaced. Thomas’s magic had the ability to age objects decades in a matter of moments. It was less effective against living things, and it generally needed several hits or a single sustained hit to overcome a mage of Timmy’s strength, but he did not want to take any chances. If Thomas had gotten stronger, Timmy did not want to find out by being turned into an old man or a pile of dust. On the upside, it didn’t look as though Thomas had gotten faster. He wasn’t like Avraniel who could throw around lethal blasts of flame the same way most people could throw confetti.

“And speaking of daring –” Timmy rolled away from another blast and drove his shovel into the floor. Thomas must not have maintained the seals in the throne room because the magic protecting it buckled, and Timmy was able to throw several slabs of stone at the zombies closest to him. The zombies were crushed with a satisfying squelch, and Timmy dodged yet another bolt of Thomas’s magic before he hurled some more stone to destroy the last of the zombies in the throne room. He shook his head. Those zombies hadn’t been made with the skill he’d come to expect from Thomas. “You made plans to assassinate my apprentice and you want to talk about daring?”

Timmy twisted his shovel. A shard of stone ripped out of the floor and shot toward Thomas, but the other necromancer swung his war hammer to intercept it. The weapon struck, and the shard turned into a cloud of dust. Timmy grimaced. Of course, Thomas could do that. He might not be the brightest necromancer in the world, but he wasn’t an idiot. Combining blunt force trauma with magic that could age things at a tremendous rate was a recipe for success in combat.

“Fool!” Thomas spat. He gestured and more zombies poured into the throne room. “I have an entire castle of zombies at my disposal. I should –”

“What you should do is upgrade your security.” Timmy lashed out with his own necromancy. He couldn’t seize control of Thomas’s zombies. The gap between them in necromantic skill and power wasn’t nearly wide enough for that, but he could disrupt them for a short period of time, and a few seconds was plenty when Timmy had this much stone to work with. Spikes of stone ripped upward, tearing through the zombies and blocking the doors into the throne room.

The rat in his pocket squeaked. Timmy grimaced. He couldn’t draw this out much longer. The rats intended to bring the castle down as quickly as possible. If things went according to plan, they should be almost done. It was for the best. Thomas relied on his instincts when he fought, and the longer he fought someone, the better he got at reading them. It was reflected in Thomas’s necromancy too. He tended to simply throw wave after wave of zombies at his opponents until he identified a weakness, which he would then attack without hesitation or mercy. It was a perfectly reasonable way of doing things, but it was also why Thomas hadn’t become a Grand Necromancer. Grand Necromancers were more than extremely powerful and skilled necromancers. They were also adept at mitigating the weaknesses inherent to zombies and necromancers in general. It was why Timmy was a Grand Necromancer, and all Thomas could do was seethe about it. Timmy could do more than command colossal numbers of zombies at the same time. He could create an enormous variety of composite zombies, which had abilities far beyond those of any normal zombie.

Another blast of deadly energy came his way, and Timmy darted to the side before he tossed more stone at Thomas. The other necromancer swatted Timmy’s attack aside and stomped forward. Timmy backed away. His shovel could easily block or parry a sword, but a war hammer was another story. His shovel wouldn’t break, but the sheer weight of the war hammer would make it almost impossible to meet head on.

“I really don’t like it when people go after my apprentice, Thomas. We’re necromancers, not savages.” Timmy grinned mockingly. “Although I’m not surprised you don’t understand. You never kept any of your apprentices for long, did you?”

Thomas gave an inarticulate cry of rage. It was a matter of pride amongst necromancers to find a suitably fiendish and talented apprentice. Timmy had lucked out with Katie, and he got no shortage of envious looks whenever they attended necromancer conventions. Despite her tendency to be a bit too traditional at times, Katie was an excellent apprentice: intelligent, cunning, good with paperwork, capable of magic that was both useful and thematically consistent with necromancy, and evil enough to be a good necromancer but not so evil as to bring the wrath of the Council down upon them. Katie ticked all the boxes for what Timmy was looking for in an apprentice. In contrast, Thomas had driven away all of his apprentices. It probably hadn’t helped that skimping on maintenance and repairs had left Thomas’s castle in a horrible state. A necromancer’s castle was supposed to be menacing, not decrepit.

“Die!” Thomas bellowed. “I will crush your skull!”

The rat in Timmy’s pocket snickered. As threats went, they’d both heard better. Thomas swung his war hammer, and a wave of his magic rippled outward. Timmy leapt out of the way and thrust his shovel forward. A row of spikes erupted around Thomas. The other man spun and smashed all of them with his war hammer before another swipe of the weapon hurled a bolt of power at Timmy. Timmy jerked his shovel up in time to block, but the attack nearly knocked him off his feet. The protective runes and seals on his shovel flared and began to crack. Not good. He wouldn’t be able to take too many more of those. Thomas hurled more magic at him, but his anger had thrown off his aim.

“I order you to stand still!”

Timmy was now seriously beginning to consider the idea that there was something seriously wrong with his rival. He couldn’t remember Thomas ever shouting something quite so… stupid in the middle of a fight. “I’d rather not.”

Timmy twisted away from another attack and then beat a hasty retreat as Thomas lunged forward with his war hammer. The other man brought the weapon down with enough force to crack the floor, and Timmy winced. Being hit would have been horrendously painful, as well as probably fatal – if not for the rat in his pocket.

“Are they ready yet?” Timmy whispered to the rat. The rat squeaked his reply. It was time. “You know,” Timmy drawled. “You should pay closer attention to the foundations of your castle. It would be a real shame if something happened to them.”

Thomas’s eyes widened. “What? What did you –”

Thomas never got to finish his sentence because that was when the explosions started.

Timmy felt the explosions shake their way through the structure of the castle with his magic. Renoir and the other rats had done well. For some reason or another, they’d been forced to alter where they’d put the explosives, but the end result would be the same. Perhaps Thomas wasn’t as far gone as Timmy thought? The foundations of the castle began to buckle, and the whole structure started to give way. Timmy sent a pulse of his magic through the weakening castle to hasten its collapse since the castle’s magical defences were collapsing alongside its foundations, and then he ran toward the nearest window. He had no intention of being around when the castle finally gave way.

“I didn’t say you could leave!” Thomas growled.

“I wasn’t asking,” Timmy shot back. He gestured with his shovel, and the floor around Thomas jerked up and encased him in a cocoon of stone. It wouldn’t hold him for long, but Timmy didn’t need it to. He jumped out of the window as the ceiling of the throne room began to cave in.

His jump carried him away from the castle and toward a rocky outcrop. He pointed his shovel, and the rock turned into a geyser of mud to break his fall. The rat in his pocket was kind enough to create a shield around him, so he didn’t even get muddy. He did, however, slide quite a distance through the mud before he finally came to a stop and got back to his feet.

“Good work.”

Timmy lifted the rat out of his pocket and put him onto his shoulder. They had a perfect view of the castle’s demise. It was oddly therapeutic. He pursed his lips. This was a nice spot for a castle. He’d have to see if he could purchase it. He’d have to rebuild, but he had been thinking of acquiring a backup castle for a while now. Mountainside real estate could be pricey, but this had been Thomas’s stronghold for years. Not many people would want to live in a place that had housed thousands of zombies and witnessed countless dark rituals, but Timmy already lived in a place like that. Given what lived underneath the castle, this place might actually be less creepy.

Hopefully, the other rats were okay. Rembrandt could be troublesome, but the rats were generally nice to have around. Then again, the rats that had come with him were some of the elite. They wouldn’t have set the explosives off if they weren’t confident of getting to safety. Less than a minute later, they proved him right by gliding toward the outcrop using another one of their inventions. He sent a spray of mud up to catch their attention, and the rats angled their hang gliders toward him. He took a quick look at them to make sure they were unharmed. He had several healing potions with him, but their small size meant that even a single healing potion would be more than enough to heal all of them. Not one of them had so much as a scratch.

“Good work. Now, let’s see if Thomas is still alive. He’s a tough one, so I doubt he’s dead. Letting him go isn’t an option, but I can’t bring myself to kill him now that we’ve destroyed his castle. He hasn’t paid the assassins yet, and there’s no way he’ll be able to pay them now.” Timmy’s brows furrowed. “I’ll check in with the assassins’ guild just to be safe, but I think I’ll hand him over to the Council. It should help with earning a pardon and get us a nice reward. They won’t let him out either, not after what he’s done in the past.” His lips twitched. “He’s looking at a lifetime in prison, which some people might consider worse than death.”

There was hardly a single stone standing, which spoke volumes about how poorly maintained Thomas’s castle had been. It made Timmy sad. The castle had been decrepit in Thomas’s time, but it must have been imposing once. Oh well. Timmy had a castle of his own to worry about. There was no point in worrying about the ruins of someone else’s.

“Get ready,” he warned the rats as he reached out with his magic. “He will be hostile since, you know, we kind of blew up his castle with him in it.”

Timmy searched for the cocoon of stone he’d encased Thomas in and wrenched it free of the ruins. It split open, and Thomas roared and surged forward with his war hammer. There was madness in his eyes, and his magic was a maelstrom of destructive power. Timmy grimaced and pointed his shovel. Thomas wasn’t thinking at all. A rock jutted out of the ground, and Thomas tripped spectacularly. His war hammer slipped out of his hands, and the rats were on him before he even knew what was happening. In less than a second, Thomas was unconscious. Renoir cackled malevolently – it seemed to be a habit of his – as the other rats began to search Thomas for anything dangerous or valuable.

“Let me know if you find anything interesting,” Timmy said. “And don’t forget to secure him properly. We don’t want him giving us any trouble later.” Timmy directed his magic into the ruins again. There was gold and other valuables underneath the rubble, but they could always come back for them later. Thomas’s fearsome reputation ought to keep looters away for at least a week or two. “My zombie wyvern should be here soon. We’ve got a delivery to make.”

* * *

Vicky looked up from her paperwork as she munched on another hazelnut and chocolate-chip cookie. It was wonderful, absolutely wonderful. This particular flavour was already sold out all over the capital, but she happened to know the people behind the Hungry Dragon Cookie Company. Spot had dropped by yesterday to deliver some messages and several boxes of cookies just for her. He was working on maintaining his speed during longer flights, and Timmy thought it would be a good idea for him to learn his way around Everton. There were always some ninja rats with the young dragon, so Vicky was confident he could stay out of trouble. If he did run into anything he couldn’t handle, there was a certain pyromaniac elf that would be more than happy to immolate anyone who messed with him. Vicky was about to return to her paperwork when one of her attendants burst into her office. The young woman looked positively scandalised.

“Is something wrong?” Vicky asked.

Instead of replying, her attendant handed her a note. It was written in what Timmy liked to call his neat handwriting. Honestly? He was one of her dearest friends, but his writing was still chicken scratch. It was no wonder their instructors at the academy had badgered him all the time. They could barely read most of his homework. Naturally, Vicky had become quite adept at deciphering Timmy’s writing over the years. The contents of the message were simple. He had defeated Thomas Darkmore, blown up his castle, and left him on her doorstep. No wonder her attendant had burst in.

“I trust Lord Darkmore is being watched?” Vicky got to her feet and strode toward the door. She’d have to finish her cookies later. “Prepare a suitable cell for our new guest. I’m going to introduce myself to him before we have a little chat.”

* * *

“Did you buy anything interesting on your trip, master?” Katie asked as Timmy ambled into the dining room where she and the others were eating lunch. Well, some of them were eating. Amanda was savouring a cup of blood, and Spot was devouring his food, albeit in a surprisingly neat manner. Even Chomp, the three-headed dog, was eating at a more sedate pace than the dragon although Timmy had to wonder where he’d picked up such excellent table manners given that the dog had spent years in a labyrinth eating whoever had offended his previous master.

“Nothing too interesting, but I might be purchasing a mountainside with an old, ruined castle on it. The castle collapsed, you see, and the previous owner was not exactly a model citizen. It should be on the market for a reasonable price. I’ve actually got some of the rats and some of my zombies looking at it right now.” It was more like he’d tasked the rats with supervising his zombies as they dug through the ruins. Ah, zombie wyverns were so good at transporting zombies and equipment, but he might have to grab Gerald for an afternoon when all of the valuables had been excavated. The alternative would be to have groups of zombie wyverns make multiple trips to carry things from the ruins of Thomas’s castle to his.

“Don’t you waste enough money on this damn castle already?” Avraniel reached for more beef. Elves weren’t vegetarians, but Timmy had never seen one who ate meat as frequently as she did. “Do you really need to buy some dump in the middle of nowhere?”

“This castle is worth the money, and I wouldn’t be fixing the castle I mentioned, so much as building a new one using the ruins of the old one to provide building materials.” The rat on Timmy’s shoulder snickered, and Katie gave him a curious look. Hopefully, the rats would keep quiet about everything.

“So you didn’t get anything interesting on your trip?” Katie asked. “Nothing interesting at all?”

Timmy had made some stops on the way home. “I did buy a book although I wouldn’t say it was too interesting.” Katie immediately perked up. He bit back a chuckle. If there were a book around to be read, Katie would read it.

Food? Spot stopped eating long enough to give him a hopeful smile.

Timmy laughed. Spot was amazingly easy to please. “Yes, I got you something to eat.” He put a large fruit on the table. “This is a rare fruit that only grows in certain places, like the other side of the mountain the castle I mentioned was on. It’s normally fairly expensive, but I was able to get my hands on this one for free since nobody lives on that mountain. You can have it, but try not to eat it too quickly. Savour it. It’s very good.” It certainly was, and Timmy had plans to collect more of the fruits from the other side of the mountain. If he were lucky, he’d be able to get a farm of some kind working, either over there or over here.

Spot trilled happily and went back to eating. It was a pity not everyone could be appeased with some fruit. The world would have been a much more peaceful place.

“Anyway,” Timmy said. “If things go well, I’ll have two castles.” He grinned at Katie. “Now, I’ll have somewhere to go if you ever manage to overthrow me.”

Katie grinned back. “Not if I take over that castle too.”

Impostor

(Set Before Two Necromancers, a Bureaucrat, and an Elf)

Avraniel didn’t really care if people went around killing each other, so long as they found somewhere else to do it. The last thing she needed in the little patch of forest she called home were piles of corpses everywhere. The smell would be awful, and it wouldn’t take long at all for scavengers to turn up looking for an easy meal. She wasn’t a cannibal, so joining the scavengers was out of the question, not that she could take the moral high ground. Robbery, arson, and even the occasional murder via glorious amounts of fire – she’d dabbled in a bit of everything, so she was in no position to lecture anyone.

But there were lines she didn’t cross. Contrary to common belief, she didn’t go around killing random villagers. Provided they stayed out of her way and didn’t give her any trouble, she was content to ignore them. It was kind of like how a wolf wouldn’t go out of its way to pick a fight with a bunch of ants. There simply wasn’t any point to it. Random villagers weren’t a threat, and they didn’t have anything she wanted. She also didn’t go after children. She’d been a child once, and it hadn’t been easy. An elf with fire magic like hers was weird enough to begin with, but an elf with fire magic like hers who actually enjoyed using it and had a temper to match? Other elves didn’t think she was weird. No, she was an abomination, her mere existence an insult to the ideals held by many of her so-called kin.

The first thing she’d done once she was old enough and strong enough to survive on her own was to leave. She didn’t need some stuck up bastards telling her how to live her life. She could make it just fine on her own, and if they wanted to mess with her, she’d show them how useful her magic was. She’d pitied the other kids who’d been stuck with those losers who went on and on and on about their glorious past instead of growing some damn balls and seizing the future for themselves. Well, she wasn’t like them. She didn’t live in the past. One day, everyone would know her name, and that was the way it should be. Ancestors? Who gave a damn about them? Their deeds were their own. If someone wanted to be great, they needed to stop talking about people who’d been dead for centuries and actually do something for themselves.

Avraniel was content to leave random villagers alone, but she would happily roast entire groups of bandits without a second thought. The way she saw it, fair was fair. If bandits were willing to rob and kill people, they had to be prepared for someone stronger to rob and kill them. It was all part of the circle of life. Their mistake was thinking they were at the top of the food chain.

Killing or kidnapping kids wasn’t something she did, and she wasn’t about to stand by and watch it happen either. Maybe if some of those people who’d come after her at the start had hesitated a bit more before trying to put an arrow through her eye or a sword through her gut, they might have been able to go home with a few cuts and bruises instead of being reduced to piles of ash. But the joke was on them. She’d been a kid when they’d started trying to kill her, but she’d survived. Each fight had only made her stronger. Now, nothing short of an army was going to take her patch of the forest from her, and she’d burn the whole damn forest down before she let someone take what was hers.

“You know,” Avraniel drawled as she leapt out of the tree to land in between the mercenaries and the half-elf girl with blonde hair and green eyes. “I don’t like people who pick on kids. No, that’s not quite right.” She grinned. “I kill people who pick on kids.”

“Stay out of this!” One of the mercenaries brandished his sword at her. “Or we’ll kill you where you stand, elf bitch!”

Avraniel’s eye twitched. She did not like being insulted, and she did not like being threatened. Being insulted and threatened? This guy was begging to be set on fire. “I woke up in a good mood today, so I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Leave the girl and any valuables you have with me, and you get to live. Refuse, and, well, you’re all dead. I’ll give you to the count of three. One –”

Someone shot an arrow at her head.

Avraniel caught the arrow out of the air and snapped it in two. These mercenaries were idiots. They were going to try to shoot an elf with a bow, and not even a good bow? Please. Compared to how quickly an elf’s arrow would have travelled, the mercenary’s arrow might as well have been frozen in mid-air.

“So that’s how it’s going to be? You want to do this the hard way? Fine. Let’s go.” She cracked her knuckles and smirked toothily. “To be honest, I was probably going to kill all of you anyway. I hate people who bring trouble to my neck of the woods. Oh well. At least this way, you get to fight back. It’ll be more fun.” She nodded at the girl. “Kid, you might want to get down.”

The girl gaped at her for a moment and then flung herself to the ground. Good. She wasn’t a total idiot. Avraniel drew her bow and put an arrow through the eye of the mercenary who’d fired an arrow at her. He dropped, and she fired twice more, moving at a speed that no other elf – never mind a human – would have been able to match. Two more mercenaries fell, and the others charged. She set her bow aside and raised one hand. Fire rippled outward, a shockwave of heat and force that flung the mercenaries back like rag dolls. Clothes burned, steel melted, and the mercenaries lit up like those quaint trees the villagers always decorated near the end of the year. She would have smiled if it weren’t for the smell. Burning wood smelled nice, but burning mercenaries were a different story. If only they’d been cows. It had been a while since she’d eaten roast beef.

One of the mercenaries continued his charge. Impressive. His magic had been strong enough to keep him from being incinerated. Unfortunately, his magic was much better than his swordsmanship. She took a big step to the side as he brought his sword down in an overhead chop. The weapon thudded into the ground, and she grabbed him by the scruff of his cloak and let her magic do the rest. As his whole body was engulfed in flames, she kicked him away to join the others. She’d learned the hard way that burning people could die quite messily, and the nearest stream was a good half an hour away on foot.

“Die, whore!”

Avraniel rolled her eyes. These mercenaries really were idiots. They had to have noticed how big the gap in power was after she’d wiped out so many of them so easily, but the mage who’d gathered lightning to throw at her had still felt the need to shout an insult at her. His magic wasn’t strong enough to do more than singe her, but he would have at least landed a blow if he’d kept his mouth shut. Instead, she turned, gestured, and his arms caught fire. He gave a scream of panic and lost control of his magic. The lightning he’d gathered backfired on him and exploded, and the blast hurled him – minus his arms – into a tree. She scoffed. Loser.

A few blasts of flame later, and only one mercenary was still alive, not counting the guy who was flopping around like a burning fish on the grass nearby, so she weighed up her options. She was definitely going to rob him and strip the corpses of anything valuable, but what happened after that depended on how cooperative he was. Letting him go could prove to be quite profitable. If he came back with more people in a pathetic attempt to get revenge, she could simply wipe them out too and take any valuables they might have. She doubted they’d have anything too valuable on them, but every bit helped. One day, she’d have enough money to leave this stupid forest and buy a nice tropical island somewhere. She’d live in a huge house, and who knows? Maybe she’d have a dragon too because dragons were probably the only creatures that loved fire as much as she did. She’d have to get a young one, not like that old bastard Black Scales.

“They’ll kill you for this!” the mercenary hissed. He tried to spit at her, but all he did was get bloody saliva all over his own face since he was flat on his back with several broken ribs and a bevvy of burns. “They’ll kill you –”

It turned out that being set on fire again made it hard for him to talk. What a pity, but if he’d wanted to live, he should have tried to make himself useful. She waited until he’d stopped shrieking – he lasted a surprisingly long time – before she turned back to the girl who was doing a solid impression of a wounded rabbit surrounded by a pack of rabid wolves.

“Hey, kid, you can leave now, but I’ll be taking anything good these guys have.” Avraniel looked over to where one of the dead mercenaries had slumped against a tree. He was still smouldering, but her control over her magic was good enough to keep her fire from destroying anything valuable. “Actually, that guy there has a nice pair of boots, and his feet don’t look very big. I’m betting you’d fit into his boots in a couple of years. Go ahead and take them. They’re not even singed.”

The girl’s mouth opened and closed several times but no sound came out. Avraniel sighed. Kids these days. What were their parents teaching them? Looting the bodies of bandits was a perfectly legitimate way of acquiring new footwear. As the girl continued to gawp at her like an idiot, Avraniel grabbed a stick and went back and forth amongst the bandits. She poked and prodded them to make sure they were dead before she moved in to take their valuables. The best thing about gold was that accidentally melting it didn’t make it any less valuable. The mercenaries had a decent number of coins on them, along with other bits and pieces. She’d take what was immediately useful, stash some of the rest, and sell everything else when she found the time.

The elves liked to think their forest was some kind of sacred refuge free from the corruption that plagued the rest of the world, but they couldn’t be more wrong. There were plenty of people in the forest who were willing to buy or sell anything for the right price. Avraniel made a decent living wiping out bandits and other troublemakers and selling anything she didn’t want. She also ventured out of the forest from time to time to sell things in some of the bigger towns and cities, but she couldn’t risk it too often. She was a criminal with a bounty on her head, and there were lots of people out there hoping to turn her into a nice payday. She’d run into four of them the last time she’d left the forest. After meeting them, she had four less people to worry about.

A grin crossed her lips as she stumbled across something especially useful. It was a sack that was larger on the inside than the outside. She’d heard of these before and had even seen them in action a few times, but they were difficult to get and very expensive. Scum like these mercenaries had no business having one, but maybe they’d murdered some merchant for it or something. However they’d gotten it, it was hers now. It was a shame that none of them had good boots in her size. She’d been hoping to get some new ones, but waltzing into some boot maker’s shop wasn’t an option for her. The elves would try to arrest her the second they laid eyes on her, and although she should be able to fight them off without too much of a hassle, she doubted she’d be able to fight them off and get new boots at the same time. Hopefully, someone in the next bunch of bastards she wiped out would have a new pair of good boots in her size.

“Uh…” the girl whispered fearfully as she eyed the carnage around them. Avraniel was slightly impressed. Most girls her age would have emptied their stomachs. “Um…”

“What?” Avraniel growled as she continued to search the bodies. Damn it. Didn’t these jerks have any decent food? She didn’t have a dog, but if she did, she wouldn’t have fed it the crap the mercenaries were eating. The closest things she had to pets were the damn squirrels that occupied this part of the forest. The little bastards were always trying to steal her stuff, but they had the decency to keep an eye out for trouble and warn her whenever an elf patrol got close since she also kept most of their predators away. In return, she’d refrained from filling her stomach with fried squirrel whenever she got hungry although it wouldn’t have made much sense to eat them. They were nosy bastards, but they were very good sentries.

The girl’s lips began to quiver, and Avraniel scowled. Was she going to cry? At her age, Avraniel had already been spending almost all of her time away from everyone else. Then again, Avraniel had sort of killed more than a dozen men in front of her. Most kids lived sheltered lives, and this kid was dressed like a noble. This was probably the first time she’d seen a dead body.

“I… I was going to visit my father, but these men killed my guards, and… and…” The girl broke down and sobbed before running toward Avraniel. She practically tackled the elf, and Avraniel could only grimace as the girl wrapped her arms around her and wept.

“Yeah, fine. Whatever.” Avraniel tried to pry the girl off, but it was like trying to pry off one of those killer vines that grew in the darker parts of the forest. In the end, all she could do was stand there and wait for the girl to cry herself out. “Look, kid, where is your father? If you tell me where he lives, I can point you in the right direction. You can even have some of the… uh… food those bastards had.” Inwardly, she cringed. She was getting soft, and the mercenaries’ food was absolute crap.

“I don’t know where he lives. I haven’t met him before.”

“So he’s that kind of guy, huh?” Avraniel laughed. “He sounds like a bastard to me.”

“Don’t call him that!” the girl cried. “I… he’s a good man! My mother told me so! He’s… he’s… he’s an elf lord!”

“Am elf lord? That’s just another way of saying that he’s a bastard amongst bastards.” Avraniel could honestly say that she despised all of the elf lords. Hell, if it weren’t for the fact that they had armies to throw at her, she would have burned the lot of them by now. “But, hey, you must be pretty valuable, right? The daughter of an elf lord and all…” Profit was important, and this girl had profit written all over her.

The girl nodded quickly. She was clearly still shaken, but she was doing her best to recover. It was almost admirable. “I… I can pay you.” She reached into her cloak and produced a stone that shone like the full moon and seemed to ooze magic. “Do you know what this is?”

“I do.” Avraniel snatched it out of her hands. A gem like this – a lunar opal – was worth far more than mere gold or silver. “And it’s mine now. See you later, kid.”

The girl looked between her suddenly empty hands and the lunar opal and began to cry. Avraniel winced. She wasn’t actually going to steal the opal. She was just joking around, but maybe now wasn’t the best time for a joke. This girl might be an elf lord’s daughter, but she hadn’t been lying when she’d said she’d never met him, and it wasn’t like she was to blame for all of the crap the elf lords had put Avraniel through. Those bastards had sent their soldiers after her and then gotten offended when she’d had the audacity to fight them off. Well, if they didn’t want her to pummel their soldiers, then maybe they should stop sending them after her. Likewise, if they didn’t want her stealing their stuff, then maybe they should do a better job of protecting it.

“Oh, come on, kid. I was joking. I’ll take this, all right, but in exchange, I’ll take you to your father too. What’s his name?” And, hey, if she happened to steal a few things from whichever jerk was this kid’s father, so much the better, right?

“Lord Galterion is my father.”

Avraniel made a choking sound. Lord Galterion was one of the elf lords who’d been especially zealous in pushing for her capture and execution over the years. Her lips curled. She even had it on good authority that he was the one who’d suggested they try to kill her in the first place, back when she’d been a lot younger and naïve enough to think they’d simply leave her alone if she stayed away from them. She’d set the bastard on fire twice, but he’d managed to survive thanks to his powerful ice magic and a lot of luck. Really, that limp-dicked son of a bitch was more like a rat than an elf. She snorted. She might have to stop calling him limp-dicked. The kid was living proof that he’d been able to get it up at least once in his life. He was still a son of a bitch though. If she saw him dying on the side of the road, she wouldn’t keep walking. No, she’d find a nice rock and finish him off. But helping his daughter would be a great form of revenge. Elf lords were obsessed with honour, and owing her a debt of honour for saving his daughter would drive him crazy. She chuckled. Leaving him to suffer in existential agony would be way more enjoyable than simply robbing him or killing him.

She smirked. “You’re in luck, kid. I happen to know where that bastard lives.” She waved the opal around. “Give me this, and I’ll take you right to him.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” The girl scrubbed at her tear-stained cheeks. Her long blonde hair was a mess. It must have come undone while she was running from the bandits.

“Take a look around.” Avraniel snorted. “If I wanted to rob you or kill you, you’d be robbed or dead by now.”

The girl gulped and turned very, very pale. “I… I guess so.”

“Exactly. Now, let’s get going.” Avraniel tossed the girl the lunar opal. “There. If you’re so worried about me betraying you or something, you can keep that until after I get you to that loser you call a father.”

“Wait!” the girl shouted as Avraniel started to walk away. “What about the monster?”

“The what?” Avraniel asked. What garbage fairy tale had the girl’s guards told her? It wouldn’t be the first time some noble kid got fed a bunch of lies to keep them in line.

However, the girl seemed genuinely terrified. “The monster. My… my guards told me all about the monster that lives in this part of the forest.” She sniffled miserably. “They… they said the monster wears the shape of a hideously deformed elf with eyes like lamps and teeth like daggers. They said she breathes fire and slaughters anyone who wanders into her territory.” She shivered. “No mortal can kill her.”

Avraniel burst out laughing. This was too good. She’d been turned into the elf version of the bogeyman. Earlier in her life, she might have been insulted, but right now, she couldn’t be happier. This was something to be proud of, to savour. The elves, proud and powerful masters of the forest, were terrified of her.

This would make her life so much easier. Young elves would grow up into soldiers, rangers, mages, and guards who would be too terrified to fight her properly. They’d try, but they’d remember those stories their parents told them, and they’d be afraid. She was now officially the second scariest thing in the forest after Black Scales. Not bad, not bad at all.

“Relax,” she said once she’d managed to get her laughter under control. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. I won’t let the horrible monster hurt you.” She snickered. “Now, let’s get moving. We’re wasting daylight, and you half elves don’t always have the night vision us full-blooded elves have.” Half elves reached the peak of their powers more quickly than full-blooded elves, but they lived shorter lives and often lacked some of the other gifts elves possessed. Her voice sobered. “And don’t bother asking about your guards.” She listened keenly to the chatter being exchanged by the squirrels in the trees around them. “The mercenaries got all of them.”

The girl nodded slowly and took a moment to wipe away her tears. She must have already suspected the truth. “I… okay.”

“Chin up,” Avraniel said almost gently. “They gave their lives, so you could get away from those mercenaries. If you have any respect for them at all, you’ll make sure they didn’t die for nothing.”

* * *

They managed to travel for about an hour before the girl began to look like she would keel over and die the next time they had to climb a hill. Avraniel scoffed. Pathetic. When she’d been a kid, she’d already been running off and wandering around on her own although they had almost always managed to drag her back in the end. She hadn’t had any parents, and nobody had liked her much, not that she’d liked them either, but they still hadn’t wanted to let her leave and do her own thing. In her opinion, elves were mostly arrogant jerks who believed they were better than everyone else despite all the evidence to the contrary. If elves were so great, then why was the biggest, most powerful empire in the world run by humans? The elves of Everton hadn’t expanded their territory in centuries, and from what she’d heard, elves around the world were little better. They seemed content to savour past glories when real glory was right there for the taking if only they had the guts to reach out and grab it.

As a kid, Avraniel had pushed herself harder than anyone else. She wouldn’t be like the others. She wouldn’t sit there and wait for the world to hand her a place. She’d find her own place in the world, and if she couldn’t find one, she’d make one. Even in her youth, she’d been able to keep on the move for hours, slipping through the densest parts of the forest with ease or simply leaping from branch to branch. Right now, she was sticking to the ground to give the kid a chance, but it hadn’t helped. The kid was a pushover, plain and simple. It was no wonder those mercenaries had been laughing. The kid was easy prey. She wouldn’t have lasted a day in the forest on her own even without the mercenaries. Hell, the squirrels could probably beat her in a fight if they attacked her together.

“Seriously?” Avraniel grabbed the girl and hoisted her over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She’d gone to the effort of saving her earlier, so she wasn’t about to let her die of exhaustion now. Avraniel ran through the forest until she spotted a clearing with a tree stump in it. The girl gave a cry of outrage as Avraniel plonked her down on the tree stump. “You’re tired already? We’ve been going for an hour. I know you’re only half elf, but I expected at least a couple of hours out of you.”

The girl glared. “I am tired. Mercenaries killed my guards. I only met them last week, but they were nice to me! And I’ve been running away from those mercenaries all day! I don’t think I’m doing too badly, all things considered.”

Avraniel chuckled. “You’ve got guts, kid, talking back to me like that. But the mercenaries caught you, so I wouldn’t say you were doing well.” The girl sniffled, and Avraniel covered her face with one hand. More tears? And why did she even care if the girl cried? Maybe all of her time alone in the forest with only squirrels for company had driven her insane. “Fine. How long were you able to keep away from those mercenaries?”

“Maybe… maybe two hours.”

“Well, well, well.” Avraniel tossed the girl a gourd of water. “That’s not completely hopeless, especially from some elf lord’s daughter. I guess running and hiding is all you can do when you’re not strong enough to fight.” As insulting as it sounded, she didn’t mean it as an insult. Only an idiot would fight if they had no chance of winning. The girl had enough brains to realise she couldn’t win a fight, so she’d done the next best thing and had chosen to run and hide instead. “Let me tell you something, kid, and I won’t even charge you extra for it either. The world isn’t nice, or fair, or kind, or good, or any of that crap – not unless someone makes it that way. If you want the world to be like the fairy tales, you know, all heroes and good guys and legends, then you better get stronger, strong enough to make it that way.”

The girl nodded slowly and gulped down some water. Avraniel grimaced and grabbed the gourd to keep the girl from drinking too much. She’d only vomit it out later, which would be messy and a waste of good water.

“What about you?” the girl murmured. “I’ve… I’ve never heard of an elf with such powerful fire magic.”

Avraniel shook her head as the girl offered her the gourd. She wasn’t even winded, never mind thirsty. “I’ve always had strong fire magic. In fact, I’ve never met anyone with fire magic stronger than mine.” She grinned. “It’s convenient. If someone picks a fight with me, I can just set them on fire and let nature do the rest.” She cackled evilly and conjured tendrils of shimmering fire before letting them fade away. “It has other benefits too. I never feel cold, and I can walk through fire without getting burned. What about you? I can tell you’ve got magic, and with a bastard like Galterion as your father, you can’t be too weak. What does your magic do?”

“I have binding magic,” the girl replied. “It lets me bind and restrain things, especially things like ghosts, spirits, or demons.”

Avraniel laughed. “That sounds pretty damn lame, kid. It must not be too strong either since I didn’t see you using it on those mercenaries.”

The girl huffed. “What? My magic is not lame! I… I just haven’t practiced with it a lot. One day, I’ll become a ranger, and I’ll fight evil spirits and imprison demons and –”

“For your sake, I hope you’ve got a secondary form of magic because spirits and demons are one things, but you need to learn how to deal with all the normal crap people put up with, like people trying to stab you. Otherwise, you won’t last long. Hell, forget a secondary form of magic, you need to learn how to defend yourself in case you run into more trouble.” Avraniel’s eyes gleamed like molten gold. “Me? Even without my magic, I can put an arrow through someone’s eye from a mile away, and you can be damn sure that I know how to use all the usual stuff like swords, daggers, and spears. After I get you to that bastard you call a father, get him to teach you how to defend yourself. He might be a loser, but he knows how to fight.” She grinned. “When someone’s coming after you, it doesn’t matter how you deal with them. You can set them on fire, you can put a sword through their gut, or, hell, you can even bash them over the head with a rock. In the end, it’s all the same. Just make sure you win.”

“We only met today,” the girl said. “But I can already imagine you doing all of those things to people even the ones who aren’t exactly going after you.”

Avraniel’s lips curled. “You’re not so stupid, after all.” She tugged the girl to her feet. “We’ve rested long enough. We need to keep moving. There could be more mercenaries after you, and while I don’t leave a trail, you damn sure do. I can kill them all, but it’ll be annoying fighting them while making sure they don’t grab you. Besides, if they’re like the bunch I killed earlier, I doubt they’ll have anything good for me to take. For someone like you – someone valuable – people normally start off with the good mercenaries. Anyone else they send is going to be leftovers, jerks willing to go after a kid for a couple of coins.”

“But I can’t keep up with you,” the girl protested.

“We’ll go slower then, but we need to keep moving.” Avraniel turned and started walking. “Chin up, kid. At this pace, it’ll take us a week, maybe longer, to get to your father’s estate.” She chuckled as the girl looked about furtively. “And could you stop worrying about the monster? I told you. We’ll be fine.” Avraniel made a face. “Why didn’t any of those sons of bitches have a horse? It would have made things so much easier.”

The girl grimaced, but she did her best to keep up without wasting any air or energy on whining. Good. She was learning.

They kept going until nightfall although their pace had slowed to a crawl compared to the speed with which Avraniel normally travelled. She could have carried the girl, but she wasn’t going to become anyone’s pack mule. The girl had legs. She could walk. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do either. She lived how she pleased, where she pleased, and right now, she didn’t mind walking through the forest with the girl. Those stupid squirrels could take care of themselves for a couple of weeks. It’d show them what a good deal they were getting, and it couldn’t hurt to take a trip through the forest every now and then. If something changed, she wanted to know about it before it became a problem. As night fell, she found a clearing, started a fire, and went off to find something for them to eat.

“Stay here.” Avraniel gestured to the forest around them. “And listen. Hear that?” The girl nodded. “Good. There are always noises in the forest. If it goes quiet, then you should start worrying. If that happens, hide. I’ll come back and kill whatever if making all the trouble. Hell, as long as it’s not a hydra, we can even eat it.” She cut a nearby branch off a tree and used her dagger and some fire to turn it into a makeshift spear. “Take this. I doubt it’ll do much good against anything really dangerous, but it’s better than nothing.”

“I don’t know how to use a spear.”

Avraniel scowled. “It’s not complicated, kid. See the pointy end?” The girl nodded. “Put the pointy end in whoever is attacking you. Who knows, if it’s a bear, it might save you the trouble and trip over and impale itself.”

“A bear?” the girl gasped. “There are bears here? Where?”

“This is the damn forest, kid. Of course, there are bears here.”

“Here?” the girl shrieked.

“Oh, shut up.” Avraniel sighed. “Not right here. Here as in… around. But if you keep shrieking, you might bring one of them over.” She tossed her cloak to the girl. “Most of the animals here don’t like me, but they know not to mess with me. If a bear turns up, put that on. It’ll leave you alone.” She bared her teeth. “Bears might be big, but they burn just as easily as everything else.” She headed out of the clearing. “Stay put. I’ll get us something to eat. I don’t know about you, but I am not eating berries or leaves for dinner.”

Avraniel didn’t have to eat much unless she used her magic a lot, and small fry like those mercenaries were barely worthy of consideration. She could fry thousands of chumps like them in her sleep. The girl was another story. She looked hungry enough to eat a cow or two. Avraniel caught two rabbits and murmured a brief prayer to the gods the elves worshipped. She might not like them, but she wasn’t stupid. The gods the elves worshipped were no joke. Crossing them was a bad, bad idea, and some of them liked rabbits, especially the fluffy ones. If offering them a prayer could keep them off her back, that’s what she’d do until she was strong enough to not have to worry about them. And, hey, at least most of them were upfront about what they wanted.

She got back to the clearing and tossed the rabbits to the girl. The girl gave an inelegant squawk and almost rolled into the fire in her haste to get away from the dead rabbits. Avraniel yanked the girl back before she could burn herself. “Get it together, kid. I did my bit. It’s time for you to do yours. I want those rabbits prepared and cooked.”

The girl gulped and poked one of the rabbits. “Um… how?”

Avraniel’s eyes narrowed. “What are you, some kind of princess? I know your father is an elf lord, but elf lords learn to hunt, and so do their children. Are you saying that you don’t know how to prepare and cook a rabbit? I was already doing that at half your age.”

Naturally, Avraniel left out the part about doing those things herself because nobody else wanted to do them for her and going to bed hungry sucked. On the upside, hunger was a great teacher. It was easy to learn when learning meant putting food in her belly.

The girl looked down at the ground. For a moment, only one, Avraniel almost felt bad. Then she remembered that the world was not a nice place, that the only way to make it a nice place was to be strong enough to make the world shut up and listen. Being weak or soft was a good way to end up dead, and coddling kids wouldn’t help them when things inevitably went to hell.

“My mother is a human noble. I… I don’t really get to go outside on my own much or do things like hunting or cooking.”

“Your life must suck,” Avraniel said before laughing at the girl’s outraged expression. “I still can’t believe it. That bastard had a child with a human noble? I’m going to laugh about this for years. The last time I ran into your father, kid, he went on and on about how elves are the greatest people in the world and how humans aren’t even fit to lick our boots. Damn.” She shook her head in disbelief. “He doesn’t even like other elves that much, but, hey, maybe he was in the mood for a good, hard…”

Avraniel trailed off. The kid didn’t need to hear that, and it wasn’t like she’d chosen her parents. She’d also realised something. “Never mind. I’m going to guess you’re not legitimate, which makes me wonder why you’re even here.” The girl’s jaw dropped in horrified amazement, and Avraniel reached over to close her mouth. “I’m not insulting you. I’m serious. Elf lords hardly ever sire bastards, and the ones that do usually pretend they don’t exist. It’s their version of honour. The most a bastard can usually expect is a cushy job and some gold.” The girl’s lips quivered, and Avraniel growled. “Don’t ever be ashamed of being a bastard. It’s not your fault. We don’t choose who our parents are, and anyone dumb enough to judge you isn’t worth a second more of your time. Take it from me, kid, if anyone should be ashamed, it’s your parents. It’s not like they had to screw each other.” Avraniel chuckled as the girl gave a slow, befuddled nod. “Good. You’re starting to wise up, but you still haven’t answered my question. Why are you going to see him?”

“I…” The girl hesitated. “He said he would legitimise me, but he wants to do it formally, according to the old ways.”

“Is that so? Well, congratulations, you will officially have a giant jerk for a father, and you’ll have to put up with the endless bundle of crap that is elf tradition. On the upside, if your father keels over and dies, you get a nice cut of his estate.” Avraniel sneered before reaching for one of the rabbits and drawing her dagger. The girl flinched away and gave a small shriek. “Oh, come on. I’m not going to stab you. If I wanted to stab you, you’d already be stabbed. What I am going to do is to teach you how to prepare and cook a rabbit. If we’re going to be stuck together for a week or so, you need to pull your weight.” She handed the girl a dagger and the other rabbit. “Take this and copy me but be very careful. Fire isn’t much good for healing people unless you count cauterising wounds shut as healing.”

“Do we have to?” the girl asked. The thought of cutting up the rabbit had her looking more than a little queasy.

“You need to learn how to do stuff like this. Sooner or later, everyone ends up stuck in the middle of a forest being hunted down by several dozen people who want to murder them. What are you going to do, ask for a break so you can get food from a tavern? And let’s say you do learn how to hunt, how are you going to eat what you kill if you don’t know how to prepare and cook it properly?” She snickered. “I guess you could try eating a rabbit with its fur still on.”

The girl swallowed thickly. “That sounds awful.”

“I’m sure it is. Now, do what I do.”

A surprisingly short time later – the girl was a quick learner although she very nearly emptied her stomach on no less than four separate occasions – they had prepared both rabbits and had them cooking over the fire.

The girl stared at her hands. “Do we have any water to wash our hands?”

“We don’t need any.” Avraniel gestured. Flame enveloped the girl’s hands, and she screamed like a banshee, only to fall silent when she wasn’t crippled by agonising pain. “Not bad, huh? Wasting water on clean up is a mess. I can just burn all the dirt and grime off, and my control is more than good enough to keep my fire from burning you.”

“Amazing… how did you learn to do this?” the girl whispered. She waved her hands around and watched the flames ebb and flow around her fingers.

“Practice makes perfect, and water is better used for drinking and cooking than cleaning.” Avraniel gestured again, and the flames vanished. “Most people don’t realise it, but you can alter fire in a lot of ways. It’s not just about making it hotter. You can make it more force than heat if you want to blow something apart, and you can even control the direction that heat flows which is important if you’re trying to melt something without making a mess or if you don’t want to get caught in your own explosions.” She snapped her fingers, and a cloud of flame swirled to life around them before dissolving into sparks. “It helps that you’ve got magic of your own. I can feel it and use it to control my fire more accurately.”

The girl giggled as the sparks faded into nothingness. “I bet you learned because it reduced how much work you had to do.”

“Laziness makes the world go around, kid. Why do you think people invent stuff? It’s to save them time, effort, and money.” Avraniel glanced back at the rabbits and took a deep breath. “Those are done now. Eat up.”

They were enjoying dessert – the girl had rummaged through her pockets and discovered some candy, which she had oh so generous deigned to share with Avraniel – when the elf realised something. She must have been spending way too much time around the squirrels if it had taken her this long to notice it.

“Hey, kid, I just realised… I don’t even know your name. I could keep calling you ‘kid’, but it might make things complicated if we run into other travellers with kids.”

“Katarina Valerie Jenson.”

Jenson? Avraniel fiddled with one of her daggers. She spent most of her time in the forest unless she had something to sell or she was being paid very generously, but she recognised that name. “Wait! Isn’t that the same last name as one of the members of the Council?”

Katarina nodded. “My grandfather is on the Council. He was… a bit mad about my mother and father, but we’ve always gotten along well. I don’t think he cares that I’m illegitimate.”

“Councillor Jenson… I’ve heard about him. He was a soldier, a damn good one too. If I remember right, his mother was a commoner, illegitimate too. It was a big scandal although I’m not surprised you don’t know about it.” Avraniel chuckled. “You’re only a kid, and elves live way longer than humans. It might have been a scandal at the time, but for humans, it was generations ago. For elves, it might as well have been yesterday.” She reached over and patted Katarina on the head. “I’m definitely helping you now. Having a Councillor owe me a favour is like money in the bank. If I ever get tossed into prison, helping you out today might be enough to get me out tomorrow.” She pointed to where she’d set up a makeshift bedroll. She didn’t need one since she was used to sleeping rough, but Katarina might. “You should get some rest. We’ve got plenty of travelling ahead of us.”

“Should we split the watch?”

Avraniel grinned. “Good. You’re starting to use that head of yours. But we don’t need to.” She eyed the remains of the rabbits. She hadn’t been very hungry due to their slow pace, so there was still almost an entire rabbit left over. “Do you know how to speak the language of the wild?”

“You mean the one that lets elves talk to animals? No.”

“You should definitely learn it. It might sound stupid, but talking to animals can come in handy.” Avraniel smirked. “You’d be amazed by how much birds see, and rats and squirrels always seem to know where people hide things. All most of them want is food or shelter. You’re a half elf, so I don’t know how well you’ll be able to speak it, but you should be able to pick up some of it. Listen and learn.”

Long ago, long before Everton had been founded or the Eternal Empire had risen, elves had taught animals speech to use amongst themselves. Any elf that took the time to learn this ancient language could communicate with animals. Avraniel wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about being an elf. Any bunch of people who hated fire magic as much as they did had to be jerks. But there were benefits, like living a stupidly long time and being able to talk to animals. Elves also had a tendency to think that simply being an elf made them awesome. What a load of crap. Avraniel was awesome, and it had nothing to do with being an elf and everything to do with mastering her magic and being able to pummel anyone she wanted. Saying someone was awesome because they were an elf made about as much sense as congratulating a rat for being a rat. She called out into the darkness, and it wasn’t long before a wolf emerged from the shadows.

“Relax,” Avraniel said to Katarina. The girl had gone pale and scrambled over to her. “He’s here because I asked if anyone was willing to give us a hand.” She continued talking to the wolf, doing her best to ignore the iron grip Katarina had on her arm. It was almost insulting. The kid better not think they were in danger because Avraniel could kill a wolf with her bare hands.

This wolf was an older fellow. He’d lost his pack some time ago, and he’d been on his own ever since, eking out a living. She could sympathise, so she decided to make him an offer. If he came with them and kept watch whenever she slept or rested, she’d see to it that he was kept well fed and safe from anything that could harm him while they were travelling. She wouldn’t normally have bothered. She and those crazy squirrels had an understanding, but they weren’t near the squirrels anymore. The kid wasn’t worth a damn in a fight, and she didn’t seem to know much about surviving in the forest. The wolf, though, he was a survivor, and he could be counted on to keep watch. The wolf nodded his agreement, and Avraniel tossed him the rabbit. He ate it with obvious relish and settled down near the fire.

“He’ll take first watch, and I’ll take the next one. Get some rest and don’t worry. He’s not going to eat you.” The wolf, a lean grey with a scar across his face and another across one of his flanks, gave them both a toothy smile. “See? Would someone with a smile like his eat you?”

“Yes!”

“Heh. You need to loosen up a little, kid.”

“Kid? I told you my name. It’s Katarina.”

“I know, but I like ‘kid’ better. It suits you.”

* * *

“Can you use a bow?” Avraniel asked.

“No.”

“And based on what you’ve said and your pathetic attempts to cut up a rabbit, I think it’s safe to say that you can’t use a dagger. How about a sword? Nobles, human or elf, usually learn how to use a sword, right?”

“My grandfather wanted to teach me, but my mother said I should wait until I was a bit older.”

“Damn, kid, are you trying to get killed? It’s a big, scary world out there filled with big, scary people. You either learn how to fight or you end up dead.” She patted the wolf that was padding alongside them. “This guy here? He’s got the right idea. He’s a survivor. A wolf doesn’t survive this long on its own without knowing a thing or two. You? You’d end up inside some bear’s belly inside of a day or two.”

“My mother thought it would be best to raise me as a proper lady.”

Avraniel snorted. “I’ve seen proper ladies who could kill half a dozen men inside a minute with a hair pin. Trust me, you can be a proper lady and somebody who can massacre people at the same time.” She trailed off. “Hmm… do you see that?”

Katarina blinked and looked around. “See what? All I see is… trees, lots and lots of trees.”

“Over there. Look through the gap in the trees, down by the river. I don’t know how good your sight is, but you’re still half elf. You should be able to see it. It’s behind a boulder.”

Katarina squinted. “Is that… the entrance to a cave?”

Avraniel rubbed her hands together. “Let’s take a look.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean… what if there’s a bear in it or something?”

“Fine. I’m going to have a look, and you can stay here with the wolf –”

“I’ll come with you!”

Avraniel laughed. The kid was so predictable. She studied the terrain between them and the cave. It wasn’t that far away, but the quickest route had a small problem: they would have to leap off a cliff. Her lips curled. Cliffs weren’t a problem, not for her. She grabbed the wolf in one arm and Katarina in the other and broke into a sprint toward the cliff. The girl gave a terrified wail as Avraniel gathered herself and leapt. As she tumbled toward the ground, her magic roared to life. She fired a blast of flame downward to slow her descent and landed in a crouch. Katarina immediately stumbled away and found a nice place to vomit in delayed terror. The wolf simply nudged her with his head and asked if they could do that again. She grinned. She liked him already.

“I wouldn’t mind going again, but I’m not sure the kid would live through it.” Avraniel took a quick look around as Katarina staggered to the river to wash her mouth out. If there was treasure in the cave, she didn’t want to be ambushed on her way out.

Katarina tried to kill her with her eyes before realising the utter futility of glaring at someone who actually could set things on fire just by looking at them. “That was awful. Please, never do that again without at least warning me first.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Avraniel led them toward the entrance to the cave. “How’s your night vision?”

“It’s much better than a human’s. I’ve never had trouble seeing at night.”

“Good. I can use my magic to make light, but I’d rather not. These caves always have something hiding in them, and waving a light around is a great way to draw the wrong kind of attention.” Avraniel stepped into the cave with Katarina behind her and the wolf at the back. “If we’re lucky, there will be some nice, easily sold treasure waiting for us in here.” She glanced back at Katarina. “Word of advice, kid. Treasure isn’t worth a damn thing unless you can move it. Coins and gems are great, but if you find something really exotic, finding a buyer who won’t stab you in the back can be tricky. Sure, I can always set them on fire, but it’s still a pain in the ass. Besides, most people treacherous enough to stab you in the back aren’t going to be carrying their valuables with them, so you’re not exactly making a profit.”

“Uh… right.” Katarina grimaced. “I’ll be sure to remember that… if… I ever have to sell any treasure.”

It didn’t take them long to find the treasure. It was only a short stroll from the entrance to the cave. There was only one problem. There was something guarding the treasure.

“Huh.” Avraniel frowned faintly as the creature in front of her caught fire but did not fall to the ground in screaming, hideous agony. She could simply increase the heat of her flames or the force behind them, but she didn’t want to bring the cave down. It wasn’t like she was afraid of being buried under the rubble. Her magic could easily blast or melt the rock away, but bringing the cave down would bury the treasure, which meant they’d have to dig it out. “What is that thing?”

The creature was a glowing, faintly green apparition in the vague shape of a hydra. It was mostly intangible – its legs seemed to disappear down through the floor of the cave – but the acid it spat was definitely tangible. Avraniel leaned to one side, and a spray of acid splashed onto the wall of the cave. The rock bubbled and began to melt.

“Wait.” Her amber eyes narrowed. “It looks kind of like a ghost hydra or something. Katarina, can you use your magic on it?”

“I – I think so!”

“Then use it.”

Katarina, who had spent most of the short fight huddled behind Avraniel, hurriedly called upon her magic. Tendrils of radiant white light burst out of the ground and ensnared the creature. The girl’s magic made a low humming sound and the ghostly hydra was suddenly far more solid and corporeal. Avraniel cackled.

“Not bad, kid. Now, stand back. I bet this bastard will burn now.”

One thorough, thorough roasting later, and Avraniel carried a large chest out of the cave. She dumped it onto the ground, and both the wolf and the girl watched closely as she forced it open. Katarina might not have wanted to go after the treasure, but she definitely wanted to know what was in the chest.

The chest swung open, and Avraniel scowled. “What? That’s it?”

There was some kind of artefact inside the box. It appeared to have been disassembled, and all she could make out were gears and various other bits and pieces. The urge to melt the whole mess down into scrap was overwhelming. She’d been hoping for something simple, like bars of gold or maybe silver coins. Even if this thing were valuable, finding a buyer for it would be a hassle.

“Wait!” Katarina cried as Avraniel’s magic surged. “Do you know what this is?”

“No.” Avraniel paused. “But I’m guessing you do if you don’t want me to blow it up.”

“It’s a clock,” Katarina explained. “My mother has one just like it. I watched when the smith came to repair it one day. I don’t know if that chest has all the parts, but clocks like this are very valuable. They’re popular with the nobility too.”

“I see.” Avraniel shoved the chest into the sack she’d stolen from the mercenaries. It was definitely handy to have something that was bigger on the inside than the outside. It must do something about the weight too because the sack was definitely lighter than the chest had been. “I’ll keep it then. I might even offer it to your father when we get to that bastard’s place.” She glanced up at the sky. The whole thing hadn’t even taken an hour. “We should get going. We’ve got lots more ground to cover.”

“It didn’t help that you took us on this detour.”

“It wasn’t a detour, kid. We were getting treasure.”

“It’s still a detour even if there’s treasure.”

“It doesn’t count as a detour if there’s treasure.”

* * *

Nine days – and several more detours for treasure – later, Avraniel breathed a sigh of relief. They had finally reached the large estate that Lord Galterion called home. The estate covered a large chunk of the forest, and it was dotted with several settlements. At the heart of it was a splendid manor, and Avraniel strolled right up to the gate before she made her presence known. Heh. That uptight jerk needed better guards if she was able to get this close before being spotted. Once they noticed her, the guards at the gate paled. She bit back a cackle. Good. They knew who she was, and they were terrified.

“Halt!” one of the elves at the gate cried. “Halt, villain!” His words were impressive, his trembling sword arm less so.

Villain? Avraniel snorted and calmly used her magic to disintegrate the arrow one of the guards was stupid enough to shoot at her. If the kid hadn’t been there, she would have turned him into a bonfire for his mistake. “You know, you might want to be more careful. You’re not going to hurt me with an arrow, but you might hit the kid.”

“The kid?”

Katarina stepped out from behind Avraniel and held up an elaborate broach. It was probably some keepsake from her mother. It looked expensive, but the girl’s lunar opal would be worth far more money. “I am Katarina Valerie Jensen, daughter of Lord Galterion.”

The guards stared.

The one from before spluttered incoherently for several seconds before finding his voice again. “You fiend! To think that you would resort to kidnapping children for ransom!”

“Idiot.” Avraniel was sorely tempted to set all of them on fire, but she was here to hand the kid over to her father not start a fight although perhaps a light singeing would be good. “I didn’t kidnap her, you dumb bastard. I saved her from mercenaries, and she hired me to bring her here. Now, run off and tell your jerk of a master that I’m here with his daughter, and I expect to be compensated for my trouble.” None of them moved. Her eye twitched, and the temperature began to rise with alarming speed. “Move!” The wolf beside them chortled, not used to seeing elves so terrified.

As the guards ran off, Katarina reached into her pocket and handed Avraniel the lunar opal. “Thank you,” the girl said. “For helping me.”

Avraniel waved one hand dismissively and took her reward. “I don’t like seeing people go after kids, and, hey, it’s not like I’m walking away empty handed.” She lowered her voice. “Don’t tell your father you just paid me. I’m sure he can afford to add a little extra on top of that lunar opal.”

Katarina giggled. “I won’t say a word.”

Lord Galterion appeared with a much larger retinue of guards. He took one look at Katarina and hurried out of the gate.

“You!” he growled at Avraniel.

He was tall, even for an elf, and he was broad-shouldered too. The sword he carried on his back was almost as big as she was, and he wasn’t carrying it for show. She could honestly say that he was one of the best swordsmen she’d faced. Of course, gigantic amounts of fire trumped swordsmanship every day of the week.

“On any other day,” Lord Galterion hissed. “I would kill you where you stand.” Avraniel rolled her eyes. If he had the strength to kill her, he’d have done it years ago. “But you have done me a great service. I feared my daughter slain or kidnapped when my scouts found the bodies of mercenaries alongside the bodies of her escort. For saving my daughter and bringing her to me safely, you have my thanks, miscreant.” He tossed her a large pouch. “Take it and leave. You have until sundown to depart my lands. Linger, and I shall have you arrested and put to death.”

Avraniel peeked into the pouch. Not bad. “Don’t worry, you bastard. I’ll be gone soon enough.”

Katarina looked between them in confusion. “Father… what… why are you talking about putting her to death?”

Avraniel grinned at the girl. She still hadn’t figured it out. “You know that monster your escort warned you about, the one I kept saying we didn’t have to worry about?” Her grin turned toothy. “I’m the monster. Think about it. Amber eyes. Fire magic. Well, I don’t have pointy teeth, but you get the idea.” She ruffled Katarina’s hair. “But even monsters have standards. I don’t go after kids.” She pocketed the pouch. “I’ll be heading off, kid. Your father and I don’t get along, and I’ve got plans for the reward I got.” She gave Lord Galterion a pointed look. “Next time, get your kid a better escort. Those mercenaries sucked, so the escort she had must have been even worse.”

Avraniel gave Katarina one last jaunty wave and then walked away. She could feel Lord Galterion seething behind her, and it was glorious, almost as good as the reward she’d gotten. “Come on,” she said to the wolf. “I’ll take you back to where I found you. You’ve held up your end of the bargain.” She smiled faintly. “Hell, you’re welcome to hang around for a while if you want. You’re better company than those damn squirrels.”

The wolf grinned and padded after her. Avraniel set a more sedate pace. She had a pouch full of precious gems that would last her for decades and a lunar opal that was worth almost as much as the gems. She wanted to savour this. The only thing missing was a nice, hot meal, but she wasn’t stupid enough to linger. Lord Galterion meant what he’d said, and she wouldn’t put it past the loser to stab her in the back if he thought Katarina wouldn’t notice. Elf lords were all bastards. It was simply a matter of when he’d try to screw her over, not if he would.

One day, she’d have enough money to get all of her enemies off her back and leave the forest behind. She’d find a nice island somewhere and have a big house. She’d sleep on the beach and maybe get a dragon, something big and scary that loved fire as much as she did. She might even get a dog too. Regular dogs were okay, but there had to be a dog out there that could impress her. Yeah, something different, something big and tough that wouldn’t mind being around her or her dragon.

* * *

Avraniel and the wolf maintained their slow pace even after they were a safe distance from Lord Galterion’s manor. It was the same pace they’d set with Katarina, and it gave Avraniel time to consider her next move. She needed a safe place for the reward she’d been given, which meant she’d have to leave the forest for a while to visit the bank that had agreed to do business with her. They were a stuffy bunch, but they were good at what they did, and they had yet to cheat her. It could have been professional ethics, or maybe they were smart enough to realise that dead men had no use for money and she would absolutely make them dead men if they cheated her. It puzzled her. She was a wanted criminal, but they still did business with her. Either they had a bizarre sense of humour, or they didn’t like the elves any more than she did.

As night fell, a strange sense of unease filled her. The wolf felt it too because he gave her a low whine and nudged her leg without even touching the two rabbits she’d caught for him. He was hungry, but he was nervous too, very nervous.

“I feel it.” As an elf, Avraniel could commune with nature although the forest didn’t like her much. The only reason it didn’t lash out at her more was because she could – and would – respond by setting the damn thing on fire. “I might have to talk to the forest. I don’t like it, but I need to know what’s going on. This… feeling isn’t right.” Her jaw clenched. “It reminds me of the time I ran into Black Scales, which is not an experience I want to repeat.”

The forest told her a lot, and she barely had to ask. It wanted her to turn back. Something awful was happening at Lord Galterion’s manor. The forest spoke of the currents of magic in the area being twisted and bent, of an ancient evil being unleashed –

Despite her magic, Avraniel’s blood turned to ice.

She could vaguely remember stories she’d heard when she’d been a child and not yet completely fed up with everything about how certain parts of the forest had been used to seal away great evils in the ancient days that even the elves could barely remember. Some things were almost impossible to kill, but the forest’s natural power and connection to the land allowed it to bind things that would have been impossible to imprison anywhere else. But there were ways around the forest’s power. Someone, like an elf lord, would need to know a lot about ancient lore and to have access to the right parts of the forest, most of which belonged to certain prominent families.

They would also need someone with the right kind of magic – binding magic.

Avraniel ordered the wolf to stay put. He’d only get killed in a fight like the one she was in for. Jaw clenched, she ran back toward the manor. She’d spent the whole week keeping that damn brat alive, and she’d be damned if she let something happen to her now. When she got back to the manor, all of the guards who should have been on patrol were already dead, or so she thought. As she approached the gates, one of them stumbled toward her, clutching at a wound that would have killed a less determined man.

“Lord Galterion has lost his mind,” he rasped. “You have to stop him! He’s going to –”

“I know.” Avraniel raised one hand. Fire swirled around it. “I need to cauterise your wound, or you’ll bleed to death. You’ll pass out, so I need to know where he is.”

“In the garden behind the manor… next to the shrine.”

Avraniel seared the wound shut, and the guard passed out. She hoped he lived. He was an idiot, but he was a brave idiot. “You’d better live,” she muttered. “Otherwise, I know this is all going to get blamed on me.”

* * *

Avraniel crept into the gardens, and it didn’t take her more than a few seconds to spot Katarina. The girl had been staked out in the middle of the garden on top of some intricate runes and seals while her bastard of a father and some of his cronies performed a ritual of some kind. A miasma of writhing shadows surrounded the girl, and there were freaky things with teeth everywhere. And by teeth, she meant just teeth. They didn’t even have eyes. They were just… big spheres of teeth. Her fists clenched. She might be a criminal, but at least she didn’t go around using her own children in evil rituals. Fire sang in her veins, and she stepped out into the open. She hurled a blast of flame, but a glowing barrier sprung to life between her and the ritual. Several more blasts of flame blew it apart.

“Why am I not surprised,” Lord Galterion hissed. “You were always making a nuisance of yourself. You have your reward. Leave!”

Avraniel was not in the mood for making her enemies suffer. She just wanted him and the rest of his cronies dead because he was really starting to piss her off. Whatever they were doing to Katarina couldn’t be good. The girl had started screaming, and she showed no signs of stopping any time soon. Avraniel didn’t bother to reply. Instead, she flung her arms out, and fire as bright and hot as the sun spilled outward, consuming everything that it touched. The smell of melting rock and burning flesh filled the air, and Avraniel growled as her magic receded. The cronies and the weird teeth creatures were all dead, but Lord Galterion and the runes and seals seemed unharmed. Katarina was still screaming too. Her brows furrowed. Something was wrong with Lord Galterion. She hadn’t noticed it at first, but it was impossible to miss now. His magic felt different, like there was something crawling around under his skin.

“You’re one sick bastard. You’re not just using your daughter to break the prison of some monster. No, you’re going to make yourself a vessel for that monster too, right?”

The elf lord laughed. “Not bad, miscreant. With my daughter’s life and her magic, I can free the One Who Walks Between! I will become one with him and rule this pathetic world.” Shadows billowed outward, and his flesh twitched and writhed under his skin. Inky darkness bled out from a series of elaborate symbols cut onto his exposed flesh. “Behold my power!”

“Behold your power?” Avraniel leapt out of the way as tendrils of shadows erupted from him, slicing through earth and wood with disturbing ease. “Do you hear yourself?”

More shadows rose up from the ground, and Lord Galterion was lifted upward, held aloft by a spire of gathering darkness. Tendrils of shadow lanced toward Avraniel. She blasted some of them apart but did her best to dodge the others. She had a lot of magic – more than anyone she’d ever met – but if he really had turned himself into a vessel for an otherworldly monstrosity, then even she might not be able to win a battle of attrition. She also had to consider Katarina. The girl was in the midst of all the shadows, and Avraniel couldn’t risk frying her by really cutting loose.

She bared her teeth. What was it with people going insane in their pursuit of power?

Cracks appeared in the shadows, glowing lines of white that burst open to reveal countless opalescent eyes. Those same eyes began to appear all over Lord Galterion’s body. He had become a nightmare made flesh, space and time bent and twisted beneath the unearthly power pouring out of him. Avraniel sighed. This was going to get messy.

She hurled bolts of flame, but curtains of shadow rose to intercept each attack. More shadows ripped out of the ground, and she darted back and forth to avoid them. It was a good thing she’d ordered the wolf to stay behind. He wouldn’t have survived something like this, and it would have been a shame for a survivor like him to die for something that didn’t involve him. A wave of fire dispelled the shadows closest to her, and she frowned. Something was wrong. He had a lot more power than this, but he wasn’t using it. What was –

In that instant, she realised what was happening, but it was too late. The ground vanished beneath her, replaced entirely by his shadows. She jumped into a tree and unleashed an inferno at the ground. The darkness simply swallowed her fire.

“Die!” Lord Galterion roared, his voice a twisted, garbled parody of its usual self. “Die, miscreant!”

The shadows rose up and consumed the world.

* * *

Avraniel let out a derisive laugh. Great. She’d apparently been consumed by some kind of primordial darkness from between dimensions or something and was being tormented by visions of her awful childhood in what she presumed was an attempt to drive her to madness and despair.

Yay.

Her lips curled. What a joke. This thing – whatever it was – had made a big, big mistake. Her childhood had sucked, sure, but she’d accepted it years ago. People were jerks, not all of them but a lot of them. It was that simple. She’d also accepted that she wasn’t perfect either. Maybe she could have compromised a bit more, but that wasn’t how she wanted to live her life. She wanted to live her life the way she wanted without some idiots telling her what to say, think, or do. Visions of her past? Please. She would have died years ago if she couldn’t handle something like this.

But the real mistake this thing had made wasn’t tormenting her about her past. It was much simpler. It had swallowed her whole. She was inside it now, and she didn’t have to worry about Katarina getting caught in one of her attacks. As this thing was about to learn, anyone who messed with her was in for a rude awakening.

Avraniel’s eyes began to glow, turning from amber to molten gold. Beneath her skin, her veins took on a similar appearance, as if molten metal were flowing through her veins instead of blood. Her skin turned translucent, almost crystalline, and she bared her teeth and growled a single word.

“Burn.”

And everything burned.

* * *

“You dumb bastard,” Avraniel said as she stood over the twitching, burnt form of Lord Galterion. “Trying to kill me like that was a mistake. You should have stuck to doing things the conventional way, like cutting me in half or something. Emotional torture, are you kidding me? I’m actually insulted you thought that would work.” She drew an arrow from her bow. “I guess this is goodbye.”

“Wait!” he cried, holding up one deformed hand. His entire body had been horribly twisted by the interrupted ritual. “I can pay you –”

“Goodbye.”

She put an arrow through his eye and then incinerated his body for good measure. It was better to be sure. By the time she was done, there wasn’t even ash left. With the bastard out of the way, she went to Katarina. The runes and seals had vanished, but she still melted the ground where they had been to glass once she had carried Katarina a safe distance away.

“Hey, kid. You’d better be alive.”

“Avraniel?” Katarina’s eyes fluttered open. Her voice was still hoarse from all of her screaming. “I – my father!”

“I put an arrow through his eye and reduced him to even less than ash.” Avraniel pointed to the scorch marks on the ground that hinted at his fate. “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that he lied about legitimising you to get you out here for this ritual of his.”

Katarina nodded tearfully. “Yes.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, he was probably in a lot of pain before I put him out of his misery.” Avraniel could sense other elves approaching. She recognised some of them from their magic alone. “Listen, kid, I’ve got to run for it, but you’ll be fine. There are other elves coming, ones you can trust. Believe me, at least two of those bastards would play by the rules even if their lives depended on it. They’re jerks, but they’re honourable jerks, which is why I can’t be around when they get here.”

“Wait!” Katarina cried. “I’ll tell them what happened –”

“Save your breath, kid.” Avraniel chuckled. “They’d never believe you anyway. They might believe your father was up to no good, but they’ll never believe I wasn’t simply looking for an excuse to kill him. We were enemies for a long time.” She gave Katarina a smirk. “I’ll see you around. Even half elves live a long time. Let me know if you’re ever in my neck of the woods again. This… well… it’s been pretty fun, all things considered.”

It would be years, many, many years, before they saw each other again.

* * *

Katarina followed the zombie through the winding corridors of Black Tower Castle. For a place that was built atop lightless chasms of infinite horror and woe, it was surprisingly hospitable. Sure, it had a menacing, eerie aura, but it was the home of a Grand Necromancer. She would have been disappointed if it wasn’t at least a little bit odd. However, she’d already seen that it was well maintained with excellent plumbing and ventilation to avoid many of the problems associated with old castles. The servants she’d met had been a tad unusual. She could have sworn one of them moved more like an assassin than a maid, but they were attentive and polite.

A small smile crossed her lips as she thought back to one of the most important periods of her life. She’d been saved by a pyromaniac elf, and she’d learned some very important lessons too. It was all well and good to hope that someone would save her, but it was far better to be strong enough to save herself. Besides, how could she help other people if she couldn’t even help herself?

After the debacle with her father, she had become a cleric. In fact, she’d become more than a cleric. She had risen to become one of the chief instructors in the Order of the Blessed Dawn. She had even played a key role in the education of the current Supreme Cleric, one of the most powerful people in the world. She sometimes wondered who would win if Avraniel and Vicky were to fight. It would certainly be a fight worth watching, albeit from a distance because there was bound to be a lot of property damage.

It had been so long since those days in the forest. She’d only been with Avraniel and the wolf for a little over a week, but she’d done her best since then to be worthy of the effort the elf had put into keeping her alive. Oh, Katarina still looked to be a woman of about thirty, and she’d stay that way for several more decades before she began to age at a more noticeable rate, but time had changed her.

Blind idealism wasn’t something she did anymore. Avraniel was living proof of how wrong it could be. Her father, an elf lord, had been willing to kill her to bring about the apocalypse, but the elf version of the bogeyman had been the one to save her. Recently, an opportunity had arisen. Vicky, her old student, had mentioned that one of her friends was pursuing a pardon. Katarina had asked if a similar offer could be extended to Avraniel. War was coming, and Avraniel was perfect for war. Moreover, she sincerely believed that Avraniel might, just maybe, take the offer if someone like Timmy was the one making it.

She’d only met the necromancer a few times when he’d been attending the same academy as Vicky, but she’d seen something in him then, and Vicky’s words about him over the years had only strengthened that belief. He was a Grand Necromancer, but he was also a good man. The Council had ordered him to find and recruit Avraniel, and he’d somehow managed to pull it off.

So much had happened since then. Timmy and his group had proven to be extremely effective, and Katarina had finally found the time to pay her old friend a visit. It would be the first time she’d seen Avraniel since the elf had saved her and run off before the authorities could show up.

The zombie led her to a large courtyard, and Katarina found herself grinning from ear to ear. A young dragon was wrestling with a three-headed dog the size of a warhorse while Avraniel shouted words of encouragement and advice. All three of them stopped and looked at Katarina when she stepped into the courtyard. For a second, Katarina was worried that Avraniel wouldn’t recognise her. It had been more than a century, and she’d been only a child then. Avraniel, of course, hadn’t aged a day.

“Well, well, well.” Avraniel grinned. “I recognise that magic. You grew up, kid.” She looked Katarina up and down. “And going by those clothes you’re wearing, you became a cleric too. You must work for the idiot’s friend, right?”

“You haven’t changed,” Katarina replied. “Still calling people names.” She smiled. “Would it be all right if we talked? We have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Avraniel waved at the dragon. The reptile was waving his shorty, stumpy tail around enthusiastically as he darted over to Katarina and sniffed at her clothes. “Don’t worry about, Spot. He’s checking to see if you have any food.” She walked over and scratched the dragon behind the ears. “Go off and eat with Chomp, Spot. I’ll be over here talking.”

There was a half-eaten cow in one corner of the courtyard. The dragon bounded toward it while the three-headed dog followed at a more sedate pace.

Avraniel snorted. “You’d never believe it, but Spot there eats way more food than Chomp. He’s a growing dragon, I guess, but I still don’t know how he fits all of it into his stomach.”

Katarina sat down on a bench near Avraniel. “We have a lot to talk about, but I’ve been wondering for a long time… whatever happened to the wolf?” She caught a glimpse of someone flying through the sky over the castle. It was the girl she’d seen when she’d first arrived. Timmy’s apprentice bore a more than passing resemblance to how she’d looked as a child. “And do you still make a habit of saving kids when they’re in trouble?”

“The wolf hung around for a few years. He ended up founding his own pack, actually. Last time I checked, they were doing okay although that was years and years ago.” Avraniel’s lips twitched. “He and his pack moved on not long after his first pups were born. The squirrels threw a party. The little bastards never liked him.” Avraniel followed Katarina’s gaze. “Are you wondering if I ever had to save the twerp? She didn’t need saving unlike someone I know.”

Piracy

(Set After Two Necromancers, a Dragon, and a Vampire)

Jake watched the imperial merchant ship sink beneath the waves – minus its cargo and its crew – with a deep sense of satisfaction. Given his history with the Eternal Empire, namely its numerous attempts to kill him and his crew after wiping out their towns and villages, he could hardly be faulted for his reaction. He wasn’t running a charity either. He was a privateer. Relying solely on the goodwill of his employer was not an option. He needed to get results. Fortunately, he was very good at getting results, and getting results happened to be very profitable. Any imperial goods or funds he seized were split between him and his crew, Timmy, and Everton.

Unlike the Eternal Empire, he actually cared about collateral damage. His grudge was not against the merchants whose ships he raided and sank, so he did his best to minimise casualties. The merchant vessel had promptly surrendered after finding itself up against a dreadnought, and he’d ordered its crew onto a longboat with enough supplies to get them to a nearby island. It wouldn’t be a pleasant trip, and no small number of the merchant ship’s crew had complained. The merchant himself had made an awful ruckus, wailing about the horror and indignity of it all, much to the dismay of the more pragmatic crew. Jake had silenced him and all of the other complainers by calmly pointing out that he could, if he wanted, simply loot their ship, lock them below decks, and open fire with his dreadnought’s mundane and magical weaponry. The gods themselves knew that the Eternal Empire would have done it if their positions had been reversed, but he liked to think he was better than his enemies.

There were also more practical considerations to take into account. Murdering the entire crew of a merchant ship would give the Eternal Empire the pretext it needed to go to war immediately, and Everton was not quite ready for open conflict. As piracy went, ordering the crew onto a longboat was considered wonderfully polite.

“Captain!” one of his crewmen cried as he bounded over with the sort of enthusiasm only a stomach full of good food and a cargo hold full of valuable loot could inspire. “Care to inspect our takings more closely? It’s a fine haul, I think, a very fine haul indeed.”

Jake was not an expert on magical artefacts. His career as a privateer and a pirate had focused more on using magic to sink other ships, but he was great at assessing the worth of more mundane goods. Whether it was spices, fabric, precious metals, or even alcohol, Jake only needed a quick glance to arrive at a decent estimate of something’s value. From what he’d seen earlier, his crewman was right.

The merchant ship’s cargo had consisted mostly of spices and rare herbs, many of which he vaguely recognised as being quite valuable to apothecaries and mages. Such herbs often did poorly when farmed, so they had to be painstakingly gathered from the remote forests, rugged mountains, and searing deserts they favoured. Naturally, those locations were home to all manner of fearsome beasts, such as hydras, dragons, and basilisks, all of which were more than happy to deal with any would-be herb gatherers. There had also been some precious gemstones and metals, but they were the easiest objects to value. Every privateer kept a close eye on the price of gold and silver, along with the value of gems like ruby, sapphire, emerald, and diamond.

“Take a full account of it all,” Jake said, clapping the other man over the shoulder. This fellow had been with him since the beginning of his life as a privateer. “And have Frederick and the other mages go through it all too. If there is anything magical amongst the loot, I want it properly catalogued and safely stored.” He lowered his voice. “And make sure to take an honest tally of our takings. We have a good arrangement here, and I’ve no intention of throwing it away over a few coins.”

The crewman nodded gravely and went off to carry his orders. Jake’s thoughts drifted back to Timmy. The necromancer was certainly eccentric – he fought with a shovel and had used a zombie kraken as a siege weapon – but he was friendly enough, and he’d proven himself both on the field of battle and outside it by leading the assault on the island and by securing Jake and his crew positions as privateers for Everton under his employ. Jake had learned the hard way that good, reliable allies were hard to come by, and Timmy was not the sort of person he wanted as an enemy.

At first glance, Timmy came off as laidback, perhaps even foolish. But any man who could lead a successful attack against one of the most fortified locations in the Eternal Empire was not someone to be taken lightly. If the rumours he’d heard were true, Timmy had defeated the Lord of Magic in charge of the island in single combat. Even without a zombie kraken at his command, Timmy was a dangerous man, no matter how amiable he seemed. Jake also had a healthy respect for anyone brave enough to stick his arm into a dragon’s mouth to brush the aforementioned dragon’s teeth. Oh, Spot was friendly enough, but those teeth of his were no joke. A careless movement, and Timmy could easily have found himself missing an arm. Despite Spot’s lack of size – he wasn’t exactly a winged behemoth of fiery doom just yet – Jake had seen firsthand how easily the dragon’s teeth had ripped through flesh and armour.

Roughly two hours later, one of the sentries bellowed a warning. Something was flying toward them. Dusk wasn’t far off and the sun was in his eyes, so he couldn’t get a good look at it. It could simply be a sea drake returning to its roost, which would be harmless enough since sea drakes rarely attacked anything bigger than they were, or it could be an imperial scout.

“Crow’s nest!” he shouted. “Any word? I want to know what that flier is.”

One of his mages cast a scrying spell, and the identity of the flier was soon revealed. It was a zombie wyvern, and Jake had a fair idea of whom it belonged to. If he had any doubts, they were dispelled the instant he managed to get a good look at it through a spyglass. The zombie wyvern had an incredibly pink scarf around its neck. He chuckled. Only Katie would put something so pink on a zombie wyvern. For someone who seemed to embrace many of the more traditional aspects of being a necromancer, the girl had a rather disturbing devotion to the colour pink. This zombie wyvern was smaller than some of the others he’d seen, so it was likely there to deliver a message, rather than to deliver cargo or transport people.

The zombie wyvern landed on the deck and waited patiently as Jake unrolled the scroll that had been secured to its harness. It was also carrying some lighter but useful bits and pieces, like additional spyglasses and a scrying sphere, but he let his crew handle those. They’d be put to good use, and a high-quality scrying sphere would make future communication much easier once he and his mages had grown accustomed to its use. The message itself was simple. Timmy and Katie wanted him to help a man named John Seaton V acquire something for them. What made things complicated was what they wanted him to acquire. His lips curled. They didn’t do things in halves, did they? They wanted him to acquire some fresh leviathan scales.

“Prepare to change course,” Jake ordered as he ran through everything he knew about leviathans in his head, almost all of which was hideously unpleasant. “We need to drop off our cargo before we start our next mission.” He smiled grimly. “And make sure all of our weapons are in prime condition. I doubt they’ll be much good if we have to fight, but it can’t hurt to be prepared.”

* * *

John Seaton V was a tall, lean man who seemed to have something against shirts and tunics. There were plenty of scars on his arms and upper body, which wasn’t surprising given that he made a living hunting sea monsters and other vicious quarry. Jake and his dreadnought had met with John’s ship not long after departing Everton’s waters, and the two vessels were now sailing alongside each other through calm waters. But the calm was deceptive. Leviathans were gigantic creatures capable of altering the sea and the weather with terrifying ease. An angry leviathan could turn even the calmest sea into a tempest-blasted maelstrom in a matter of moments.

“Enjoying the meal?” Jake asked. As was his custom, he had invited John and some of his crew aboard. He’d always found it easier to take the measure of a person over a good meal, and sharing a meal with someone was a fine display of trust.

“It’s good.” John chuckled heartily. Despite his rugged appearance, he was quick to smile and make conversation. “It’s much better than what I’ve been eating recently. I believe in eating what my crew eats, and we’ve been at sea for some time. We were about to head back to port, but this opportunity was not one we could afford to miss. Katherine may still be an apprentice, but her research is impeccable. If she says we’ll get a chance at a legendary leviathan’s scales, you can be sure we will.” He nodded at the food on the table. “Raid a ship lately?”

“I can’t say too much about it, but you might be right.” Jake rubbed his chin. His parrot had watched the dark-haired monster hunter from his perch like a hawk since the meal had begun, but he’d remained relatively quiet. It was a good sign. Dusty was a great judge of character, and if he didn’t like someone, he wouldn’t hesitate to make his opinion known. “What do you think about this mission? Have Timmy and Katie asked for leviathan scales before?”

John chewed on his food for a long moment. “This mission is more from Katherine than her master.” He grinned. “She’s going to be an absolute menace when she grows up. She’s only ten and look what she can do.”

“So this is for a project of hers?”

“Yes. When Katherine first hired my crew and I to get things for her, it didn’t take long before she asked us to get her some leviathan scales. Do you know what you can do with them?”

“Not really. I’m more interested in steering clear of leviathans than in using their scales for anything.” Jake prided himself on being an excellent sailor and a skilled tactician, neither of which would matter against a leviathan. It was like trying to fight a dragon with a pillow. You could devise as cunning a scheme as you wanted, but you were still going to get eaten. Against a leviathan, ships were nothing more than kindling in the midst of an inferno. Even without the magic they wielded, their incredible size and strength made it easy for them to simply smash any ship in their path. Like krakens, leviathans were best avoided unless someone had an entire fleet at their disposal and some very, very powerful mages. “I imagine it’s what most sane people do.”

John’s lips twitched. “You’re probably right, but neither monster hunters nor necromancers qualify as being completely sane.”

Jake acknowledged the point with a nod and sipped on his juice. He hadn’t met many necromancers, but the ones he had met were all a bit odd. “So…?”

“Ah, right.” John reached for more fruit. Scurvy was an awful thing, so every sailor worth his salt took advantage of fresh fruit if it was on offer. “As you know, leviathans are gigantic creatures that bear a passing resemblance to sea serpents and eels in general shape although they are much, much larger. They are also probably the only creatures in the ocean that can pick a fight with a kraken and win. Like dragons, they are innately magical creatures, and their scales contain some of that magic.”

“Go on.”

“I can’t give you too many of the details. I don’t fully understand them myself. But they have magic linked to water. They’re not very subtle with it, but their power is incredible. You might have seen or heard about the huge waves that accompany them, along with the storms and rain. Some of that is due to their size, but some of it is also due to their magic. Their scales are also virtually impervious to water-related magic of any kind. I’ve seen water mages shoot blasts of water at leviathans that would have pierced through a dreadnought with full armour and a large complement of war mages. They didn’t even leave a scratch.”

Jake grimaced. “How much of that is magic and how much of that is the durability of the scales themselves?”

“Don’t get me wrong, leviathan scales are immensely durable, but they’re not as tough as dragon scales, at least, not when you take into account how large they are. Those blasts of water turned into a fine mist the moment they hit the scales.” John took another bite of his apple and frowned. “It makes sense when you think about it. They’re aquatic. If you could turn water against them, they would be much easier to deal with.” He smiled. “Knowing Katherine, she’s going use leviathan scales to make a special kind of alloy. I’ve heard of it. It’s supposed to be incredibly strong, and it will never rust. More importantly, it’s almost completely impervious to water magic too.”

“Do you know how make that alloy?” Jake asked. “It sounds useful.”

“No, I don’t. I do know that you have to grind the scales up and add them to the alloy while it’s still molten hot. Beyond that, I have no idea, and it’s a closely guarded secret.” John leaned back in his chair. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if Katherine has managed to dig up the formula, and this is exactly the sort of thing her master might know. He’s well informed about a lot of things, and Katherine wouldn’t have asked us to get her some scales if she didn’t know what to do with them.”

“You know, Timmy showed himself to be a fine sailor when I last worked with him.” Jake paused as a thought occurred to him. “But I think I know what Katie has in mind. I think she’s going to make Roger more armour.”

“Roger?” John raised one eyebrow. “Who or what is Roger?”

Jake grinned. “I’m glad you asked since she used the shark you got her to make him. Imagine this…”

By the time Jake had finished, John was barely able to string two words together. “She… she actually made something like that?”

“She had some help from Timmy, but Roger was her idea.” Jake shook his head. “I got to see him in action. Believe me, you don’t want to fight him. He took out a galleon in a single attack, and even a dreadnought didn’t do well against him once he managed to get onto the deck. I was only too glad to have him on my side.”

“Necromancers…” John smiled fondly. “But it makes sense now. The only way to deal with something like Roger is to immobilise him and hit him before he can close in. It would be far easier to do that when he’s underwater than when he takes to the air. With armour made out of the alloy I mentioned, that wouldn’t really be an option anymore.”

“Can’t they use the scales from a dead leviathan?” Jake asked. “It would be easier and safer, wouldn’t it?”

“Good question. You can buy leviathan scales on the black market or from a hunter or rare creature dealer, but certain breeds of leviathans have special properties. The scales can’t be too old either. If they’re not processed properly, the magic fades away over time. The processing has to be done while they’re still relatively fresh. Anything more than a couple of weeks is too late.” John smirked. “And the reason Katherine asked us to set course for the Broken Isles is because she wants the scales of a certain leviathan.”

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that the leviathan whose scales we’re after is no ordinary leviathan.”

John slapped one hand down on the table. “Hah! You do understand. Let me put it this way. In my line of work, this leviathan would have to be the most famous in the world.”

“That does not sound good.”

“It depends on how you look at it. We call him the Endless Blue because of how big he is. The last time anyone got a decent look at him, they say he was at least ten miles long. People say he can swallow an island whole.”

“Ten miles…” Jake reached for a drink – not juice this time, but wine. “They don’t seriously expect us to fight him, do they? I’m a privateer, but I enjoy living.”

“Fight him?” John threw his head back and laughed. “Not at all. Most krakens would turn tail and run if they saw him. No, we’ll be watching and waiting to claim the spoils. As big as he is, the Endless Blue isn’t without rivals. There is one kraken in the ocean big enough to give him a run for his money.”

* * *

There were two species that could, with some degree of honesty, claim to be the rulers of the ocean: krakens and leviathans. Age only made them more powerful and cunning, and hatchlings of either species were already monsters capable of devastating fleets and wiping out coastal cities.

The Endless Blue was the oldest and mightiest of leviathans, a colossus who dwarfed the others of his kind. To the mermen who dwelt in the depths, he was one step below a god. Indeed, they believed that he was the first leviathan created by the god of the ocean himself. Yet for all his might, the Endless Blue was not the unquestioned ruler of the ocean. He had an ancient foe, one he had first encountered when the world was young and the gods still walked upon it. The Island That Swims was the first of all krakens, a titan amongst titans. For countless years, they had fought whenever they met. They had sunk empires in their struggles, and dozens of civilisations had written epic poems, most of them awful, about the sheer devastation they had wrought in their battles.

Now, however, they were largely content to leave each other alone. Both had grown so powerful that nothing and no one else in the ocean could challenge them. Yet every now and then, when enough time had passed and conditions were right, they sought each other out to do battle. After all, what self-respecting leviathan would allow some overgrown octopus to claim dominion over the ocean?

Of course, predicting when and where they would fight was all but impossible – unless you happened to be a precocious ten-year-old necromancer with a voluminous library at your disposal and a master who had encountered both giants on more than one occasion.

* * *

“Let me be absolutely clear.” Jake swept his gaze over his crew. “We are not going to fight. If anyone here is stupid enough to attack either of the creatures we will be encountering today, I will personally throw them overboard.” He paused, and his crew gulped. It was rare for him to take such a strident approach. “I don’t know about you, but I like living. I also have a daughter who I would like to see all grown up one day. Do not do anything stupid. We are less than ants to these creatures, and like ants, our best bet for survival is to take what we can get without drawing their attention.”

Jake smiled. Thinking about his daughter always brought a surge of warmth to his heart. She was now attending one of the most prestigious academies in Everton under the patronage of one of Timmy’s best friends. Who knew that the Supreme Cleric of the Order of the Blessed Dawn and a Grand Necromancer could get along so well? He hadn’t expected it, but it let him rest easy while he was out on the open water. His daughter was receiving an excellent education, and no one would be stupid enough to mess with someone under the Supreme Cleric’s patronage, not when the Supreme Cleric was a force of nature capable of devastating entire armies on her own.

“We are about to encounter two monsters the likes of which we’ve never seen before. Savour it. I’d rather not do this again.” Jake grinned as his crew laughed, albeit a bit nervously. “They are going to be fighting each other, and we are going to stay out of it. Believe me, these are the monsters that other monsters tell their children about when they want to scare them.”

“So what’s the plan, captain?” one of the crewmen asked.

“We’re here to get leviathan scales. Captain Seaton has assured me that once the Endless Blue and the Island That Swims start fighting, we should be able to grab some. The Endless Blue might be almost invincible, but the Island That Swims is strong enough to match him. A couple of good hits from the kraken should be enough to jolt some scales loose. Our job is to wait, watch, and grab some scales before we get out of there.”

“Begging your pardon, captain,” one of the older sailors asked. “But… wouldn’t we have to be pretty close for that to work? We’ve got a dreadnought. We’re not exactly built for speed.”

The others all looked squeamish. They’d seen firsthand what a kraken could do when Timmy turned his zombie kraken on the island’s defenders. It was impossible to forget the sight of the zombie kraken picking up a galleon and throwing it. The Island That Swims would absolutely dwarf that kraken.

“Yes,” Jake conceded. “But Captain Seaton knows what he’s doing. Neither of the two monsters will care about us, so long as we stay out of their way and don’t interfere.”

“Let’s hope so,” someone muttered. “Or this is going to be a very short trip.”

John nodded grimly and looked out across the water. They were in the deep, deep waters at the heart of the Broken Isles. The name itself was horribly apt. Once upon a time, there had been a host of thriving cities in the archipelago. They had made a living from fishing and from the trade that flowed through them due to their fortuitous position along some major trading routes. Their sailors had been renowned throughout the world, and their cities had grown ever grander and more prosperous.

Everything had changed in a single night.

The Endless Blue and the Island That Swims had decided that the archipelago, which had been called the Calm Isles at the time because of how calm its waters were, would be a perfect place to fight. They had utterly devastated the archipelago in their struggle, but things had gone from disastrous to apocalyptic when some idiot had gotten it into their head to try to fight them off instead of waiting for them to battle to a standstill and then slink off to lick their wounds. The two legends had stopped fighting each other and turned their attention to the puny mortals who dared to attack them. Not only had they sunk the entire fleet of the Calm Isles – a fleet that had gone from roughly one hundred of the finest ships in the world to exactly zero ships in the span of a few minutes – but the two behemoths had also then proceeded to turn their ire on the cities and even the islands of the Calm Isles.

The Broken Isles – previously the Calm Isles – were now home to precisely zero cities. There were also about a dozen less islands than there used to be. The only visitors these days were desperate pirates, ambitious monster hunters, and anyone else crazy enough to brave the seemingly never-ending bad weather and the monsters that had moved in not long after the Endless Blue and Island That Swims had dealt with the former inhabitants of the area. Normally, the rough waters would have been home to smaller krakens, sea serpents, leviathans, giant sharks, and all manner of beasties. Indeed, sailors often debated about whether it was more dangerous to sail through the Broken Isles or the aptly named Isles of Tears. Right now, though, none of the usual beasties were present, which could only mean one thing. Something was coming, something big and scary enough to scare off all of the other monsters. Jake had a feeling that it wouldn’t be long now, and the increasingly foul weather only strengthened his suspicions.

“Furl the sails!” Jake bellowed. The stiff breeze had become a shrieking gale. “Move, damn you! Get those sails furled, or we won’t have to worry about those two giants!”

The gale was still strengthening. It was almost like being in a hurricane. If they couldn’t get the sails in quickly enough, they’d lose them and the masts, and not even a dreadnought would survive that. Sure, they could try manoeuvring the ship with water magic, but their mobility would be a pale shadow of what it would normally be.

This was no natural storm either. His wind mages hadn’t been able to do much about the wind at all, so the two behemoths could not be far. If that were the case, it wouldn’t be long before water magic became all but useless too. He’d have to do this the old-fashioned way.

A light drizzle began. Within minutes, it had turned into a bitterly cold driving rain that raked across the ship with a sound almost as loud as thunder. Peering through the rain, Jake could just barely make out John’s ship nearby. The smaller vessel was doing its best to weather the storm-tossed seas. A crack of lighting split the sky overhead, and the rain intensified. It was a torrential downpour now, and Jake had to fight to keep his footing as the waves battering the ship grew larger. The sky was an endless vista of storm clouds, and he lifted one hand to shield his eyes from the rain as the howling wind brought the rain in sideways.

“Water mages!” he bellowed. “To the quarterdeck! You’ll be taking orders straight from me. I doubt it’ll help us move much, but we should still be able to get our bearings with water magic.” The waters here were incredibly deep, but there were floating wrecks and other debris to worry about. “I’ll take what I can get in this damn storm.”

The ship shuddered as another wave hit it, and Jake grimaced. They couldn’t take too many more hits like that. “It’s the middle of the day,” Jake muttered. “But it’s dark as the dead of night.” His jaw clenched as a dense mist sprung up. Visibility without the aid of magic was down to less than a hundred feet. Ahead of them, almost too close for them to avoid, the wreck of a galleon drifted past. He was about to yell more orders when he felt it.

Jake didn’t have much in the way of magic. He wasn’t one of those legends who could raze cities and crush armies on his own. But Jake did have magic, and anyone with magic could tell when something was headed their way that was completely, overwhelmingly, and terrifyingly beyond them.

Dragons were the most famous magical creatures. Their fire was both physical and magical, and they backed their terrible might with intelligence and cunning. Leviathans and kraken had magic too, but they tended to use it in a more instinctive way. Their bodies and magic both grew as they aged, granting them greater and greater strength and durability. Being near a kraken or leviathan was enough to set anyone’s nerves on edge, but the Endless Blue and the Island That Swims were on an entirely different level.

Jake felt like he’d been doused in oil and thrown into the lair of a hungry, fire-breathing dragon.

Every mage on the deck staggered. A few of them even threw up. Jake’s ears rang, and he stumbled away blindly, barely managing to catch himself against the railing as the dreadnought bobbed up and down like a child’s toy in a bathtub. Dimly, he realised that something must have passed under the ship, something huge and vast beyond reckoning. From the shape of the shadow beneath them, he guessed it was a kraken.

A moment later, he saw how right he was.

An impossibly huge tentacle burst out of the water, so long it looked as though it could tear the clouds out of the sky. The magic that filled the area was mind-boggling. Without even trying, the Island That Swims was altering the weather, driving the storms into an even greater frenzy. The surging water and raging winds threatened to swamp his ship, and Jake dragged himself out of his paralysis and bellowed more orders.

As his crew hurried to obey, he rushed for a spyglass and did his best to peer through it as the rain all but knocked him off his feet. What he saw would stay with him for the rest of his life. Seven more tentacles rose out of the water, so big they looked more like pillars built to hold up the sky. His mind screamed that this could not possibly be real, that nothing so large could exist, but he knew the truth. Those tentacles were real. The Island That Swims had arrived.

The surface of the sea bent and collapsed inward, a gigantic whirlpool forming that seemed to fill the whole gap between the islands of the archipelago. The dreadnought lurched, and Jake screamed for his mages and crew to fight, to keep the ship from being dragged into the depths by the churning waters. At the centre of the maelstrom was the kraken of krakens, a legend that had lived long enough to remember a time before even the elves when the gods had still walked the earth. The Island That Swims had to be more than ten miles across. He was a mottled white, grey, and blue, the colour of old ice and snow. He must have been a polar kraken, a species that dwelt in the extreme cold of the far north or south. But how could he be here where the waters were far warmer? Almost as if the kraken had heard his thoughts, the temperature began to drop. Soon, snow was falling, and ice spread across the surface of the water, small icebergs crunching into one another.

“Get rid of the ice!” Jake shouted. “We’re done for if we get iced up! And keep a watch! We’ll be sunk if we run aground one of those icebergs.”

By the gods, this was what power was.

But it wasn’t over yet.

Another unfathomably vast shape, moved through the water. The Endless Blue had arrived to answer the legendary kraken’s challenge.

The oldest of all leviathans ripped out of the water, coiling out of the waves like the biggest sea serpent in creation. His eyes were stars of eldritch sapphire light, and the leviathan himself was a glorious, shimmering blue, his scales spanning the colour of the deepest reaches of the ocean to the blue of a summer sky. The storm howled in response, and great ladders of lightning raced through the clouds. The ice and cold didn’t seem to bother the leviathan at all. If anything, he seemed amused, and why not? What was an iceberg the size of a ship to a creature whose mouth was large enough to swallow a dreadnought with room to spare? The waves lashing the area rose and fell with the undulations of the Endless Blue, and the rain swirled around the leviathan. Jake swallowed thickly. The leviathan’s scales were huge, and he honestly had no idea how they’d be able to haul them onto the dreadnought.

There was a pause then, a brief instant of calm as the two ancients stared each other down.

“Captain,” one of the mages nearby said. “We’re crazy for being here, aren’t we?”

Jake gulped. The surface of the sea had gone completely still. “Yes. Yes, we are.”

And then the battle began, and the ocean and the sky roared as one.

It was hard for Jake to wrap his mind around what happened next. It was like watching two mountain ranges colliding or two seas flooding into one another. Tentacles large enough to tear islands apart fought to entangle a creature big enough to crush a city with ease. The kraken and the leviathan fought, and the waters around them seethed. The storm raged overhead, thunder, lightning, ice, snow, and even hail battling against each other. A deep, thunderous roar shook the air, and it was met by a bellow of equal force.

Their opportunity finally arrived as the Island That Swims flung the Endless Blue against an island and lashed out with his tentacles. It was a blow that would have broken a mountain in half. Even so, only a handful of the leviathan’s scales cracked, and only a few fragments of those broke off and plummeted into the ocean. With another roar, the leviathan wrenched himself off the island and rammed the kraken head on, driving the other creature deep beneath the surface of the water.

“Go!” Jake screamed. “This is our chance! Set a course for those scales!”

They charted a mad, desperate course for the scales as John and his ship did the same. It was brutal. The sea was a roiling tempest, and waves bigger than the dreadnought threatened to capsize them as the kraken surged upward again, forcing the leviathan to rear up out of the water once more. The Island That Swims tore a chunk off an island and clubbed the Endless Blue over the head with it. The chunk of rock shattered, and pieces of it hurtled through the air. Jake dropped to the ground as a piece the size of a wagon shot through the air where his head had been. It smashed through a section of the railing around the deck and slammed into an approaching wave. Water flooded across the deck, and Jake scrambled to grab onto a nearby rope before he could be swept overboard.

“Captain!”

He turned. One of his crewmen slid past, carried along by the water, and he grabbed hold of the man’s arm with all his strength.

“Hold on!” Jake bellowed.

The surging water spilled over the side of the ship, and the two of them staggered to their feet. This was worse than any storm he’d ever been in.

“By the gods…” the crewman breathed.

“What?” Jake asked.

The crewman pointed. The Endless Blue reared up again, and the muscles along his body rippled before a beam of water shot out of his mouth. The beam scythed right through an iceberg and then split an island in two. The Island That Swims raised its tentacles to fend off the attack, and there was a hideous grinding sound as the torrent of water struck the kraken’s tentacles head on. Water flew every which way, turning the seemingly endless rain into an almost solid wall of liquid.

“Get moving!” Jake drove himself forward, grabbing onto a rope in a bid to keep his balance. “By the gods, we have to keep moving! We can gawk at them after we get those scales!”

Another wave broke over the ship, and Jake’s palms burned as he fought to keep his grip on the rope. He shook his head to clear it, and one of his mages grabbed hold of the rope beside him.

“Captain!” the mage cried, pointing.

Jake cursed. The two titans were headed back their way. The kraken had begun to fling icebergs and shards of ice the size of the dreadnought as the leviathan continued to unleash blasts of water that threatened to simply tear apart the islands they struck whenever one of them missed the kraken.

“Hard to starboard!” Jake bellowed, praying he would be heard over the roar of the waves and the rain. “Hard to starboard if you want to live!”

* * *

Jake flopped onto the deck. He wasn’t the only one. It was finally over. After what felt like an eternity of fighting the ocean and the storm while avoiding the two behemoths, there was finally peace. The Endless Blue and the Island That Swims had both gone off to lick their wounds after fighting each other to a standstill. The kraken had departed for colder waters while the leviathan headed for the tropics.

It had not been an experience that he or anyone in his crew would ever forget, especially the part where the Endless Blue had thrown the Island That Swims clear out of the water. Not to be outdone, the kraken had thrown an island – an actual island – at his opponent. Yet as awe inspiring as the experience had been, Jake was glad to be done with it. He wasn’t sure how much more he, his crew, and his ship could have taken. With a groan, he dragged himself to his feet and directed a spyglass at John’s ship. The other captain looked to be in much the same condition as him, and he had several new scars as well. They waved at each other, and then Jake turned to give the orders his crew had been waiting for.

“Set course for Chesterton, the usual cove.” Jake grinned. “We’ve got cargo to deliver and pay to collect.”

They’d been unable to leave while the two titans had been battling since the raging currents had dragged them back whenever they had tried to escape. As a result, they’d managed to snag all the leviathan scales the dreadnought could carry. If the scales had been intact, they’d never have been able to drag them aboard. Thankfully, the broken shards, while still very large, were just small enough to be hauled onto the ship. He hoped they’d gotten enough for whatever Katie had planned because he had no intentions of being anywhere near another brawl between legends. From what Jake had seen through the spyglass, John had managed to secure a fair number of scales as well.

“Let’s hope the pay is worth it,” Jake said as the crew passed around some celebratory rum. “And think of it this way, how many people can say they’ve seen the Endless Blue and the Island That Swims fight?”

The trip back to Chesterton went smoothly, and the two ships made their way to a sheltered cove not far from the city under the cover of several illusions. Jake wasn’t foolish enough to think they’d gone unnoticed – the authorities had ways of dealing with illusions – but it was enough to prevent any casual observer from noticing them.

Jake was pleased to see that Timmy and Katie were already there. Gerald had come along too, most likely to make transporting the scales easier since they were very heavy. It made him wonder how anything that was covered in so many of the scales could possibly float or swim. Then again, leviathans did have magic, and the Endless Blue was the greatest of his kind. Maybe he should ask Timmy. The necromancer had mentioned dissecting a leviathan once, albeit a much, much smaller specimen.

Timmy, Katie, and Gerald made their way onto the deck of the dreadnought. The necromancer took in all of the damage the ship had sustained as well as the cuts, bruises, and more serious wounds that some of the crew had. “You’ve taken a bit of a beating. I hope there weren’t any casualties.”

Jake came forward and shook Timmy’s hand. “No, there weren’t any casualties, but you’re right. We took a beating.” He gestured at the ship and his crew. “I’ve never been prouder of my crew or my ship. If someone had told me that a dreadnought could make it through what we’ve been through, I’d have said they were lying.” He grinned. “Although if someone had told me that I’d one day actually choose to stay where a kraken and a leviathan were fighting, then I’d have said they were lying too, and yet here we are.”

“Yes, here we are.” Timmy glanced to the side as John and some of his crew came aboard. “I’m glad you made it through, Jake.”

John chuckled. He had some new scars on his arms and chest. “What? No warm welcome for me?”

Katie rolled her eyes. “Of course, you’re fine. You come from a long, illustrious line of monster hunters. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t make it back in one piece.” Her eyes narrowed. “Although you do have some extra scars.” She paused. “Maybe you should wear a shirt or a tunic more.”

John threw his head back and laughed. “Hah! If you were any other ten-year-old, Katherine, I would be offended. But since you’re the one who requested this mission, I suppose I can overlook it for now.”

Timmy snickered, which drew a sharp glare from the rat on Katie’s shoulder. “Oh, don’t let her fool you, John. She was worried although she’ll never admit it.” He nodded at Jake. “But she does have a point. John is an experienced monster hunter who was raised in a family of monster hunters. I’m going to bet that you’ve never gone on a mission like this before.” He gestured at the shards of leviathan scale piled up on the deck. “And you didn’t come back empty handed. In fact, you’ve exceeded our expectations.”

“About expectations,” John said, cutting in before Jake could reply. “There were a few complications…”

Timmy and Katie shared an exasperated look, and Jake bit back a laugh. Monster hunters, much like merchants, were notorious for trying to renegotiate. Timmy pointed to a zombie ogre near John’s ship that was carrying a large chest. “The chest has the payment we agreed to – plus a bit extra for your trouble. I’ll have my zombie there put it on your ship.” He reached into his cloak and handed John some parchment. “And since you’ve done some very good work for us lately and we have some more creatures on our wish list, here are docking rights to a certain place you’ve asked about.”

“They weren’t easy to get,” Katie said, smiling evilly, an expression mirrored by the rat on her shoulder. “But we’re necromancers. Pirates don’t like having to negotiate, but they’ll negotiate with us. It helps that we were asking for you and not someone else. Monster hunters aren’t pirates, but you’re not merchants either. They said that as long as you don’t mention anything you see, it should be fine.

John took a quick look at the parchment and then handed it to one of his crewmen. “Much obliged. Those islands have some great hunting grounds nearby, so being able to dock there will make my life much easier.” He patted the sword at his side. “We could have docked anyway, but this makes bloodshed less likely.” He bared his teeth. “And hunting monsters is hard if I have to watch my back the whole time, not that I’m worried about some pirates. I cut my teeth hunting sea serpents and other monsters. Pirates don’t scare me.”

Jake almost considered asking for details before thinking better of it. Timmy knew people, a lot of people. The necromancer waved his hand, and another zombie ogre marched up onto the deck with another large chest, this time for Jake and his crew. He could have asked to count it, but he wasn’t crass enough to do that in front of Timmy. Besides, Timmy had yet to cheat him, and the payment he’d promised was enough to make all of the trouble worth it and then some.

“That chest is a sight for sore eyes,” Jake said.

“You deserve it for the work you’ve done. Katie and I have added some extra to it too. You do good work, Jake, and good work should be rewarded.” Beside Timmy, Katie nodded firmly. He handed Jake a sealed scroll. “Open that in private when you have the chance. It wasn’t easy, but I was able to find some of the people you asked me about.” He lowered his voice. “The Eternal Empire wiped out most of your old comrades, but some of them did manage to get away. I’ve tracked down the ones I could find, but some of them haven’t been seen in months. If they’re anything like you, I hope they made it to safety.”

Jake took the scroll. “Thank you. This… it means a lot.” He could still remember the harbour full of burning ships as the Eternal Empire turned on them. He’d lost so many friends and comrades that day. Of all the ships that had been there, only three, including his, had managed to get away. He’d yet to hear from the other two. “I’ll see if I can reach them. I’m sure they’re as eager for revenge against the Eternal Empire as I am.” His lips twitched. “Who knows? Maybe they’re looking for employment too.”

Katie giggled. “Soon, we’ll have our own fleet, master.” She rubbed her chin. “We might even have to come up with a proper flag for them to fly.”

“Knowing you, it’ll be pink,” Timmy said, earning a glare from his apprentice. “And don’t mention anything about having a fleet around James. He’s already worried that we’re secretly plotting to seize control of the Council.” He looked at Gerald. “If anyone asks, you didn’t hear what Katie just said.”

“Uh… hear what?”

“Good man.” Timmy patted Gerald on the back. “Mind giving us a hand with these scales?”

Jake watched in fascination as the scales vanished to wherever it was that Gerald’s magic put things. It was incredible, but the bureaucrat didn’t seem to understand how truly powerful his magic was. Just imagining what an assassin or saboteur could do with it made Jake’s skin crawl.

“By the way,” Jake asked as he, Timmy, Katie, Gerald, and John headed to his quarters for a meal. “How do you make leviathan scale alloy?”

“I’ve been wondering that too,” John said. “It seems like a handy sort of thing to have access to.”

Timmy gestured at Katie. “How about you answer this one, Katie.”

“I can’t tell you everything,” Katie said. “It’s a trade secret. But the process is very complicated. There a variety of different methods, but we’ll be using a different one this time.”

“Oh?” John raised one eyebrow. “Experimenting again, Katherine?”

“Sort of. There is a method that’s supposed to be the best, but almost no one can use it.” She smirked. “It needs dragon fire and dragon scales, but we just so happen to have a dragon and an elf who can not only control dragon fire but also make fire every bit as hot.”

“Sounds tricky,” Jake said. “And the dragon scales… I’m guessing you’ll be getting those from Spot.”

Katie shook her head. “He doesn’t shed enough for what we have planned. He’s still not very big for a dragon. However, we do have a lot of dragon scales left over from a previous mission.” She frowned. “The process we want to use hasn’t been used for a while, and even we don’t know all the specifics. That’s why we asked you to get as many scales as you could. It could take us a few tries to get it to work properly. But once we get it to work, we should have much better armour for Roger.” She cackled. “He’ll be even more devastating.”

“You need to introduce me to Roger,” John said. “Jake told me about him. He sounds like an interesting zombie.”

“He’s great,” Katie said. “We brought him along because it’s been a while since he’s been to the ocean, and the authorities here wanted us to deal with a problem for them.”

“We can show him to you after lunch,” Timmy paused. “Jake, there’s a nice festival around this time of year near the academy your daughter is attending. You might want to take her to it.”

“Is that so?” Jake hadn’t spent much time on land since being hired by Timmy. He might be a privateer for Everton now, but he had once worked for the Eternal Empire. He needed to prove himself. “I think I will, and I know my crew could use some rest.” His gaze drifted off toward Chesterton. “Besides, what’s the point of having money if I never spend any of it?”

“Thinking of getting a place to settle down?” Timmy asked.

“Maybe.” Jake wasn’t allowed to own land in Everton yet. It would take at least a few more missions for Timmy and the Council before the authorities trusted him enough.

“We can help you out,” Katie whispered. “We know all about purchasing land without drawing too much attention.” Beside her, Gerald was doing his best to pretend that he hadn’t heard anything. “We might even be purchasing another castle soon.”

Another castle? Well, things must have been going well for them, and Timmy and Katie were both people who liked to have backup plans to their backup plans. “I’ll let you know if I need any help.” Katie was about to reply when she stopped mid stride. “Katie?”

“It’s Roger,” she said. “He’s finished working for today. The authorities wanted him to deal with some sharks.” She grinned at John. “You wanted to meet him, right?” John nodded. “Good. I’ll get him to come here right away.” Her grin turned impish. “Try not to scream.”

To John’s credit, he didn’t scream. However, at least three of his crewmen did, and one of them fainted. Jake thought it was hilarious.

* * *

Jake watched the students milling around the academy. He wasn’t surprised or offended to be escorted around the grounds. The children here were amongst the most talented in Everton. But he was surprised when someone else replaced the guards who had been escorting him. He knew the Supreme Cleric – but almost entirely by her reputation. Her retinue kept pace, far enough to maintain the illusion of privacy but still close enough to intervene if he tried anything. He wanted to laugh. Even if he’d wanted to, there was absolutely no way that he would ever be able to harm her. Timmy had told him in no uncertain terms that the Supreme Cleric was monstrously powerful and easily capable of pummelling him if she was ever so inclined. During his time as a privateer for the Eternal Empire, he’d also heard stories about her. The Eternal Empire had once tried to assassinate her. Once. She’d been a teenager then, and they’d dispatched a cadre of their most elite assassins. She’d returned the bodies of the assassins to the Eternal Empire via post in coffins that had to be nailed shut due to the, ahem, less than intact state of the would-be assassins.

Yet despite her fearsome reputation, the Supreme Cleric all but exuded charm and friendliness. Her chestnut hair, hazel eyes, and warm smile made it almost impossible to think of her as anything but a kindly cleric who only wanted what was best for others. His daughter had even written several letters to him praising how well the Supreme Cleric had treated her, even going so far as to set aside some time to help her with her studies. The only eccentricity his daughter had mentioned was the Supreme Cleric’s rather unusual idea of what constituted a cute and cuddly animal. Apparently, large lizard-like creatures that spewed poison and shot spikes at people qualified.

“I’m glad you came to visit,” the Supreme Cleric said. She waved to some of the passing students, many of who were busy gazing at her in absolute awe. “I’m sure your daughter will be pleased. You won’t have to wait long. She should be finishing her class shortly.”

“Uh… right. Thank you. Your… Grace?” Jake grimaced. He wasn’t cut out for this. Speaking to people like Timmy or John was easy. They weren’t nobles. The Supreme Cleric was more than the leader of the Order of the Blessed Dawn. She was a member of the Council and the head of one of Everton’s most noble families.

The Supreme Cleric laughed softly. “Please, be at ease. I’m not here in my capacity as the Supreme Cleric or as a councillor. At present, I am a guardian of sorts for your daughter. You can call me Vicky, or if that seems too informal, call me Victoria.”

Jake wondered if this was some sort of test. The Eternal Empire’s nobility would never have tolerated such informality. However, there was nothing deceptive in her expression. “Thank you… Victoria.”

A smile tugged at the edges of her lips. “Ah, yes. I’d almost forgotten how much larger the gap between the nobility and the general population is in the Eternal Empire.” She snickered. “Not that we don’t have our fair share of stuffy nobles here in Everton. My colleague James is a perfect example of that.”

“Uh, right.”

“You’ve done some excellent work for us already, Jake, and I’m sure you plan to do more excellent work for us in the future. Rest assured that Everton takes care of its friends. We’ve also been able to verify most of the information you’ve given us. We’ve already put it to good use.” She sat down on a bench near one of the classrooms, and Jake sat down too, albeit at a polite distance. She raised one eyebrow at his decision to not simply sit beside her before she shook her head in a combination of amusement and exasperation. “You’re a good sailor and a fine captain, Jake. We’ll need more men like you in the future, given what lies ahead.”

“Thank you.” Jake took a deep breath. Despite her well-known power and prestige, he was finally starting to settle down. There was something calming about her. “How is my daughter doing? She writes to me regularly, but I can’t help but wonder if she’s keeping up a brave front for my sake.”

“You don’t have to worry. She’s doing well. From my experience, and according to her instructors, she is a clever, hard-working girl with a bright future ahead of her.” Victoria motioned at one of her retainers, and a young woman came forward to hand Jake a piece of paper. “There is a festival not far from here. It will be going for another week, and I think you should take your daughter to it. I went every year with my father when I was younger, and I still make the time to go each year with the rest of my family.” She sighed melodramatically. “I will warn you in advance. It is one of our more ridiculous festivals. They might claim it is about celebrating our ancient past and the deeds of our ancestors, but it’s really all an excuse to stuff our bellies full of candy and good food.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I might have mentioned it to Spot and Sam the last time I was at Timmy’s castle, so I’m afraid Timmy is a bit cross with me. I can scarcely imagine how much a young dragon and a protoplasmic horror can eat, but they looked so happy to find out about it.”

Jake grimaced. He could imagine how much a young dragon and a protoplasmic horror could eat. It was a lot.

Victoria reached into the folds of her cloak and handed him a pack of cookies. “I have to go now, but these are for you and your daughter. She hasn’t received her marks yet, but I have it on good authority that she did excellently on her first set of exams.”

Jake watched the Supreme Cleric walk away. It was surreal being able to talk to someone so high up in Everton’s hierarchy. His gaze drifted to the pack of cookies, and he stared. There was a familiar dragon’s silhouette on the front. “The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company?” He smiled. This had to be one of Timmy’s schemes.

Adventure Time

(Set Before Two Necromancers, a Bureaucrat, and an Elf)

Like most people, Timmy liked to believe that he was a reasonable person. James also liked to believe that he was a reasonable person. Unlike Timmy, however, he was wrong. James was a jerk. Even Vicky liked to believe that she was a reasonable person although her concept of reasonable was often less than stellar. Apparently, being ridiculously powerful and almost invincible had a tendency to make someone view things in a different manner. The present situation was a perfect example of that.

“Do you have any idea how bad an idea it would be to simply traipse into an ancient tomb in search of treasure without taking the appropriate precautions?” Timmy asked.

He gave the forest around them a furtive look. He’d brought a shovel with him, but he was still working all of the kinks out of it. The last thing he needed was for it to malfunction in the middle of a fight. Instead of an awesome magical shovel capable of controlling his earth magic, he’d be left with a glorified digging tool. True, he could use that glorified digging tool to bludgeon his enemies to death, but bludgeoning them to death was a far cry from burying them under a landslide or hurling a boulder at them. It was also much harder on his lower back.

The tomb was heavily overgrown, but what little he could see of its architecture suggested it was around two and half to three thousand years old. Personal experience had taught him – and quite painfully too – that the older a tomb was, the more vicious, bizarre, and deadly its traps and guardians would be. He had to hand it the ancients. They built their tombs to last, and they built them to kill as many intruders as possible in the most gruesome ways possible.

“Who knows what could be in there.” Timmy waved his shovel for emphasis as Vicky continued to give him that warm, sunny smile that told him she had already made up her mind and was simply humouring him. “It could be filled with traps, monsters, or both. Sure, there might be some treasure in there, but something will definitely try to kill us. It might even succeed since we aren’t exactly prepared for tomb raiding.” He had nothing against tomb raiding, but he needed to be alive to enjoy the spoils, and proper preparation upped his odds of survival considerably.

“Exactly!” Vicky’s utterly charming smile belied the fact that she was determined to lead them into probable suicide. “Even if there isn’t any treasure, and I’m sure we’ll find plenty, we’re bound to find something interesting. This can be one of those adventures that we all look back on when we’re older and laugh about.” She struck a thoughtful pose, but Timmy wasn’t fooled. He could see the mischief in her hazel eyes, and he’d come to recognise this particular pose as her ‘terrible idea pose’, the one she used whenever she was about to drag them into yet another life-and-death situation. “We should also consider the possible archaeological significance of this tomb. There could be relics in there of immeasurable historical and cultural significance.”

James scowled. Some of his fans back at the academy would have called the expression rather dashing. Timmy thought he looked exceedingly whiny. “We were sent here to deal with a problematic hydra as part of this semester’s practical assessment. We’ve already dealt with it, so we should leave.” Normally, Timmy would have bristled at James’s steadfast desire to keep to the rules. This time, he was in full support of it. Rules could be onerous, but they were great when they kept him alive. “Tomb investigation can be extremely dangerous without proper preparation.” He directed a stout glare at Timmy. “Although I doubt you’ll be investigating the tomb, so much as robbing it.”

Timmy scoffed and imagined hitting James over the head with his shovel. As therapeutic as that would be, the other teenager was no slouch in a fight. He’d have to wait for a better opportunity. Tomb raiding might not have been glamorous, but it was a reasonable way to make money quickly. Unlike some people, he couldn’t afford to sit back and rely on his family’s wealth. His ‘family’ currently consisted of the family who had dumped him on his master’s doorstep and a master who could, if he was being excessively generous, be described as the second or third most evil being in the kingdom.

“Yes, I know we already dealt with the hydra,” Vicky replied. “But it was far too easy.”

Technically, Vicky had dealt with the hydra. The three of them had been supposed to work together to defeat it, but both he and James had recognised the value of simply getting out of her way. It was quicker, easier, and it let Timmy catch up on his homework. Vicky had simply dodged the hydra’s acid and punched it with enough force to turn it into a scaly pancake. Monstrous regeneration or not, it was not going to get back up from that.

“And we’ve still got another two days before we have to head back. Why not take a quick jaunt through the woods and have a little look into what I’m sure will be a nice, harmless tomb?”

Timmy felt morally obligated to point out the obvious. “These aren’t woods, Vicky. We’re in the middle of an overgrow forest that has already attempted to murder us five times in the past hour. We’ve fought off carnivorous plants, corrupted tree-folk, and what I’m pretty sure was a giant, rabid badger.” He grimaced. “And I’d bet my shovel that this is not going to be a nice, harmless tomb. It’s going to be an ancient tomb filled with lots of crazy traps and murderous creatures.”

James looked as though he’d swallowed a particularly sour lemon. “I hate to agree with the fool over there, but I haven’t got a choice this time. He’s right. There’s no guarantee that we’ll find anything useful, and this place feels evil. As someone with light magic, surely you can sense it. There is darkness here, Victoria. Great darkness.”

“It could be because this tomb and this whole forest are supposedly haunted by the spirits of the damned,” Vicky replied cheerfully. “At least, that’s what the villagers said when I asked them.” She laughed. “But you know villagers. They like to exaggerate. It’s probably something they do to bring in more tourists.”

Timmy shook his head. “No, James is right. This place is evil.”

As a necromancer who’d been raised in a castle built upon incomprehensible gulfs of unimaginable evil, he knew evil when he felt it. Of course, he couldn’t actually say that since he was posing as a regular student. Vicky might have found it amusing, but James would either try to arrest him or go running straight to the authorities. Unfortunately, neither he nor James could simply turn around and leave despite how much more sensible it would be.

There was something very wrong with the forest here, and Timmy was certain it had ways of preventing them from leaving. Almost as though it could read his mind, the forest stirred around them. The tall, twisted trees began to shift and sway, and a deep, eerie groan filled the air. The grass lengthened, and vines crept along the ground, winding their way up trees and tumbling off branches. Wonderful. He could either go into the tomb full of evil or try to hack his way through a forest full of evil. And it was a big forest.

He pursed his lips. Maybe Vicky could summon something to fly them over the forest? It wasn’t like the forest could get them if they were in the air, right? Once again, the forest acted as though it could read his mind. The trees grew with startling speed, and a vast, razor-sharp canopy rose above them. It was the middle of the day, but only a few beams of sunlight managed to make it through the canopy. This got better and better.

“Did the villagers happen to say anything else?” Timmy asked. He kept one eye on the forest. Where there was one giant, rabid badger, there could easily be two or even ten.

Vicky clapped her hands together, and both Timmy and James winced as the sound echoed down the long, dark passageway in front of them. “I’m glad you asked. They might have said something about being able to undo the curse on the forest by defeating the evil slumbering inside this tomb.” She winked. “So, you see, we’ll actually be doing this whole region a service if we go in there and wipe out whatever nasties call this place home.” She struck another thoughtful pose. “And think of it this way: if we can get good grades for killing a hydra, imagine how good our grades will be if we lift a curse affecting an entire forest.”

Timmy liked good grades, and he normally liked Vicky’s upbeat attitude. However, he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d considered things from his point of view. Unless the thing inside the tomb was some kind of demon god, she would be fine. Even if it were, she would probably still be fine. The way she’d dealt with the hydra was proof of her ability to annihilate whatever was troubling her. It wasn’t every day that someone simply marched up to a hydra and punched it hard enough to completely overwhelm its regeneration and turn it into a bloody smear. Vicky, of course, had gone one step further. She’d managed to avoid getting even a drop of blood or gore on her. It was yet another timely reminder that Vicky’s position at the top of the class was not simply because of her excellence in academics. She also topped all of the practical exercises too, especially the combat-related ones.

When Vicky fought people, she didn’t beat them. She crushed them. It didn’t matter if it was fellow students or even recent graduates and the occasional instructor. She beat them all. Timmy had a feeling that even his master, a paragon of malevolent power, would think twice before picking a fight with her. Oh, Vicky didn’t have his master’s experience yet, but she was monstrously powerful, unbelievably talented, and a frighteningly quick learner. If Vicky and his master fought, she would most likely wade through his master’s attacks, and his master, being an arrogant jerk, would let her take a swing at him. That swing would pulverise his internal organs and shatter every bone in his body, rendering his soul-destroying magic utterly moot. And if that didn’t work, Timmy was sure Vicky could come up with something. Her magic was not only insanely powerful but also insanely versatile.

She could form lances that could pierce through almost anything, chains that were virtually unbreakable, and swords that could slice and dice like blades out of legend. He’d once caught her using her magic to take notes after she’d forgotten to bring something to write with to one of their classes. It wasn’t like Vicky was flailing around when it came to weapons either. She was arguably better with a sword than anyone at the academy, and she was a devastating hand-to-hand fighter even without her magic. Frankly, Timmy was morbidly curious to know what would happen if Vicky ever fought at full strength. There would undoubtedly be lots of property damage and mountains of dead bodies.

“Yes, I’m sure we’ll be fine.” Timmy would most likely not be fine if there was something truly menacing in the tomb. He looked at James. The other teenager appeared to be considering a dash through the trees. James was powerful, but he was not going to get past a whole forest of evil trees and who knew what else. “We’re not going to change her mind, and it’s not like the forest is going to let us walk away. Come on. The sooner we deal with whatever is in the tomb, the sooner we can go back to the inn and enjoy a nice, hot meal without worrying if we’ll live to see tomorrow.

Timmy sighed wistfully. “I could really go for some homemade chicken soup. It’s been ages since I had any.” He could vaguely remember what his mother’s chicken soup had tasted like, but chicken soup had been in short supply ever since he’d become his master’s apprentice. Even if his master had been the sort of person to make chicken soup, Timmy would have been worried about him poisoning it as some kind of training exercise.

“You’re a simpleton,” James muttered. His blue eyes narrowed. “But you’re not wrong. The sooner we deal with this, the sooner we can leave.” It went unsaid that their only hope of getting through the forest was to either deal with the evil in the tomb or to get Vicky to turn back. The former would be difficult, but the latter would be impossible.

“That’s the spirit.” Vicky punched the air. Behind them, countless pairs of malicious eyes peered out from the shadows of the trees. “We’ll be done in a jiffy, you’ll see.” She grinned. “And you two are with me. Anything that wants to kill either of you has to get through me first.” She paused. “Actually, James, you’re on your own.”

“Why am I not surprised to hear you say that,” James retorted. He glared at Timmy. “You spend far too much time around him.”

“And you wonder why,” Vicky said teasingly. “When you’re such cheerful company. Lighten up. This is a group assessment, James. I’d lose a lot of marks if I didn’t come back with both of you.”

“How reassuring,” James drawled. “I shall try not to die. I’d hate for you to get a lower grade.”

The three of them made their way down the passageway. Each of them had crystals for light, and each of them knew the basic runes for light. However, Vicky was happy to provide some additional light, courtesy of small spheres of radiance that trailed ahead of them and drifted along behind them. The spheres also had the bonus of extending Vicky’s awareness. Vicky would probably know about anything their light fell upon.

As they walked, Timmy took careful note of the various inscriptions and other decorations on the walls, floor, and ceiling. Whoever had built this place had put a lot of effort into it although the grime and muck that had accumulated suggested that either there wasn’t any protective magic or it was no longer working properly. It was thanks to his keen examination of their surroundings – his master had instilled a healthy sense of paranoia in him when it came to traps, ambushes, and nasty surprises although it wasn’t actually paranoia since his master really was out to get him – that he spotted the first trap before they triggered it.

“Stop!” Timmy barked.

“What?” Vicky asked as she paused mid stride in an impressive display of quick reflexes. Not far off, James had one hand on a pouch full of coins, ready to shoot them at anything that so much as looked at him funny.

Timmy pointed to a large, finely carved statue of a young woman with a lyre. “That statue shouldn’t be there. It doesn’t fit the pattern for the rest of this corridor. It could be a trap.”

“Well spotted!” Vicky grinned. “Should we trigger it and deal with it?”

Timmy didn’t know enough about this place or its history to be confident about defusing its traps. Triggering it and dealing with it now while they were prepared was the safest course of action. “Go ahead but be ready. It could explode or even try to bring the roof down on us.”

Vicky’s magic stirred, an ocean of power at the ready. “Go ahead, James.”

James flicked a coin at the statue. The statue gave a ponderous groan and then ripped free of the floor. It was tall, perhaps ten feet in height, and now that it was moving, Timmy could get a better sense of the magic flowing through it. It was most likely enchanted to some degree because his initial attempt to rip it apart with his magic was soundly repulsed. The statue trembled, and a few cracks spread along the stone, but it didn’t break apart. For an instant, he considered forcing matters before thinking better of it. He didn’t have infinite magic, so he had to avoid wasting any.

A surge of power swept down the corridor, and Timmy’s lips curled. Now that one of the traps had been activated, the magic built into the ruins had activated as well. Today must not have been his lucky day. Almost the entire structure was made of stone, but it was protected from his earth magic. On the upside, he’d been expecting it. Earth magic wasn’t the rarest thing in the world, and building tombs out of stone without the proper protection would have been stupid. The ancients might have been crazy, evil, and twisted, but they hadn’t been stupid.

“Not bad,” James conceded as he stepped past Timmy. “Since you detected it, it’s only fair that I deal with it.”

Timmy had to admit that James was good with his magic. A coin wouldn’t normally have done much damage to something made of solid stone. But a coin that had been accelerated to several times the speed of an arrow? The answer was rather different then. Few things – stone amongst them – could withstand being hit by something travelling at such high speed, especially since James’s magic could harden the object he threw. One coin slammed into the statue and punched a hole straight through it. Its stone lyre toppled out of its hands as it staggered back. The coin reversed direction and pierced another hole through the statue’s side before it was joined by several other coins. The statue reached up to ward off the coins, and the coins became a blur of metal as they pierced through the statue over and over again. Seconds later, the statue came apart with a boom, and chunks of stone rolled across the floor.

“Well,” Timmy said, poking one of the larger chunks with his shovel before he decided to pocket a few smaller pieces in case he needed something to use his magic on. “If whatever is in here didn’t already know we were here, they most definitely do now.”

“I’d like to see you kill it without making a sound,” James muttered in irritation. “What would you do, club it to death with your shovel?”

“Yes, and it would still be quieter than what you did.” Timmy paused. “I’m starting to get a feel for this place’s magic. It reminds me of some other tombs I’ve visited.”

“I think you mean robbed,” James countered.

“Robbed, visited, it’s all the same.” Timmy grinned. “Whoever owned this place has been dead for centuries, and they were most likely horribly unpleasant. I’m not about to shed tears for some ancient king who worked his people to death to build a monument to himself.” He looked down the corridor. “If I’m right, we should keep moving forward. If this place follows the usual layout, we should come to a large open area. There will likely be a monument or other large object of some kind. The entrance to the lower levels, which are usually the more interesting areas, should be concealed inside it. It’s what people usually do.”

Vicky slung one arm around Timmy’s shoulders. “See, Timmy? We made the right decision. With you as our guide, we’ll be fine.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “And… more interesting areas?”

Timmy tried to pry Vicky’s arm off his shoulder without any luck. “It’s where the treasure usually is if there is any. The most difficult traps and deadliest guardians tend to be found there too.”

“Fantastic.” Vicky nodded sagely and gave Timmy what he supposed was meant to be an evil grin. However, Vicky didn’t do evil very well. If anything, it came across as kind of vaguely mischievous. “I feel like a proper criminal now.” She chuckled. “Let’s go rob this tomb!”

“What happened to its archaeological significance?” James muttered as he trailed after them. “But I do hope there is something worth our time down here because I know this will be troublesome.”

They continued down the corridor. This section’s decorations were far cruder than the earlier section’s. It made Timmy wonder if the earlier workers had angered the king and, in typical ancient fashion, gotten themselves executed by the presumably tyrannical despot. It could also be that whoever had ordered the construction of the tomb had gone insane at some point and ordered a hodgepodge of different artwork.

It was something he’d seen more than once. Indeed, the two could be related. It wasn’t unusual for kings to go mad with power and order the execution of the more skilled artists and craftsmen after they baulked at their increasingly bizarre demands. Whoever was still alive once the executions were finished then got the dubious honour of trying to finish the tomb in a manner befitting a king. Needless to say, that rarely ended well. Timmy had even raided one tomb in which an ancient monarch had filled an entire pit with the skeletons of those who’d betrayed them. Having explored the rest of that tomb, which strongly resembled the fever dream of a particularly drunk dwarf, Timmy could hardly blame the workers for rebelling.

Nevertheless, the corridor’s decorations still told a story, one that he followed to keep himself amused. Most ancient kingdoms followed a similar descent into the scrapheap of history, but there were sometimes interesting variations. He couldn’t read all of the inscriptions, but he knew languages that were similar enough for him to do some educated guesswork. As they rounded a corridor and reached an antechamber of some sort, he stopped near a pedestal upon which was a large statue of a broad-shouldered man in armour. He had a shield in one hand and a sword in the other, and stylised flames filled the space behind him.

“Interesting.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” James grumbled. His gaze shifted restlessly around the antechamber. “What is it this time? I suppose fighting another statue would be too easy. Are they going to flood the corridor with molten lava?”

“No,” Timmy said. “I’ve seen that done before. You’re got to be near a volcano to make it work consistently. Yes, you can make lava with magic, but when you think about how long the magic would have to last and how much power it would need to be effective, you’re better off just siphoning lava from a nearby volcano.” He pointed at the pedestal. “If I’m reading this right, the king who built this tomb was renowned not only for his power and wealth but also for the strength of his four greatest generals.” Timmy smiled thinly. “I’m guessing we’ll have to deal with them before we can get out of here. The statue on this pedestal is supposed to be a likeness of one of them.” He gestured. “If this is accurate, we’re looking at a guy who uses a sword and shield. And look at these flames. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that he has fire magic.” He paused. “Or it could be a trick. If it were me, I’d totally fool people into believing I have fire magic when I’ve actually got water magic or something.”

“Wonderful.” James ran one hand through his dark hair. “I hate fire.”

Timmy could sympathise. James’s magic was basically a form of telekinesis with some ability to alter the physical properties of objects thrown in. His most common method of using it was to increase the hardness and durability of small objects like coins or pebbles before hurling them at his opponents at speeds that made arrows look slow. For James, controlling objects was fairly straightforward, so attacking him with arrows, throwing knives, or other projectiles was generally an exercise in futility. But fire was a different story. It was far more difficult for him to control.

To make matters worse, James could also use coins and other small objects defensively. With his magic behind it, James could block a sword with a coin, but a coin or two wouldn’t do much against a wave of flame. Hopefully, they’d be able to find some stone or rock that wasn’t shielded from outside magic. Timmy and James could both use it, and although Timmy’s cloak was reasonably fire resistant – his master had taught him the importance of being prepared in the most painful ways possible – real fire magic would still leave him feeling less than overjoyed. In other words, he’d be incinerated.

“I don’t like fire either, but we need to keep moving.” Timmy glanced at the statue again. “The longer someone like this has time to prepare, the worse off we’ll be.”

They continued onward, disabling traps and dealing with a variety of different obstacles. As something of a connoisseur when it came to deadly traps, Timmy’s favourite was the array of ceiling-mounted spikes. It was a nice variation of the traditional spike pit, and most people never bothered to look up at the ceiling. He’d have to copy the idea later when he took over the castle. There was also a large pool of acid filled with a number of magical creatures that happened to live in acid. It was a deceptively dangerous situation. It wasn’t difficult to get across a pool of acid safely, but it was a lot harder to get across when there were octopus-like creatures in the acid trying to pull them in. Thankfully, a few stout whacks with his shovel, which he’d designed to be acid resistant, dealt with the largest of the creatures while Vicky and James did their part to discourage the other critters. It was a shame Timmy didn’t have a suitable container. He would have loved to bring one back to the academy for study.

Finally, they reached a large, open space.

“See? What did I tell you?” Timmy asked as he gestured broadly at the area ahead of them. “Behold –”

If Timmy had truly been as much of a jerk as James routinely accused him of being, he wouldn’t have bothered to kick the other boy in the back – or maybe he just enjoyed kicking James in the back. He did have an eminently kickable back. Timmy could honestly say that at least half of his motivation for kicking James in the back was related to saving his life. The other half, well, he wasn’t about to miss such a wonderful opportunity. James stumbled forward, and the lance of incandescent heat that would have put a nice hole in the middle of his head instead struck the wall far behind them, melting a reasonable portion of it. Timmy quickly scurried behind Vicky. When in doubt, using the practically invincible person as a human shield was always a good idea.

“Where did that come from?” Vicky asked. She gestured, and spheres of light spread through the hall.

“You kicked me in the back!” James spat. “You imbecile!”

Timmy pointed at the melted section of the wall. It was still glowing with heat. “Would you rather be missing your head?” James shut his mouth, and Timmy smirked. “I thought so.” He raised his shovel. “Get ready. I don’t think this guy is playing around.”

Vicky’s question was answered a moment later. A large zombie – he had to be more than seven feet tall – strode forward. He carried a shield in one hand and a sword in the other, and his body was covered in plate armour. Timmy grimaced. The general was even bigger than his statue.

“Can you do anything about him?” Vicky whispered. “You’re a necromancer, right?”

Timmy wasn’t exactly keeping it a secret. Necromancy wasn’t presently illegal although it was frowned upon, but he wasn’t going around telling everyone about it either. Necromancers were not the most popular mages around. Too many of them were crazy, and too many of them had been caught skulking around graveyards and stealing corpses instead of buying them from an accredited and properly licenced corpse dealer.

“No.” Timmy reached out with his magic. “See his armour? It’s designed to resist magic, so I can’t attack him directly with my necromancy.” His brows furrowed. “Whoever made that armour is good. Normally, I’d still be able to do something, maybe slow his movements down or stun him for a few seconds, but I can’t do anything at all. And if that attack was anything to go by, he hasn’t lost a step since becoming a zombie. The necromancer who made him was no joke. I’d say they were a Grand Necromancer or close to it.”

James finally noticed where Timmy was standing and hurried to join him behind Vicky as another lance of heat threatened to cut him in two. “What do we do?”

“You’re seriously asking me for instructions?”

“Why not? You always have a plan, and you are a necromancer. What’s the plan?”

“How about –”

A beam of fire blazed toward Vicky, so bright that Timmy had to turn away to keep from being blinded. It would have hit her if not for the glowing wall of light that appeared in front of her. The resulting explosion and outpouring of heat melted part of the floor, and Timmy’s eyes widened in disbelief. Although her wall was in no danger of breaking, Vicky was actually being forced back. Her eyes widened in surprise for a split-second before she poured more magic into her defence. As the flame receded, the floor in front of them glowing faintly, a smile formed on Vicky’s lips. She’d found a worthy opponent.

“That was very rude,” Vicky said. She glanced back at Timmy and James. “Stay here. I’ll deal with him.”

“Uh, maybe we should work as a team…” Timmy trailed off as Vicky’s magic flared. She surged forward in a blur of motion, one arm drawn back and wreathed in light. “And maybe you shouldn’t just charge in…”

The general fired several more blasts of fire, but Vicky batted them aside. Explosions rocked the hall as the attacks crashed into the far walls of the hall. She was using one of the first tricks she’d ever learned. Instead of creating a spherical barrier or a wall, she pulled her magic tighter, creating a much stronger shield across a much smaller area – her body. She had almost reached the general and was in the process of landing a blow that Timmy presumed would be enough to turn a hill into dust when there was a roar like the surging of a king tide.

“Oh, crap.” Timmy looked around for somewhere, anywhere, to take shelter. “The inscriptions and statues didn’t say anything about him being able to do that.”

The air in front of the general quivered, and there was suddenly water, a tremendous amount of water. The torrent slammed into Vicky with all the force of a tidal wave. Her magic kept the attack from breaking every bone in her body. It even stopped her from getting wet, but she wasn’t able to keep her footing. She was flung back like a sack of potatoes, and she tumbled end over end, bumping off a pillar and then spinning away as the surging waters tossed her into the air and then drove her back into the floor with bone-crushing force. Light flared around her body as her magic absorbed each impact. Chains of radiance formed and latched onto several nearby pillars in a bid to steady her. Her magic shifted, and Timmy shivered. Instead of simply using her magic to defend herself, she was now using it to reinforce her body, vastly increasing her strength and speed. With the help of the chains, she managed to steady herself, and the stone floor cracked beneath her feet as she dug her boots into the ground and simply refused to be moved. A glowing, wedge-shaped barrier appeared in front of her, and the water parted to either side of her.

Timmy and James were less fortunate.

James gawped like a fool before bursting into motion. He struck the ground at their feet with his coins as hard as he could. The magic protecting that section of the floor broke, and he tore shards of stone up and flung them at the general in a bid to distract him and hopefully disrupt his magic. It didn’t work, and they still had a river’s worth of water headed their way. Thankfully, the damaged section of the floor was no longer protected from Timmy’s magic either. He yanked his shovel upward, and a ridge of stone jerked up.

“Move!” Timmy bellowed as he dove behind the makeshift barrier. “Get over here!”

James scrambled to the stone barrier, and the water thundered past them, the sheer volume of it threatening to sweep away their meagre shelter until Timmy reinforced it with more of his magic. He bit back a curse. He’d met mages who could create water before, but this was crazy. As the water finally began to recede – there had to be drains scattered throughout the hall – Timmy stood back up and brandished his shovel. “Damage as much of the floor as you can,” he told James. “Otherwise, I won’t be able to use my earth magic on it.”

James looked like he wanted to argue, but another flash of searing heat made him think better of it. “Fine! It’s about time you made yourself useful.”

Vicky rolled her shoulders to loosen them, and the chains of light faded away. Her jaw clenched. She could not afford to make another mistake like that. The zombie general’s fire magic was dangerous enough on its own, but his water magic made him incredibly versatile. She gestured, and several beams of light lanced toward the general. The general dodged most of them with agility far beyond any regular zombie and then raised his shield to catch the beam he couldn’t evade. There was a blinding flash and a sound like a giant gong being struck. The shield had somehow managed to absorb the attack. Vicky scowled and attacked again. This time, her beams shot past the general and then reversed direction to strike at him from behind. Timmy made an exasperated sound. Vicky’s magic was ridiculous. The general caught the attacks on his shield again, seemingly unwilling to let his armour take the brunt of Vicky’s magic.

“We need to get rid of his shield,” Vicky said. “Can either of you two do something about it?”

The general responded before either Timmy or James could. He fired another blast of flame at Vicky. She warded the attack off with another wall of light, but a river of water engulfed her, forcing her to deploy more chains to keep from being swept away. Water might not be able to pierce things as easily as fire, but it was perfect for pushing people back. Timmy’s lips curled. The general’s magic was perfect for controlling spacing in combat.

“We need to find cover,” Timmy said as James continued to lob projectiles at the general with little success. His own makeshift barriers could barely stand up to the torrents the general was throwing around, and being swept away would most likely result in at least a couple of broken bones or worse. “We’re sitting ducks out here.” His gaze swept over the hall. No wonder the hall was so open. It was perfect for the general’s magic.

Another lance of heat raced toward them, and James hurried to get behind the nearest object: a large, ornate pot that had somehow made it through the fight so far without getting knocked over.

“Are you serious?” Timmy shouted. “Are you that eager to die? Find something better to hide behind!”

James cursed wildly as another attack melted the pot and almost melted him too. He dove behind a pillar. “This should be –” He stopped mid sentence as a ray of heat pierced through the pillar, only a few inches from his head. “Or not.”

“Move!” Timmy bellowed. The fact that the attack had gone through the pillar meant that either the general had put a stupidly large amount of power into it, or that the magic protecting this area was designed to let the general act freely.

James broken into a ragged run, and Timmy grabbed hold of some of the stone rubble with his magic. He wrenched it upward and reinforced it with as much magic as he could muster on such short notice. A fresh volley of water and fire managed to break through the hastily constructed wall, but James managed to make it to safety with bruises instead of holes. Timmy thrust his shovel forward and hurled the wall at the general. The zombie growled and leapt over the barrier rather than use his magic. Timmy gestured again, and the stone turned into dust, swirling around the general in a bid to hinder his vision.

“We need a plan,” Timmy shouted.

“I’m kind of busy here, so I’ll leave that to you,” Vicky retorted.

Somehow, despite the dust swirling around him, the general was still able to track her. He was alternating between blasts of flame and jets and waves of water. Vicky was dodging and firing back, but his shield was somehow able to withstand her magic. Only a legendary shield would have been able to withstand so many of her attacks, so Timmy was certain there was some trick to it. It was possible that the shield, which seemed to be connected to the magic protecting the tomb, was actually transporting her attacks somewhere else or dispersing the force of them throughout the ruins. He’d seen similar magic before although it had been used on the walls of a fortress to make them more durable. He would never have believed that it could be used on something as small as a shield if he wasn’t seeing it with his own eyes.

“Oh, this is stupid.” Vicky leapt over a wave of water and then gestured with both hands.

Spikes of light ripped upward from the floor. The general was forced to dodge, but the spikes changed, turning into barbed chains that threatened to wrench his sword and shield away from him. The general staggered away, and Timmy and James lashed out with their own magic. They landed a solid hit, and the zombie flew back. However, he managed to land on his feet, and Timmy had the distinct feeling that the general would have smiled if he could have.

“Good.” They all flinched as the zombie spoke. His voice was like low and hoarse, like gravel tumbling down a mountain. Slowly, he raised his sword. “You are worthy.”

“I don’t like how that sounds,” Timmy murmured.

“Neither do I,” James added.

“I agree.” Vicky frowned. “He must have another trick up his sleeve. Otherwise, he’d be more worried that we finally managed to land a good hit on him.”

“I wonder,” Timmy said. “He has fire magic and water magic. Do you think he can combine –”

The general’s magic roared, and Vicky leapt in front of them. A gleaming sphere of pure light flared to life around them. “Watch out!”

Timmy was good at chemistry, or alchemy as many people called it, possibly because he needed every advantage he could get. Being able to make acid with magic was all well and good, but he didn’t have acid magic. Likewise, being able to blow things up with magic in a fight was fantastic, but he couldn’t do that either. However, with the proper knowledge and the right materials, he could make acid and explosives. Throw in the right level of preparation, and he could take almost any opponent by surprise at least once, and once was often enough. It was the same reason he’d devoted so much time to learning about runes and seals. Not only was his master a sadistic monster who enjoyed heaping suffering upon him in the name of training but he also had a long, long way to go before he could match people like his master in combat. Necromancy wasn’t ideal for combat, and he needed his shovels to make his earth magic useable. He couldn’t afford to rest on his laurels. He needed to fight, scrape, and claw for every advantage he could get his hands on.

Chemistry had taught him something very important. Steam, especially saturated steam, was extremely good at transferring heat. He’d seen it firsthand when his master had been driven back by a mage who could create steam. His master had been badly scalded, and the steam had no trouble sneaking in through the gaps in his armour or going over and around obstacles. Worse, the other mage had been able to create clouds of steam big enough to outrange his master’s magic. Tearing someone’s soul to pieces was usually great in combat, but steam didn’t have a soul, and his master had never gotten close enough to use his magic effectively. His master had still won in the end, but it had been due to his necromancy, rather than his other magic.

This was going to be a repeat of that scenario. Only instead of clouds of steam, the general was able to focus all of his steam into a thin column that hit like a sledgehammer. Except unlike a sledgehammer, the steam wouldn’t simply break their bones and pulp their flesh. It would boil them alive. Lovely. Timmy also didn’t have an incredibly powerful and incredibly evil master swordsman/necromancer on his side.

But he had something better.

He had Vicky.

The blast of steam would have instantly boiled him and James, but Vicky’s light held it at bay. He could see the effort it took, and the sheer quantity of steam was unreal. The condensation from where the steam hit Vicky’s shield was beginning to flood the area. Timmy reached out, groping for anything that could help. He found a loose piece of rubble and tossed it with his earth magic. It clipped the general’s side, and the steam receded. Vicky shoved the remnants of the attack aside and lunged forward. Her hazel eyes had been replaced by limitless pools of illumination. She was done playing around.

“Aim for the joints of his armour!” Timmy shouted to James.

The other teenager didn’t hesitate – fear of impending death was great for cooperation – and chunks of stone and metal coins sliced through the air. The general tried to ward the attacks off, but Vicky was relentless. She batted his sword aside, and her fist threatened to shatter his shield as she landed a devastating blow that had him skidding back. She didn’t give him any time to regain his footing, following up with a punishing series of punches and kicks that dented his armour and hurled him first into the ceiling and then into a nearby pillar and then the floor.

Vicky poured on the speed and kept one step ahead of the general’s desperate counter attack as James finally managed to strike some of the joints of the zombie’s armour. The armour creaked, and the general growled as one of the shoulder joints got stuck. Vicky seized the opportunity and grabbed hold of the breastplate. There was a hideous shrieking sound as she simply tore the breastplate in two. The general tried to bring his sword to bear, but Vicky wasn’t having any of it. She crushed the zombie’s wrist in one hand and then drove her other fist into the general’s exposed chest. There was an eruption of light, and the general disintegrated. Not even a zombie of his calibre could stand up to so much blunt-force trauma combined with so much light magic.

“Finally.” Vicky turned to them. “We’re taking his stuff, right?”

“Damn straight we are,” James hissed. “He almost killed us. His armour, sword, and shield are the least we deserve for our trouble.”

Timmy walked over to the shield and prodded it thoughtfully with his shovel. “I have a feeling his equipment won’t be as effective once we leave this place. I think it only stood up to Vicky’s magic by taking advantage of its connections to this place and the magic in this area. I’m not saying we shouldn’t take it. We definitely should. If we can replicate it, think of how useful it would be for defending fortresses and other important locations.” He reached into his cloak and pulled out a sack.

“Is that one of those sacks that’s bigger on the inside than the outside?” Vicky asked excitedly. “They’re supposed to be very difficult to acquire.”

“They are,” Timmy replied. “Unless you happen to be on good terms with a corpse dealer.” And Timmy made a point of being on good terms with a number of corpse dealers. “I’ll put everything in here for now, and we can split it up later. Right now, we need to find the entrance to the lower levels of the tomb.”

Vicky pointed to an immense statue at the far end of the hall. From the sheer gaudiness of the statue and the crown it wore, it was probably safe to assume that it was a statue of the king. “How about over there?”

“We’ll have to take a look, but you’re probably right. Narcissism was almost a prerequisite for being a king back in the ancient days.” Timmy put the general’s equipment into the sack. “Time for us to do some tinkering.”

Out of the three of them, Timmy was the one who knew the most about traps and things of a generally hazardous or fatal nature. Unlike some people – namely, Vicky – he couldn’t waltz blithely through deadly traps and powerful enchantments. That would get him killed, which was why his master had placed such a strong emphasis on those during his training. He claimed it was for Timmy’s own good, but Timmy doubted it. It was more likely that his master simply enjoyed watching him squirm and struggle to survive. Without the natural advantage of incredibly powerful magic, Timmy had been forced to rely on his cunning and his ability to learn quickly about a diverse range of topics. Getting to the lower levels of the tomb would allow him to put some of those hard-won skills to work.

“There is definitely a door concealed inside the base of this statue,” Timmy said. “And, no, we can’t just break it open.”

James sighed. “Why am I not surprised? Okay. Fine. Why can’t we break it open?”

Timmy could understand his frustration. James’s magic was stronger if he could get his hands on what he wanted to move. If this had been a normal statue, it wouldn’t have taken James more than a few moments to tear it apart even if it was protected from most forms of magic.

“It’s easier for me to tell now that someone isn’t trying to boil us alive, but this entire place is connected to the currents of ambient magic flowing through this area. I’ll bet it’s why this location was chosen in the first place. There is a lot of magic here, more than enough to power this tomb and the curse on the forest. If I’m reading the runes and seals on this statue correctly, it serves as a hub of sorts. If it gets too badly damaged or broken, its runes and seals will degrade. You do not want that to happen.”

“Oh?” Vicky raised one eyebrow. She was studying the statue intently, no doubt using her excellent memory to compare it to what they’d seen earlier, as well as any books or scrolls she might have read in the past. Perhaps she was memorising its appearance since they would have to mention it in their report, or she could have been memorising how the crown looked, so they could take it if they saw it later. “What happens then?”

“The currents of magic flowing through the land get blocked up, and this whole place probably explodes. I’m talking about an explosion big enough to be seen for miles. James and I are definitely dead, and even you might not survive, Vicky.”

“But we can get to the lower levels, right?” Vicky asked. “You haven’t said it was impossible.”

Trust Vicky to notice that particular detail. “Yes. We should be able to open the door mechanically. Basically, I’m going to pick the lock.” Timmy chuckled. “You’d be amazed by how often picking locks works. The vast majority of incredibly powerful mages tend to be extremely arrogant – arrogant enough to not seek out a quality locksmith because they believe their magic can do a better job. Needless to say, most mages couldn’t design a good, tamper-resistant lock if their lives depended on it.” Timmy reached into his pocket for the lock-picking kit he brought whenever they had a field exercise or assessment.

“Do you carry those with you everywhere?” James drawled. “How suspicious of you.”

“If you’re worried about people stealing things, you should look in the mirror. You can move things with your magic. You shoot coins at your enemies. I’m sure you could rob dozens of people without them noticing a thing if you wanted to.” Timmy ignored James’s squawk of outrage and walked around the base of the statue slowly. The locking mechanism was most likely concealed somewhere within easy reach of the ground. He found it after tapping part of the base, which swung open. “And there we go.”

Timmy did his best to avoid being distracted by the curious gazes of his companions. Vicky would definitely ask him for lessons later, and she’d likely master how to pick a lock in about a week. It was how she was. James, of course, was no doubt using Timmy’s expertise as proof that Timmy was a moral degenerate who deserved to be in prison.

A faint frown crossed Timmy’s lips as he worked. Older locks could be difficult since they often used old principles. It also wasn’t unusual for an old lock to be badly worn or even damaged. After ten minutes of poking and prodding, he felt the lock’s tumblers shift into place. A door opened up beside the lock. Its outline had been concealed by the lines of the statue’s base. Timmy put his lock-picking kit back into his pocket and peered through the open doorway. It was dark, and it led down into the depths of the tomb.

“If that doesn’t look suspicious,” Timmy murmured. “I don’t know what does.”

“Yes, it doesn’t exactly scream safety.” James levitated several crystals into the air. It wouldn’t do for them to be left without light if Vicky had to devote all of her attention to defending them from some obnoxious trap or ambush. “But we’ve come this far. We might as well see it through.”

Vicky slapped James over the back, prompting another scowl from the dark-haired boy. “That’s the spirit. Let’s get a move on!”

“Let me just say this: if I die here, I am totally haunting both of you forever.” Timmy paused. “Especially you, James, since you’re a jerk, and I know you’d haunt me if you got the chance.”

James scoffed. “You might perish here, but I am most definitely surviving.”

They made their way through the door and down a long staircase bathed in the pale, white light of the crystals and Vicky’s magic. The staircase was lined with decorations illustrating the peak of the kingdom that had built the tomb. As usual, there was probably some embellishment. For example, Timmy was fairly confident that the king who had built this tomb had not defeated a hundred expert swordsmen simultaneously without using any magic. But some embellishment was normal. Ancient monarchs tended to have egos even bigger than their tombs. The staircase continued downward for what felt like hours before finally levelling off. They walked through another set of doors and found themselves inside another large hall.

“This place is huge,” Timmy murmured. “Just think of what they could have done with all the money they used to build it. Then again, they could also have used slave labour.” He looked around and readied his shovel. “If there isn’t another zombie general waiting for us here, I’ll be pleasantly surprised and extremely suspicious.”

“It does seem a fitting place to have a fight, given how ostentatious it is,” James said. The hall around them was paved with marble, and the pillars were trimmed in silver and bronze. There might even have been a few gemstones set into the ceiling, along with at least two or three intricate frescoes.

Vicky grinned. “The sooner we deal with the guardians of this tomb, the sooner we can get our hands on the treasure, lift the curse on the forest, and return to receive excellent grades.” She lifted one hand, and a sphere of light illuminated the ceiling above them. “Look at this fresco. There has to be something good in here. Nobody would go to all this effort if there wasn’t something in here worth defending.”

Timmy had learned something very important about Vicky not long after meeting her. If there was one thing she had a talent for – other than being awesome at almost everything she tried – it was finding trouble. She’d barely even finished speaking when a small army of golems began to pour into the hall from doors along the far side. They looked to be made of bronze although it wasn’t possible to be sure until he’d actually bashed a few of them with his shovel.

“Great.” Timmy readied his shovel. He sincerely hoped it was up to the task. Otherwise, he’d have to hide behind Vicky for the rest of the fight, and James would never, ever let him hear the end of that. “At least, we’re going to get plenty of exercise.”

Alongside him, James drew the sword he carried with him on field exercises and assessments. He hadn’t used it against the zombie general since getting too close would have been suicide, but it should do reasonably well against these golems, provided they really were made of bronze. James was a skilled swordsman, and his magic would greatly enhance the damage his sword did. True, the golems were armed, but most golems fought fairly mechanically, relying on their endless stamina and formidable strength instead of skill or technique.

The first golem that reached James took a stab at him with its sword and was promptly cut to ribbons for its trouble after James stepped neatly to one side. There was a brief flare of magic, but whatever magic was being used to enhance the golems, it paled in comparison to the magic that had been used in the general’s shield and armour. If all of the other golems were like this one, they wouldn’t have much trouble dealing with them individually. All they had to be worried about was being overrun.

Timmy was less elegant in his approach. A shovel wasn’t the same as a sword, and he was still working on his technique. Nevertheless, a big, stout piece of metal was generally good for hitting things, and he dodged a golem’s swipe before he caved its head in with his shovel. It twitched and toppled to its knees, and he bashed its chest in for good measure since the majority of golems concealed the most important components in the head and chest.

Another golem tried to sneak up on him, and he jerked away from its attack. These things had quite a diverse array of weapons. Some had swords, but there were others with spears, daggers, pikes, and even maces and flails. Still, he couldn’t understand why they’d been made of bronze. It certainly made them look impressive, but bronze was hardly the most durable metal. Steel golems would have been more expensive, but they would also have posed a much greater threat to intruders. Heck, if it had been up to him, he would have taken the money necessary to build this many bronze golems and put it into building maybe three or four golems out of something like orichalcum or some other semi-legendary substance. Oh well. He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. If his enemy wanted to make his life easier, then so be it. He was due for some good luck.

Not far away, Vicky had created a sword of light and was busy slicing through the golems with characteristic ease. For all that she excelled at pummelling things, she was a genius with a blade. If Timmy ever beat her, it was mostly because he had more experience with a sword and had picked up countless tricks from fighting against a master swordsman who thought that carving him up on a regular basis was a good way to train him. But Vicky was a sponge. She only needed to see something once or twice before she could make it her own, and she worked extremely hard too. Yes, she was that rarest of things: a genius that worked hard, which was great since she was almost always on his side. Golem after golem fell, and Timmy could tell that she was enjoying herself. The golems might not have been a threat to her individually, but their sheer numbers forced her to fight as quickly and efficiently as possible.

On his other side, James was making good progress through the golems as well. Apart from his sword, he was using his coins, and the air around him was filled with streaks of movement as he used the coins to pierce the golems’ exteriors and puncture their more delicate inner workings.

A spear aimed at his face forced Timmy to refocus, and he returned to breaking any golems he could reach. It took them a while, but as the last of the golems fell the next general decided to make his appearance. It was every bit as ostentatious as the hall they were in, which was a pity since Timmy was already calculating the value of so much bronze. He could make a tidy profit from selling the golems if he managed to make it out of here in one piece.

Part of the floor opened up, and a platform coated in gold and silver rose out of the floor. Timmy blinked. He needed to learn how to build something like that. The general resembled a giant, demented bat with his long, scraggly, black cloak that billowed majestically in a non-existent breeze. He drew two swords with a flourish and gave them a grand, mocking bow before he stepped off the platform and struck a pose, one sword pointed straight at them, the other held out to one side. It looked awfully heroic, or it would have if the general hadn’t been a zombie whose face closely resembled a dehydrated prune with overly large teeth.

Vicky tried to do the sensible thing: blast him with her magic while he was posing. However, he deflected her attack with his swords and his magic. Timmy’s eyes narrowed as a bright glow settled around the general’s weapons. Despite being a zombie, he was using light magic to reinforce himself and his weapons, not unlike what Vicky did when she fought or used a normal weapon instead of one made of light. Timmy felt his estimate of the necromancer who had turned the generals into zombies grow. It was notoriously difficult to create a zombie that retained its light magic, and it got harder the more powerful that light magic was. The general’s lips curved up into a grim parody of a smile, and he moved one of his swords back and forth in what was clearly a gesture of admonition.

“Make swords for me and James,” Timmy said to Vicky. “I’m willing to bet that those swords of his are well made, and if his light magic is anywhere near as strong as yours, neither James’s sword nor my shovel will do too well against them now that he’s enhancing them with his light magic.”

Vicky made each of them a sword out of light, and both Timmy and James took a moment to familiarise themselves with the feel of their new weapons. Despite being made of light, they seemed to weigh almost as much as a regular sword. Odd. He’d have to ask Vicky about that later since light magic wasn’t exactly one of his specialities.

“Should we fight him individually or together?” Vicky asked.

Timmy pursed his lips. It was a reasonable question. Fighting together wouldn’t help if they only got in each other’s way. However, despite all the arguing they did, they knew each other’s fighting styles extremely well. Heck, he and James detested each other, but he rarely had to shout more than a few words for the other boy to understand his plans.”

“Together,” Timmy said at last. His lips curved up into a faint smile. “Look at him just standing there.” The general had struck another truly impressive pose, and his cloak continued to billow around in a stiff breeze that no one else could feel. Was he seriously using magic to make himself look more impressive? “He wants this to be as epic as possible. We might as well oblige him.”

James snorted. “A zombie with a sense of drama? Will wonders never cease? Unbelievable. If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was your doing.”

They moved forward together, and the general met them halfway with what passed for a grin on his withered face. The first clash of blades sent sparks flying every which way, and Timmy grimaced at the sudden increase in brightness. This was the first time he’d seen light magic this powerful clash against Vicky’s. It was beautiful. Each time their blades met, it was like a cloud of fireflies was born.

As the battle unfolded, Timmy had to scramble to keep up. The zombie general was incredibly fast and skilled. He would have loved to ask the necromancer who’d made him how they’d managed it. Meanwhile, Vicky’s swordsmanship was stunning. Her hand-to-hand fighting style varied depending on how much magic she used. It could go from flowing and elegant to brutally efficient in an instant. But her swordplay was an exquisite mix of elegance, efficiency, speed, and power. She might not favour a sword in combat, but no one would ever have known that by watching her.

On Timmy’s other side, James wielded his blade the same way he did everything: bluntly but efficiently and with a modicum of grace. James had always relied on his thorough mastery of the basics to assert his will in a fight, putting his trust in his many hours of training rather than tricks or traps.

As for Timmy, he’d grown up getting pummelled by one of the greatest swordsmen in Everton. He had excellent basics, but it was his cunning and ability to read his opponents that had allowed him to survive the training sessions his master subjected him to whenever he was in a bad mood. Being maniacally devious and cunning had its advantages, and Timmy had beaten more than one technically superior opponent through deception and misdirection.

But even with all three of them attacking, they still weren’t winning.

The general’s two swords were a blur as he fended off blow after blow. He spun and flung Timmy back with a thunderous blow and then leaned back just far enough to dodge a strike from Vicky. As the girl brought her weapon around to block the general’s riposte, the zombie landed a hard kick to James’s stomach. His subsequent follow up would have decapitated James if Timmy hadn’t kicked the other teenager’s legs out from under him. It was a shame, but he couldn’t let James die here. His grades would suffer, and getting to kick him was some compensation, at least.

“You oaf!” James hissed.

“I saved your life, you jerk,” Timmy shot back as they got to their feet.

Vicky was still fighting, and she and the general exchanged a storm of blows at dizzying speed, their forms little more than blurs as both of them began to draw on more and more of their magic. A missed slash carved a furrow in the floor, and Vicky vaulted back before her opponent could take advantage of her miss.

“A little help?” Vicky shouted. “He’s good.”

“I don’t know,” Timmy replied. “You seemed to be doing okay, and we might just get in the –”

“Get over here and help!”

Timmy and James sprang back into the fray, and the thunder of combat resumed. Timmy couldn’t believe that the three of them together had yet to land a decent blow. The general was truly superb, and he was smart too. He’d realised that Vicky’s light magic was incredibly versatile, and he refused to give her the time to use it at its full strength and flexibility. Timmy, however, was finally starting to get a read on the general. As good as the zombie was, he still had habits, and learning someone’s habits could change the outcome of a fight.

On his own, Timmy would have been dead ages ago, but having Vicky and James around gave him the time he needed to spot some of the zombie general’s habits. He hung back, waiting for his opportunity, and when the general committed to the strike Timmy had been expecting, he twisted away and jammed his blade up at the exposed side of his opponent. The general jerked his blade down to intercept the attack, and Vicky lunged forward faster than any human should have been able to.

Her attack should have cut the general in half. To his credit, he managed to survive but at the cost of an arm. Yet despite having only one arm, he continued to fend them off, fighting with a skill that even Timmy’s master would have envied. But little by little, their advantage began to tell. A cut here, a gash there – the general’s defence was no longer impenetrable. As a zombie, those little wounds wouldn’t kill him or even tire him out, but the damage was beginning to slow his movement. Finally, he missed a block. Vicky yanked her sword down and twisted sharply. They both lost their blades, but Vicky simply created another one. The general was not so lucky. Vicky swung her new weapon and removed the general’s head. The zombie dropped to his knees, and Vicky’s magic made short work of him from there. As the head began to disintegrate, Timmy could have sworn the general was grinning from ear to ear, an expression that was thoroughly disturbing on a zombie. Nevertheless, Timmy found himself smiling too. Perhaps all the general had been looking for was one last good fight before he moved on to the afterlife.

“Well,” Vicky said with a smile. “That was certainly invigorating.” She glanced down at the general’s swords. “I wish we could have fought him when he was alive. I bet he was even better before he became a zombie. Oh well. Let’s grab his swords and store them away before we go on. If you’re right, Timmy, we still have two more generals to deal with.”

“Wonderful,” James muttered. “We’ve fought someone who relied mostly on their magic and someone who relied mostly on swordplay. Knowing our luck, we’ll have to face some kind of crazy archer next.”

Timmy hated it when James was right, but he especially hated it when James was right about people who wanted to kill them. The next hall was even larger, and Timmy was starting to wonder if the cost of building this tomb was what had led to the downfall of the kingdom. To his exasperation, the general there was indeed an archer. They found out the hard way when Timmy was forced to use his shovel to block an arrow aimed for one of James’s eyes. The pompous idiot had been too busy grumbling about the tear in his cloak that he’d picked up during their previous battle to notice the projectile. The resulting explosion tore the shovel out of Timmy’s hands and tossed both him and James back like ragdolls. Vicky was fine because of course she was.

“Great,” Timmy muttered as he clutched at his lower back and crawled toward his shovel. He really hoped that the pain in his back didn’t become chronic although he wouldn’t be surprised if it did. Lower-back pain was extremely common amongst necromancers, possibly because of all the grave-robbing most of them indulged in. “Our friend here either has arrows tipped with explosives or magic that can make arrows explode.” He looked around. “And the roof here isn’t solid. Instead, there are a lot of exposed beams and places for him to hide.” He grimaced. “Can you flush him out, Vicky?”

Vicky waved her hands, and small spheres of light flew off in all directions, filling the hall with light. “Over there!” She turned, and beams of radiance raced into the area above them. A darkly clad figure vaulted away, but the beams continued their pursuit. It couldn’t have been easy maintaining the beams for so long, but Vicky wasn’t like most people. A lesser mage had a bucket’s worth of magic to throw around. An exceptionally powerful one might have a swimming pool’s worth. Vicky? She had an ocean to work with. At the last moment, right before the beams could connect, the archer vanished in a cloud of shadows.

“He can teleport.” James’s expression was murderous. Timmy would have laughed if they hadn’t been facing imminent death via exploding arrow. “So we have a stealthy archer who can teleport and shoot exploding arrows at us.”

“This is why you shouldn’t tempt fate,” Timmy retorted. “Think about it. Does anyone ever tempt fate and win? It never works. It always, always goes wrong. Next time, maybe you could say something about a dragon. Who knows? It’s not like this isn’t troublesome enough already. At this rate, we’ll run into an ancient dragon capable of spewing fire that can pierce dimensions or something.”

“Teleportation or not,” James said haughtily. “I can beat him.” His magic slammed into the floor, and he wrenched up dozens of shards of stone. Some of his coins floated around him as well. “My magic is better than any bow, and he won’t catch me off guard again.”

Timmy politely refrained from pointing out that James couldn’t explode things with his magic. He also politely refrained from laughing when James tried to use his magic to grab the next arrow that the archer fired at him with his magic. Instead of being stopped in mid air, the arrow sailed toward his head, and James tumbled to the ground in an ungainly heap.

“Impossible!” James growled. “I should be able to stop his arrows with my magic!”

Timmy rolled his eyes. “Unless he is using specially crafted arrows that are resistant to the magic of other people.”

James twitched. “Good point.” He frowned. “And you couldn’t have warned me about that possibility earlier?”

Timmy smiled beatifically. “I’m sorry.” He totally wasn’t sorry. “I simply assumed that you were smart enough to have considered that possibility on your own. Was I wrong?”

James’s jaw clenched, and Timmy barely managed to keep from laughing.

“Focus!” Vicky yelled. “You can make fun of each other after we’re done here.”

What followed was the most bizarre game of tag that Timmy had ever seen or participated in. The archer would teleport around the hall and shoot exploding arrows at them while they dodged and replied with projectiles of their own. Vicky and James had yet to land a solid hit, and Timmy wasn’t having much luck either. Instead, he did his best to watch and analyse the archer’s abilities. The teleportation was annoying, but teleportation rarely came without at least one or two powerful drawbacks. His eyes narrowed. What was the drawback here? There was also the question of the archer’s arrows. He had a quiver, but he’d already fired far more arrows than should have been able to fit into a quiver of that size. The most plausible answer was that the quiver was like the sack Timmy had – bigger on the inside than the outside.

“Vicky, can you make me a bow?” Timmy asked.

The chestnut-haired girl tossed him a bow and some arrows made of light. He was no elf with a bow, but he was decent enough with one. Indeed, he was decent enough with almost any weapon. His brows furrowed as he watched the zombie general teleport around the room. There had to be a pattern or a weakness. His eyes narrowed. The general wasn’t teleporting away from everything. Sometimes, he actually bothered to dodge. But why would he bother to dodge if he could just teleport? He smiled. He had an idea.

He launched an arrow at the archer. “Get ready!” he shouted to Vicky and James. “Attack as soon as he reappears and don’t stop attacking!”

The archer vanished into another teleport, but Vicky and James attacked the instant he reappeared. The zombie’s milky eyes widened, and he teleported again. Timmy readied an arrow and fired as soon as the zombie reappeared. Again, he teleported, and again Vicky and James pressed their attack once he reappeared. This time, however, there was something different when he teleported. The cloud of shadows was much larger, and the zombie general used far more magic than in his previous teleports.

“The more rapidly he teleports, the more magic he uses,” Vicky cried. “Nicely spotted! We have to keep pressuring him. He’ll run out of magic eventually, and he can’t counter attack if he has to keep teleporting.”

They maintained their furious barrage, and after several more minutes of frantic teleporting, there was a snapping sound, like a rope being stretched to breaking point and beyond. The archer tumbled out of the air, and James didn’t need any further encouragement. The dark-haired teenager unleashed a hail of stone and metal, and the general was swiftly reduced to little more than a smear. To be on the safe side, Vicky used her magic to completely destroy the corpse.

“We should take the bow and the quiver,” James said. “They could come in handy even if none of us can use a bow as well as he did.”

“One general left.” Vicky grinned. “This shouldn’t be too hard.” She caught Timmy’s horrified look and gave him a thumb’s up. “Relax, Timmy. I was being sarcastic, which means it should actually be easy… or not?”

“Are you trying to make this harder?” Timmy sometimes wondered if lack of common sense was a prerequisite for having awesome magical power. Probably. It would certainly explain a lot.

They continued down through the tomb until they reached yet another large hall. Honestly, Timmy doubted that any normal kingdom could have afforded to build something so huge underground. They had to have used slave labour or perhaps summoned creatures like demons or protoplasmic horrors. Sam had told him that some of his kin specialised in building things although their architecture did have a tendency to drive everyone who looked at it insane.

“So… you’ve made it this far. Congratulations.”

They all stopped. The words came from a zombie who sat on the far side of a gigantic chessboard. “Welcome. Please, don’t try to run. I am – or I was – quite honourable, but I can be merciless when I need to be. This entire hall has been rigged with traps and enchantments. If you try to leave, I will activate all of them. I’m sure that we’ll all die, but, really, I’ve been dead for centuries.” The zombie grinned, revealing blackened teeth and rotting gums. “Although I suppose you could say that I’m not quite dead yet.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Timmy slung his shovel over his back and stepped forward. As he’d spoken, the zombie had sent a light pulse of magic through the room. He wasn’t lying. The entire hall was one gigantic trap. “How are we going to do this? Is this going to be one of those challenges where we have to defeat you in a game of chess to survive?”

The zombie laughed heartily. It was a hideous sound. He slapped his knee and thumped his chest. “Hah! You sound like you’ve done this before, boy. Yes, that’s exactly what this is. Defeat me, and I will gladly disable the traps and enchantments in this hall before going to my eternal rest. Lose, and we all die here.” The zombie chuckled and rubbed his chin. “You know, I was never as devoted to the kingdom as the other three. I was only in it for the money. Look where it got me. The king poisoned my wine, so I could be turned into a zombie.” His lips curled. “He was always an ungrateful bastard. You’d think I’d have earned a nice pension and a comfortable manor near the beach after I won all those wars for him, but here we are.”

“You’re not going to fight us? You’re going to challenge us to a game of chess?” Vicky asked incredulously.

“Why not? If you beat the other three, you can definitely beat me in a fight. I was a strategist in life, girl. If I had to fight, the battle was already lost.” He eyed the chessboard fondly. “I’ve been here a long, long time. I just want to rest, but I can’t, not until I’ve fulfilled the conditions placed upon me when I was turned into a zombie. I have to protect this tomb. At least, I have to try to protect it.” He waved them forward. “Come on, let this old zombie enjoy one last game of chess. I haven’t played a decent game in ages, and at least one of you has to be decent.” He paused. “People do still play chess, right?”

Timmy chuckled. “They do.” Despite the situation, he couldn’t help but like this zombie. “All right. We’ll play, but what are the rules? Do you want to play each of us, or should we play together?”

The zombie cracked another awful smile. “I like you. Yes, you’re a necromancer. I can feel it, but you’ve got a sense of humour. You’d be amazed by how rare that is in necromancers. Certainly, the bastards who turned me into a zombie didn’t have a sense of humour. It’s a pity they were smart enough to make sure I couldn’t harm them.” He stood up. “Here are the rules. You can either send your best player forward, or you can play as a team. I don’t mind. But we will only play one game.” He smirked. “If you win, I let you past and disable all the traps. If I win – or if there is a draw – we all die. Sound good to you?”

“It’s not like we have a choice,” Timmy replied. “Let’s go.”

“Excellent.” The zombie gestured at the board. “Since I’m feeling generous, you lot can be white. I’ll play black. You have three minutes to make your first move.”

The three of them formed an impromptu huddle. Timmy was the best strategist amongst them and the one who’d played the most chess. Vicky and James were both good at chess too, albeit with different styles. Vicky preferred to overwhelm opponents whereas James preferred to play a more measured game, picking apart his opponent in the late game. After a brief discussion, they came to an agreement. Timmy would take the lead, and Vicky and James would do their best to make sure that he didn’t miss anything or make any silly mistakes.

“Don’t screw this up,” James murmured. “I enjoy living.”

“Relax,” Vicky said. “Timmy is probably the best chess player in our class. He’ll be fine.”

“I’m glad you have such confidence in me,” Timmy whispered before he turned to the zombie and raised his voice. “I’m ready to make our first move.”

“Then go ahead.” The zombie cackled. “I like those eyes of yours, boy. You have ambition, but it’s tempered with practicality. It reminds me of me.” He grinned mirthlessly. “Try not to end up like me. It’s not pleasant.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good. Then make your move.”

The game was not easy. The zombie was incredibly good, and despite being stuck in a tomb for centuries, he wasn’t caught off guard by any of the more modern variations Timmy used to start the game. Instead, he replied by playing a solid defensive game, one guaranteed to take the game into its later stages. Timmy found himself smiling. He hadn’t faced such a good opponent in a long time, but he didn’t plan on losing.

As the game continued, Timmy was able to eke out a tiny advantage. It wasn’t much, only a piece or two, but he was able to secure a strong position and slowly but surely grind the zombie strategist down. It made him wonder how the game would have gone if their positions were reversed. Many believed that white had the advantage since it had the first move although perfect play by both sides would likely result in a draw. However, people weren’t perfect, and in a close game even a single mistake could lead to defeat. Even now, as they reached the endgame with Timmy in front, there was only a small gap between them. Had Timmy played black instead of white, he could easily have found himself on the losing side of the board.

“Not bad, not bad at all.” The zombie laughed. “You have checkmate in four moves, correct? I won’t insult you by forcing you to play it out. Well done. It’s nice to see that the people who beat my colleagues have more than just brawn on their side.” His magic flared, and the traps and enchantments around the room began to deactivate. “You’ve won. I won’t stop you.” He gestured at the door behind him. “The king himself awaits you in the hall ahead. And, yes, I know this tomb is gigantic. The king may or may not have bankrupted the country and enslaved most of its people to build this place, but you know royalty. Ah, I should have taken that job offer from King Mandaleus IX.”

Timmy shook his head. “Actually, you should be glad you didn’t. I’ve been to his tomb. It’s even crazier than this one.”

“Ah.” The strategist winced. “Well, I suppose that my situation is yet another example of how sometimes, there are no good choices, only bad choices and worse ones.” He stared at the chessboard intently as if trying to burn the arrangement of the final pieces into his mind. “Be careful, you three. His Royal Majesty might be a bastard, but he’s a strong bastard, and he’s clung on for far too long already. He won’t go without a fight.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Timmy said.

The general tugged off his armour and let it fall to the floor. “You’re a necromancer, right? Could you do me a favour and send me on to the afterlife. I’ve lingered here long enough, and if a necromancer sends me, I can be confident I won’t end up back here again.”

Timmy nodded. “I can do that. Do you need a moment to prepare yourself?”

“Boy,” the strategist replied. “I’ve been ready to go for ages.”

Timmy thrust one arm forward, and the zombie turned to dust. “He wasn’t half bad,” he murmured.

“No,” James said softly. “He wasn’t. He wasn’t like the others either.”

“You heard him,” Timmy said. “Being a general was only a job to him. The other three… I wouldn’t be surprised if they remained loyal to the king even in death. He must have had incredibly strong willpower. He did his best to get around the orders he was given, and he even let us play white. A normal zombie would never be able to go that far against their creator’s orders.” He walked over to one of the chess pieces. “And, hey, it’s not like he didn’t leave us with anything good. If I’m not mistaken, these chess pieces are mostly silver with gold trimming.”

“How materialistic of you,” James replied. “But you’re not wrong. If these things are solid silver, they’re worth a lot.”

“We can have a closer look at them later,” Vicky said. Her gaze went to the door ahead of them. “We’ve got one more fight. Let’s deal with the king and put an end to all of this.”

The king was waiting for them in the largest, most ostentatious hall yet. It was really quite unbelievable. Setting aside how gaudy it was – the floor was paved with precious stones and the walls were trimmed in amber, silver, and gold – there had be to some kind of spatial magic at work because there was no way a hall this big should have been able to fit underground without Timmy, an earth mage, noticing it from miles and miles away. It would have been like trying to hide a mountain from him.

Unlike the other generals, the king did not seem to believe in anything even approaching fair play. He’d encased himself in a fifteen-feet-tall suit of armour, one armed with a sword, a shield, and an assortment of other weapons, amongst them glittering crystals that Timmy would bet his shovel operated like magical cannons. The king was also oozing enough magic to make Timmy’s hair stand on end. The first general’s shield had drawn off the power of the tomb and its surroundings. The king was practically swimming in it.

“You’ve made it far, fools, but this is where you die!” the king bellowed. Timmy and the others barely managed to keep from laughing. Despite the fearsome appearance of the armour – it had the appearance of a massive knight dressed in armour meant to mimic the general aesthetic of a dragon – the king’s voice was awfully high pitched. In fact, he sounded like someone whose voice had never broken, which might explain his need to build such a grossly extravagant tomb. He’d been compensating. “You dare mock me? I am the Eternal King Darkan! None can defeat me!”

“Are all ancient kings this crazy?” Vicky asked, nudging Timmy.

“Only the ones who build giant tombs,” Timmy replied. “The regular ones? We never find out about them because they don’t build giant tombs filled with monsters and treasure. They just… die and get buried like normal people.”

“Good point.” Vicky cracked her knuckles. “And speaking of treasure, let’s get this over with.” Light gathered around her, and she gestured grandly. “Attack!” Timmy snickered. She’d always possessed a flair for the dramatic.

“You heard her,” Timmy said to James. “Attack!”

Timmy loped around some pillars and waited for an opportunity as Vicky charged forward to draw the king’s attention. James took up a position on Vicky’s other side, ready to strike if an opportunity presented itself. Unlike in their previous fights, Vicky didn’t waste any time. She summoned a cloak of light around herself and slapped aside blasts of fire, lightning, ice, and shadow with her magic while replying with bolts of blinding radiance that shook the hall and scorched the armour whenever they hit. Timmy winced. She wasn’t pulling her punches much at all.

The king staggered back and raised his shield. Much like the general’s shield from before, the shield was able to absorb Vicky’s attacks, but Vicky was ready for it this time. Chains of light shot forward, and she tried to wrestle the shield out of the king’s grasp. With the king distracted, James made his move. He shattered parts of the floor and threw an assortment of precious stones at the king. It might have been painful to watch – Timmy was mentally cataloguing the worth of James’s projectiles – but diamonds and the like were extremely hard. The first wave of projectiles bounced off the king’s armour without leaving a scratch, but James was smart enough to change tactics. Instead of targeting different spots, he struck the same spots over and over again. If he could crack the king’s armour, it would be a lot easier for Vicky to finish the fight.

However, the king was not an idiot. The armour was far too large for a normal person to wear. Timmy strongly suspected that it was more like a golem with some space set aside for the king to operate it from the inside. The king used the size and strength of the armour to force Vicky back with a series of bludgeoning blows from his sword. The blade, which was longer than Vicky was tall, swung down with enough force to turn a boulder into powder. The floor under her cracked as she caught the blow on a sword made of light. Her blade flickered wildly as the space around the king’s weapon warped and twisted. Timmy scowled. The sword had some kind of spatial magic on it, most likely to make it sharper and more durable. Thankfully, Vicky’s magic didn’t have to answer to the laws of physics the way a normal sword did. Her glowing blade brightened, and she shoved the king back with a burst of strength. As the king rumbled forward again, James intervened. He fired gems at the armour’s helmet, but Timmy doubted that would work. The helmet was almost certainly for show. Assuming that the king was a human of roughly normal size and shape, he would be concealed within the golem’s torso, which meant he needed some other way to see what was happening.

“Aim for the glowing crystals on the chest,” Timmy shouted. “The blue ones. Those are modified scrying crystals. He uses them to see because he’s inside the armour’s chest.”

That got the king’s attention. He lifted one arm, and Timmy dove just in time to avoid a crossbow bolt that was almost as big as he was.

“Timmy!” Vicky shouted. “Move!”

But Timmy was already in motion as the king prepared another attack. Vicky put herself between them, and he ducked behind a pillar. The king was torn between attacking the person who’d identified one of his weaknesses and fighting off Vicky and James. Vicky was warming up, and the mantle of light that had settled around her blazed like a star. Her blows thundered in with even greater force than before, and Timmy’s eyes widened as cracks began to appear on the king’s shield. It was nice to know that attempting to murder him made Vicky mad. As the king spun in a bid to get away from Vicky and attack James, Timmy circled around until he was behind him. Breaking into a sprint, Timmy leapt onto the back of the armour. The armour jerked beneath him, and the king tried to throw him off. Timmy clung on as best he could and jammed his shovel into one of the joints of the armour. He sawed his shovel back and forth until something – hopefully not his shovel – snapped and gave way. The king bellowed in rage and reached back in a bid to grab him.

“Hold him still!” Timmy shouted.

If Timmy ever made a suit of armour like this, he’d be sure to build more defences onto its back. As the king flailed about, trying and failing to reach him, glowing tendrils of light grabbed hold of the armour’s arms. The king gave a cry of outrage, but Vicky’s chains were all but unbreakable, and James added his own magic, doing his best to hinder the king’s movements. Timmy clambered over to a narrow gap along the spine of the armour and drove his shovel into it as hard as he could. There was a horrible grinding sound, and Timmy put all of his weight on his shovel. He felt gears and other bits and pieces break and give way, and he drew one leg back and kicked the handle of his shovel. The tool sank another inch or two into the armour, and Timmy kicked his shovel again. This time, the shovel went almost half a foot into the armour, and sparks flew out of the gap. The armour twitched and then dropped to its knees before toppling onto its side. Timmy yanked his shovel free and rolled out of the way. Whatever mechanisms the king used to control the armour had been badly damaged. But Timmy had also noticed something – something disturbing.

“Cut the chest open,” Timmy said. “But be careful. He could be planning to surprise us.” He paused. “And get ready for a surprise. He won’t be what we’re expecting.”

Vicky cut the armour open and gasped. “This is…”

Timmy nodded. Beside him, James made a disgusted sound. The king had no body. Instead, his head had been placed where the golem’s mechanical heart would normally have been. It was connected to a variety of mechanisms and magical devices, many of which were leaking fluid and magic. The king glared at them, hissing and spitting as whatever magic or artifice kept him alive began to fail. Lips twisted into a bitter snarl, the king gave one last roar of defiance before his head crumbled to dust.

James rubbed his eyes as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just seen. “That was by far the weirdest thing we’ve seen all day.” He shook himself. “What now?”

Timmy grinned. “We need to find the anchor for the curse on the forest. Once we break it, we should be able to make it through the forest without a hitch. It shouldn’t be far.” He pointed to one of the doors at the far end of the hall. “I’m guessing one of those leads to the anchor. The other one…”

“I bet the other one leads to the treasury.” Vicky smirked. “We can break the curse first and then go exploring in the treasury. I’m sure we’ll find something nice back there for each of us.”

* * *

Timmy schooled his face into an expression of vague contrition as he continued to ignore the yelling of their instructor as he ranted and raved about them going off to explore an ancient tomb without permission. He’d been subjected to similar rants several times in the past, and this particular instructor already disliked him. Instead of saying anything, he pretended to listen and let Vicky and James do all the talking while he mentally catalogued how much his share of the spoils would be worth.

Vicky had a way of getting what she wanted without people ever realising they’d done exactly as she desired, and James was also surprisingly good at turning the rules against the instructors when the need arose. Timmy would have liked to bring some of his share back to the castle, but he couldn’t risk it. His master would either sell it for booze or trade it in for a nightmarish artefact capable bringing about the apocalypse. He’d have to ask Vicky to hold onto it for now unless, yes, he could go to the bank, but there were certain issues there, again, because of his master. He also wasn’t sure if the bank would agree to store everything, given its policy on dangerous items. Vicky and her family, however, were more than qualified to store dangerous items.

They had to endure almost an hour and half of being lectured, but they managed to get off with nothing more than a few days of detention and an extra essay. They’d also received the highest marks on the assessment. Apparently, the people who lived near the formerly cursed forest had been very, very pleased about the curse being lifted. It didn’t hurt that a preliminary examination of the tomb by some of the kingdom’s experts had revealed it to be a treasure trove of historically significant artefacts, amongst them a painfully detailed account of the king’s life written by some poor fellow who’d been executed not long after finishing it to ensure that it would remain his greatest achievement. As the ones who had cleared the tomb and made it safe for archaeological study, all three of them were entitled to a nice reward.

“What are you going to do with your share?” Timmy asked James. The three of them had found a quiet part of the academy to discuss their next move.

“I could use a better sword. My current one can’t handle too much of my magic without breaking.” James’s lips curled. “One of the swords the generals used would do nicely.”

“The bow and quiver interest me,” Vicky said. “I need to work on my archery, and my family hasn’t got a better bow.” She smiled faintly. “I actually can’t remember the last time someone from my family specialised in archery. We tend to prefer a more direct approach.”

“I can imagine,” Timmy said. He grinned. “I’m going to study the shields and the armour. If I can work out how they operate, I might be able to replicate them, or at least, do something similar.”

“You’re not going to use them?” Vicky asked.

Timmy shook his head. “I spent some time examining them on our way back. They weren’t really stopping your magic, Vicky. Instead, they were absorbing your attacks and using the magic of the surrounding area to distribute the force of each attack across a huge area. In theory, you would have been able to bypass the shield’s abilities if you’d gone for a really big attack although anything big enough to overwhelm the shield would most likely have brought the tomb down on top of us.” He pursed his lips. “I’d like to have a look at some of the books too, once the archaeologists have finished cataloguing them. I took a few, but I didn’t have space to take all of the interesting ones.”

“Those books you’re interested in are evil, and you know it.” James scoffed. “Didn’t you read the warnings on the front? They’ll drive you insane.”

“Maybe,” Timmy replied. “But there aren’t many books that cover magic from so long ago. There could be new magic that we don’t know about or ways to use magic that we’ve forgotten.” He patted the pouch full of gems in his pocket. “Unlike some people, I need to seize every opportunity I can.”

“I’ll speak to my cousin. She’s one of the archaeologists.” Vicky smiled impishly. “Now about the gold and other valuables we’re entitled to…”

“Split it evenly between us.” James shrugged. “We all did our share of the work.” His gaze sharpened as he looked at Timmy. “I imagine you’ll have more problems handling your share than either of us.”

Despite calling him an idiot whenever he could get away with it, Timmy knew that James was actually rather clever. He might not have known exactly who Timmy was, and if he’d known whom Timmy’s master was, he would have reported him to the authorities immediately. But he understood enough to know that Timmy didn’t always go about things in a strictly legal way.

“I’ll make arrangements,” Timmy said at last. “I’m just glad we only had to listen to him prattle on for an hour and a half. The last time I was there, he went for almost three hours.”

* * *

Katie hurried over to her master. She’d been scouring maps for places where ancient tombs might be, so they could liberate them of their ancient wealth. She was certain she’d found one, and any treasure they found would be put to good use. The courtyard near her chambers could use some work, and she wouldn’t mind expanding her favourite lab. Oh, and there was also that sale on manticores coming up in a few weeks. One manticore would be nice, but three or four would be even better. “What about here, master? There should be an ancient tomb there for us to raid.”

“I’m impressed you spotted that place.” A wry smile crossed his lips. “But there’s no point in us going there.”

“What? Why?” Disappointment coursed through her. Aside from the money they could get, he’d finally agreed to let her come along with him to raid a tomb, provided the tomb wasn’t too dangerous. “Master?”

“There is a tomb there. I raided it when I was younger. It was a bit rough. I definitely wouldn’t take you if its guardians were still around. However, it’s under the authority of the Everton Archaeological Society now. Any treasure left is also historically important, but you don’t have to worry.” Timmy chuckled. “I made sure to get as much of the good stuff as I could.”

“Was there anything interesting?” Katie asked excitedly.

“There was plenty of the usual stuff, like precious metals and gemstones. As for what else there was…” He stood up and gestured for her to follow him. “It’ll be easier if I just show you. Some of it has proven to be quite handy over the years.”

Katie eagerly followed her master through the winding corridors of the castle. He didn’t always act like it, but he was a Grand Necromancer. Plus, nobody could have raided as many tombs as he had without being reasonably powerful and skilled. “What else did you find?”

“Some of the tomb’s guardians used equipment that I’ve spent years studying. Many of the runes and seals I’ve added or replaced to make the castle more secure were inspired by that equipment. I also managed to get my hands on some interesting books.” He bit back a smile as Katie practically tackled him.

“Books, master?” Katie cried. “What kind of books?”

“The kind I can’t keep in the library because of how dangerous they are.” He stopped in front of a heavy door, and Katie waited with bated breath as he began to unlock both the door’s mechanical lock and its magical defences. “I can show you a few of the books, but you have to do exactly as I say. I’d rather not have to deal with an insane apprentice.”

Katie nodded quickly. She couldn’t wait to get a look at the books. There was something so thrilling about poring over a forbidden tome of ancient lore. “I promise I’ll follow your instructions.”

“Good.” He opened the door. “We’ll start off with The Book of Unhallowed Aeons.”

First Meeting

(Set After Two Necromancers, a Dragon, and a Vampire)

Sam – trans-dimensional, protoplasmic horror and cake aficionado extraordinaire – drifted in the air not far from Old Man. The swordsman had asked Timmy if he wanted to go fishing with him, and Timmy had asked Sam if he wanted to come along. The necromancer knew that Sam had been busy tending to the hatchlings of his kind, so some time away from them would be a welcome change. They were curious creatures, the hatchlings, so educating them could be quite exhausting since they had so much to learn about their powers and the world around them. It wouldn’t do for one of them to eat one of the castle’s servants or some passing villager, and it certainly wouldn’t do for one of them to disturb one of the titanic Others that slumbered in the lightless, unhallowed depths beneath the castle.

They would be fishing at the lake, which wasn’t far from the castle, but Sam could only go so far from the castle before things became complicated. He and his kind were not meant to exist in this world. If he strayed too far from the castle without the proper precautions, he could easily find himself cast back into the seething, twisted chaos of his home dimension, a dimension that was distinctly lacking in cake.

Old Man greeted Sam with a cheerful wave, and the horror returned the gesture with one of his tentacles. He had met many humans over the long years of his existence, and their reactions to him typically ranged from terrified screaming to cardiac arrest. Old Man, though, simply followed up his greeting by asking if Sam needed to borrow a fishing rod.

Sam couldn’t blame humans for being terrified of him. He was basically their worst nightmare made flesh, and his kind did sort of want to usher in the apocalypse. Sam might one day help with that, but for the time being, he had no intention of bringing about the end of the world. There was still plenty of cake for him to eat, and he’d grown to enjoy life at the castle. It would also be good for the hatchlings to spend some time on a relatively peaceful world. Once war broke out between his kind and the various other entities that could wander across worlds and dimensions, it had a tendency to drag on for aeons. Perhaps later, long after Timmy, Katie, and everyone he liked had passed on, he might awaken the Others. For now, he was content with how things were. He definitely wouldn’t have been able to go fishing in his home dimension.

As Sam extruded some limbs to rest his weight on since it seemed rude to simply float in the air while Old Man and Timmy had to use their limited human limbs to sit or stand, he took a closer look at Old Man. Sam’s kind didn’t age in the same way as humans or the other denizens of this world. They simply grew bigger and more powerful. Indeed, some of the Others were so huge that their true forms were spread across countless worlds in innumerable dimensions. Most old humans were frail and had to be cared for by younger humans. Old Man was more than capable of taking care of himself, and there was a hidden sharpness to him that few humans, young or old, possessed.

Old Man also saw more keenly than most humans. He’d known right away that Sam was no mindless beast, despite what so many of the ancient legends said about his kind. Just because he could make dozens of mouths filled with dagger-like teeth didn’t mean that food was the only thing on his mind. Admittedly, food was often on his mind but only because the food in this dimension was so much nicer than the food in his home dimension. Old Man also liked to share the fish he caught, and Sam had heard from Spot that the swordsman had a way of cooking the fish that truly brought out their flavour. Sam had never bothered to cook fish before. He’d simply devoured them whole. However, Spot had good taste, and Old Man had promised to cook Sam some fish for lunch.

“I wonder if the fish will bite today,” Old Man murmured. “My luck was far too good yesterday. I wouldn’t be surprised if I don’t catch a thing.”

Timmy chuckled as Sam signalled his concern by briefly flashing red and waving his tentacles in rhythmic fashion. “Don’t worry, Sam. Fishermen have a tendency to be superstitious. This lake is full of fish. I’m sure we’ll catch something.”

Sam changed the rhythm of his tentacle waving and turned first blue and then green. If the fish weren’t willing to bite, he’d simply go in after them. It wasn’t like he needed to breathe, and it wouldn’t take him more than a moment or two to alter his body for optimum effectiveness underwater. He flashed orange in amusement. Sometimes, he wondered how humans managed to get anything done when they had to make do with such limited bodies.

“Are you okay being this far from the castle?” Timmy asked. The necromancer moved his arms in a reasonable facsimile of concern although Sam did have to take into account his friend’s inability to change shape or colour.

Sam signalled that he was fine. It never ceased to amaze him how good a job Timmy did of using his language despite all of his physical limitations. Katie was also coming along nicely in that regard although her shadow magic did make things easier for her. It wasn’t hard for her to make tentacles out of her shadows, but she had yet to figure out if it was possible for her to change the colour of her shadows.

“Are you sure you don’t want to borrow a fishing rod?” Timmy asked. “I brought a spare one along, and I know Old Man did too.” He nodded at some of the rats that were doing some fishing of their own not far away. “We could also ask the rats to make you one.”

Sam quivered in amusement, flashing through several shades of pink and yellow and changing his shape from roughly spherical to something closer to an octahedron. Grinning at Timmy with some of his mouths, Sam extruded a much longer and slimmer tentacle and cast it out into the water.

“Not bad.” Timmy chuckled. “But aren’t you forgetting something?”

Sam turned his attention to the fishing rod that Old Man was preparing before he lifted his tentacle out of the water. He transformed the flesh at the end of his tentacle into a fish-like lure and then lowered it back into the lake.

Old Man’s eyes widened. “Well, that’s certainly handy.”

“He’s a show off,” Timmy said, drawing another display of amusement from Sam. “He won’t say it, but he thinks our bodies are hilariously limited.”

Sam gave what passed for a laugh amongst his kind. Timmy was right. Human bodies were hilarious limited. They had to make do with whatever limbs or organs they were born with, and their ability to regenerate was woefully inadequate. A human would even die if they lost a limb or were cut in half.

“Sam can do more than alter his body. He can control his presence too.” Timmy fiddled with his fishing rod. “If he wants to, he can keep himself hidden until he’s standing right next to you. That’s how you can tell the younger ones apart. The younger ones always make your hair stand on end, and they scare away all the animals too. Sam and the older ones are fine with animals.” Timmy snickered. “You should see him around the pets some of the servants have. They climb all over him.”

Sam turned a pleased shade of pink and purple. He’d always been fascinated by the idea of pets since his kind had never bothered to keep any. He was particularly fond of cats, and the maids had several that seemed to delight in climbing all over him and batting at his tentacles with their claws.

“He’s doing better than Spot then,” Old Man said. “One of the maids has a curious, little tabby. You should have seen the look on his face when he ran into Spot the other day. I’ve never seen a cat more terrified in my life.”

“He was probably worried that Spot was going to eat him.” Timmy chuckled. “Although I have told Spot not to eat any of the servants’ pets.”

Sam signalled his own opinion on the matter. He had a hard time imagining Spot going after a cat when there were cows and other much larger animals available for consumption. A moment later, it occurred to him that Old Man most likely had no idea what he was saying. In a way, Sam had been very fortunate. Both Timmy and Katie could understand his language, and they’d taught most of the servants the basics too since Sam was such a frequent visitor to the kitchen. He could create vocal chords and try speaking. He’d done it on several occasions, but it might not be a good idea. Apparently, the mere sound of his voice could give normal people nightmares or drive them insane. His tentacles shifted in a display of fond exasperation. Humans could have such fragile minds. It was why he had to be careful before using his kind’s version of telepathy. There was no point in asking one of the cooks to bake him a chocolate cake if he melted the poor fellow’s mind in the process.

Taking careful note of the sun’s position – it was supposed to be very warm today, or so Spot said – Sam swung one tentacle up and then transformed it into a makeshift umbrella to provide Timmy and Old Man some shade. He couldn’t get sunburn, but humans could, and it was supposed to be thoroughly unpleasant for them. Old Man and Timmy nodded their thanks, and the three of them exchanged small talk as they waited for the fish to bite.

“You know,” Timmy said, gesturing at the lake. “I wasn’t exactly pleased with the demolition rats when they blew a giant hole into the ground, but I think it’s worked out quite well.”

“It is nice having a lake nearby,” Old Man replied. “And you did well when you chose which species of fish and other animals to put into it.”

“If we’re going to have a lake, it might as well be a good one.”

Sam signalled his agreement as his mind drifted back to the first time he met Timmy. He hadn’t thought much of him at first, but time had a way of changing things even if a human lifetime was nothing more than a blink of an eye for someone like Sam.

* * *

Sam was not cruel. In fact, surprisingly few of his kind were cruel. Oh, they might seem cruel to humans, but that was simply a matter of perspective. When one of his kind devoured a human, it could be a truly horrific sight. They could tear the human limb from limb, they could gnash the human in their countless mouths, or they could simply envelop them and dissolve them in a variety of enzymes and acids. But none of that was done out of cruelty. That was simply how Sam and his kind ate. Likewise, their desire to usher in the apocalypse and plunge the world into a bedlam of murder, slaughter, and horror wasn’t born out of cruelty either. That was what their home dimension was like, so it made perfect sense to them to make other dimensions that way too. It was not unlike how humans changed their environment to make themselves more comfortable. The cities humans were so proud of had not always existed. They had cut down forests, hollowed out quarries, and flattened hills to make them. What Sam and his kind wanted was exactly the same, only on a larger scale.

To Sam, cruelty was when someone went out of their way to cause suffering for no reason. Some of the Others – the oldest and mightiest of his kind who were as far beyond him as he was beyond a mere human – could be cruel. He’d seen them devour hatchlings simply because they could, which was why Sam always kept a close eye on the hatchlings and warned them to steer clear of the Others. If the Others were dragons, then hatchlings were less than ants. What chance did an ant have against a dragon? What courtesy did a dragon owe an ant?

Nevertheless, it puzzled him. There was no point to eating a hatchling. True, the hatchlings were weak, but they would grow stronger in time. Even the Others had been hatchlings once. It also served no nutritional purpose. The Others were beings of incomprehensible power. Flesh could not sustain them. Instead, they fed off the magic of the land and the limitless energies that filled the countless worlds and dimensions of Creation.

Eating the hatchlings also resulted in disunity. Contrary to common belief, Sam’s kind were not a true hive mind. Direct mind-to-mind communication was possible, but it was not always used. Each of them had a sense of self – an identity – and they had their own language. Consideration for others was thus necessary for their society to function. The Others were immeasurably powerful, but they still needed Sam and his ilk to serve as their tentacles while they slumbered beneath the castle. Even when they awakened, they would need help. The Others wished to transform this world and dimension, but left to their own devices, they would simply destroy them instead.

Yet as cruel as some of the Others could be, they were nothing compared to the current Lord of Black Tower Castle. Sam had met some of the previous lords, but none of them had been as cruel as this one. Malcolm Jared Grimm routinely abducted villagers to carry out experiments that served no purpose. Necromancers already had an excellent understanding of human anatomy. In time, it became clear that he simply enjoyed watching people suffer. Sam and his kind could sense emotions, and Malcolm revelled in cruelty. Yes, he radiated joy whenever he had a new victim to torture.

And Malcolm had grown wise enough and powerful enough to torture even Sam and his kind. There was magic that could bind them. There were few who remembered it, but it still existed. It was how the Others had been bound, all those years ago. They were intruders from another dimension, and their very existence was an aberration in this world, an error that reality itself sought to correct. Magic – the right magic – could harm them.

Humans had tried to harm them in the past, back when more had known the right kind of magic, but they had underestimated Sam and his kind. They had assumed that Sam and his kind were little more than savage beasts, driven only by their hunger and incapable of rational thought. But Sam and his kind were cunning. They had dealt with those humans, and now almost no trace of their magic remained. Unfortunately, Malcolm was cunning too, every bit as cunning as he was cruel.

Malcolm concealed his knowledge until he had learned enough to do more than merely hurt Sam. He had learned how to bind Sam and others of his kind, to leave them helpless while he drained them of their power. It was different from the spells used upon the Others. Their powers were too vast for them to notice anything. Not even the most demanding mage could take enough to wake them from their slumber. Sam’s powers were not nearly so vast. For him, it was torture, and Malcolm savoured it.

For years, Sam seethed in impotent rage. A single mistake would have cost Malcolm his life because Sam was no one’s slave. However, the necromancer’s magic was impeccable. All Sam could do was endure and hope that Malcolm grew arrogant and careless. It enraged him. Malcolm hadn’t even devised the magic he’d used. Instead, he’d stolen it from those who were wiser and far more skilled, using treachery and greed to his advantage. But one day, yes, one day, Malcolm would make a mistake. He was, after all, only human. When that day came, Sam would see him dead. All he had to do was wait.

And then the boy arrived.

Sam was still locked in a chamber under the castle, bound by magic that constantly drained him of power, when Malcolm came to taunt him again. This time, however, the necromancer was not alone. There was a boy with him. The boy didn’t look like much. He was thin and scruffy, and he had a black eye. Yet there was something about him. Although one of his eyes was almost swollen shut, the boy’s gaze was determined. It was the gaze of a survivor. Moreover, the boy did not seem afraid of Sam, so much as curious. Inwardly, Sam gave what passed for a smile amongst his kind.

He could work with curiosity.

Despite the boy’s obvious injury, Sam believed that Malcolm would be less harsh with him than his previous apprentices. None of them had lingered, and Sam was sure that most of them were dead or worse. Yet the opposite occurred. Malcolm was even crueller to the boy than he had been to the others. Every day, he heard whispers from those of his kind that skulked in the walls or walked through the shadows about how the boy was trained. There was no mercy, no softness, and no respite. If a lesson had to be taught, then death or serious injury was sure to be the consequence of failure. If the boy was too slow during sparring, he bruised or he bled. If he failed in any task, no matter how impossible, he would be berated and beaten.

The boy would probably die. Humans, especially young humans, were fragile. If he were smart and cunning, the boy would find a way to flee. At least one of Malcolm’s earlier apprentices had managed to escape, and Sam couldn’t blame him for leaving. The necromancer’s earlier apprentices had all been older than the boy too. They’d been bigger, stronger, faster, and tougher. But none of them had lasted long. What chance did the boy have?

Yet as the days turned into weeks, which turned into months, the boy remained. Sam heard new things from the others. The boy was doing more than surviving. He was thriving. He lacked the strength to fight his master head on, so he learned cunning and deception. The boy had come to the castle with little more than the clothes on his back, but he learned quickly, and he learned about everything he could. It was that thirst for knowledge – for a way to either escape his master or surpass him – that led the boy to Sam.

“Hello.” There was a fresh bruise on the boy’s cheek and a cut over his brow. He walked with a limp, and there was a faint hitch in his breathing. Sam gave a low trill. He could have healed such injuries in an instant or simply grown new limbs and organs. The boy was not so fortunate. “My master says that you’re nothing more than a monster, that the only thing you’re good for is giving him more power.”

Sam studied the boy intently. The door to his prison was always kept locked. The boy must have found a way to open it. Sam could not move because of Malcolm’s magic. The most he could do was brush against the boy’s mind. It would have driven most people insane – and Malcolm always wore a special charm to prevent it – but the boy survived. He almost passed out, and his nose, ears, and eyes bled, but he survived.

The boy gave Sam a savage smile and wiped the blood away. Sam had seen into the boy’s mind, and the boy had seen into his. “So… that’s how it is? We’re both stuck here.” His lips curled. “There’s a saying amongst humans: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. I don’t know how true it is, but you can’t be any worse than my master.” The boy sat down just beyond the glowing circle of magic that kept Sam bound. “They call me Timmy, but your name… my master showed it to me once. I doubt he got it right. I don’t think our language allows for a correct transcription. How about I call you… Sam?”

Sam? It was easier to say, and it was the first syllable of his name. Using a nickname would also allow him to avoid hearing yet another human butcher the pronunciation of his name.

“You know,” Timmy said as he groaned and clutched at his side. “My master won’t always rule this castle, certainly not if he keeps doing what he’s doing. He’s good, but he drinks too much. It’ll be the death of him, not that I’d complain.” His expression grew sombre. “I only hope I’ve learned enough by then to hold on to this place. Once he’s gone, it won’t be long before people try to take it, and I’ve suffered too much to just let someone else have it.” He paused. “I know what you and the others do, Sam. If he keeps this up, it’s only a matter of time before he makes a mistake and wakes up the big ones, the ones who’ve been sleeping for who knows how long.” His voice grew almost gentle. “I won’t pretend that we’re going to become friends or anything, and I don’t expect you to trust me. We’re too different. But we could become allies. My master, arrogant as he is, assumed that I’d either be too afraid or too stupid to come here.”

Allies? If Sam had been human, he would have laughed. No human had ever proposed an alliance with him before. They always came to Sam and his kind in search of power. But this boy – it was a chance worth taking.

Timmy grinned. “Don’t worry. I don’t expect an answer right now, but I know you can understand me. I’ve got access to some of the library. You don’t want to know how much I suffered to earn even that much. I might learn enough to free you one day.” He shook his head. “It won’t be soon. I’m not strong enough to beat my master. But once I set you free, we can help each other. You know things about this castle that no one else does. I know there are secret passages and ways past my master’s security, but I can’t find them. With your help, I could.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “I’ll tell you what happens if we don’t help each other. You’ll end up stuck here, and I’ll end up dead. I’m sure you’d like to get out of here, and I happen to enjoy living.”

* * *

From that day on, Sam saw Timmy on a semi-regular basis. The boy was very good at sneaking around, and he’d become incredibly skilled at picking locks and disabling magical defences. However, he needed to be careful. If he were caught, Malcolm would probably kill him on the spot. It helped that the servants, many of whom were not at the castle by choice, had taken a liking to Timmy. Malcolm had also made a costly mistake. He had assumed that his treatment of Sam would make him lash out at anyone who came near him. The thought of Sam working with a human, never mind his apprentice, had never crossed Malcolm’s mind.

Timmy was always nursing some injury or another when he visited, but the injuries grew less severe over the years. He was learning not only how to avoid the worst of his master’s wrath but also how to withstand it when it became inevitable. A few of the servants knew about healing, and Timmy learned what he could from them while scouring the library for anything that could help him. Sam proved useful in that regard. There were indeed secret passages that bypassed much of Malcolm’s security. Sam taught Timmy as much as he could, given his position, and the boy took full advantage, sneaking books out of the library and evading his master whenever Malcolm fell into one of his foul moods.

Timmy also told Sam about what he was learning. Apart from necromancy, Timmy had earth magic, but he couldn’t use it properly. Malcolm had not been pleased, and he had made his displeasure known with the sharp end of a sword. Timmy, of course, had managed to survive, albeit not unscathed. He’d been forced to stagger back to his room and use some of the meagre healing supplies that he had managed to gather. More importantly, Timmy had begun to learn more about Sam and the others. Timmy played the fool, weathering his master’s rage and frustration, so Malcolm would not feel hesitant about dropping precious crumbs of information for him to follow. Sam could not help but admire his tenacity.

“Magic is a powerful thing,” Timmy said one evening. Malcolm had drunk himself into a stupor, so they didn’t have to worry about being discovered. “It can bind even creatures like you, but we still don’t truly understand how it does that. My master has started talking more. He thinks I’m an imbecile, so he doesn’t see the harm. To be honest, I don’t think he really knows how the magic he used on you works. The scholar he learned from didn’t want to teach him everything, so he killed him.” Timmy held up a roughly hewn key. “My master keeps the notes he took about the magic he used on you under lock and key, but he was careless. He always is when he drinks. The next time he leaves on a mission, I’ll take a closer look at those notes.” He smirked. “We’re getting closer, Sam.”

The next time he visited, Timmy had a surprise. He had some kind of food with him.

“This is cake,” Timmy said. “Chocolate cake. You have no idea how hard it was to get. My master has the cooks make cake, but he never lets me have any. It’s another way to make me suffer, but I finally found a way to get some without him noticing. Since we’re allies, I thought I’d share the spoils of my victory.”

He cut the piece of cake in half and pushed Sam’s share through the boundary. The magic Malcolm had used allowed him to strike at Sam from outside the barrier while preventing Sam from striking back. In this case, though, Sam was glad for it. The cake passed through the magic without any problems.

“Go ahead,” Timmy said. “Eat it but not all at once. You want to savour it. I don’t know when I’ll be able to get more.”

Sam ate the cake slowly. He was glad he did. It tasted fantastic. It was the best thing he’d ever eaten, even better than the strange, insect-like enemies he’d fought before coming to this dimension. It must have been obvious because Timmy laughed.

“I knew you’d like it.” Timmy chewed on his own cake before pausing and cutting what remained of it in half and pushing some more over to Sam. “One day, I’ll be in charge of this castle, Sam. You and I, we’ll have cake whenever we want some.”

Sam liked the sound of that.

* * *

Years passed, and Timmy grew stronger and wiser. He finally learned enough to set Sam free. No, that wasn’t quite right. Even with all of the effort Timmy had put into understanding the magic Malcolm had used to bind Sam, he still hadn’t worked out a way to undo his master’s magic. But he did learn something that was almost as good.

The magic Malcolm used was incredibly complex, and it had to be renewed every decade or so. Sam had tried to break free during the last renewal, but he hadn’t been strong enough. Thanks to Timmy’s research, it was no longer about strength. There would be a moment during the renewal ceremony – just one – where the magic was vulnerable. If Sam used his remaining power in exactly the right way, the magic Malcolm had used would backfire. Instead of binding him, it would cast him back into his own dimension. It would hurt – a lot – but Sam could then return to the castle from his home dimension, unbound and safe unless he was foolish enough to confront Malcolm again.

Timmy made sure to be nowhere near the Sam when Malcolm came to renew the binding magic to avoid being accused of treachery, but it didn’t take long for Sam to learn that Timmy had borne the brunt of Malcolm’s rage nonetheless. When Sam eventually drifted up through the floor of Timmy’s room, concealing his presence as best he could, the boy was on his bed, surrounded by healing supplies.

Sam signalled an apology with tentacle waving, colour changes, and shape alteration, but Timmy shook his head.

“I’ll be fine, and this isn’t your fault.” Timmy smiled and then winced. “You should have seen the look on his face earlier. He was so mad that you’d broken free. He was shouting and screaming, and then he got all quiet.” He laughed. “He was scared, Sam. The bastard was scared because he knows you’ll come for him. He knows that if he makes another mistake, he’s a dead man.”

Mouths opened up along Sam’s body, all of them filled with long, jagged teeth.

“I know. I’d like to kill him too, but we can’t, not yet. He has charms – a lot of charms – against your kind, and he’s wearing all of them. Even drunk, he could probably still kill me with his magic, and all of his zombies are instructed to attack and kill anything that gets near his chambers. For now, Sam, you’ll have to lay low.”

Sam bristled, but he could understand Timmy’s caution. Malcolm was a dangerous man. They could not afford to rush.

“I still have a lot to learn too.” Timmy smiled ruefully. “I want to keep this castle, Sam, but I’m not strong enough to fight off the people who’ll come for it once my master is dead. In a few more years, maybe, I’ll be strong enough. Until then, I have to keep learning.”

Sam’s tentacles twitched. He wanted to tear Malcolm limb from limb.

“You were patient for a long time, Sam. Be patient for a little bit longer.” Timmy downed a healing potion. From the colour of it, Sam could tell that it wasn’t of particularly good quality. It was probably something Timmy had thrown together himself. “In the meantime, you need to stay away from him. What we did, it won’t work a second time. But now that you’re free, you can teach me more about this place. There have to be more secret passages, and I’m sure there are hidden rooms full of old books and scrolls. I need to know everything about this castle, Sam. Everything.”

Sam bobbed up and down in agreement. Timmy had earned his help.

When Timmy left to attend an academy, supposedly to spy for his master, Sam was actually happy. Timmy was safer away from the castle, and Malcolm’s behaviour had grown more and more erratic. Some of Sam’s fellows had actually caught Malcolm trying to tamper with the magic that kept the Others restrained. If the fool had actually succeeded in damaging it, he would have ushered in the apocalypse. Luckily, Malcolm had been too drunk to achieve anything, and he’d stumbled off, muttering about revenge and cursing Sam and his kind.

When Timmy came back from the academy, things were different. He was older now, still a teenager, but no longer a boy. He was a man now, and they were almost ready to take on Malcolm. All they needed to do was to wait for the right moment. Malcolm must have suspected something too because he was far warier of Timmy than he had been in the past. For the first time, he seemed to realise that Timmy was no longer that scruffy boy he’d taken in. He was a threat.

* * *

And then everything changed.

Timmy stumbled back into his room one night and summoned Sam. The moment the horror appeared, Timmy blurted the words that Sam wasn’t sure he’d ever hear. “He’s dead.”

Sam stared at Timmy with all forty-eight of his eyes. He’d felt something earlier, a shift in the castle’s magic, but the laboratories Malcolm used had defences to prevent Sam and his kind from entering. Malcolm had put those defences in place years ago after one of Sam’s fellows had tried to kill him. Sam asked Timmy how it had happened.

“He was drunk again,” Timmy explained with a dry chuckle. “And he was threatening to kill me when he was eaten by his own zombie python-goat.” He shook his head in disbelief. “It was bizarre. I could have helped him – he even asked me to – but he seemed so… surprised when I just stood there and watched.” He ran one hand over his face. “Oh, well. He was always going on and on about how people needed to put themselves first, so he shouldn’t have been surprised. If anything, he should have seen it coming.”

There was one thing that bothered Sam. It wasn’t unheard of for necromancers to have plans in place, in case they died. He wouldn’t put it past Malcolm to try to turn himself into some kind of zombie.

“We don’t have to worry about that,” Timmy said. “He is definitely dead. Believe me. Before I came here, I cut open the zombie python-goat. He was dead, all right, but just to be sure I burnt his body, dissolved the ashes in acid, and then boiled the acid away using sanctified fire.” He smirked. “Vicky taught me the runes and seals for sanctified fire. My master is as dead as anyone can possibly be. Even a Grand Necromancer couldn’t bring him back.”

Sam was still and silent. He was… mildly disappointed. He had wanted to kill Malcolm himself, but he wasn’t going to complain. Malcolm was still dead, and Sam was still free.

“So… what now?” Timmy asked quietly. “There’s going to be trouble. Once people find out that he’s gone, they’ll come for the castle. And the two of us only became allies to defeat him. Are we still allies, or am I going to have to fight you?” He paused. “I know I’m not perfect, but I’m not my master. I’m not going to enslave you or the others. As long as you follow some simple rules and don’t wake up the big guys, I’m sure we’ll get along fine.” He gave Sam a hopeful look. “And let’s not forget the cake. I am completely willing to buy your continued loyalty with copious amounts of cake.”

Sam thought the matter over. He could kill Timmy. At this range, without the proper rituals and magic to fight him off, it wouldn’t be hard.

“Come on,” Timmy said, getting to his feet. “We need to celebrate. We’ll go down to the kitchens and get something to eat. I know you like cake, but have you had roast chicken before? I’m sure you’ll like it. But you’ll have to let me go first. I don’t know how many of the cooks have seen you before.”

Sam was done thinking. Timmy was not Malcolm, and he was not one of the Others. He followed Timmy into the kitchen. The new ruler of Black Tower Castle was right. Roast chicken was delicious, but cake was still better.

* * *

“Seriously?”

Sam was brought back to the present as he caught his third fish and added it to the pair Old Man had already reeled in. Timmy, meanwhile, had only managed to catch a single fish, which was so scrawny they’d been forced to throw it back.

“You have to be cheating,” Timmy grumbled. “There is no way you’re actually this good at fishing.”

Sam gave the equivalent of a shrug and informed Timmy that it wasn’t so much a matter of him being good at fishing as it was a matter of Timmy being absolutely terrible.

“He’s not cheating,” Old Man said as Timmy muttered something about protoplasmic horrors possibly possessing an innate talent for fishing. “He’s precisely mimicking the movements of an actual fish with his lure. I suppose it’s easier for him since his lure is actually part of his body, but that doesn’t count as cheating.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Timmy sighed. “It’s not his fault that he can turn his tentacle into a fishing rod with a lure on it. Calling that cheating would be like saying a bird is cheating by using its wings to fly.”

Sam tried not to give the equivalent of a laugh as Timmy turned his attention back to his own fishing rod. He hadn’t gotten so much as a nibble since he’d caught and then throw back that scrawny, little fish. Still, Sam wasn’t cruel, and Timmy was his friend. He picked up one of his fish and threw it to Timmy.

“I don’t need your pity fish,” Timmy declared. “Because I will be catching the biggest fish we see all day.” He smirked as something tugged on his fishing line. “See that? I bet that’s my giant fish right now. Watch and learn, you two. Watch and learn.”

Unlike Timmy, Sam had no problem seeing through the surface of the water. It was one of the many benefits of being a trans-dimensional, protoplasmic horror. Timmy had indeed hooked a large fish. The only problem was that the fish wasn’t alone.

“Come on,” Timmy growled as he braced himself, reeled his line in, and yanked his fish out of the water – along with Spot. “What?” Timmy managed to blurt before Spot crashed into him. The dragon looked around for a moment before prying the large fish off Timmy’s hook and padding over to drop the fish in front of Old Man.

Cook? Spot wagged his tail hopefully.

“Yes, I’ll cook it for you,” Old Man said, trying not to laugh as Timmy got back to his feet.

“That was my fish!” Timmy cried, jabbing one finger at Spot. “It was on my hook!”

My fish. Spot huffed and bared his teeth. Got it first.

“Don’t you bare your teeth at me,” Timmy shot back. “Or have you forgotten who keeps those teeth of yours looking and feeling so great? The next time you see a fish on someone’s hook, leave it.” He turned back to the water and cast his line into the lake again. “Stay there, Spot. I don’t need you stealing another one of my fish.”

Didn’t steal it. Spot sprawled out on a rock, savouring the early afternoon sun. Idiot terrible at fishing.

Sam didn’t think Timmy was an idiot, but he might have signalled his agreement with Spot’s assessment of Timmy’s fishing ability.

Hardly a minute passed before Timmy’s line wiggled again. “Hah! I told you.” He grinned at Spot. “Now, remember, this one is mine…” He trailed off as he pulled his fish free of the water. It was roughly the same size as one of his fingers. Old man, Sam, and Spot all stared at him. “Not one word.” He looked about furtively. “And don’t tell Katie either. She’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

Sam used his tentacles to indicate his amusement, and Timmy did the mature thing. He used his shovel to throw mud at him. Sam turned intangible, which was yet another one of the benefits of being a trans-dimensional, protoplasmic horror, and the mud hit Spot instead.

The dragon trilled happily. Mud fight?

Old Man moved a safe distance away to begin cooking the fish as Sam, Spot, and Timmy engaged in an impromptu mud battle. They only stopped when the mouth-watering smell of perfectly cooked fish filled the air.

* * *

Katie was in the middle of playing a game of cards with some of the rats when Sam floated through one of the walls and hovered nearby. He’d shrunk himself down to a more manageable size, roughly a yard or so across.

“Hi, Sam.” Katie kept her eyes on the rats as she spoke. The one with the crossbow wasn’t so bad, but the rest would definitely cheat the moment she turned away. “We’re almost done. We can read some stories after that.”

Sam expressed his agreement with a lazy wave of his tentacles as he compared the cards each of the players had. Katie was slightly favoured to win, but the element of chance meant that he couldn’t be sure. As for the stories, they were something he enjoyed. His kind had no need for them since they could share memories and travel across worlds and dimensions, but there was a difference between needing something and enjoying it. For example, Sam didn’t need cake, but he definitely enjoyed eating it on a regular basis.

The mere fact that Katie had turned out the way she had was a testament to how different Timmy was from his master. Sam and his kind occasionally encountered worlds that seemed very much like alternate versions of each other. He had glimpsed into one such world, one where Katie had never met Timmy. It had not been pleasant viewing, so he’d politely refrained from mentioning it to either Katie or Timmy. It would only make Katie feel sad, and the Katie in that timeline was already sad, angry, and hateful. There was no need to upset this Katie as well.

When the girl had been left on the castle’s doorstep, Timmy had still been a young man. He’d spent most of the time after Malcolm had died securing resources for the castle and fighting off the many, many enemies his master had left behind, as well as the people who’d thought they could take the castle from him. Sam had wondered how Timmy would handle having his own apprentice – it wasn’t like Malcolm had been a good role model – but Timmy had handled it well.

Timmy pushed Katie hard. There was a power inside her that Sam vaguely recognised and which would one day dwarf what Timmy was capable of, but there was none of the nastiness and cruelty that Malcolm had used. He seemed to know just how far and how quickly he could push her, and Katie took to her training with zeal. Timmy liked to joke about how Katie would one day overthrow him, but Sam doubted it would ever happen. Katie had a father, a man who’d sired her, but he wasn’t the one who’d raised her. He wasn’t the one who’d taught her everything she knew that was worth knowing. He wasn’t the one who’d held her, however awkwardly, after she’d had a nightmare about her shadow magic raging out of her control. And he definitely wasn’t the one who had accepted her for who she was, even with all of her eccentricities.

Katie might call Timmy her master, but he was far more than that to her.

Timmy could well become the first Grand Necromancer in centuries to retire peacefully instead of being killed by a rival, an angry mob, the authorities, one of his own creations, or his own apprentice. That last one was especially common since Grand Necromancers tended to be paragons of necromantic evil who trained similarly twisted apprentices. Sam hoped that happened. Humans didn’t live very long, and it would upset him if something happened to Timmy. He might even have to go off and slaughter whoever was responsible. Timmy had done more than befriend him. He had helped him to make more friends, such as Katie and the others.

Katie played a few more hands of poker with the rats before calling an end to the game. She had an atrocious poker face, which the rats were trying to help her with. They had only been gambling with peanuts, and the winner, a crossbow-wielding rat, proudly gathered his winnings before beginning to munch on them. Katie changed into her nightclothes and sat down on her bed with a book. Sam drifted over, and a group of rats climbed onto her bed too. Most of them were young rats, and they were all eager for a story.

Katie was about to start when there was a loud knock on the doors leading to her chambers. Sam felt the familiar currents of fire magic and extruded some extra tentacles in case their visitor decided to get rowdy. A rat squeaked the identities of the visitors to Katie.

“Let them in,” Katie said. “And try not to antagonise her. I like my room better when it’s not on fire.”

Avraniel marched in like she owned the room while Spot padded along beside her. The dragon gave a happy trill when he saw Sam, and Sam reciprocated by turning into first a pyramid and then a cube. Most people were scared of Sam, and most people were scared of Spot. The two of them, however, got along just fine although Sam remained firmly of the opinion that cake was the greatest food in the world. Spot disagreed. He claimed cookies were better. Sam could forgive him. Spot might be a dragon, but he was still young. In time, Spot would learn to properly appreciate the greatness of cake.

“Spot wanted a story before he went to sleep, and most of the ones I know end in blood, tears, and guts everywhere.” The elf shrugged. “I figured you might know some other ones.”

“I know some,” Katie replied. “And I don’t mind having Spot here.”

Spot climbed onto the bed and slithered onto Katie’s lap like a winged snake as the rats rearranged themselves around him. Some of the braver ones even climbed onto Spot, with one particularly heroic rodent settling down on Spot’s snout.

“Good. Just send him back when you’re done. He knows the way.” The elf nodded at Sam before leaving the room. “Sam.”

Sam waved his tentacles in reply. He and Avraniel weren’t exactly friends, but they did respect each other. She was also very good at charming the cooks, and he’d reaped the benefits of that more than once. The elf might not be a great cook, but she had managed to provide the cooks with the recipes for several elf delicacies. Sam was especially fond of how the elves cooked quail.

“Okay,” Katie began as she flipped the book open. “I think you’ll like this one Sam. It’s about a friendly monster who lives under a princess’s bed.” She grinned at Spot. “There’s also a dragon, and he’s pretty friendly too.”

* * *

Sam drifted down through the lightless caverns of unhallowed doom that lay underneath the castle. Along the way, some of the hatchlings came forward to greet him. Timmy was a fairer master than his predecessors, so the hatchlings were allowed more freedom once they had proven they could control themselves. Since Timmy was too busy to evaluate the hatchlings himself, he left that task to Sam and some of the others. These hatchlings were nearly ready, and they were vying for a spot on one of the patrols Timmy regularly sent out to deal with bandits and other troublemakers. Eating villagers and servants was out of the question, but nobody would miss the occasional bandit or rabid wolf.

Sam always did his best to choose wisely. He didn’t want to betray the trust Timmy had put in him. The hatchlings continued to cluster around him, and he waved them away with his tentacles. He had business to attend to. They could discuss who got to go out on patrol later, and Timmy had mentioned something about possibly establishing a backup castle somewhere else. With the right rituals, it might be possible to station some of the hatchlings there, so they could help clear the area of any potential problems.

Continuing deeper into the caverns, Sam reached the true depths of the abyss where the borders between Timmy’s world and his began to grow hazy. There, in a place where space and time were so badly warped as to have almost no meaning, was one of the Others.

Countless years ago, this Other had been bound here by one of the greatest mages in history. Some fool had summoned him without taking the proper precautions, and the Other had gone on a rampage, crushing cities and annihilating entire armies before being confronted by a distant ancestor of Vicky’s. Sam knew because he’d been there when the Other had been bound, and Vicky’s magic reminded him very strongly of the magic he’d felt that day. Yet it wasn’t completely accurate to say that this Other had been bound here. No, the truth was that only a fraction of this Other’s body existed in this dimension to begin with, and that tiny fraction was what Vicky’s ancestor had managed to bind. But even a fraction of an Other was something awe inspiring.

Sam stilled. He had arrived.

Below him was a seemingly endless vista of warped, protoplasmic flesh that shifted and churned in time to the seething currents of primal energy that the Other consumed. The Other filled the cavern, and the cavern stretched into infinity, too vast for even Sam’s senses to properly comprehend. And the less Sam thought about the true extent of the Other, of what lay hidden in dimensions only he and his kind could perceive, the better. If this Other awakened, Timmy’s world would end, and Sam happened to quite like Timmy’s world the way it was.

Sam turned his attention to the magic – the faltering magic – that had bound this Other since that day so many years ago. Some of Sam’s fellows drifted alongside him. They spoke amongst themselves for a few moments, debating their course of action. Not yet, they agreed. It was not yet time for this Other to awaken. There were other worlds and dimensions – worlds and dimensions full of enemies – that might be more suitable places for this Other to awaken. Sam signalled his agreement and then reached out to supplement the binding magic with some of his own power. There. That ought to add another few centuries to this Other’s slumber although it might be time to ask Timmy about Vicky. The Supreme Cleric could provide them with a truly long-term solution by reinforcing her ancestor’s magic.

The others left, and Sam floated back up toward the castle. He could use a midnight snack, and what better midnight snack than cake? When he reached the kitchens, Timmy was already there.

“Don’t worry,” Timmy said, passing Sam a chocolate cake. “I had the cooks make one just for you.”

Gardening

(Set After Two Necromancers, a Dragon, and a Vampire)

Old Man made his way through his bonsai tree nursery with calm, steady movements. There was no need to rush here. If anything, rushing would only be counterproductive. Bonsai trees were demanding plants, especially when they were young. They had to be handled with gentleness and care. An overzealous approach was destined to lead to failure, and bonsai trees were extremely rare in this part of the world. The more common variants could still be bought for a princely sum, but the more unusual variants he prized, such as the one that transformed into his sword, could not be bought for anything as pedestrian as money. Acquiring those usually meant paying a price in blood, sweat, and tears since they were typically found in the roughest, most inhospitable wilds in areas teeming with deadly creatures. It wasn’t unusual for adventurers and bonsai tree enthusiasts to come to blows while searching for a rare specimen when all they usually had to go on were rumours, hearsay, and legend.

To keep uninvited guests away from his bonsai trees, he had asked Timmy to install various runes, seals, and other security measures. The nursery was also guarded by some of the necromancer’s more discrete but formidable zombies. A zombie basilisk-chameleon was not only exceptionally difficult to detect but also exceedingly deadly. It was also unlikely to harm the nursery inadvertently, as opposed to something like a zombie hydra-salamander. Turning potential intruders to stone was far less likely to damage the nursery than shooting fire and acid everywhere. Timmy had even turned it into a teaching moment, inviting Katie to first observe and then participate as he had put each of the various security measures in place. As necromancers, both Timmy and Katie understood the importance of security. An insecure lair was begging for trouble, and both of them intended to live as long and successfully as possible.

The castle’s resident ninja rats also did their part. Ah, they were such interesting creatures, the ninja rats. He had encountered similar rodents in his youth although they had belonged to different clans. One clan had been able to turn intangible, a most useful skill for ninja rats to have. Another clan had possessed the ability to teleport over short distances. There had even been one clan that could fly. In those long ago days of constant raging war, Old Man had not been able to properly appreciate ninja rats. Too many of them had served human clans opposed to the people Old Man served, so they had often been his enemies.

The ninja rats of his homeland had only needed to meet him once in battle before realising that facing him in anything even close to a fair fight was a death sentence. He had been less forgiving in his youth, and the fires of war had burnt brightly within him. Part of him was proud that no sword had taken more lives of the enemy than his, but another part of him grieved at the deaths of so many of his countrymen. Many of them had been good people. Their only mistake was being on the wrong side. Old age had brought him wisdom and serenity, but they had come at great cost. The fires of war inside him had burnt down to ashes and cinders. His homeland was nothing more than a distant memory now, and it would remain that way for however many years were left to him.

Old Man smiled ruefully. Once, thinking of his homeland would have filled him with rage and sorrow. Now, very little angered him, and he no longer bristled at what he could not change. He had made his choices, and as painful as they were, they had also been the right choices. Those choices had also led him here, to a castle full of friends and comrades he had never expected but had grown to treasure.

The ninja rats of the castle were familiar with the ways of his homeland, and he strongly suspected that at least some of them had an inkling of whom he was. None of them had said anything, but there were a few who looked at him with knowing eyes. Regardless of what they did or did not know, the rats had still taken a liking to him, and he had earned their trust through the missions he had taken with the others. They had offered to provide additional security and to help with tending to his bonsai trees in exchange for taking a few cuttings when the time was right.

He had accepted their offer. The rats had not shared their full history with him, but he had his own suspicions. There were tales from before he had been born, stories of a nobleman renowned for his honour and valour – and the invisible ninja rats that served him. This nobleman had been well respected by everyone despite the wars that had engulfed the land. But one day, he was betrayed. Surrounded and left with no hope of victory, the nobleman gave an order that astonished those who followed him. Instead of ordering his loyal servants and retainers to die beside him in a glorious charge upon his enemies, he ordered them to live, to find new masters worthy of their skills and devotion. Such orders were unheard of. Old Man could scarcely imagine how the rats must have felt. If they were anything like the other ninja rats Old Man had met, then he was certain they had sworn oaths to die at their master’s side rather than desert him. To live while their master fell – the shame and dishonour would have been too great for words. Yet the rats, loyal to a fault, would have obeyed.

If Old Man’s suspicions were right, the rats had wandered for generations, searching for a master worthy of their skills and loyalty. It would have been a hard life as they went from master to master, taking odd jobs and journeying across the world. There would have been little respite for them. They would have had neither friends to offer help nor a place to call home. But now the rats were here. The castle was their home, and Katie was the master they’d been waiting for.

Some might have worried about the loyalty of the ninja rats. Old Man knew better. They were honourable folk, and the other clans of ninja rats that he’d met had all been unflinchingly loyal to their masters. If they had pledged themselves to Katie, the castle, and its people, then the ninja rats would gladly die before they failed in their duties a second time. Even now, two of them were standing guard outside the nursery as a third and fourth helped tend to the plants.

“How does it look?” Old Man asked as he carefully watered one of the bonsai trees. This one was a water-hungry variety, but he had found it growing on a cliff battered by the sea and guarded by a vicious sea serpent. Instead of normal water, it preferred seawater.

The rat beside one of the other bonsai trees was a middle-aged rodent with dark grey fur. She gave a small squeak as she moved on to the next plant, and the dim glow of magic surrounded her. Her magic helped plants to grow, but it wasn’t strong enough to be useful to a farmer or an orchardist. For bonsai trees, however, it was perfect, and her excellent control minimised the odds of any unfortunate mishaps taking place.

“I’m glad to hear that they’re doing well.” Old Man examined the plants the rat had been working on intently. Yes, they were doing very well indeed.

Setting aside his help with security, Timmy had also aided Old Man in other ways. The necromancer was brilliant when it came to logistics, and with his help, Old Man had been able to acquire not only the finest soils but also all of the other things he needed to ensure the health and growth of his plants. Timmy had even been able to acquire a large quantity of soil from Old Man’s homeland after hearing that it was the ideal soil for some of his bonsai trees. Old Mad had no idea how Timmy had managed that, but the necromancer had merely smiled and mentioned that he knew a lot of people. The rat squeaked again, and Old Man chuckled.

“Yes, I do believe that one there will be ready to offer a cutting in a month or so. You should speak to your clan’s leaders about what to do.”

As the rat continued to make her way through the nursery with a much younger rat that had similar magic – her child perhaps – Old Man finished checking the bonsai trees and went back to his research. He had heard rumours of another rare bonsai tree, and he was collecting as much information as he could to see if a kernel of truth still remained after harsher scrutiny. If there were a chance to acquire another rare bonsai tree, he would certainly take it. His new situation made things far easier. Once he had identified a likely location, he could simply borrow a zombie wyvern and fly as close to the bonsai tree as was practical or safe. One bonsai tree he’d acquired had been in the territory of a mighty dragon. Taking a zombie wyvern there would have been suicide since dragons zealously guarded the skies of their territory.

Old Man might have to be careful about bringing any of the others. He wasn’t worried about them being harmed – they were all formidable in their own way – but they had an alarming tendency to blow up, burn, or otherwise destroy their surroundings whenever they went on a mission. To be fair, Katie and Timmy at least tried to minimise the property damage they caused, and Gerald only blew things up by accident or on orders. Avraniel, however, revelled in destruction, and Spot might end up eating the bonsai tree if he came along. Perhaps he could bring Amanda. The ancient vampire was certainly less inclined toward explosions and mayhem than the others, and she might know a thing or two about the area due to all of the travels she’d undertaken during her long, long life.

He’d think about it.

* * *

Timmy looked at the old woman on the other side of his desk. He wasn’t feeling the least bit comfortable, and it had nothing to do with his chair being an ancient artefact of terrible power that happened to be made of bone. Tamara was the oldest of the castle’s maids although not the most senior in terms of position. She was older than his master would have been had a zombie python-goat not eaten him, which meant she’d been at the castle for an incredibly long time. If he remembered correctly, she was going to be eighty later in the year. Most maids would have retired years ago to enjoy a life with their children and grandchildren, especially after working as hard as Tamara had for as long as she had.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Timmy asked gently. There were times when he liked to play the villainous necromancer, like when Katie was being obnoxious or refusing to eat her vegetables, but this was not one of those times.

Tamara was unable to meet his gaze. She knew why she was here. Finally, she gave a small, shaky nod.

“It has been brought to my attention that you can no longer complete all of your assigned duties.” Timmy paused. Because he wasn’t a jerk like his master, he never found it easy to say things like this. “It has also been brought to my attention that your inability to complete your assigned duties has gone from being an occasional mishap to a regular occurrence. It may be time for you to consider retirement, Tamara.”

Again, all he got was a shaky nod. He sighed. Tamara had been here when he’d first become his master’s apprentice, and he got the feeling that she’d been here even before his master had become the ruler of the castle.

“Please,” she whispered, so quietly that he almost missed it. “Please, don’t send me away. This is the only home I have.”

Timmy’s eyes narrowed. Now that he thought about it, Tamara never seemed to take time off, nor did she go home for the holidays or anything like that. “Explain.”

She looked up at him. She was on the verge of tears. Timmy tried not to frown. He’d never seen her cry, not even when his master had turned his wrath on the servants. More than one servant had lost their life – or a limb – when that happened, which might have explained why they threw a party when Timmy formally took over the castle.

“I was only a girl when your master’s master came to my village looking for servants. We knew who he was. We all knew. He wasn’t as bad as your master, but he was close. Some of us fought him. They died. My family was there. I had no choice but to serve.” She smiled thinly. “When your master took over, we servants hoped that he would be better than his master. But we were wrong. He was worse. There were others before you, other apprentices, but they never lasted long, and they all became twisted like your master. And then there was you. You were the one we’d been waiting for.”

He nodded slowly. Tamara had never tended to his wounds when he’d been his master’s apprentice. His master would have killed anyone who helped him without being ordered to. His master had wanted to toughen him up and to force him to learn more about healing. However, Tamara and a few of the other servants had helped smuggle in healing supplies from the local villages, and she’d once looked the other way when she’d caught him sneaking around the castle before he’d gotten good enough to avoid being caught.

“Don’t you have any family to go home to?” he asked.

“No.” She wrung her hands. “They… a dragon.” She took a deep breath and forced herself to speak. “Black Scales.”

Oh. Black Scales had destroyed a lot of villages in his time. Timmy winced and wondered what she thought about Spot. Given the timing and his appearance, only an idiot wouldn’t be able to work out Spot’s parentage.

Tamara must have guessed what he was thinking because she smiled faintly. “Spot is no more Black Scales than you are your master. He once spent a day following me around as I did my duties. He was as helpful as he could be although he did try to eat some of the old, metal railing in one of the courtyards.” She took another deep breath. “I have no family left, Lord Bolton, and this castle has been my home for almost my entire life. I… I do understand. I am a maid. If I cannot carry out my duties, you don’t have a choice…”

Timmy tapped the top of his desk with one finger. True loyalty and dedication were treasures that could not be bought with money or favours. They were far more precious, and only a fool threw them away. He was not a fool. “It is true that you can no longer carry out the duties of a normal maid, but I think I can find work for you elsewhere in the castle.” He shifted in his chair. One of the pointy bits had been digging into his side. “I had planned to give you a hefty sum of money before sending you back to your family to enjoy it, but I think we can come to another arrangement. Given my castle’s new residents, I find myself in need of more staff, and that’s not even counting the staff we’ve hired recently to help Amanda. Our new members of staff are either trained or are being trained, but this castle is not like most places. I need someone who can teach them all about how to live and work in this castle. Naturally, I don’t have the time to do it myself, and Katie would probably become a little tyrant if I put her in charge of that. However, I am confident you will do an excellent job, and that you will not allow any drop in standards.”

“Certainly not!” Tamara cried, aghast at the mere thought of even the slightest decline in standards.

“Indeed. You also have some talent in gardening and landscaping. I should know. I’ve asked for your advice on several occasions. Since you are no longer strong enough to do the gardening and landscaping work yourself, you’ll be giving the orders instead. You will begin by helping Old Man.” Timmy chuckled at her surprise. “He is good with bonsai trees, but his idea of a garden is a tad minimalistic. He wants someone to assist him, and the rats aren’t known for their gardening skills although they should do fine once you tell them what to do.” He paused and gave her his gravest look. “Should you choose not accept these new duties, we shall have no choice but to default to our resident elf for help. That’s right, we’ll have to ask Avraniel to help us.”

Tamara gulped. “I’m not sure we would still have a castle after she was done.”

“Exactly. Which is why it would be great if you could accept.”

She nodded swiftly. “I do, Lord Bolton!”

“Good. But just call me Timmy.” His lips twitched. “Tamara, you’ve known me since I was a child. You’ve seen me crawling across the floor covered in my own blood. It feels a bit odd for you to address me so formally.” His expression turned serious. “I should have realised how you felt sooner. But rest assured, you will always have a place here, as long as you want one. I’ll send a zombie to tell Old Man, and you can report to him tomorrow morning.” He grinned. “Now that I think about it, Katie would not have been pleased if you left. You’re practically her grandmother. She’d probably try to overthrow me again.”

* * *

Tamara made her way toward the area that Old Man occupied. The swordsman was outside his bonsai tree nursery looking through some notes and examining some maps and scrolls. There were also some rats there, and she waited patiently for them to acknowledge her presence. It was a matter of courtesy since she had no doubt that they’d already noticed her. Old Man was an incredible warrior – or so she’d heard – and she’d seen the rats in action before. On the occasions when Lord Bolton could not rely on zombies to escort the servants through potentially dangerous areas, he sent the rats instead. The last group of bandits to run afoul of the rats had been turned over to the authorities for a hefty reward, minus their weapons, clothing, and anything else of value. The ninja rats were nothing if not thorough.

“Ah, good morning.” Old Man looked up from his work and smiled. It was a kind smile. “Tamara, right? I was told to expect you.”

Tamara bowed deeply. “Thank you. It is an honour to work for you. How should I address you?” She paused. “Lord Old Man sounds…”

“Ridiculous, yes.” Old Man chuckled. “I am but a humble cultivator of bonsai trees. Call me Old Man. I had a different name once, but Old Man is the name I go by now.” He stood up, tidied what he was working on, and whispered an instruction to one of the rats. “Please, follow me. I’ll show you to the garden we’ll be working on, but it would be best to start with the bonsai tree nursery.” He glanced over his shoulder, and his lips curved up into another smile. “It is my pride and joy, and I do hope Katie will let me keep it if she ever manages to take over the castle.”

Tamara bit back a smile. Katie’s hopes of taking over the castle one day were well known – as were her many, many failed attempts to outwit or otherwise get the better of Lord Bolton. The Lord of Black Tower Castle might have seemed laidback, but Tamara knew what he’d been through. Katie, as powerful and gifted as she was, would need years more training before she could hope to trouble Lord Bolton. “Please, lead the way.”

Tamara took careful note of everything as Old Man showed her around the bonsai tree nursery. She had read as much as she could about bonsai trees the previous night to ensure she could perform her duties properly although she was already somewhat acquainted with bonsai trees. As someone with an interest in gardening and landscaping, she knew that bonsai trees were incredibly rare and often incredibly difficult to care for. To see so many of them in one place and in such excellent condition was truly remarkable. It spoke volumes about Old Man’s diligence and attention to detail.

However, there was one particular bonsai tree that caught her attention. Its leaves were an incredible shade of bright green with yellow and blue veins. “If you don’t mind my asking, what sort of bonsai tree is that one?”

Old Man gestured to where a table and some tea had been prepared by a group of enterprising rats. “Our tea is ready.” She waited for him to sit first, but he remained on his feet until she eventually sat down. “I like to take tea at this time each day, and the origin of that bonsai tree is an interesting story.”

The tea was a vivid shade of green, and it had a delightful fragrance, albeit one that she wasn’t familiar with. The rats all had teacups too, and they were all savouring the aroma as well. “Would you be able to share that story?”

“Certainly. It begins some time ago. I was already an old man then, but not quite as old as I am now…”

* * *

Old Man adjusted his hat. It was hot, far too hot to be comfortable, which wasn’t too surprising given the location of the village. Summers along the coast in this part of the world had a tendency to be brutally hot and humid. However, he could put up with some heat and humidity. Rumours had spread about an especially rare bonsai tree in this area, one that could be used to make a potion of incredible potency. The heat and humidity were a small price to pay to acquire such a wonderful plant although he would have to venture into the dense jungle further inland, which would undoubtedly be full of things that wanted to kill him. Given his recent run of luck – the ship he’d taken to this area had been attacked by two sea serpents – he was expecting at least one dragon or a den full of ancient hydras.

Oh, well. He’d make do. He always had, and he always would. He was also curious about what sort of potion the bonsai tree could make. He had no intention of using it, but the lore interested him. Who knows? If he was lucky, it might even make a good cup of tea since it had been ages since he’d enjoyed one. It was unfortunate, but the people in this part of the world had a very different idea of what constituted a good cup of tea. There would be fighting ahead, either against monsters or those who also wanted the bonsai tree, but he would manage, and he would not rely on a potion to aid him. His strength was his own, and he’d earned it through hard work and dedication. No potion lasted forever, and such power always came at a steep price. He’d fought more than one madman in his homeland that had enhanced their abilities through potions and the like. They’d all gone mad in the end, either from their sudden increase in power or from problems with the potion itself. He had already lost his homeland. He had no intention of losing his sanity too.

He had yet to encounter anyone else in search of this bonsai tree, but he didn’t think his luck would last. A rare bonsai tree was something certain people would go to great lengths for, and there were many places along the coast where a cunning captain could conceal a ship. There were also other villages within easy reach of the jungle. His brows furrowed. In the past, he’d fought several unscrupulous individuals who had been willing to resort to theft, murder, and treason to get their hands on a bonsai tree. If he encountered any of them today, he might have to do the world a favour and dispose of them.

Old Man left the rest of his things, meagre though his possessions were save for the bonsai trees carefully concealed in a special sack, back at the village with a local innkeeper. He had paid the innkeeper well to keep his possessions safe and added extra coins to keep him quiet too. The jungle was a forbidding place, so it would have been unwise to enter it with more than he needed. As a young man, he might have threatened the innkeeper into compliance. As an old man, he understood that the carrot often worked better than the stick.

Unfortunately for him, he had little in the way of weaponry. He had broken several of his weapons fighting off the sea serpents, and he’d lost several more during his other adventures. All he had now was a sword that couldn’t handle his magic for more than a moment or two and a dagger. To be on the safe side, he did have a stout walking stick, which he’d carved out of an old oar. It wasn’t much, but the wood seemed to handle his magic better, and it had been more than enough to deal with the common riffraff he ran into during his travels.

Constantly replacing swords because of his magic’s tendency to shatter them wasn’t something he could indulge in too often, both because of the time and the money involved in replacing them. A stout walking stick, however, could be made relatively cheaply. He sighed. If only he’d kept his old swords, the ones he’d used in his youth. However, he’d been forced to leave them behind when he’d left his homeland. After all, dead men didn’t need swords. At least, he’d ensured that they were in good, worthy hands. Yet even with his meagre weapons, he was confident in his ability to fight off most opponents. If he couldn’t, his magic would make it easy to retreat.

Old Man made his way into the jungle, the edge of which was only a short stroll from the village. It made him wonder about their safety. Jungles as dark and ominous as this one – it radiated menace, and he was certain there were already at least seven or eight predators preparing to attack him the moment he set foot amongst the trees – typically gave rise to highly dangerous wildlife. The average villager also happened to have a prominent place on the menus of most apex predators. However the village had been here for a while. They must have worked out a solution. Hopefully, it wasn’t a solution that involved sacrificing unwary travellers to the monsters of the jungle.

The jungle itself was certainly an imposing sight. The trees were gigantic, towering over him like spires reaching toward the sky. Their interlocking branches created a thick canopy, which cast an eerie twilight onto the ground below. He didn’t have anything to go on except rumours, but rare bonsai trees often grew in extremely dangerous areas. It would make perfect sense for one to be found in the midst of a place like this. Long vines hung down from the branches above him, and his keen hearing picked up the scampering of countless small animals above and around him.

He could survive for weeks in the jungle if he had to, and he might have to since he had no real idea of where the bonsai tree was. He did know the conditions it preferred, and he had been able to buy several maps of the jungle from people who had braved its depths before. However, he couldn’t be certain of the accuracy of those maps, and conditions could change quite rapidly in the heart of the jungle. With nothing else to go on except a hunch, he decided to take whichever trail seemed the most dangerous. If nothing else, he wouldn’t be bored.

Old Man managed to travel for several days before someone attacked him. He had yet to find any sign of the bonsai tree, and he’d already dealt with several animals that thought he would make an ideal meal. He’d shown them the error of their ways, and the rest of the jungle’s animals had wisely given him a wide berth. He might not be the biggest thing in the jungle, but he might be the scariest.

As a blade that had clearly been forged in his homeland flashed toward his head, he stepped neatly to one side. It had been years since he’d met an actual ninja from his homeland. He smiled. It was rather nostalgic. He’d faced no small number of them in the heady days of his youth. Indeed, he was pleased to know they were still around. Unfortunately, the ninja’s attack had gotten a bit close to his hat. He lifted his walking stick. His hat had been a gift from an old friend. He would not allow any harm to come to it.

“Can I assume that you are here for the bonsai tree too?” Old Man asked. He chose to speak his native tongue instead of the speech more common to this part of the world. Few from his homeland spoke it well, but he’d had plenty of time to learn.

The ninja said nothing, not that Old Man expected him to. A talkative ninja could very quickly become a dead ninja. Instead, the darkly clad warrior took up a familiar stance. Old Man smiled and lazily reached up to wipe some sweat off his brow. He remembered that stance. He was about to ask another question when the ninja spoke. Interesting.

“There are few who can dodge that technique and fewer still who can avoid it without being forewarned. You are skilled.” The ninja inclined his head in a gesture of respect and then tightened his hold on his weapon. “But you can go no further. My orders are clear. I must stop you. Prepare yourself!”

As a child, Old Man had been told many stories of how deadly ninjas were. They were masters of disguise and stealth, capable of infiltrating even the most secure fortresses to strike at their targets with unmatched precision and deadliness. That was true up to a point. Their guile and penchant for sneak attacks gave them the element of surprise, which was a powerful advantage when two people were otherwise evenly matched. Yet if they were discovered, many ninjas had a tendency to either rush things or talk too much.

To be fair, it was a trait shared by many swordsmen. It was as though they believed that talking about their supposedly legendary prowess and incredible techniques counted for anything except wasted breath. He had defeated more than one opponent by simply getting them to talk and then striking midway through their speech. It was the quiet ones he worried about, yet he did enjoy some good banter every now and then. Sea serpents were worthy opponents, but they were poor conversationalists.

“Is that so?” Old Man nodded back. “Then by all means, proceed.”

“Very well.” The ninja’s magic stirred. “Your honour will be your undoing, swordsman. Prepare to face my invincible sword!”

In his entire life, Old Man had seen perhaps two techniques that truly qualified for the title of ‘invincible’. One of those was his, and the other technique had been created by the only swordsman he’d ever faced who’d come close to beating him in his prime. Ah, what a duel that had been. Despite the hate and fury he’d felt toward his opponent, he’d felt only admiration for his skill. It was such a pity that his opponent’s skill, which rightfully deserved the title of Peerless Sword, had belonged to such a detestable person.

This attack? It wasn’t close to being that good. Oh, it wasn’t bad. It would have killed ninety-nine out of a hundred swordsmen who faced it, but Old Man was not one of them. He’d always had outstanding reflexes, and his magic only enhanced them. In the instant it took his opponent to strike, he saw the technique unfold as though in slow motion, every detail visible for study as he slowed time itself to a crawl. The ninja first used magic to attack the senses of his opponent, creating illusions in his opponent’s mind to disguise the true position of his blade. The ninja also created other illusions, ones present in the real world that would be visible to any observer, hiding his weapon behind countless illusionary replicas. It was a double-layered illusionary technique, and it would make it all but impossible to accurately track the ninja’s weapon.

Old Man had faced far worse before.

At this speed, and the ninja was extremely fast, creating a truly deep and convincing illusion was almost impossible. Subtle details like the shadows cast by the illusions or the gleam of light on the fake blades were incorrect. Combined with the position of his opponent’s arm and wrist, these minute mistakes were enough to let Old Man see through the illusions woven around the attack. Of course, a normal person would never have been able to notice these things so quickly, but Old Man was not a normal person. His walking stick flicked up and struck the ninja’s wrist. His blade went flying from his hand, and Old Man smoothly brought his walking stick back down to whack the ninja over the head.

The other man crumpled to the ground, and Old Man poked him with his walking stick. Good. He was still alive. In his youth, Old Man would have killed him, but he’d left those days far behind him. Instead, he dug through the ninja’s things until he could find something useful – a knife. It was a good one, which had been made in the traditional way. It had been years since he’d owned a knife of this quality, and he considered it fair compensation for letting the ninja live.

He chuckled. Whom was he trying to fool? He was taking the knife because he knew how much it would aggravate the ninja to have something stolen from him instead of the other way around. Old Man left the ninja tied to the branches of a tree where nothing too dangerous would be able to get at him and then continued on his way. Where there was one ninja, there were often others. And encountering someone else would be a good sign. He had to be getting closer if people were trying to stop him from going any further.

He managed to travel for another hour and a half, fending off a tiger and some sort of giant snake-bat thing, before he ran into someone else. He grinned. This was certainly turning out to be a crowded jungle. Well, he wasn’t going to complain. Even if he was no longer a prideful youth, he still enjoyed facing strong opponents from time to time. The ninja hadn’t been particularly challenging, but perhaps this fellow would be better.

His opponent was not a ninja. Instead, his opponent was a samurai. He was even wearing the traditional armour and clothing of a samurai, which made Old Man wonder how he could stand the brutal heat and humidity. A warrior wouldn’t be much good if he passed out from heat exhaustion before fighting anyone. Then again, there could be magic woven into the armour and clothing. The right runes and seals could certainly make the conditions more bearable. Old Man also wondered if the samurai went around dressed like this all the time. In foreign lands, it was often better to blend in, especially if someone was on a quest to retrieve something valuable. Too much attention was rarely good, and there were cutthroats and sell swords aplenty in most major ports and cities.

Old Man acknowledged the samurai’s curt nod with one of his own. He hadn’t been a samurai for decades, but he still recognised and appreciated the old ways, flawed as they could be at times. Besides, honour should be met with honour.

“You made it past Togetsu.”

The samurai shifted slightly, one hand drifting down to his sword. Old Man examined his stance critically. It was a stance best suited to drawing a sword and striking quickly in a single fluid motion. It was not something he’d seen often in the raging chaos of war where a man could easily find himself surrounded or faced with half a dozen opponents at the same time. However, he’d seen it several times in duels where only one opponent needed to be considered. A master of such techniques was not to be taken lightly although Old Man had yet to meet anyone better at it than himself.

“That speaks highly of your skill.”

Old Man caught the flicker of sorrow in the samurai’s eyes before he hid it. Ah, yes. Old Man knew what it was like to lose friends in battle. He knew all too well. On this day, at least, he could deliver good news. “The ninja was your comrade? Do not worry. I did not slay him although he will have a sore head when he awakens.”

The samurai’s lips twitched. “You have my thanks. I did not think we would find mercy on these foreign shores. Yet I cannot let you pass. My lord has asked me to hold this ground, so hold it I shall!” He took a small step forward. “I can sense your strength. You are a truly worthy opponent. I am Shokugan, First Sword of the Daiban Clan.”

“I see.” How theatrical. Had he ever been like that? He almost chuckled, which would have been rude. Of course, he’d been like that once. He had fond memories of the princess berating him, telling him to cease his posturing and simply stab his enemies, so her brother could return from the battlefield more swiftly. There had also been the time when she had asked him to spar and had whacked him upside the head with the butt of her spear when he’d prattled on for too long. “The Daiban Clan are known to produce great swordsmen. I would introduce myself, but I gave up my name long ago. All you need to know is that I must get past you. I intend to claim that bonsai tree.”

“In that case, let us not waste any further time. I will not let you past. Defeat me if you can.”

Old Man stepped forward and stopped a hair’s breadth from the edge of Shokugan’s zone. A warrior’s zone was the area defined by the maximum and minimum effective range of their weapon. To step into the zone of a skilled swordsman was not something to be done lightly. Within it, his opponent would be able to strike with their full strength and without any hesitation. Old Man smiled faintly and stepped forward again. The surest way to test the deadliness of a trap was to trigger it.

Shokugan did not hesitate.

It was a beautiful strike. The young man’s form was nearly perfect. The strike itself was augmented by the magic common to the Daiban Clan – the ability to enhance the reach and sharpness of a weapon. With so much magic invested into the attack, the samurai would have been able to cut through the steel gates of a fortress with ease. Furthermore, the blade’s cutting edge had been increased both vertically and horizontally by his magic, which made dodging all but impossible. Parrying or blocking would do little to help. His opponent’s attack would shred right through his walking stick. There was only one real way to stop an attack like this, and Old Man knew exactly what to do.

Old Man moved, collapsing the space between them and accelerating the passage of time for himself with his magic. He covered the gap between them more quickly than anyone else could have, and he caught his opponent’s wrist before the blade could travel more than a third of the distance it needed to. To stop the strike before it could reach him – that was the only way to deal with a technique like this, short of using his magic even more extensively. Shokugan’s eyes widened in disbelief, and Old Man calmly twisted and tossed him over his shoulder. The samurai hit the ground hard, and Old Man bonked him over the head with his walking stick.

“A wonderful strike,” Old Man murmured to the unconscious samurai. Off to the side, several trees had been cut down by the backlash of the incomplete technique. “Truly worthy of praise.” He paused and peered at his opponent’s face. “You remind me of someone. Yes, I think I fought your grandfather. He was a magnificent swordsman, one of the few to face me and live although I bested him nonetheless. Your biggest flaw is your youth and the inexperience that comes with it, but time can always fix that.” He shook his head. Now was not the time to be lost in memory. “I had best get moving. I’ve already faced a ninja and a samurai. I wonder if there are any more of your colleagues around.”

Old Man encountered the next one only an hour later. He must be getting close now. It also reminded him of a challenge he’d undertaken as a young man. He had wanted to challenge the head of a rival sword school, but he’d been forced to battle his way through the lower ranks first. It had been comical. He’d left a trail of unconscious people in his wake before he’d finally reached the master of the school. He grinned. What a proud boy he’d been, but pride always came before the fall. At least, he’d been able to accomplish something worthwhile before his undoing. Besides, now that there were decades between him and the saddest and happiest moments of his life, he couldn’t help but look back at his mistakes with some amusement.

His life was like one of those stories the princess had loved to read: a tragic but noble figure wandering the world in exile, unable to return home lest his mere presence undo the good he’d been able to accomplish. Yes, she would have loved such a story if it had not concerned one of the few people she’d truly cared for. But he’d left her safety in good hands, and she had greater concerns than a mere swordsman, no matter how skilled he might be. Their homeland had been in shambles, and she had been the only one left who could reunite and rebuild it. What was one swordsman’s life compared to that? To even call it a choice would have vastly overestimated his worth.

That he no longer had a place in his homeland was unfortunate. Yet he would rather be exiled from it and know that it prospered than stay only to watch it die. Early on, he had thought of ending his life, but he hadn’t been able to do it. So many had died, so he could live. He would not shame their sacrifice by throwing away their gift. And so he lived, wandering the world and doing good deeds here and there until either old age or a worthy opponent finally got the better of him.

His newest opponent had a spear. The burly man said nothing, not that anything needed to be said. Old Man studied his opponent’s clothing. The haori he wore – not unlike a tabard in purpose – made his affiliation clear. This man belonged to one of the various bodyguard orders. Such men were forbidden to speak unless ordered to by their master, and they were sworn to utter secrecy and loyalty. They were also exceedingly skilled since they were taken in as children and raised in brutal conditions to maximise their potential. To make the battle even more interesting, the spear his opponent wielded was a treasure, one that Old Man had heard of but had never had the pleasure of facing.

The Void Piercing Spear was one of the few weapons in the world that Old Man was fairly sure could trouble his magic. It possessed the ability to strike from multiple directions at the same time – a manipulation of both time and space. Indeed, Old Man’s greatest technique had been inspired by legends of the spear’s power. It was truly a magnificent weapon, and its wielder was a most formidable man.

The bodyguard took up his stance. Like the other battles, a single blow would decide the outcome. But unlike the other battles, there would be no banter. There would only be battle. His opponent raised his spear. Old Man lifted his walking stick.

The spear flashed like a ray of sunlight. The attack came.

And Old Man’s smile was almost too large to fit onto his face.

Marvellous – truly marvellous!

The initial strike was a simple flat thrust, aimed with superb accuracy and delivered with immense speed and power. It was accompanied by a further six simultaneous thrusts, each aimed at a vital point. Without the magic of the spear – it basically bent space and time to ‘multiply’ the initial attack – it would never have been possible. And behind the initial attacks were more attacks, all of them slightly displaced in space and time to make dodging impossible. Old Man was surrounded by a ghostly wall of spears that rushed inward to overwhelm him. He nodded in acknowledgement. He considered himself truly privileged to see this technique.

And then he blew the technique apart.

Years ago, pushed to the utmost limits of his abilities in battle, he had discovered that with sufficient speed and his magic, he could create blows that lingered both through space and forward and backward in time. If the Spear of Piercing Void could create a wall of spears, he could do even more. Old Man channelled his magic and lashed out with his walking stick. A thousand ghostly images appeared around him, each depicting a possible block or parry with his walking stick – possible blocks and parries that his magic made real. His walking stick deflected the wall of spears, and he took another step forward.

His opponent fell a moment later.

Old Man carefully wrapped the spear before tucking it under the unconscious bodyguard. Hopefully, this fellow was the last of them. This was starting to a get bit odd, and his walking stick really couldn’t handle too much more combat.

His hopes were answered. Not long after leaving the downed man, he came across the entrance to a large cave. Nestled in a small grotto in front of the cave’s entrance was the bonsai tree. Beside it, with all seven of its heads deep in slumber, was an ancient hydra. Old Man took a moment to gauge the distance before he called on his magic. When used properly, he could do more than simply collapse the space between two points. He could teleport, and teleportation was one of the only safe ways to get something that was beside an ancient hydra.

As the ancient hydra continued to snore away, Old Man made off with the bonsai tree. With any luck, he’d get back to the village and leave before any of the people he’d defeated caught up with him.

* * *

“What happened next?” Tamara asked. Old Man was a good storyteller. Even the rats had gathered around to listen.

He chuckled and took another sip of his tea. “Unfortunately, the ancient hydra awakened not long after I left. It went on a rampage, and I was forced to take the long way around to get back to the village. When I got back, those three were there. I expected a fight. Instead, they got down on their knees and begged to have a cutting from the bonsai tree. It seems their master sent them to retrieve it… because of how delicious the tea made from its leave would be.”

“Tea?” Tamara gasped. “All that for something that makes tea?”

“Yes. Apparently, the tea it made was so delicious that people ascribed magical properties to it despite it not having any. And speaking of tea…” He glanced meaningfully at the tea they were drinking. “Would you care for more?”

Her eyes widened. “Then this is…?”

“Like I said,” Old Man replied with a grin. “It makes very good tea. Now, shall we talk about the landscaping? I’m afraid my tastes are rather dated.”

Mr Sparkles

(Set After Two Necromancers, a Dragon, and a Vampire)

Avraniel was not a huge fan of responsibility. The way she saw it, responsibilities were a lot like ropes – anyone stupid enough to get tangled up in a lot of them was sure to end up hanging themselves. She would rather do what she pleased, where she pleased, how she pleased, when she pleased. There were plenty of people trying to chain her up and drag her down. She had no intention of helping them.

But on the rare occasions that she took responsibility for something, she saw it through to the end. It didn’t matter who got in her way or who tried to stop her. If she said she’d do something, then she’d do it even if she had to burn half the world to ash. Anyone who thought they could stop her once she’d decided to do something was either going to end up dead or wishing they were dead.

Spot was a perfect example. It didn’t matter what anyone thought. She was the dragon’s mother, and she would do her absolute best to raise him into a suitably terrifying and legendary dragon. Everyone else could either help or get out of the way. It didn’t matter that he still had a lot of growing to do. She was an elf. She had time. Even if it took centuries, she would make sure that Spot reached his full potential. By the time he was all grown up, people wouldn’t even remember Black Scales. Instead, whenever people thought of terrifying, legendary dragons, they’d think of Spot.

However, Spot wasn’t the only responsibility she’d accepted recently. Although he was an idiot most of the time, she was – just a little bit – grateful to Timmy for letting her do pretty much whatever she wanted with her part of the castle, as long as she didn’t burn, blow up, or melt anything important.

The décor had been the first thing she’d changed. Dark, dreary castles might have been all the rage amongst necromancers, but they didn’t impress her. She’d spent most of her life in a dark, dreary forest. The more different her surroundings were from that stupid place, the better. She’d added plenty of metal, lots of fire, and a heap of bright colours. Her lips curled. Metal and fire never hurt anybody – except her enemies. There was nothing quite as good as a piece of burning metal for stabbing people she didn’t like. The servants must have liked the new décor too. They couldn’t stop staring at all of the new decorations, many of which she and Spot had made themselves using pieces of metal and lots of fire.

Her favourite decoration was a gigantic suit of armour that the two of them had half-melted. It was a graphic reminder to everyone else about what would happen if they messed with her or Spot. It wasn’t just an ornament either. A would-be bandit king had worn the armour once. Unfortunately for him, but fortunately for her and Spot, he’d made the mistake of pointing a crossbow at the dragon. He hadn’t made any mistakes since.

There was also her garden, which occupied a large courtyard. Normal plants had never liked her – the damn forest certainly hadn’t – but she’d finally managed to find some plants that did appreciate her. It turned out that she’d been looking in the wrong place all along. Normal plants liked normal elves, but she’d never been a normal elf. If a plant were poisonous, venomous, carnivorous, or otherwise likely to kill people, then it would definitely thrive under her care. In a few short months, she had transformed the barren courtyard into a lush, thriving sanctuary full of deadly plants, not that they were deadly to her. As a powerful elf, she was largely immune to the toxins most plants could produce, and as normal elves could commune with normal plants, so could she commune with her deadly plants.

Despite being a dragon, Spot liked the plants too. He was part corruption dragon, so he was immune to almost every toxin in existence. Even Chomp, the three-headed dog that had proven to be a good playmate for Spot since his arrival, was relatively resistant to toxins, and his resistance had only increased with exposure. The dog was also fond of tug-of-war and fetch, two games that Spot enjoyed, and the two of them could often be seen playing against each other.

The others, like the idiot and the twerp, had to be careful, but they were smart enough to give anything dangerous to them a wide berth. She doubted that the vampire had anything to worry about, and she’d written clear instructions for the servants to follow after Timmy had insisted on it. Hell, she’d started stockpiling antidotes to the various plant toxins in case one of the servants who delivered food got injured. The last thing she wanted was to have to walk all the way to the kitchens to get a meal. The only one she had to worry about was Gerald, and Spot had taken the bureaucrat under his wing since their mission to the island. The arrangement suited Gerald since he was basically a walking meal to most monsters whereas Spot was the opposite. To the dragon, everyone else was a meal.

Although she loved all of her plants, her favourite was definitely Mr Sparkles. For a giant man-eating rose, he was remarkably friendly. Maybe it was because she was an elf, or maybe it was because she’d raised him from a seedling. The elves had been created not long after the first forests, and the gods had supposedly appointed them the stewards of the world’s woods, forests, and jungles. The species Mr Sparkles belonged to was one of the oldest in the world, so there was likely some part of him, driven by ancient instinct, that recognised elves as friends or maybe not. More than one elf had met their end at the bladelike teeth and petals of an Everton giant man-eating rose although Mr Sparkles had never been anything but friendly toward her.

Mr Sparkles was also easy to please. She’d never met anyone except for Spot who could get so happy over a simple meal. And despite his bulk, Mr Sparkles was incredibly good at climbing along the castle’s walls and exterior. He’d given more than one maid a fright after climbing along the castle walls and slipping through one of the larger windows to tell Avraniel that he was hungry. Mr Sparkles also kept Spot company from time to time, and it wasn’t unusual for Spot, Chomp, and Mr Sparkles to go off on hunting trips in the forest around the castle.

Mr Sparkles was sleeping when Avraniel reached her garden. He had picked a nice, sunny spot for himself near the middle of the courtyard. She was pleased to see that the spot he’d chosen was the one she’d specially prepared for him using an intricate mix of soil and fertiliser that was supposed to be perfect for his species. It had been a pain finding out what soil and nutrients Mr Sparkles needed in order to thrive, but Gerald had been surprisingly quick to help her after Mr Sparkles had accompanied her on a visit to his chambers. Although it hadn’t been cheap to get everything, the merchant she’d bought everything from had assured her it would work, and she’d been radiating enough magic at the time for him to realise exactly how bad an idea it would have been to lie to her. Merchants might be greedy, but they liked living too.

From what she could tell, Mr Sparkles was definitely benefiting from the new soil and fertiliser. His leaves and vines were all a deep, lush green, and his petals gleamed in the sun. As she came closer, he began to stir. Good. From what she’d read, his species spent much of their time sleeping, but they would react when they felt vibrations in the air or ground or when they picked up the scent of food. The closer someone got to Mr Sparkles and the longer they stayed nearby, the more likely he was to wake up. That’s what had gotten Gerald into trouble the first time around. If he hadn’t wanted to wake Mr Sparkles, then he shouldn’t have practically fallen on top of him.

When she put one hand on one of his vines, Mr Sparkles awakened. His vines uncoiled, and he pulled himself free of the soil, walking on several leg-like roots. She smiled as he tilted his rosebud toward her, the petals unfurling to reveal a ‘mouth’ full of teeth that were, in truth, highly specialised petals. There was a quiet whirring sound as his teeth moved back and forth. Had she tossed something small and annoying into his mouth – like Rembrandt – it would have been sliced into a million pieces. The sounds he made also passed for speech, but only elves, or certain other creatures like dragons, could understand him. Elves had magic in their blood, but so did dragons, and she’d heard Spot chirping to Mr Sparkles about what sort of cow tasted the best. Apparently, the man-eating rose didn’t believe in adding condiments to his meals whereas Spot firmly believed that the right condiments, like steak sauce, could make a good cow taste great. It had been an odd conversation, but both Spot and Mr Sparkles thought with their stomachs, or whatever passed for a stomach in the case of the man-eating rose.

“How are you today?” Avraniel asked. She ran her fingers over his vines and checked for any insects or other parasites. She did her best to keep them away, but it couldn’t hurt to be sure.

Mr Sparkles made several happy sounds and gave a brief commentary on how he felt although much of it didn’t make sense to her. She had no idea what good soil tasted like, nor did she know how it felt to have her roots adequately watered. She chuckled. It was enough to know that he was doing well. One of the main advantages of having modern plumbing in the castle – Timmy had installed a lot of it himself – was that watering her garden was easy. All she had to do was attach a hose to some sprinklers and a faucet. Sure, there were runes and seals for watering plants, but simpler was often better. Runes and seals could backfire and explode, which would definitely hurt some of her plants. If she was worried about leaving a faucet on too long, all she had to do was to tell one of the servants or one of the rats to keep an eye on it.

And speaking of the rats, she might not like most of the little bastards, the demolition rats were an exception, but some of them were poison specialists, and they’d taken a keen interest in her plants. Some of them even had magic that could help plants grow, and she’d allowed them into her garden under strict conditions. They could harvest some of her plants’ toxins, but she expected them to take good care of her plants. Any mistakes would be punished with mangling and flame.

As a man-eating rose, Mr Sparkles needed more than good soil, nutrients, and water to thrive. He needed meat, and it was time for her to feed him. Timmy had recently begun to maintain a herd of cattle not only because it was profitable but also because Spot and the castle’s residents needed a reliable source of meat. The herd wasn’t kept in the castle. Instead, it was kept near the base of the massive outcrop of rock upon which the castle was built. Whenever Spot wanted a cow, he could simply fly down and grab one. Whenever anyone else wanted a cow, they could send one of Timmy’s zombies to get one, or they could use the elaborate elevator system that the idiot and the twerp had designed to move things through the caves that went all the way from the castle down to the lightless gulfs of unfathomable horror far, far below it.

Mr Sparkles was another beneficiary of the idiot’s foray into animal husbandry although he didn’t eat as frequently or as much as Spot. The growing dragon could eat more in one sitting than the man-eating rose could in a week. If there wasn’t enough to eat, then Mr Sparkles would go into a sort of stasis until a meal wandered close enough for him to grab, which was why his species often established themselves near game trails or water sources.

“Here’s something for you,” Avraniel said as she reached into the bucket of meat she’d brought. “Spot recommended it.”

She tossed a chunk of meat into the air. With surprising speed and dexterity, Mr Sparkles used his vines to snatch it out of the air before throwing it into his mouth. There was a wet squelch as his teeth made short work of the meat. Indeed, it was vaguely hypnotic watching the plant’s teeth tear through the chunk like a rotating saw until it was little more than a fine paste that he greedily gulped down. Avraniel grinned as she imagined some stupid bandit picking a fight with Mr Sparkles. It would not go well. If someone wanted to fight the giant man-eating rose, they would need a lot of fire and for her to be nowhere around because there was no way she’d let anyone burn him. She tossed a few more chunks into the air, which he swiftly consumed. As she threw another chunk, a playful cry rang out above them. Spot lanced through the air and grabbed the chunk before Mr Sparkles could get it. The plant gave a plaintive cry, and his vines lashed the air as Spot circled overhead, well out of his reach.

Joking. Spot dropped the meat, and Mr Sparkles eagerly grabbed it as the dragon landed beside him and nudged one of his roots with his head. Friend. Spot eyed the bucket intently. More?

“Yes, there’s more.” Spot trilled hopefully. “And, yes, you can have some.” Avraniel hurled more meat into the air. The little, but rapidly growing, dragon took to the air to catch it before gobbling it down and then padding back to Mr Sparkles. Spot sniffed the plant a few times and made a curious sound in the back of his throat. Avraniel could understand his curiosity. Spot had a keen sense of smell, and Mr Sparkles didn’t smell like most other plants. Then again, most other plants didn’t go around eating people.

“How about you two take Chomp and go hunting today,” Avraniel said. “It’s been almost a week since you last went hunting together.” She cackled. “And grab the paper pusher too. He’s been cooped up in here all week. He could use some sunlight, exercise, and excitement.” She scowled. “But you’ll have to go without me. I have to do some paperwork.”

As much as Avraniel hated doing paperwork, and she absolutely hated it, Gerald did not know as much about her plants as she did. It would be easier to simply make him order in everything, but she wanted to make sure that she ordered exactly the right things. She’d also have to talk to Timmy. She was planning on ordering some rare plants, and some of them needed special supplies to survive. He might be an idiot, but he was great at finding things and getting them.

Okay. Spot wagged his tail. Come next time.

“Don’t worry, I’ll definitely come along next time.” Avraniel gave him a scratch behind the ears and then burst into laugher as he and Mr Sparkles went off to find Gerald. She’d have to ask Spot what Gerald’s face looked like when he saw Mr Sparkles. It would be hilarious.

* * *

Gerald was enjoying a nice, relaxing morning doing some light paperwork. He even had a cup of tea and his favourite slippers – a fluffy pair in the shape of little bunny rabbits – along with a soft, warm dressing gown. He signed off on the latest piece of paperwork and reached for another. This morning was going to be good. He could feel it. Yes, he’d do some more paperwork for another hour or two, get some lunch, and then come back and do more paperwork before enjoying dinner with the others. After dinner, he’d read for perhaps an hour and then turn in for the night. Whenever he went on a mission with the others, he invariably found himself screaming, several inches from death, and having to beat his enemies over the head with whatever he could get with his magic. It was thus incredibly important for him to savour the time between missions by living as boring a life as possible. Some people craved excitement. Gerald craved normalcy, and the missions he and the others went on were the very opposite of normal.

Alas, his hopes for a peaceful, normal day were about to meet a horrible end.

His first glimpse of impending doom came when vines began to creep along his floor and the rats guarding his chambers gave cries of alarm. He turned and found himself face to face with one of his worst nightmares: an Everton giant man-eating rose. For a moment, he could only stare at the man-eating plant, his mouth opening and closing as his mind oh so helpfully began to list the many, many ways Mr Sparkles could devour him. The rats did their best to subdue Mr Sparkles, but Avraniel had told them in no uncertain terms that she would not tolerate anyone actually harming her beloved plant. Nets and ropes might be good for restraining people, but they were somewhat less effective against Mr Sparkles. One of the rats was about to electrocute Mr Sparkles before realising how bad an idea it would be when Mr Sparkles had several vines wrapped around Gerald’s upper body.

“Wait!” Gerald raised his hands. “You can’t eat me! Avraniel must have said something about it! You can’t – ah!”

His pleading turned into an incoherent, high-pitched wail as Mr Sparkles yanked him off his feet and dangled him upside down. Gerald continued to scream as he summoned a pair of hedge scissors with his magic, only for Mr Sparkles to pluck them out of his grasp and toss them across the room. The hedge scissors were followed by a pogo stick, an octopus, and a giant bell, but the man-eating rose dealt with each of them in the same way. Gerald stopped screaming, mainly because he needed air to live, and Mr Sparkles smiled at him, the countless teeth inside his rosebud whirring softly as they began to move, turning the plant’s mouth into a rotating saw. Gerald took several deep breaths and began screaming again. This was how he was going to die. Mr Sparkles was going to drop him into his mouth, and all they’d find afterward would be a fine, bloody paste, most likely splattered all over the walls, floor and ceiling. Dimly, he was aware of the rats trying to pin Mr Sparkles down, but the plant had only grown stronger since the last time he’d faced the rats.

Just as Gerald was about to take another break from screaming to breathe, Spot appeared.

“Spot!” Gerald cried, waving at the dragon. He’d never been so happy to see him in his life. “Help! Mr Sparkles is going to eat me!”

Paper pusher. Spot tilted his head to one side. Help?

“Yes!” Gerald shrieked, his voice going even higher than Katie’s. “Mr Sparkles is going to eat me!”

Spot chortled and patted one of Mr Sparkles’s roots with one claw. Not eat. Friend. Spot nodded at the door. Going hunting. You’re coming.

And with that, Gerald found himself being whisked out of the castle as Mr Sparkles and Spot simply left via one of the larger windows. Apparently, they were going hunting. And, apparently, he was coming with them. As Mr Sparkles raced down the side of the castle and the massive outcrop it was built on, Gerald continued to scream. It was a testament to his improved cardiovascular fitness that he only needed to stop for breath twice before they reached the bottom.

Hopefully, he thought as Mr Sparkles and Spot headed toward the forest, they weren’t going to encounter anything too dangerous. They should be fine if they went after something like a bear or some wolves. Spot could handle those on his own, and Gerald was certain Mr Sparkles could too. He should have known better, especially when Chomp joined them, the three-headed dog making his way down from the castle with the same enthusiasm as Mr Sparkles and Spot.

Not much later, Gerald found himself creeping through one of the darkest, most dangerous parts of the forest around the castle in his bunny slippers and dressing gown. At least, Mr Sparkles had put him down because he’d been about thirty seconds away from throwing up. Avraniel might have told the plant not to eat him – and Gerald had his doubts about that – but even if she had, he had a feeling that the man-eating rose would not be happy if he vomited on him.

As for Spot, the little dragon was plodding along beside them with a big, toothy grin on his face, not the least bit worried about Mr Sparkles. Well, Gerald was worried. Spot had said that Mr Sparkles wasn’t going to eat him, but Mr Sparkles was an Everton giant man-eating rose. His name alone should have made it obvious why Gerald was worried. Sure, Spot could eat people, but he wasn’t called a man-eating dragon. He kind of just ate everything. But Mr Sparkles was an Everton giant man-eating rose, which meant that he specialised in eating men – and Gerald was the only man around.

Spot had gone out of his way to reassure Gerald that Mr Sparkles didn’t hold any grudges about the pogo stick he’d once thrown at him. Setting aside how bizarre it was that a dragon could somehow talk to a plant, Gerald could barely believe what he was hearing. A grudge? All he’d done was throw a pogo stick at Mr Sparkles after the rose had tried to eat him. If anyone should be holding a grudge, it should be him!

Rounding out their merry group – well, Spot and Mr Sparkles were merry whereas Gerald was sort of stumbling along in a state of delayed terror as he contemplated all of the many, many things in this part of the forest that could eat him – was Chomp. On the upside, Gerald was confident that Chomp wasn’t going to give him any trouble. The dog was actually very sociable, perhaps because of how long he’d been stuck in a labyrinth. Chomp had quickly learned that once Gerald was sure he wasn’t going to eat him, all he had to do was wander over to Gerald’s chambers, and he’d get a scratch behind one of his three pairs of ears or a belly rub. Since Avraniel and Spot were often out and about, Chomp regularly spent time with Gerald or anyone else that stayed at the castle. He was, after all, a guard dog by profession, and although the castle didn’t really need more guards, it was something he liked doing. It helped that Chomp liked the treats that Gerald had stored away with his magic, and Gerald had ordered more in just to be on the safe side. Gerald’s room also had a very comfortable rug to nap on.

“What are we doing here?” Gerald whispered. Chomp nudged him out of the way and calmly locked his jaws around a very large, very venomous centipede that had been about to crawl up Gerald’s leg. Gerald bit back a shriek. He’d learned the hard way that making more noise only made him a bigger target. And unlike some people, he couldn’t simply kill anything that looked at him funny. “Thank you, Chomp.”

The dog nodded and then sighed before nudging Gerald again before he could fall into what was obviously the pit trap of a giant spider. A brief blast of Spot’s fire ensured the giant arachnid didn’t cause any further trouble, and the dragon took a big bite out of the burning spider before moving along. Apparently, giant spiders didn’t taste very nice.

Hunting. According to Timmy, Spot’s lack of grace on the ground would change as he got older and his limbs took on more mature proportions. For the time being, the dragon was vaguely adorable in the way he sort of toddled along. It was probably his tail. It was still a bit short. It would also be risky for Spot to leave the ground. If he was in the air and something attacked Gerald, which recent events suggested was extremely likely, he might not get down in time to keep Gerald alive. Chomp would do his best, of course, but dragon fire was a very effective deterrent. The three-headed dog sniffed the air and growled something to Spot. The dragon’s eyes gleamed, and he gave Gerald a toothy grin. Killing danger.

Okay. That actually made some sense. Timmy took a proactive approach to dealing with anything dangerous near the castle. Villagers had a knack for wandering off and getting eaten and/or mangled, which only drew unwanted attention. Necromancers were not the most popular people, so it was standard practice to blame them for whatever misfortune happened to occur despite the vast, vast majority of necromancers not being cannibals and mangled corpses not being much good for zombie creation. It was also unwise to let threats go unchecked. The last thing Timmy needed was for a minor nuisance to grow, perhaps literally, into a major threat.

But why did Gerald have to be there? Spot, Mr Sparkles, and Chomp ought to be enough to deal with any random hydras, wolves, bandits, or basilisks that might be lurking in the forest, and he was hardly the most combat-ready individual in the castle. Couldn’t they have taken Avraniel? Although maybe it was better that they hadn’t brought the elf. If whatever they were hunting managed to get her mad, they might not have a forest after today.

Follow Chomp. Spot nudged Gerald with one of his wings. Close. Quiet.

Gerald didn’t have to be told twice. He enjoyed living, so he’d simply have to follow Spot’s instructions and hope for the best. They continued deeper into the forest, and Gerald’s breathing grew ragged as he struggled to keep up. At least, he’d managed to switch his bunny slippers out for a stout pair of boots although they hadn’t stopped for long enough for him to replace his dressing gown with something more practical. Despite his ungainliness on the ground, Spot was surprisingly fast, and Chomp was a dog the size of a warhorse. Mr Sparkles had no problems keeping up either. In fact, he was the quietest member of the group as he sort of crept along the ground, his roots and vines barely making a sound. If Gerald hadn’t frequently looked back to check where Mr Sparkles was, he wouldn’t even have known the plant was there, which was not the most reassuring thought in the world. Nothing that big and that deadly should be able to move around so quickly and quietly.

Finally, they stopped.

Snake. Spot gave a low growl as his eyes narrowed, gleaming like silver stars in the twilight cast by the towering trees around them. Big snake.

Gerald tentatively peeked around the tree they were hiding behind, and he had to cover his mouth with his hands to keep from screaming. Big was an understatement, a big, big understatement. He’d heard stories of snakes like this, massive and ancient serpents that dwelt deep within the earth, slumbering for years, even decades, at a time before emerging whenever hunger or a foolish adventurer awakened them. This one was still mostly concealed in its burrow, a vast tunnel that surely stretched deep underground. However, the shadowy outlines of its form were still terrifying. The snake’s body had to be at least fifteen feet thick. If it had the proportions of a normal snake, then it had to be absolutely enormous. He swallowed thickly and ducked back behind the tree, summoning a paper bag in a desperate attempt to keep himself from hyperventilating. It worked – barely.

His mind raced. This was a bad, bad idea. Even with Spot, Mr Sparkles, and Chomp, he didn’t like their odds. Snakes like this were supposed to be extremely dangerous with scales that could stand up to the fire, claws, and teeth of younger dragons, and Spot was a very young dragon. The snake would have to be dealt with, but they didn’t have to be the ones to do it. They could go back, get the others, and let them handle it. He was sure Avraniel could burn it, or maybe the demolition rats could drop some kind of giant bomb on it. Failing that, he was certain Old Man could cut off its head, and there had to be something Amanda could do. She was an ancient vampire. And then there were Timmy and Katie. They had to have a zombie that could handle the snake, and if they didn’t, they could ask Sam to –

He turned to say something to Spot when the dragon leapt out into the open, drew back his head, and roared.

“RAAAARRRRRGHHHH!”

If dragons could be said to have one weakness – and it was really more of a metaphorical or rhetorical weakness than an actual weakness – it was their pride. Dragons were more than mere reptiles. They were the ultimate reptiles, winged harbingers of doom that were feared throughout the world. They were the unquestioned rulers of the skies, their speed, strength, and agility in the air unmatched by any other creature. Their fire could devastate cities and set entire kingdoms ablaze. Their claws and teeth could carve through mountains. No dragon would ever, ever allow something as common as a snake, even a giant one that could smash towns without breaking a sweat, to invade their territory. Spot, despite being a very young dragon indeed, had claimed the castle and its surroundings as his territory. He was not about to let some stupid snake live there without his permission.

With another roar that was more adorable than terrifying, Spot unleashed a blast of flame that was hot enough to melt a house and had enough force behind it to turn a grove of trees into kindling. The recoil alone nearly knocked Spot off his feet, and the snake was enveloped in black fire. The snake’s scales crackled, and the air burned. Serpentine eyes opened, and the snake lifted its head as the flames began to subside.

The snake wasn’t mad.

It was furious.

And it was still very much alive.

Spot took a slow step back. Uh oh.

The dragon frantically took to the air as the giant snake surged forward with unbelievable speed. The force of the snake’s charge obliterated several trees, and its head whipped back around so quickly that it almost managed to seize Spot in its jaws. The dragon banked sharply and tried to get more height, but the thick canopy made it impossible for him to put any real distance between himself and the snake. Spot grimaced. Perhaps he should have listened to the paper pusher before trying to set something so big on fire. But it wasn’t fair. Setting things on fire always worked for his mother although her fire was still stronger than his. He circled the snake and fired off several more blasts of flame, but the other reptile simply shrugged off the attacks and tried to grab him out of the air again.

Help! Spot yelped as the snake demolished a trio of trees before hurling one of them at the dragon. Spot dove, and the tree smashed into several others before breaking apart and sending bits of wood flying everywhere. Help!

Gerald huddled behind a tree as Mr Sparkles and Chomp entered the fray. The snake surged forward again, disguising each lunge with smooth hypnotic movements. He wasn’t the best strategist, but even he could see that this wasn’t a good situation. The trees and canopy kept Spot from gaining too much altitude, and the snake’s sheer size and strength meant that the little dragon would be in a lot of trouble if the snake managed to grab him. The trees also gave the snake plenty of things to throw, and a brief twist of the snake’s coils was enough to tear a tree out of the ground and then hurl it at Spot.

Move! Spot barked.

Gerald’s eyes widened, and he dove out of the way as the snake ripped the tree he’d been hiding behind out of the ground and threw it at Spot. The dragon blew the tree apart with a blast of fire and then jerked to one side as the snake lunged forward again. As bits of broken and burning wood rained down, Gerald hastily summoned a shield and ran for it. If only there was something better to use for cover, but there wasn’t a single thing in the area that the snake couldn’t destroy with ease.

Chomp slammed into the snake’s side – and bounced right off it. The three-headed dog typically relied on his ferocity, strength, speed, and endurance to win fights. The snake was simply too big. Mr Sparkles wrapped some of his vines around the snake and dug his roots deep into the ground in a bid to hold the snake back as Spot launched another wave of attacks. Apart from cracking a few of the snake’s scales and making them glow with heat, all Spot seemed to be doing was making the snake madder, and now the snake was pulling Mr Sparkles out of the ground. A moment later, the plant went sailing through the air although he was able to use his vines to grab onto a nearby tree and break his fall.

Gerald gulped as he got a good look at the snake. It was more than two hundred feet long. No wonder Spot, Mr Sparkles, and Chomp weren’t having any luck. This snake might even be able to give Roger a run for his money, and the zombie shark-hydra-drake was huge.

As the snake tossed another tree at Spot, Gerald found another, sturdier tree to hide behind. What should he do? What was he supposed to do? What could he do? He wasn’t a great warrior or a powerful mage. But he had to do something. He couldn’t just hide behind a tree while the others tried to fight the serpent off, not when they were so obviously outmatched. He took a deep breath and reached for something with his magic. A crossbow appeared in his hands. Okay. He could do this. He wasn’t an elf, but the snake wasn’t that far away, and a crossbow bolt to the eye would probably hurt it. With painstaking care and far more effort than he expected, he got the crossbow ready. Taking a deep, calming breath, he peeked out from behind the tree, took aim, and fired.

Twang.

The crossbow bolt shot through the air about a foot from Spot, and the dragon rounded on him with a hiss. Aim better!

“Sorry!” Gerald cringed. Okay, he’d almost hit Spot. In his defence, Spot hadn’t been that far from the snake, and it wasn’t like the crossbow bolt would have done that much damage. It most likely wouldn’t even have left a scratch on the dragon’s scales. If he’d hit Chomp, the dog might actually have felt it.

Gerald readied another shot as Spot continued to circle the snake, peppering it with bolts of fire and weaving in and out of the trees as the snake lunged after him and hurled trees, boulders, and whatever else it could get its coils around. Chomp and Mr Sparkles were doing their best, but the snake shrugged off their attacks and focused its attention on Spot. Gerald didn’t know how smart snakes like this were supposed to be, but this one was smart enough to realise that Spot was the only real threat out of the four of them.

“Okay…” Gerald lifted the crossbow. “Here goes nothing…”

He fired the crossbow again, and through some miracle, the crossbow bolt hit the snake right in the eye. The massive reptile gave a roar of fury, and Gerald did a little dance in his head. He’d managed to wound it. Maybe now he and the others would be able to run away while it was blinded –

Any joy Gerald felt drained out of his body as the snake opened its eye. The crossbow bolt fell to the ground. The snake had managed to close its eyelid just in time to block the attack. But not only was it not blind it was also looking right at him and the crossbow in his hands. It was not happy.

Gerald took a slow step back. The snake’s eyes narrowed.

He ran.

* * *

Timmy was on his way to one of his laboratories when he bumped into Avraniel. Actually, it was more like she bumped into him. She was like that.

“Have you seen Gerald?” he asked. “I need to ask him about some paperwork. I’d ask Katie, but she measured her height again this morning, and she’s always grumpy after she discovers that she’s still short. I don’t think the rats trying to comfort her by telling her that at least she’s taller than them helped much.”

Avraniel threw her head back and laughed. “Once a twerp, always a twerp. I should go stand next to her or something. Besides, who cares if she’s grumpy? What’s the worst she can do?” Clearly, Timmy thought, Avraniel had never dealt with a motivated Katie who had a cadre of elite ninja rats at her disposal and time to plan. “But, yeah, don’t worry about the paper pusher. He’s out on a hunting trip with Spot, Mr Sparkles, and Chomp. I told them to grab him since he’s been cooped up in here all week. He might be a damn bureaucrat, but he needs to go outside a bit more. He’s pastier than a ghost.”

“He stays indoors because he has a tendency to attract things that want to eat him,” Timmy pointed out. In fairness, Gerald’s apparent deliciousness to monsters made him perfect bait whenever they needed to draw a monster out into the open. On the other hand, it couldn’t be fun being bait although it wasn’t as if Timmy would ever let anything happen to the bureaucrat. Setting aside the fact that Gerald’s continued survival was essential to him and the others earning pardons, they were also friends, and friends didn’t let friends get eaten. He was about to send one of his zombies to look for Gerald when one of the zombies he had on patrol reached out to him after noticing something unusual. He opened his mind to the zombie and sighed. “Come on,” he said. “We need to go help Gerald. He’s about to get eaten by a giant snake.”

Avraniel’s eyes gleamed. “How giant?”

“It’s more than fifteen feet thick and more than two hundred feet long.”

Avraniel smirked. “Sounds fun, idiot. Let’s go.”

* * *

Mr Sparkles didn’t see the world the way most people did. He was a plant. However, even he could see that Spot and Chomp weren’t having much luck against the snake. It was simply too large and too tough. Spot was the only dragon Mr Sparkles had ever met, but his species could pass some of their memories on to their offspring. Somehow, he knew that if Spot had been just a little bit older, this wouldn’t even have been a fight. It would have been an absolute massacre in favour of the dragon. Mr Sparkles had done his best to help – he was strong enough to restrain a hydra – but he didn’t have the strength to slow the snake down for more than a second or two.

When the tall man – Spot called him paper pusher or Gerald – had run away, Mr Sparkles had gone after him. From his memories of chasing after him, Gerald couldn’t run very fast. It wouldn’t take more than a moment or two for the snake to catch him, and then Gerald would be dead. Despite how tasty Gerald would be, Mr Sparkles had received clear instructions from the others – Spot, Chomp, and even his carer, the fire-wielding elf – to keep him alive. It was ludicrously easy for him to overtake Gerald and then grab him.

“Ah!” Gerald screamed as he threw his hands up in a futile defensive gesture. “Please, don’t eat me!”

Mr Sparkles didn’t bother trying to reply. Gerald couldn’t speak plant. Instead, he focused on covering as much ground as possible. His species were ambush predators, but they could move with remarkable speed when they had to. By using his vines to catapult himself from tree to tree, he was able to stay just ahead of the snake. Given its size and strength, he had no chance of beating the snake in combat. If it caught him, it would tear him to pieces. Indeed, it wasn’t even bothering to dodge the trees in its pursuit of them. It was simply smashing right through them.

His carer would be sad if he died, so Mr Sparkles had no intention of dying. However, just to be on the safe side, he began to prepare a secondary bud. As long as it was discovered intact, he could be regrown. The same could not be said of Gerald. Hopefully, he could outrun the snake long enough for Spot to swoop in and take Gerald. Even with the trees and canopy in the way, the dragon should be able to outpace the snake.

As he hurled himself past the next set of trees, something crashed right through the canopy and smashed into the snake. Mr Sparkles had no idea what it was, but he could sense his carer’s magic nearby.

Help had arrived.

* * *

Gerald wasn’t sure how he was still alive, as opposed to plant food or snake food, but he wasn’t going to complain. However, the fact that even Mr Sparkles couldn’t outrun the giant snake did not bode well for his continued existence. And by the gods, Mr Sparkles could move fast. Gerald did his best to summon whatever he could to help with his magic, but it was hard when he was being jostled around so much. Worse, the few obstacles he did summon – caltrops, a pogo stick, some acid, and even an angry badger – did little to slow the giant snake down.

And then help arrived.

Roger came crashing through the canopy and rammed the snake as a strange mist surrounded him and Mr Sparkles. They blurred into motion, and when the world came back into focus, and his stomach stopped trying to exit his body through his mouth, he realised that it was Amanda’s doing. The ancient vampire had used her gaseous form to get them out of harm’s way. At the same time, Timmy and Katie had taken up a position nearby as Avraniel and Old Man flanked the snake and waited for an opportunity to strike.

“Try not to damage it too much,” Timmy said. “This snake would make a great zombie.”

Katie cackled. “Yes, it would, master. We could add some salamander parts, and we’d have a giant fire snake!” She punched the air for emphasis. “Or how about some frost giant parts? Then we’d have a giant frost snake. Or what about both –”

“Focus, Katie,” Timmy said, grinning. “After all, you’re the one in charge of Roger.”

The snake hissed and lunged at Roger, but the massive zombie was surprisingly quick for his size. He dodged the blow and rammed into the snake, driving it back with his bulk. The serpent thudded into the ground, and the pair rolled over and over, knocking down trees and ripping up the earth. Spot and Chomp might have been incredibly strong for their sizes, but they didn’t have the bulk and might to contest the snake on a physical level. Roger did, and he had the element of surprise on his side too as he found his footing and drove the snake through tree after tree, his wings beating mightily to add to the force of his charge.

The snake reared up, and Old Man saw his chance. Gerald blinked, and Old Man was suddenly soaring past the snake’s exposed throat. There was a flash of light, and the swordsman landed on the branches of a nearby tree. He flicked his sword to one side, and Gerald saw that it was bloody. The snake tried to roar, but it could only gurgle as a gaping wound opened up just below its jaw. Roger bellowed, and the zombie shoved the snake back as blood poured out of the wound. Old Man had somehow managed to cut its throat.

“Are you all right?” Timmy asked. He tilted his head to one side. “And do you realise that you’re wearing a dressing gown?”

Gerald’s mouth opened and closed. “Yes,” he said at last. “To both questions. I think.”

“Okay…” Timmy patted him on the back. “We’ll, uh, talk about this more when we get back to the castle.” He lifted his shovel. “I’ve got a snake to kill, and I’d better do it before Avraniel starts throwing fire everywhere and turns it to ash.”

Timmy flicked his shovel, and a rock the size of Gerald’s head lanced through one of the snake’s eyes and deep into its brain. The giant reptile gave one last ponderous groan and then flopped onto the ground. Gerald stared. The next time Spot and the others dragged him off on a hunting expedition, he was going to demand they bring Timmy.

“Did you see that, Spot?” Avraniel shouted as the dragon and the three-headed dog arrived on the scene. “You need to aim for the weak spots. Your fire isn’t as hot as it will be one day, and old snakes like this are tough. I should know. I’ve killed a few of the bastards in my time.”

The dragon nodded attentively and then bared his teeth. Food?

“Not this time,” Katie said, using her shadows to glide over to the snake’s corpse. She made a face as her clogs sank into the earth soaked in its blood. “We’re turning him into a zombie.”

Gerald finally allowed himself to relax. He was now reasonably sure that he would make it through the day in one piece.

* * *

Mr Sparkles settled back down into his favourite spot. It had been a very interesting day, but it was getting close to nightfall. He could still move around at night, especially if he was hungry, but he was well fed, well watered, and he had chosen a spot with excellent soil. As he began to doze off, the last thing he was aware of was Spot curling up to their carer and Chomp as the elf began to tell them about some of the giant snakes she’d fought in the past.

* * *

“I’ve spoken to the rats,” Timmy said. “The next time you get dragged off on a hunting expedition, they’ll come straight to me.”

Gerald breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” He glanced over at the massive snake that filled most of one of the laboratories that Timmy and Katie shared. “What are you going to do with the snake? Katie mentioned a few things but…”

“We got lucky,” Timmy murmured. The necromancer’s expression was thoughtful. “Based on its size and its teeth, it’s been eating people and who knows what else for centuries now. We found some treasure in its burrow, which you’ll get a share of.”

“Treasure?” Gerald asked. “Like… the way dragons hoard things?”

“No, not exactly.” Timmy chuckled. “Dragons hoard treasure because they know how much it’s worth. I think the snake just took whatever was shiny.” He led Gerald to a table with a large map on it. “Its burrow connects to an elaborate series of tunnels and other chambers. I’ve noticed a few of them over the years, but there are a lot more of them than I thought.” He smiled ruefully. “I never had the time to map them when my master was alive, and I’ve been busy ever since he died. However, I’ve got the rats mapping them out now, and I’ll give them a hand whenever I can although I’ll let them handle most of it. My magic might tell me the general layout and shape of the tunnels, but the rats can tell us what they’re like for someone travelling on foot.”

“What are you going to do after you’ve mapped them?”

“First of all, we need to make sure that there aren’t any nasty surprises waiting for us in there. Where there’s one snake…”

“There could be more.” Gerald shuddered. Just one giant snake had been more than enough for him.

“Once we’ve explored the tunnels and secured them, we’ll probably build a facility down there.”

“A facility?”

“The things that live underneath the castle come in handy a lot of the time, but their power interferes with a lot of things too. Having somewhere else to conduct certain experiments and rituals would be nice, and the rats have been thinking of expanding for weeks now. You’d be amazed by how extensive the tunnels are too. If we can secure them and build a proper transportation system, similar to what the dwarves use to get around their mines, we’d be much more mobile than we are now.”

Gerald gulped. “Mobile?”

Timmy chuckled softly. “Gerald, I’ll be honest with you. I don’t plan on leaving the castle unless I retire and buy a nice, cosy cottage somewhere. This place is my home. But if, somehow, it gets taken from me, the odds are that it will involve a huge army and multiple mages on par with members of the Council. If that day ever comes, I plan on living. Those tunnels will make escaping a lot easier, and they’ll also give us a way to strike at anyone who tries to lay siege to the castle without exposing the castle itself to harm.”

Gerald shuddered. “I really hope it never comes to that.”

“So do I, Gerald. So do I.”

“But about the snake,” Gerald said. “Katie mentioned something about salamanders and frost giants…”

“We’re definitely going to turn it into a zombie,” Timmy said. “Despite how big it is, adding the right salamander parts in the right quantities will basically give it the same powers as a salamander only much, much larger. Likewise, frost giant parts can be hard to work with, but they can do the same thing as salamander parts, only with ice instead of fire.” He paused, and his lips curved up into smile. “But that’s what a normal necromancer would do. I am a Grand Necromancer, and Katie is my apprentice. Give us a month, and we’ll turn that thing into a giant zombie snake with the powers of a salamander and a frost giant.”

“…” Gerald gaped, and he struggled to speak. Finally, he managed to say what was on his mind. “That sounds terrifying.”

“Yes,” Timmy said as Katie skipped into the room with a bevvy of zombies carrying salamander parts and frost giant parts. “But think of it this way: it’ll be on our side.”

Somehow, Gerald thought, that didn’t make it any less terrifying.

The Beach

(Set After Two Necromancers, a Dragon, and a Vampire)

Timmy sighed in contentment. He could get used to this. He really could. The best missions were the ones where nobody tried to kill him, mangle him, or take any of his stuff. Unfortunately, missions that were free from any potentially lethal or painful mishaps were incredibly rare although, to be fair, the majority of people/traps/monsters that tried to kill him didn’t stand much chance of actually pulling it off. He might not be the most powerful person around, but he was very good at surviving.

It also wasn’t fair to lump together random guards, most of whom could barely be trusted to know which end of a spear was the pointy end, with the elite assassins and powerful mages who had tried to do him in over the years. On the upside, a good, old shovel to the head tended to handle both groups quite nicely, and he had plenty of shovels.

Despite his stellar track record of survival, Timmy did his best to avoid getting cocky. That was a great way to end up dead, and there was always the chance that an unskilled soldier or an incompetent mage could get a lucky hit in, which was why it was best to take luck out of the equation as much as possible. A childhood spent dealing with the agonising terror that his master considered training had made him very, very good at making his own luck. Compared to what his master had put him through, normal bandits, guards, and soldiers were more like a holiday than a threat.

So when Timmy had the chance to go on a relatively safe and easy mission, he didn’t just take it. He savoured it. If past experience was anything to go by, safe and easy missions were invariably followed by missions involving at least one of the following: ancient horrors out to devour the world and slaughter civilisation, gigantic dragons with anger management problems, or absurdly powerful mages with megalomaniacal tendencies. The fact that this particular safe and easy mission took place on a remote island with an excellent beach was simply icing on what was already an extremely delicious metaphorical cake. And he did love cake, albeit not as much as Sam.

Gesturing with his shovel, Timmy made a chair out of sand – soft but firm and with excellent lower back support was the way to go – and slouched into it. Forget about good posture, this was all about taking things easy. If he’d been some kind of primeval ooze instead of a person, he would have gleefully turned himself into a puddle to maximise his ability to do absolutely nothing at all.

The hot sun had forced him to get rid of his cloak for the time being, but Gerald had kindly provided him with a nice, big beach umbrella, courtesy of his magic. He’d also exchanged his boots for an absurd but comfortable pair of bunny slippers. Gerald was great to have around. Setting aside his tendency to court death on a regular basis, the bureaucrat was kind, friendly, and excellent at paperwork, and he had everything a person could ever want stored away with his magic. No, that wasn’t quite right. Given Gerald’s tendency to worry about things going wrong, he probably had ten of everything a person could ever want stored away with his magic.

“Ah, yes, this is the life,” Timmy murmured as he closed his eyes and savoured the sea breeze. “Now, all I need is a cold drink and a watermelon.” He yawned and stretched. He should ask Gerald. The odds were extremely good that the bureaucrat would have some of both.

Naturally, his idyllic bliss couldn’t last forever. Some people were just determined to work on every mission.

“Master! What are you doing? You should be working harder, not slacking off!”

Timmy didn’t bother to open his eyes. He didn’t have to. Only his adorable apprentice would take the time and effort to scold him for slacking off. He could feel her magic in the air around him, and he was certain that Katie was doing her best to loom over him in truly intimidating fashion. Alas, her lack of size made her attempts to loom over anyone – except maybe the occasional kitten or puppy – somewhat less than impressive. And speaking of kittens and puppies, he could now feel her glaring at him. Her glare wasn’t bad for a child her age, but he’d been glared at by far scarier people and things than her, including several gorgons and no shortage of basilisks.

The others had tagged along for this mission too, but unlike Katie, they all seemed determine to follow his example. Of course, some of them had it easier than others. Amanda had commandeered enough beach umbrellas to make a miniature forest. She might be an ancient vampire capable of walking through the sun, but the fierce tropical sunshine could not have been as pleasant for her as it was for them. Maybe she could try using one of those salves people used to prevent sunburn. True, she wouldn’t be the first vampire to give sunscreen a try, and those other vampires had all gone up in flames after venturing into the sun, but none of them had been ancient vampires. Sunscreen might not be strong enough to keep a normal vampire from burning in the sun, but it might be strong enough to take the edge off the mild discomfort sunlight caused an ancient vampire.

“Katie,” Timmy said. “The wreckage we’re looking for is underneath at least half a mile of water. The only way we’re going to find it is by having our aquatic zombies scour the area, which they’re already doing.” He tapped the side of his head. “As a Grand Necromancer, I am more than capable of keeping track of my aquatic zombies while relaxing on the beach.” He felt her glare intensify and smiled. She’d gone from being able to terrify kittens and puppies to being able to terrify the occasional hamster or rabbit. “In fact, entering a more relaxed, meditative state will only make it easier for me to command them and see through their eyes.”

Nothing he’d said was a lie, but he hadn’t exactly told the truth either. The truth was that Katie was right. He was being lazy. But that was one of the best things about being a necromancer. He could get his zombies to do all the work for him.

“You just don’t want to do any work,” Katie grumbled, proving once again that she was more than clever enough to be his apprentice. She went from glaring at him to glowering at him. He still hadn’t bothered to open his eyes, but he could feel the subtle differences between her glare and her glower. Her glare was about three quarters anger and one quarter aggravation. However, her glower was roughly half disdain and half aggravation.

“Unless I learn how to breathe underwater in the next few minutes or how to hold my breath for an hour or two, I’m already doing as much as I can.” Timmy refrained from mentioning that there were runes and seals that could help him do both. They consumed a monstrous amount of magic, but they did exist. He’d teach them to her soon, just in case she ever needed them, but not in the way his master had taught him. He didn’t think Katie would appreciate having a ball and chain manacled to her leg before being thrown into a lake. He smirked. “And I seem to recall a certain someone spending most of this morning riding around the lagoon on Roger instead of having him scour the seafloor.”

Katie stammered, and he knew, even without looking, that she was blushing. “I… I was scouting the area!”

“I’m sure you were.” Timmy wasn’t about to chastise her for acting like a child. Despite being his apprentice, Katie was still a child, and this was exactly the sort of mission where she could afford to take it easy and act her age. “And speaking of Roger, has he spotted anything yet?”

Timmy opened his eyes as Katie closed hers and reached out to her zombie with her magic. “He’s still looking, but he hasn’t found anything interesting yet. If he does, he’ll get my attention. But wouldn’t finding the wreckage be easier if you used your magic, master?”

“My earth magic?” Timmy scratched his back and shrugged. “I’ve already tried. My magic has never worked that well on earth that is submerged under so much water. And based on the reports and maps we’ve gone through, the wreckage is within five or so miles of this island. That is a huge area to try to cover with my magic, especially since I’ll have to pour more power into it just to get it to work through all the water. The wreckage we’re looking for is also supposed to contain several artefacts, at least two of which are designed to prevent magical detection, which is why we’ve been using aquatic zombies. The wreckage might be concealed from magic, but a good zombie should still be able to see it.”

Katie frowned. “If the area we’re searching is so big, why didn’t we bring more aquatic zombies?”

Timmy smiled. “That’s a good question. The answer is that when ships sink, they don’t sink in a completely random way. Based on factors like their shape, what condition they were in when they sank, and what the prevailing currents were at the time they sank, you can make an educated guess as to where they ended up. We’re having our zombies search those locations first. If we still haven’t found it by the end of the day, we’ll go fishing.”

“Fishing?” Katie’s brows furrowed. “Oh! You mean we’re going to catch a lot of fish and turn them into zombies?”

“Exactly.” Timmy was tempted to ruffle her hair, but he was too lazy to sit up. “Size doesn’t matter. A small zombie fish can help us find the wreckage just as easily as a big one, and the more zombie fish we have, the quicker we’ll be able to search the area. Once we find it, we’ll send Roger over to haul it back to the surface.” He gestured at the beach around them. “So, for now, enjoy yourself. Go do whatever it is that kids do at the beach these days.”

“You don’t know what kids do at the beach?” Katie asked in disbelief.

Timmy raised one eyebrow. “Katie, I was raised by a man whose idea of a fun weekend was to knock me unconscious before leaving me in the middle of a forest full of monsters to help hone my survival skills.”

“The more I hear about your master, the happier I am that he’s gone.”

“You and the world, Katie.” Timmy’s lips curled. “But it is hard to argue with results although you could argue that I didn’t survive because of his training so much as I survived despite it.” He chuckled. “I’ve never been a fan of unnecessary murder, but killing him would have been the very definition of necessary.”

“But you didn’t kill him, did you, master?”

Timmy laughed. “No, one of his zombies beat me to it, which is why you should never make a zombie without planning what you’ll do if it goes rogue and why you should definitely never make a zombie while you’re drunk.” He made a shooing motion with his hands. “But enough talking. Go do whatever it is kids your age do at the beach.”

Katie did her best to keep her serious expression, but she failed miserably. Knowing her, she was probably looking for an excuse to play around instead of work. If he ‘ordered’ her to have fun, she wasn’t slacking off. She was simply an apprentice following her master’s orders. “I guess I could do something else for a while.” On her shoulder, Rembrandt made a suggestion. Instead of his usual eye-patch, the rat had opted for a more tropical or festive one in orange and pink. Katie smiled at Rembrandt. “Oh? That’s a good idea. We could make a sandcastle.”

“A sandcastle?” Timmy smirked. “If you want I can make one for you.”

“Yes, I’m sure you can – with your magic.” Katie huffed. “But I want to make a sandcastle the proper way, without magic.” She paused. “I don’t suppose you have a bucket and a small shovel, do you?”

“Ask Gerald,” Timmy replied. “I’m sure he has some.” He patted his spare shovel. “And although I don’t have a bucket or a small shovel, I can lend you my spare shovel. Just don’t activate any of the runes or seals on it. It could get messy.”

Katie blanched. “Messy?”

“I designed it to self-destruct if necessary.” Timmy snickered. “Once you show someone that you’re good with a weapon, they’ll usually assume that they can win the fight by disarming you. I’ve defeated more than one tough opponent over the years by letting them disarm me and then blowing my shovel up when they pick it up.”

“Oh.” Katie grimaced. “That’s… clever, but I think I might pass on borrowing your shovel. It’s too big to be good for making a sandcastle, anyway.”

“It’s your loss.” Timmy grinned. “Because I can assure you that even though it’s my spare shovel, it’s still an excellent shovel.”

Katie gave him another one of those looks, and Timmy grinned back. Although she was an excellent apprentice, Katie just couldn’t appreciate a good shovel the way he could. “I’ll go ask Gerald,” she said.

Gerald had found a nice place, far from any coconut trees after Timmy had pointed out that three necromancers had been killed by falling coconuts in the past year, and set up a pavilion tent. The bureaucrat was truly a man who came prepared for anything. In fact, Amanda had temporarily relocated from her forest of umbrellas to enjoy a cool drink inside the tent, most likely chilled wine although chilled blood wasn’t out of the question. She was a vampire. He was honestly surprised that she’d come along for this mission, but she’d mentioned something about visiting an old friend on the way back. Given how old she was, she was most likely talking about another vampire or an elf.

Then again, there were other creatures that lived as long as she did, like dragons, protoplasmic horrors, and demons. Whoever she was visiting, he hoped there would be a minimum of property damage involved. They’d yet to make it through a single mission without causing property damage, but he had high hopes for this mission, and he’d bet James – that jerk – that he could do it. The only thing more fun than wiping the smirk off James’s face would be taking his money.

“You should also ask Gerald if he has any sunscreen,” Timmy said.

Katie paused mid stride. She was about to glare at him again before realising that he was actually right. He hadn’t wanted to mention it earlier because of how cliché it was, but Katie tended to sunburn more easily than the average person. Most of the time, she could get away with layering a thin, virtually invisible layer of shadow over her entire body, which was a trick she’d learned years ago after returning from a trip to the coast looking like a lobster after ignoring his advice. However, sunscreen would be easier, and Rembrandt would make sure that she didn’t miss any spots.

Timmy’s attention shifted as one of his zombies reached out to him. He concentrated, and he saw what the zombie was seeing. Interesting. His zombie barracuda had spotted the remains of a large sea serpent. It was a pity. The creature had been dead for a long time, so although its massive bones were in excellent condition, the flesh had been picked clean by scavengers. He could reanimate it as a skeleton, but he usually didn’t bother making skeletons unless he had to. They took far more magic and effort to maintain. Timmy ordered the zombie to keep looking as he took out the map in his pocket and made a note of the sea serpent’s location. He might send one of his zombies around later to collect some of the teeth. They weren’t as sharp as dragon teeth, but they had their uses.

“Any luck?” Timmy shouted, turning his attention back to the beach around him.

Old Man laughed and gave him a cheerful wave. He was standing knee deep in the water with a fishing rod in one hand and some rats perched on his shoulders and hat. The rodents had fishing rods and hats of their own, and they seemed to be deep in conversation about how they would cook any fish that they caught.

“Not yet. I think those zombies of yours scared away all the fish.”

“They do that.” Timmy wasn’t hungry yet, but some well cooked fish for lunch sounded nice. “I’ll move them a little further away if I can. Hopefully, the fish come back here before lunchtime.”

Old Man gave an amused chuckle. “I would appreciate it, but half the fun of fishing is in the waiting and the watching.” He smiled faintly. “When I was a boy I used to go fishing a lot. When I got older, I had little time for such simple pleasures. Of course, now that I’m an old man, I find myself with far too much time on my hands.” His fishing line wiggled. “Ah. It seems as though there is at least one brave fish around.”

Timmy watched as Old Man brought in a surprisingly large fish – he always seemed to catch big ones – with expert ease before he glanced over to where the last two members of their group were enjoying some time in the sun. Not long after they had arrived, Spot had found a large rock on the beach. He’d claimed it in typically draconic fashion: by climbing on top of it, flaring his wings majestically, roaring, and spewing fire everywhere… before flopping onto it and falling asleep.

Had Spot been a normal reptile, the rock might have gotten too hot for him. Timmy had actually fried an egg on it earlier for breakfast, but Spot was a dragon. He doubted that even lava would be too hot for him. Spot had managed to keep his draconic dignity – by flopping onto the rock in a suitably impressive manner – for about five minutes. Now, he was snoring loudly and sprawled out over the rock in an ungainly heap with one wing tucked under him, the other sticking into the air, and his head dangling over the side of the rock while he occasionally twitched and clawed at something in his dreams. It looked horribly uncomfortable. Just looking at Spot made Timmy’s lower back hurt, but the dragon didn’t seem to have any problems with it.

Some of the demolition rats had also come along. They were perched in a coconut tree, sipping on some coconut juice and enjoying some roasted seagull after the bird had made the mistake of thinking they were prey. Timmy gave them ten minutes at the most before they started using hollowed out coconut shells to make some kind of explosive.

Avraniel, meanwhile, had chosen to follow in Spot’s footsteps, and the elf had picked a place not far from Spot’s rock to nap. Based on her different choice of attire, she was planning to go swimming later. He wondered if she could get sunburned. She wasn’t particularly pale for an elf, but she was exposing a lot of skin. However, fire mages tended to be more resistant to heat-related injuries, and she was the most powerful fire mage he’d ever met. Two of the rats had also been assigned special duties. They were busy fanning her with palm leaves.

Satisfied that nothing strange or potentially fatal was about to happen, Timmy turned his attention back to Katie. She’d managed to persuade Gerald to join her and Rembrandt in the sun, so they could build a proper sandcastle together. To his amusement, Gerald had not only managed to find suitable buckets and shovels for him and Katie but he had also managed to find some that were the perfect size for Rembrandt too.

* * *

Katie believed in doing things properly. Whether it was necromancy or cursive writing, whenever she did something, she did it to the best of her ability. It was most obvious with her necromancy. All of her zombies were as good as she could make them given the constraints she had to work under, such as the time she had available or the amount of magic she had to spare. That wasn’t to say she couldn’t rush to create heaps of zombies quickly, as a necromancer she understood that there were times when quantity crushed quality, but she preferred to concentrate on making her zombies as good as possible. Drowning her enemies in wave after wave of zombies was certainly appealing, but she enjoyed crushing her enemies with truly awe-inspiring zombies like Roger more.

Now that she had decided to make a sandcastle, she was going to make the best one she could without using magic. Gerald claimed to know a thing or two about making sandcastles. He’d once been assigned to a coastal area where the local bureaucracy spent more time at the area’s admittedly fabulous beaches than in the office. The two of them would work together to craft the foundations of their sandcastle. Rembrandt and a few of the other rats were helping too. Their small size and dexterity made them perfect for adding finer details and finishing touches.

Katie had asked them to demonstrate their prowess before they began work on the main sandcastle, and the rats hadn’t disappointed. They had swiftly built a watchtower out of sand, complete with little windows and other trimmings. In fact, it was an almost perfect miniature copy of the watchtowers they’d encountered on a recent mission, right down to the placement of the windows and doors. She had no idea where they’d learned how to do that, but the rats had worked for a lot of different people before coming to the castle. Maybe they’d worked for someone who liked sandcastles, or maybe it was a hobby of theirs. After all, the rats were adept at building things.

Regardless of where they’d learned, Katie was glad to have their help. Her master would undoubtedly come over to critique their sandcastle, and she intended to leave him speechless with awe. Yes, their sandcastle would be so good that her master would have no choice but to admit their superiority in the noble art of sandcastle building.

With painstaking care, she and Gerald found the exact ratio of sand to water they needed to produce the best sand for building their sandcastle. It helped that Katie had kept detailed records of all of her sandcastle building attempts over the years. When she’d first started, her sand had either been too wet or too dry. By keeping records, she had slowly but surely progressed toward identifying the perfect sand for sandcastle building although the formula did need some modification depending on factors like humidity, temperature, and the grain size of the sand.

She scowled. Her master was horrible. Whenever they’d gone to the beach, he’d made a perfect sandcastle with his magic and then challenged her to beat him. Since she didn’t have earth magic, she’d been forced to rely on experimentation, experimenting until she could establish basic standards and techniques. Her brows furrowed. Looking back on it, that was probably why he’d done it. Setting aside how lazy he could be, her master had a knack for teaching her things in ways that were equal parts bizarre, enjoyable, and aggravating. Alternatively, he could simply have done it because he found her attempts to make sandcastles without magic amusing.

“Should we go for a more modern castle?” Katie asked. “Or should we do something in an older style?”

Gerald pursed his lips, deep in thought. He had lathered himself in a thick layer of sunscreen before leaving his pavilion tent. Katie had put on some sunscreen too but not nearly as much as Gerald. He was wearing so much that if he’d been a vampire, there was a chance that he might actually have survived being in the sun. Then again, she had once asked her master about whether enough sunscreen could protect a vampire from the sun. He had just smiled and shaken his head before snickering and ruffling her hair.

“Maybe we should go for an older style,” Gerald said at last. “It won’t be as elegant, but it will be sturdier and more structurally sound. It will give the rats more chances to add finishing details too, which will make it even more impressive.”

“Good point.” Katie gestured and created a copy of the castle she had in mind using her shadows. It was always easier to work from a model. “How about something like that?”

“It looks good.” Gerald studied the model intently. “But how about reducing the height of the walls a little and increasing the height of the central structure? It will make the towers stand out more, and if we add a moat, the walls will still look pretty tall.”

“You mean like this?” Katie changed the shadowy copy to fit Gerald’s suggestions.

“That looks great.”

Beside Katie, Rembrandt and the other rats had some suggestions of their own. She modified her shadowy copy accordingly, and they discussed potential changes for another fifteen minutes before agreeing to the final design. She bit back a cackle. This sandcastle was going to be so awesome. Her master would have no choice but to fall to his knees while heaping praise upon her and the others.

They worked on the castle for an hour. With great patience and care they crafted the main structure, slowly adding walls, towers, and other essential parts. Rembrandt and the rats were hard at work too, adding finishing touches like little windows and doors, as well as intricate detailing to the walls and the sides of the castle and towers. The rats were so light on their feet, and Katie could use her shadows to lift them up and down, so they could reach every part of the sandcastle without worrying about damaging it. It was all coming together nicely, and Katie’s grin widened as Gerald looked through his magic and came up with even more specialised tools that were just right for the rats.

“Where did you get those?” Katie asked as the rats began to carve and detail the main door of the sandcastle. They were doing an excellent job. The door was amazingly detailed and incredibly lifelike. “They’re too small for children.”

“You’d be surprised by some of the people who cross the border into Everton,” Gerald replied. He was taking a break to apply more sunscreen. “Not all of them are humans or elves. I was working on the border when a group of pixies entered the country. All of their paperwork was in order, so I let them through. They were miners, you see, and they had some extra tools that they were interested in selling. I thought their tools looked adorable, so I offered to buy them. I haven’t had much use for them since, but they’re coming in handy now.”

Katie was about to ask why pixie miners were coming to Everton when a low rumble and a familiar voice interrupted her.

Castle? Spot had woken up. The young dragon yawned and all but slithered off his rock and through the sand until he was right beside them. He enjoyed the feel of the hot sand on his scales, and his powerful muscles let him move through the sand like it was water. Fun?

“It’s a sandcastle,” Katie said. She doubted Spot knew much about sandcastles. “It’s like a normal castle, only much smaller and made of sand. We’re making one because it’s fun and because my master doesn’t think I can make a good one without magic.” She paused. She’d been about to ask him if he wanted to help, but Spot didn’t exactly have the lightest touch. She didn’t think he would eat the castle, but there was a very good chance that he would accidentally destroy it if he tried to help. “Um… would you like to make one of your own?”

If Spot noticed the lack of an offer to join them, he didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he popped out of the sand and prepared to flare his wings majestically.

“Don’t!” Katie cried. “You’ll blow it over!”

Spot grimaced and hastily folded his wings. Sorry.

Katie gave a sigh of relief and patted him on the back. “It’s okay. You’ve never seen a sandcastle before, so you don’t know what you should and shouldn’t do.” She glanced at Gerald. He was supervising the rats as they continued to add to the sandcastle. It should be okay for her to take a small break, and Spot was still almost a baby, albeit one who could slaughter grown men like a pack of wolves could slaughter lambs. “How about I show you how to make one? You can even make one of your own.”

Spot chirped happily. Okay!

Katie ignored the amused look her master gave her as she and Spot marched past him until they were a safe distance from the sandcastle. She knew Spot would do his best to avoid damaging the sandcastle, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Here? Spot pointed with one claw.

Katie shook her head. “No. That’s too close to the water. See how the waves are breaking? If a wave hits your sandcastle, it’ll get knocked over or washed away. You need to build a bit further back, far enough to be safe but close enough to make getting water easy.” She led Spot to a more suitable location. “Here should be good. Now, the first thing you need to do is to gather some sand.”

Spot nodded and lunged forward. Claws that could rend steel like paper ripped into the beach. A huge quantity of sand flew into the air, and Katie gave a strangled yelp before using her shadows to shield herself from the barrage. Her eye twitched. Her master wasn’t laughing at her, but only because he’d covered his mouth with both of his hands.

Good? Spot wagged his short tail and pointed to the huge pile of sand around Katie.

“Not quite what I was aiming for.” Katie giggled and pushed the sand away with her shadows. “You do need sand to make a sandcastle, but you can’t simply pile it up like that. You need to do it properly. Since it’s your first time making a sandcastle, why don’t I show you how to make one first, and then you can try?”

Spot nodded in understanding, and Katie pointedly ignored her master’s pathetic attempts to hide his amusement at her plight. He might think this was funny, but she’d like to see him teaching a young dragon how to make a sandcastle.

Katie used her bucket and shovel to get some wet sand before carefully arranging it into a makeshift sandcastle. It was fairly crude compared to the one she, Gerald, and the rats were building, but she only needed to show Spot the basics. The little dragon watched closely, utterly enthralled as first a rough castle took shape, followed by some walls and a few towers.

“Would you like to try?” Katie asked. “You can use my shovel if you want, or you can use your claws.”

Spot eagerly tried his hand – or rather, his claws – at making a sandcastle. His first few attempts were somewhat less than successful. His claws were incredibly sharp, and he’d gotten very good at carving up his food or his enemies neatly. However, building a sandcastle wasn’t something he’d ever had to do before, and there was a big difference between making a sandcastle and cutting up a cow.

“Spot, you’re not trying to kill the sand.” Katie chuckled as Spot growled in frustration. “You’re putting too much strength into it.” She paused as she looked for an example she could use to make things clearer. “Wait… you play with the demolition rats, right?” Spot nodded. He loved playing with the demolition rats, they were great at hide-and-seek, and they knew all kinds of tricks. “Treat the sand the same way you treat the demolition rats. You have to be gentle with them, don’t you? Otherwise, you’d hurt them.”

Understanding filled Spot’s eyes. The rats were tough for small creatures, but they were still only rats. He was a dragon. If he wanted to, he could kill them easily, which was why he was always mindful of his own strength, and of his claws, teeth, and flame when he played with the rats. He didn’t want to hurt them.

Slowly but surely, Spot’s attempts to make a sandcastle improved. Finally, he managed to build a crude tower with some walls and several buildings around it. It wasn’t much to look at, but Spot smiled proudly – and toothily – and nodded in satisfaction.

“Not bad.” Katie scratched his belly. “But you might have to wake your… mother up if you want to show her. Sandcastles don’t usually last very long.”

Napping. Spot shrugged. Don’t want to disturb. He peered at the castle and then gestured for Katie to move. Idea.

“Uh… what are you – ah!” Katie shrieked as Spot unleashed a cloud of fire at his sandcastle. Rather than the terrible black flame he used when he really wanted to destroy something, the cloud of fire was bright, almost white, and it seemed to be almost all heat with very little force behind it. When the flames subsided, Katie couldn’t help but stare. He’d managed to preserve his sandcastle and its surroundings by melting them into glass.

There. Spot wagged his tail and grinned. Can show mother later. Exploring now.

Katie chuckled. “Well, I guess that works too.” She headed back toward Gerald and the rats. “I should probably help Gerald and the others. We should be able to finish the sandcastle in another hour or so.”

“Wait a second.” Katie stared as her master got up and slung his shovel over his shoulder. “Watching Spot build a sandcastle has inspired me. I think it’s time for me to show you my true power.”

“Your true power?” Katie asked. Knowing her master, he was probably going to find a way to slack off extra hard or something.

“Up until now, Katie, you’ve only seen me make sandcastles with my magic.” He struck a truly menacing pose, and Katie made a mental note to copy it and practice it later. “But I’ll have you know that my sandcastles were unbeatable when I was attending the academy with James and Vicky, and I didn’t use my magic to make them.”

“Seriously?” Katie stared. He had to be making that up.

“Yes, seriously. In fact, if you don’t believe me, why don’t we bet on it?” Her master smirked. “If my sandcastle is better than yours, then you have to do all of my paperwork for the next month.”

Katie’s eyes narrowed. There was no way he could build a sandcastle better than the one she, Gerald, and the rats were making without magic. “And you’re not going to use your magic?”

“If I use my magic, I lose the bet.”

“Then what do I get if I win? No. What do I get when I win?”

“If you somehow manage to win…” Her master’s smirk widened. “I’ll do your paperwork for the next three months.”

Three months of her master doing her paperwork? Katie smirked back. “Fine. It’s a bet!”

* * *

Spot ambled down the beach. He had enjoyed building a sandcastle. He might build another one with his mother when she woke up from her nap. But right now, he wanted to explore. It was a nice, sunny day, a perfect day, really, to have a look around. He was tempted to simply flop onto his back and enjoy the sun, but the beach wasn’t going to explore itself.

He stopped not far from his rock when he remembered something his mother had told him. She had warned him to bring at least a couple of the rats along if he wanted to explore. He was a dragon, but he was a young dragon. As some of his battles had shown, he wasn’t invincible. In a few centuries, perhaps, he would be, but not yet. He gave a low trill, and two of the rats ran over to him and jumped onto his back. He grinned. These were two of his favourite rats. They liked blowing things up almost as much as he did.

Spot resumed his stroll down the beach. He doubted he would find anything dangerous here. The idiot wouldn’t be building a sandcastle of his own if he didn’t think the area was safe. Even if he did, he had his teeth, his claws, and his flame, and the rats were sure to have at least a few explosives with them.

The waves made a calming, rhythmic sound against the shore as Spot savoured the feel of the sand between his claws. The sand here was much nicer than the sand in the Desert of Glass. That sand had been rough and coarse. This sand was fine and smooth. He could roll in it all day long. But as good as the sand felt, the water would probably feel better. He gave the rats a quick warning and then waded into the shallows before swimming out into deeper water. It was cool and refreshing, and he made sure to stay on the surface, so the rats could stay relatively dry on his back. His tail, short as it was, acted more like a rudder as his wings did most of the work.

Movement on the beach caught Spot’s eye, and he asked the rats about it.

Crabs?

Spot perked up. He’d eaten crab before, and it had been very tasty. However, he’d never seen one alive before. It might be interesting. He swam back to the beach and poked his head at the crab’s burrow only to jerk back an instant later. The crab had tried to get him with its claws! He gave a low growl, and the crab tried again before scuttling back into its burrow. Spot was tempted to spew fire down the burrow, but there was no point. The crab was too weak to be a threat and too small to be food. The crabs he’d eaten before had all been much larger. There must be different kinds of crabs, or maybe this one was very young. Besides, he had more exploring to do.

But if the crab tried to attack him again…

Spot was a dragon, a son of wind and fire. Nobody clawed him and got away with it!

A shout from the beach drew his attention, and he leapt into the air in excitement. His mother was awake! She was walking toward his sandcastle. Now, they could build one together!

* * *

“A sandcastle?” Avraniel yawned and struggled to stay upright as Spot leapt onto her back and began to babble about sandcastles. “What?”

Look! Spot eagerly pointed at the glass… thing on the beach in front of them.

Avraniel squinted. She’d been wondering what that thing was. But now that she really looked at it, it did kind of look like a sandcastle. It wasn’t as good as the one the twerp, the paper pusher, and some of the rats were building, and it wasn’t as good as the one the idiot was making, but it wasn’t half bad, all things considered. Not only was Spot a dragon but he had also never made a sandcastle before.

“Is that yours?” Avraniel asked, already knowing the answer. Who else would have turned their sandcastle into glass?

Mine! Spot slithered off her back and waved his claws at the glass sandcastle. Castle! Walls! Towers!

“Yeah, you’ve got a bit of everything there. Who showed you how to make it?”

Twerp helped.

“Is that so?” Avraniel might have to cut the twerp some slack the next time she did something stupid. “Well, it’s pretty good.”

Spot looked over at the others and then back at her. Make another. Together.

“You want us to make a sandcastle together, huh? Well, I can’t remember the last time I made a sandcastle, but, hey, why the hell not? It sounds like fun.” She whistled sharply, and the demolition rats in the coconut tree hurried over. “Listen up, we’re going to make a sandcastle.” Spot and the rats all nodded. “And it’s going to be the best sandcastle on this beach. See those?” She pointed at the sandcastles the others were making. “They look good, don’t they?” Again, Spot and the rats nodded. “Well those sandcastles of theirs are going to suck compared to ours. They are going to be absolutely crap compared to the masterpiece we make. Is that understood?”

Spot and the rats cheered, and Avraniel smirked.

Sandcastles? She didn’t know a thing about making one, but how hard could it be?

* * *

Katie glared daggers at her master. If only she was a gorgon, then her looks could have killed. As it was, she had to satisfy herself with communicating as much of her hostility and anger through her eyes as possible. “How are you so good at this?”

Her master sighed melodramatically. “Katie, I use a shovel for a weapon, and I helped my master rob more graves than I care to remember. Even without my magic, you should have expected me to be pretty good with a shovel and some sand.” Timmy stood proudly beside his sandcastle. It was truly a work of art – an almost perfect replica of Black Tower Castle, complete with all of the newest repairs and additions. After all, nobody knew the castle better than him except maybe Sam.

“But… but… but…” Katie made a choking sound. “It doesn’t make any sense! I’ve never seen you make a sandcastle before! You shouldn’t be this good at it!”

“Let me tell you a story, Katie.” Timmy used his magic to make a chair for himself and then sat down. “Once upon a time, there was a boy who was very good at making sandcastles. In fact, he was so good at making sandcastles that he bet everyone else in his class that he could make a better sandcastle than them, so long as nobody used magic. And because this boy was a big idiot, he bet a lot of money on it too.”

Katie’s eye twitched.

“In that same class was another boy who not only disliked the first boy but was also in need of more money. This boy spent almost a year secretly honing his sandcastle making skills before challenging the first boy. By the time it was over, the boy wasn’t sure which was better: all the money he’d won, or the look on the other boy’s face after he lost.”

Katie’s eye twitched even more violently. She had to be careful. She might give herself a stroke if she got any madder, and Timmy was not in the market for a new apprentice. “Let me guess… Councillor Arthurs was the first boy, and you were the second one.”

“That’s right. That idiot assumed he was invincible at making sandcastles. I knew I had to prove him wrong, and winning a lot of money from him at the same time made it even better.” He grinned. “Enjoy doing my paperwork for the next month, Katie.”

She made a sound that was halfway between a growl and a scream. Finally, she calmed herself. “Master, teach me.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Teach me how to make a sandcastle as good as yours without using magic.” Katie’s scowl deepened. “Please.”

“Sure.” He paused. “But you’re not getting out of doing my paperwork. You do realise that, right?”

“I know.” Katie sighed and then pointed behind him. “Although maybe I’m not the only one you should be giving lessons too.”

Spot and Avraniel were building a sandcastle with some of the demolition rats. No, that wasn’t quite right. They were trying to build a sandcastle with the demolition rats – trying… and failing. Their would-be sandcastle was a nightmarish, misshapen structure whose very existence seemed to defy the rules of geometry. The only reason it was even standing at all was because Avraniel had apparently decided that if the sandcastle kept collapsing, then the only rational thing to do was to melt parts of it into glass, so they couldn’t collapse.

“I… what is that?” Timmy asked.

“I don’t know, master.” Katie tilted her head to one side. “But do you remember those ancient, cyclopean ruins we raided about a year ago?”

“Ah, yes. That was fun but tricky. They drove people insane if they stayed there too long because their geometry was all wrong and twisted.”

“Their sandcastle reminds me a lot of that place.”

Timmy considered the comparison for a moment before turning away from the sandcastle that Avraniel, Spot, and the demolition rats were building. It hurt to look too long at it, and Timmy was one of the people who’d actually stared into a real abyss full of unfathomable horrors and ultimate despair. “I think you’re right.” He paused. “Which means we should probably warn Gerald –”

They were cut off by a terrified scream as Gerald looked at the sandcastle before grabbing his face and clawing at his eyes. “Ah! What is that?”

“Too late.”

* * *

“So… what is in these?” Avraniel asked as she eyed the chests Roger had hauled up from the wreckage not long ago. The sun had only just set, and they were relaxing on the beach and making roasted marshmallows. Spot hadn’t bothered to skewer his marshmallows. Instead, he’d simply stuffed his mouth full of marshmallows and then stuck his head straight into the campfire. Apparently, he liked the way they literally melted in his mouth. “There had better be treasure in them.”

“There is treasure,” Timmy replied as he continued to fiddle with the lock on the first chest. “Depending on how you look at it.”

He glanced back at the campfire. Gerald’s hands were still shaking a bit, but he seemed to have mostly recovered from laying eyes upon the sandcastle that Avraniel, Spot, and some of the demolition rats had made. Timmy wasn’t sure whether to praise the group for somehow making a sandcastle that could mimic the mind-breaking qualities of ancient ruins built by creatures not all that dissimilar to Sam or to chastise them for, well, making a sandcastle that could break people’s minds. Thankfully, Spot had agreed to let them destroy the sandcastle after seeing its effects on Gerald although Avraniel had stubbornly insisted on compensation for what she viewed as their shameless attempt to get rid of her obviously incredible creation. As a result, Avraniel and Spot were now the proud owners of Timmy’s sandcastle, not that he minded much, and he had to admit that it looked incredible after they’d turned it into glass. He’d have to ask Gerald to store it away, so they could put it in the foyer of the castle.

The lock gave a quiet click, and Timmy smirked and opened it as the others gathered around. Gerald, Timmy noticed, wasn’t drinking hot chocolate. Instead, the bureaucrat was indulging in a little bit of rum. “Behold! This is the treasure we were sent to find.”

Avraniel peered into the chest. “You better be kidding, you bastard. I don’t know how you define treasure, but this definitely doesn’t count as treasure.”

“Nope, this is definitely treasure.” Timmy smiled. “These are seeds for some of the rarest spices and herbs in the world, at least half of which are now extinct. However, they should still be viable thanks to the wonders of preservation magic.” He lifted one of the seeds up and studied it closely. Such an innocuous thing, but he recognised it from pictures he’d seen in an old book. This seed grew into a spice that vastly enhanced the flavour of any food it was added to. It was extinct now, so even a small quantity of it could sell for huge sums of money. “Think about it. People pay hundreds of gold coins for even a small quantity of some of these spices since the plants they come from are extinct. Imagine how much Everton will be able to charge if we become the only ones who can make more. And guess who happens to people who currently make a lot of money from selling these spices.” The others’ eyes widened. “That’s right. The Eternal Empire makes a lot of money thanks to the rare and extinct spice market. We’re going to take them down.”

About the Author

I am a writer with an avid interest in psychology, physics, history, and economics. Writing has long been a passion of mine, and I hope to someday make a career of it. Apart from writing, I have worked in education as a lecturer in one of the aforementioned subjects.

I believe that writing is a wonderful thing and that good writing and the techniques required to develop it should be shared with as many people as possible. In that regard, I’m always open to hearing from anyone who was read my work. If you want to contact me (perhaps to praise or perhaps to put your proverbial stake and pitchfork to work), then by all means send me an email, or drop by my blog where I discuss issues related to books, writing, and my own work.

My email: lgestrella@outlook.com

My blog: http://lgestrella.wordpress.com

If you send an email or leave a comment, I’ll do my best to get back to you.

More From L. G. Estrella

If you’re interested in reading more of my stories, you can find them on Amazon.

There are also previews for each of my stories at my blog: lgestrella.wordpress.com

You can also read on to find out more about my stories.

Divine Assistance

When the Supreme Mother and Supreme Father separated Creation from the Void, they also created the gods, beings of incalculable power who wielded cosmic energies far beyond the petty comprehension of mere mortals. The gods were supposed to preside over Creation with unmatched wisdom and knowledge.

Well, that was the idea.

But what is Death – a god of terrible majesty and splendour – supposed to do when his daughter asks for a pony? Is he really supposed to just go out and get a mortal one? Like that’s going to work. It’ll keel over and die in a couple of decades. No, his daughter deserves something better, a pony truly worthy of her divine heritage, which means he’s going to have to get a little bit creative.

And then there’s Bureaucracy. The Supreme Mother and Supreme Father might have given rise to Creation, but Bureaucracy is the one who has to keep everything running smoothly. But that’s easier said than done when there are hundreds of gods and countless mortals to consider – none of whom understand the importance of filing paperwork in triplicate. Luckily, not even gods can escape the awesome power of divine paperwork.

And let’s not forget gods like Mayhem, Mischief, and Rabble. Their names speak for themselves. When the three of them take a holiday in the mortal world at the same time, trouble is right around the corner.

Divine Assistance is a collection of fourteen short stories about the gods and their attempts to manage Creation. There are souls to claim, mortals to woo, and even the occasional city to smite. After all, what’s life without a little divine assistance?

The Galactic Peace Committee

In one universe, humanity conquers the stars. In another universe, humanity is overrun by monsters so evil that their very presence dims the light of the stars. In yet another universe, humanity is drawn into an endless battle for dominion over the galaxy.

This is not one of those universes.

In this universe, humanity is in charge of the Galactic Peace Committee. In theory, the Committee is an unmatched force for good, bringing peace and prosperity to countless worlds and ensuring that conflicts between different races are settled with words and not planet-cracking weaponry or super plagues designed to turn everyone into goo.

In theory.

Jake Smith is a diplomat. He works for the Committee. This is his story – and it goes about as well as you’d expect. In other words, it doesn’t go very well at all. Can Jake survive petty aliens? Sure. He’s a diplomat. It’s all part of the job. What about angry aliens? Probably. He does have a killer robot for a secretary, and he’s not bad with a shock staff. How about a fleet of aliens out for blood? That… that might be a little bit trickier.

The Galactic Peace Committee… keeping peace (sort of) throughout the galaxy.

The Trouble With Werewolves

The Department Series Part One

Listen up rookies, I’m going to keep this short, and I’m going to keep this simple. If you’re going to be an agent for the Australian Department of Unusual Events, then you need to know how to deal with werewolves. And werewolves, rookies, are not pleasant creatures to deal with. The average werewolf is seven feet tall and weighs roughly two hundred and fifty kilograms. The average werewolf also wants nothing more than to rip your face off and eat you for dinner.

If you want to beat a werewolf, you can’t afford to fight fair. No, you cheat – you cheat as much as you bloody can. If that means sneaking up on it and putting a silver bullet in the back of its head with a sniper rifle, then that’s what you do. But I’m not going to waste your time by telling you what you already know. I’m not going to tell you about a mission where everything went right. I’m going to tell you about a mission where things went wrong because things always go wrong and learning how to deal with that is the only way you’ll last more than a year or two in the Department.

So pay attention and take notes. It could save your life.

Beneath a Shattered Sky

The Fracture Chronicles Part One

There were idiots – and then there were the Ancients.

More than two thousand years ago, the Ancients decided that simply killing each other with all the power in one world wasn’t enough. No. They had to use the power of countless other worlds to kill each other.

Unfortunately, things didn’t quite work out the way they planned.

The barriers separating the world of Fracture from other worlds shattered, and the Ancients were overrun by endless hordes of otherworldly monsters. Civilisation collapsed, monsters ate lots of people, and pretty much everything that could go wrong did go wrong.

Oops.

Eventually, the survivors invented barriers, a powerful form of magic capable of stabilising parts of Fracture and keeping out otherworldly monsters. Score one for civilisation.

Sophie is a graduate of Relic’s Temple, a warrior trained to use innate magic to fight all manner of bloodthirsty otherworldly monsters in hand-to-hand combat. At her legendary mother’s behest, she goes on a journey to find her mother’s almost-as-legendary former student. The problem is that Matilda isn’t quite what all the legends say.

Oh, Matilda has got ass kicking down to an art form, and she’s an absolute genius at barrier magic, but she’s also an irredeemable (and highly successful) flirt who is seemingly immune to the effects of alcohol. She also likes to give people nicknames – irritatingly accurate nicknames.

Before she knows it, Sophie is part of Matilda’s crew, journeying across Fracture in semi-epic fashion while performing acts of heroism for fame, charity, glory, and the occasional big payday. When she’s not being fired out of a sky-ship to board a pirate vessel, she’s fighting hordes of otherworldly monsters with a troubled city in their sights.

But it is beneath a shattered sky that Sophie finally learns that Matilda really is every bit the legend people say she is.

Two Necromancers, a Bureaucrat, and an Elf

The Unconventional Heroes Series Part One

Two necromancers, a bureaucrat, and an elf – it sounds like the start of a bad joke, only the joke is on Timmy.

Timothy Walter Bolton – better known as Timmy – has spent most of his life as a necromancer. When he isn’t terrorising his enemies, he’s plotting inside his castle, which is built on top of lightless chasms filled with nameless horrors and beings of a generally malevolent and megalomaniacal nature. But after one of his latest creations, a zombie hydra-dragon-bear, tries to eat him, he decides that maybe it’s time to find a new, less dangerous, career.

But that’s easier said than done. He’s a wanted criminal with no shortage of powerful (and crazy) enemies, and he has a bone or two to pick with the Everton Council of Mages.

Hope arrives in the form of a new law. War is coming to Everton, and the Council is desperate. In exchange for providing some help, Timmy might just earn that pardon he’s been looking for. Of course, just because it’s possible to earn a pardon doesn’t mean that it’s going to be easy.

To earn his pardon, Timmy is going to have to take down some of Everton’s most dangerous enemies and put together a quirky group of unconventional heroes, most of whom want nothing more than to mangle him and/or the Council in as vicious a way as possible. It’s a good thing that he’s got some help: an obnoxious ten-year-old apprentice who thinks that pink glasses are appropriate for a budding necromancer and a bumbling bureaucrat who may or may not make it through their first real fight without puking his guts up.

Wonderful.

Still, Timmy’s never been one to back down from a challenge even if their first recruit is basically the elf version of the bogeyman.

Two Necromancers, an Army of Golems, and a Demon Lord

The Unconventional Heroes Series Part Two

Two necromancers, an army of golems, and a demon lord – it sounds like a recipe for trouble, and for Timmy, it definitely is.

To earn his pardon and avoid horrible torture and/or gruesome execution, Timmy has to complete every mission the Council throws his way, most of which seem to involve extremely scary things trying to kill him. At least he’s got help – sort of. His help consists of an apprentice with designs on his castle (and her plans may or may not involve overthrowing him), a bureaucrat whose two greatest skills are fainting in the face of trouble and using people (usually Timmy) as human shields, and an elf with the world’s worst case of pyromania and enough magic to level a mountain.

Somehow, Timmy’s got to get this bunch of unconventional heroes to work together. Trouble is coming, and it’s trouble of the kind that only a necromancer like Timmy could possibly find himself in the middle of. An army of killer golems is on the loose, which may give Timmy the excuse he needs to legally unleash wave after wave of killer zombies. Zombie versus golem – it’s every necromancer’s dream. And then there’s the demon lord that’s out to usher in the apocalypse. Sure, demons aren’t exactly his specialty, but there’s nothing that a good magical shovel to the back of the head can’t fix.

One way or another, Timmy is going to get his pardon and a tax rebate too – even if it means going up against murderous golems, insane demon lords, or mischievous ninja rodents with a predilection for magical swords and the skills to back up the trash talk.

Two Necromancers, a Dragon, and a Vampire

The Unconventional Heroes Series Part Three

Two necromancers, a dragon, and a vampire – it sounds like a shortcut to disaster, and for Timmy, it’s certainly looking that way.

To earn his pardon and avoid becoming yet another necromancer statistic, Timmy has to work for the Council. From bandit uprisings to giant sea serpents and ogre invasions, Timmy and the others are there to save the day – sort of.

And despite relying on overly intelligent ninja rats, an elf who believes that fire is the answer to everything, a bureaucrat who struggles to stay conscious through an entire fight, and a precocious apprentice who has designs on his castle, property damage per mission is down, they haven’t blown up another mountain, and they’ve gone several missions without ripping a hole in reality.

Naturally, it won’t last.

When the dragon egg their resident pyromaniac stole hatches to reveal the world’s cuddliest harbinger of death, Timmy and the others are dragged into a pair of diabolically dangerous missions. Breaking out of one of the world’s most secure prisons was hard enough. Now, they have to break back in to rescue a vampire.

And then there’s the Eye of the Abyss. Does your country have a problem with a divine artefact capable of singlehandedly winning a war? Don’t worry. Just send Timmy and the gang. They’ll handle it, and Timmy might even get to live every necromancer’s dream with… zombie pirates.

Timmy and the others want their pardons, and they’re not going to let anyone stop them, not armies, not fleets, not even the most powerful empire the world has ever seen that just so happens to hold a centuries-old grudge against Everton.

The world is going to learn a very important lesson: never, ever underestimate a necromancer with a shovel and time to plan.

The Last Huntress Series

Collection One: Parts One To Four

They meet on a lonely road lit only by moonlight and stained by the blood of werewolves.

Rose is a girl searching for the power to take back her homeland.

Scarlett is the last of her line – a huntress sworn to destroy all monsters.

Rose wants nothing more than to learn the ways of a huntress. She needs the strength to slay the monsters that destroyed her home and slaughtered her family. Only then can she leave the shadows of her past behind and help her people rebuild what they have lost. But the road she must walk is one that Scarlett knows only too well, and there is no room upon it for softness.

A huntress cannot have mercy, a huntress cannot hesitate, and a huntress cannot fail, not even if it means killing the ones they love the most.

From the frozen forests of the north, to the fetid swamps of the south, and the towering mountains of east, Scarlett will show Rose what it means to be a huntress. They will face the darkness in their pasts, the old wounds that made them who they are. They will face ancient evils that have endured for centuries, waiting for mankind to grow weak and forget. And they will even face the wrath and power of dragon fire.

Rose wants to be a huntress. Who better to learn from than the last huntress?

This collection contains:

- The Last Huntress (The Last Huntress Series Part One)

- The Lord of Dark Waters (The Last Huntress Series Part Two)

- The Fire Upon the Mountain (The Last Huntress Series Part Three)

- The Lonely Wood (The Last Huntress Series Part Four)

The Gunslinger and the Necromancer

The Lizzy Stanton Series Part One

When the Church needs someone to send the denizens of Hell back to where they belong, they go looking for Lizzy Stanton.

As gunslingers go, Lizzy’s right up there with the best of them. No matter what kind of evil she’s up against, she knows exactly how to handle things – put a holy bullet right between the eyes. But when she takes a job to go after a necromancer over in Pine Creek, she might just have bitten off more than she can chew.

With zombies, demons, and one tricky necromancer to worry about, Lizzy’s going to have to be real quick on the trigger. In the gunfight between good and evil, she’s the gunslinger who always delivers.

The Gunslinger and the Train to Hell

The Lizzy Stanton Series Part Two

Lizzy is a bounty hunter, and hunting down demons for the Church is something she knows like the back of her hand. So when her brother, Matt, asks her to come with him on a hunt, she’s more than ready for some trouble. Matt is one of the best, and anything bad enough to need the two of them is going to mean one heck of a fight.

They’re tracking a train that’s been going round. People get on, but they don’t get off. Nobody knows where it goes. Lizzy and Matt reckon there’s a demon behind it all, and they’re right. Before they know it, they’re stuck on a train with dozens of passengers that’s going straight to Hell.

Getting out of this in one piece isn’t going to be easy. There are imps, Hell Hounds, and things too terrible to have names. And, of course, there’s the demon behind it all too, a demon that’s gotten hold of a train, a demon who can turn every piece of metal, every scrap of wood, every shard of glass into a weapon.

Lizzy and Matt have a fight on their hands. But if there’s one thing they know how to handle, it’s a fight. That demon better watch out.

The Burning Mountains

The Burning Mountains have belonged to dragons since the Old Days when gods still walked the earth. They are a place of fire and ruin where no man dares walk and no elf dares linger long. Only the strong can survive there and only the ruthless can prosper.

Amidst the smoke, the ash, and the flame, an exiled elven princess will meet an outcast dragon. Alone, they have little hope of survival. But together, they might do more than survive – they might conquer. For the dragon has a realm to claim and the princess has a kingdom to take back.

There are some lessons that only fire can teach and some wisdom that only a dragon can impart.

The Wood of Endless Night

Far to the west, beyond the Burning Mountains where only dragons live, there is a place where the sun is always warm and the winds are always kind. It is called the Pleasant Wood, and it was there that Tareon, a blacksmith’s son, and Valeia, a nobleman’s daughter, met for the first time.

Despite their differences, they become friends and eventually fall in love. But the days of peace in the west are ending. War has come, and the carnage and ruin of the battlefield have summoned a winged titan from the south. Black Death is a dragon unlike any the west has seen. His scales are adamant, his wings blot out the sun, and his cold fire burns as black as the dead of night.

Nothing mortal can kill such a dragon. Instead, the people of the west must turn to a place beyond even the Pleasant Wood, a place whose name echoes darkly in the hearts of all who look upon it: the Wood of Endless Night. It is a place of evil and despair that was created countless years ago when the gods slew one of their own that had turned traitor and cast his broken body from the heavens.

And it is said that the weapon the gods used still remains there, lost in the Endless Night.

The king of the west has offered honours and riches beyond counting to anyone who can bring back the weapon and slay Black Death. It is Tareon’s only chance to prove himself worthy of Valeia’s hand in marriage. Yet no one has ever returned from the Wood of Endless Night, and if something should befall him, Valeia will surely go after him.

The Wood of Endless Night and the shadow of a traitorous god await them both.

Durendal

Twelve-year-old Billy Winchester’s got a feeling that the war made Duren a monster, but maybe he and his sister can make him a man again.

Billy’s always dreamed of leaving Sahara VII, a backwater mining planet, for some adventure. But with the galaxy still reeling from decades of war, and an older sister desperate to hang onto the only family she’s got left, he’s not having much luck.

Then he meets Duren, and suddenly adventure’s right on his doorstep.

The rugged stranger from another planet is everything Billy wishes he could be. When his sister hires Duren to help at their diner, Billy does his best to make him a part of their family. Trouble is, Duren’s got a past, and it’s the worst sort of bloody. To Billy though, he’s just a man, and a good one at that.

But danger’s never far on a planet like Sahara VII.

A cruel mining magnate, Stratton sets his eyes on Billy’s sister, and he won’t take no for an answer. When Stratton kidnaps her, Billy’s going to need the man Duren used to be, the man he hoped Billy would never have to see.

But Stratton isn’t stupid, and he isn’t alone. He knows Duren is coming for him, and there are people who’ve been waiting a long time for Duren to show himself. Duren won’t have to beat just Stratton and his men – he’ll have to stand toe-to-toe with the vengeful ghosts of his past while keeping Billy clear of the crossfire. Billy’s finally got his adventure, but it might cost him the only family he’s ever known.

Copyright and Disclaimer

The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company

Copyright © January 2018 L. G. Estrella

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review (contact lgestrella@outlook.com).

Cover image from Tigateluloro/Bigstock.com. Alterations by L. G. Estrella.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and settings are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, names, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.