Tiny wings beating furiously, Rosalie flitted through the battlefield. Fire painted the skies as ash and smoke fouled the air. Men fell beneath her, and though every instinct screamed at her to stop and help, she couldn’t.
Heart shattering, she pressed on through the night. If she didn’t find the necromancer soon, they were all dead.
Her bat ears scanned for unusual sounds. Incantations. Vile Crkl’ath dark speech. The whoosh of magic at play. Anything that might help track the caster down, but the crackle of flame and cries of the wounded and dying drowned out anything so subtle.
If listening had failed, she’d have to rely on sight. Climbing, she strained her weakened eyes in search of her unknown foe. Surely with the zephyrni on the ground he wouldn’t be so careful.
She wouldn’t have to wait long.
A pair of squires rushed a lightly armored cultist entering the camp. He made a beckoning wave, and both fell, clutching their ears as a mournful bell tolled from nowhere. Undead falling upon them, their last moments came swiftly.
Monster! she mentally hissed. You’ll pay you brute!
Turning midair, she made to rejoin the others, but as she focused on finding them, her heart stopped. The ever expanding ranks of the walking dead shuffled toward rally point. Horrid understanding came to her.
They’d never make it.
Yesha, help me, Rosalie prayed, preparing herself for what she must do.
Eyes locking onto the necromancer, she dropped into a dive. Only a few undead remained around their master. Not so many she couldn’t handle them, but more than a little nuisance.
But they didn’t matter. Her sole focus was on eliminating him. Kill him, and they would fall.
The necromancer scanned the burning encampment for fresh bodies to add to his ranks. He never noticed the bat streaking through sky and smoke toward him. Few would. Particularly in the midst of combat.
Of course, this was no ordinary bat.
Ten feet from impact, Rosalie summoned fur and fang. Muscle coiled and thickened. In the space of two breaths, the half ounce of winged shadow erupted into a half ton of feline fury.
The necromancer saw almost too late.
Massive jaws snapped in his face, foot-long saber teeth flashing inches from his throat. A half second later and the battle would have been over, but bat’s eyes were hardly meant for precision strikes. In that brief moment between bat and cat, Rosalie lost sight of him. Blinded for the briefest moment, the cultist flinched away from Yesha’s child, sparing his accursed life.
Paws shaking the earth on impact, Rosalie kicked off her back legs. Lunging, she swiped. This time, she did not miss. Claws like meat hooks tore his arm. Face contorting, he cried out in pain as he staggered backward.
Sharp pangs peppered Rosalie’s haunches. She hadn’t noticed the corpse archer, but the sudden appearance of a saber-toothed monster was hard to miss. Even for the dead.
She caught movement from her peripheries. The remaining undead moved to defend their master. She had to be quick.
Kill the necromancer, kill them all! Kill the necromancer, kill them all! Rosalie mentally repeated again-and-again.
Sickly green lit his hand. Words of vile power called from his mouth. Palm thrusting at her, Rosalie braced as a bolt of necrotic energy exploded in her face.
Shaken and momentarily stunned, Rosalie shook her head. Her vision blurred in the wake of his spell. Fine detail was gone, but his shape remained clear enough.
Pouncing, she wrapped both forelegs around him. Another arrow lodged into her hip. She opened her maw as wide as she could. The former squires were nearly upon her, axes raised. Frenzy filled her fangs.
Snap!
A metallic tang flooded Rosalie’s mouth. Thick. Sticky. Warm. Her muzzle wrinkled at the throbbing pain radiating through her. The grinding of steel imbedded in her shoulder blades was too much to bear. She crumpled.
But as she fell, the dead returned to rest as their master’s head rolled along the grass.
A pulse rippled from the slain necromancer. The advancing undead crumpled around her, but the damage was done.
Burning agony chased thought from Rosalie’s mind. Unable to retain focus against it, fur slid back into her. Great muscles deflated. Muzzle shrinking back into a little face, Yesha’s nomad couldn’t move. Even breathing sent cascades of pain throughout her as arrows and axe shifted in her flesh.
“Healer,” she gasped breathlessly. “Ms. Echo… help…”
***
“More incoming!” a squire bellowed to the rallying Sitrians.
“Stay back, my lady!” Mira roared as she took a defensive posture before Echo.
“Back?!” Echo balked. “We’re surrounded! There is no back!”
Kaelen laughed sharply. “Your mistress has a point, Mir-Mir.”
Mira’s eyes narrowed. “So does my sword.”
“Easy, lass,” Healer said as he stepped between them. “Save it for the dead.”
Huffing, Mira nodded.
“Here they come!” Kaelen shouted.
Whipping his massive sword overhead, Kaelen lowered his stance. Weight rocking back, the quick adjustment let the wide swing of an undead swordsman pass harmlessly before him, but the Sitrian knight didn’t fight the weight of his blade, he followed it. Blade spinning, he stepped forward to fill the gap.
Thwack!
Slash split animated corpse from shoulder to opposite hip. Damaged but not destroyed.
“Mira! Behind you!” Kaelen yelled to her.
Pivoting around her mistress, Mira lashed out with a wing razor to sever a cultist’s arm at the wrist. Shock didn’t have a chance to form on his face before her sword plunged through his heart.
The hour was late. They were closer to dawn than dusk. Mira couldn’t begin to pretend to guess how long they’d fought. All she knew was they were being overrun. Both by the cultists and with each ally that fell being added to the Maw’s forces.
“Where’s the little one?” Kaelen said as he stepped back toward Mira. “She should’ve been back by now.”
For all his bravado, Mira could sense the urgency in her order brother’s voice. The same urgency screaming throughout her body.
“You don’t think she’s…?” Echo winced.
“Stow that!” Healer growled. “That wee Yesha won’t go down without no fight.”
Kaelen’s jaw tensed as he looked to his sister-in-arms. “Can you still fly?”
“I won’t leave my lady, Kaelen!” Mira snapped.
He shook his head. “Wasn’t going to ask.” Confusion etched Mira’s face. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, he continued. “Take her, and get out of here.”
“You can’t be serious!” Mira sputtered in disbelief. “Abandon everyone?!”
“Better two survive than none! Listen.” Kaelen locked eyes with her. “News of what happened here must. Reach. Sitri. If we’re all dead, the truth goes with us, and the gods alone know what comes next.”
“He’s right,” Healer grunted. “I don’t like it no more than you, but if we all die, there’s no telling what the Maw will do. For a cult to move this directly, they’re scared of what we know.”
“I’m sorry, Mira,” Kaelen genuinely apologized. “But I’m afraid we have to assume the Yesha fell. You have to go while your wings can still carry you, sister.”
“Sir Kaelen!” a squire shouted. “Another wave’s coming!”
“Now’s the time.” Kaelen nodded firmly to Mira. “We’ll try to keep them on us as long as we can, but once you hit the skies, they’ll probably break to follow. You need to fly as far as you can. Don’t land until you’re about to crash.”
“Kaelen, I can’t—” But she couldn’t deny their logic. The encampment was as good as lost. “Just make sure you give him hell before you go.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that.” He smirked defiantly. “I’ll tear brand new layers into the Abyss before they take me.”
“Lady Estoria,” Healer prayed. “Grant to me one last blessing. Fill this daughter of Myria with strength, my lady. Let her wings lift them to safety that they may carry word of this night to her king. That, in this small way, our end will spare the world our fate.”
Golden light pulsed one last time from Healer’s hands. Mira’s tender muscles stopped screaming.
“Afraid that’s all I got left,” Healer muttered. Swaying, he fell to a knee. “My body can’t take no more.”
“Healer…” Words failed Mira. “Thank you.” Touching Charlotte’s brooch, she let a sigh fall from her. “Wilt.” Armor returning to the magical amulet, she turned to Echo. “Ready, my lady?”
“We’ll not forget you, Sir Kaelen, pastor,” Echo said as she climbed into Mira’s arms.
“See to it no one does, my lady,” said Kaelen.
“Don’t you lasses worry none.” Healer nodded firmly. “When we meet on the other side, I’ll have dinner waitin’. Just make sure you’re old and gray when you get there.”
“We’ll try, pastor,” said Echo.
A tear slid from Mira’s eye as her lip turned up in a smirk. “No guarantees, though.”
With the duchess secured in her arms, Mira spread her wings and took to the air. Smoke assailed her nostrils. The exact excuse she needed for the water filling her eyes.
Echo’s grip tightened around Mira. “Rosie may yet succeed, my knight.”
Much as Mira wanted to agree, she couldn’t. There was hope and then there was madness. The survival of Rosalie amid the growing swarm of living dead landed squarely on the latter.
“And we can still keep our eyes open,” Echo continued in response to her silence. “We’re not done—The devil?!” Echo twisted in Mira’s arms, wobbling the knight’s flight path. “There!” She gestured wildly. “Hurry!”
Sickly green flashed near the edge of camp. Undead abandoned their advance upon the rallied forces to turn for it. Mira may not have had any understanding of the nature of magic, but she needed no explanation.
Clearing the burning tents, the knight just caught glimpse of a massive feline form as it leapt at a cultist in light armor below.
“Rosie!” Mira gasped.
Arrows pierced Rosalie’s haunches, but she remained focused on the man before her. An undead squire brought an axe down on her shoulders, but as he did, her jaws shut tight around the necromancer’s neck.
A pulse rippled out as both he and Rosalie collapsed. The dead crumpled as the curse binding their bones to a fouled mockery of life broke. But the damage was done.
Axe embedded in her back, the shape shifting Yesha fell, reverting to her true form.
Swooping in low, Echo didn’t wait for Mira to land. She jumped from her knight’s arms the second they came close, and raced for the fallen nomad.
“How bad?!” Mira demanded as she landed next to her.
“Rosie? Rosie, can you hear me?!” Echo cried.
Rosalie’s voice was barely a breath. “H-Help…”
“Hold on, Rosie!” Echo turned to Mira. “Quickly! Fly back and fetch Healer!” But Mira didn’t move. “Mira! Hurry!”
“I’m sorry, my lady,” Mira scarcely whispered. “Even if I could leave you, Healer’s spent. You heard him. He gave the last of his strength to get us airborne. There’s nothing we can do.”
“No.” Echo shook her head as tears spilled unabashedly from her. “No! I won’t allow—We can’t—There must be something!”
“My lady, I…” Mira’s eyes flashed. Memory screamed a single name into her mind. “Narsis!” she screamed. Seizing Echo’s shoulders, she spun the duchess around to look her in the eye. “Do we have any potions left?!”
Echo’s watery eyes trembled as her mind processed her knight’s words. “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes! My bag! Quickly!”
Wrenching the belt off her hip, Echo fumbled with the clasp. Retrieving the last of the old gnome’s alchemic brews from it, Mira tore the axe and arrows from the Yesha’s form before rolling her over.
Rosalie’s breathing was shallow and ragged. Each gasp was shorter and weaker than the last. Her eyes struggled to stay open. The light of life flickered, fading fast.
Mira cradled the tiny Yesha in her lap. Pulling her head back, she forced her mouth open as Echo ripped out the potion’s stopper.
“Come on, Rosie,” Echo pleaded as she dumped the contents down her throat.
Seconds stretched into eternity. Mira braced. The damage was severe. There was no guarantee the potion would be strong enough. Narsis admitted it wasn’t his best work. That he’d been forced to work with limited supplies thanks to the warg led pack of wolves.
Bleeding slowed and stopped. Wounds sealed. Hope filled Mira.
“Rosie?” Echo scarcely whispered.
Stillness.
The Yesha lay motionless in Mira’s arms. Body going limp, grim understanding found the knight. A feeling she knew far too well. The cold approach of Lord Shadow.
“Rosie? Rosie, no!” Echo seized on the tiny shape shifter. “Come on, girl! There’s tea to be made! I’ll… Who’ll bake the biscuits?! Rosie you can’t—!”
A gasp.
Deep. Wet. Rasping. But Rosalie’s chest rose and fell once more.
Slowly, the chill of the death god withdrew.
“Ms. Echo?” Rosalie struggled to form the name on her lips.
“I’m here,” Echo confirmed.
“I think I’d like a nap, please,” she whispered.
A laugh or at least, something like it burst from Echo. “As long as you need, love.”
Gathering Rosalie into a bundle, Mira labored to her feet before helping Echo up. The duchess winced.
“Are you alright, my lady?” said Mira.
Gritting her teeth, Echo nodded. “Healer fixed the worst of it, but it’s still quite tender, I’m afraid.” She turned, taking in the ruined camp. “Should we… go back? Check for survivors? Or—” She shrugged. “I defer to you, my knight.”
Mira’s lips twisted in thought. “That might be for the best. It’s not like I could fly with both of you, and even though she destroyed the undead, if there are any cultists left, I don’t know how many I can handle at once.”
“True,” Echo agreed. “Come on, then.”
The wounded called out for help, though there was little the three could do. Survivors turned their attention to helping their fallen comrades, and dispatching the last of the cultists. Those who didn’t formed improvised fire brigades to tame the blaze.
“Think they made it?” said Echo.
“Honestly?” Mira shook her head. “I don’t want to guess, my lady. Healer’s a huge target, but Kaelen… he’s full of himself, but he knows what he’s doing.”
“Mira!”
The voice was distant but familiar. A rich baritone, it was bereft of its usual slimy self-centeredness.
“Kaelen,” she whispered the thought aloud.
Armor dented and scratched, he limped toward them, and close behind, a demigiant priest of a human goddess.
Scarlet stained Healer’s shirt. His arm rested in an improvised sling. But he lived. They both did.
Kaelen’s face was grim as they reached them.
“Alright.” Kaelen sighed heavily. “What the hell was that? Don’t try to tell me that was random.”
Looking to Echo and Healer, Mira shrugged. “How long you got?”
***
The sun had crested the horizon long ago. They’d returned to the remnants of Kaelen’s tent to assess damage and receive casualty reports while they discussed the night’s events. More importantly, however, was the full recounting of the Hunger that nearly wiped all life from the Larris Marsh.
Kaelen sat in studious silence as Mira and the others finished explaining the events that took place in the bayou… neglecting that she and Echo now shared a daughter.
“So that’s it,” she concluded. “The goddess Estoria has us looking for whatever these ‘forgotten ancients’ are that might remember what the gods have been forced to forget, and, hopefully, tell us how to stop it.”
The human knight barely spoke a word. Rising from his seat, he collected one of the few bottles of wine that survived the attack. Pulling out the cork, he downed half the bottle in a breath.
“This,” Kaelen began, his voice soft and distant, “is beyond all of us, sister.” He took another swig. “We need to return to Sitri at once. Captain Theris needs to hear this. He’ll know what to do. At least… as far as he’s capable, I suppose.”
“Then it’s decided?” said Echo. “We travel back to the capital together, sir knight?”
He nodded slowly, deliberately. “Yes, my lady. We haven’t the provisions to make it to the next village let alone all the way to Larris sur L’eau.”
Turning to Healer, the grim mask of responsibility filled his face. “I know we can’t ask you to channel more divine energy, pastor , but I’m afraid we have more than a few men needing your,” he grimaced, “final services.”
“Of course,” Healer said somberly.
“I’ll take some men and start digging,” Mira offered.
The sound of shovels was the sole constant that morning, the only reprieve from it, the priest’s holy words. Prayers to the goddess fell from his lips until his voice was scarcely a whisper.
Kaelen had been entrusted with a full company. Only half would return.
Midday was upon them when the final grave was filled. And that same persistent silence, the void left by the missing voices of the fallen went with them into the night and all the way back to Sitri…
About the Author
A. S. Raithe is a fantasy author living near Pittsburgh with his wife and children. Always the creative type, it wasn’t until high school and being introduced to a local bestselling author that he found his passion for writing. He took time away from writing to attend college before being convinced by his wife to pick it up again shortly after their wedding. Outside of writing he enjoys exercise, baking, gardening, folklore, music, and hiking.
