The lady in red gestured, a bolt of black energy flashing out and striking a skeleton, the thing collapsing into bony fragments. Another one, moving with juddering quickness, raised its sword and charged, joined by another. Another bolt was thrown, this one less successful, only splintering some ribs.

‘Come on, we need to go and help!’

The rogue shrugged. ‘She looks a bit, like, dodgy to me. Red and blacks, Kethys says that’s something to avoid. Maybe she’s a demon queen?’

The skeletons had reached the woman now, swords swinging at her. One was deflected, a mystical barrier shimmering for a moment and sending the blade wide, the other catching her in the shoulder, cutting through her cloak. Fire surged, screaming waves of energy bursting from a skeleton, Stathis seeing strange shapes within the green flame as bones scorched from the heat. She tried falling back, to get some range, as both skeletons attacked again, blades cutting through her defences.

‘Come on, we need to help her!’

The rogue hung back, not looking convinced. ‘I dunno, she looks a bit eldritch to me, know what I’m saying?’

Pajaran was the first to move, charging with her mace at the ready as the woman’s hood fell back, black hair streaming out as she managed to barely dodge another thrust, answering with a blast that shattered an arm, but unfortunately not the one holding a sword. Stathis pushed open the sidedoor and started running, trying to reach the woman as quickly as possible. She was clearly not good at close combat, being hard-pressed by three skeletons, raising her arms in a reflexive defence.

Stathis covered the ground quickly, running past Pajaran. She cleaved her blade through one of the skeletons, the things other arm falling to the floor, before a second slice crashed through its skull, destroying it. The other turned, swinging the rusted blade, a slow strike that was easy to deflect with her shield. Before it could attack again, she sliced through a leg, then the ribs. As it teetered and fought to stay standing, a black bolt flew from the woman’s hand, smashing through the skull. It collapsed to the ground in a messy stack of now-inanimate bones. The last swung at Stathis, smashing at her armour with unnatural strength, injuring her even through armour. Then Pajaran swung back at it, heavy mace smashing through the ribs and spine.

‘Come on, we need to get out of sight!’

The woman shot more bolts at the stack of bones, scattering them, blasting some of them to dust. Despite the rain, and the surroundings of an undead-haunted village, she was wearing makeup and jewellery, more suitable for a society ball rather than combat. Although it had been rent and cut by the skeletons, her cloak was clearly expensive, a thing of brilliant crimson red that was edged with black thread, held shut by an obsidian broach.

‘One should always display dominance over a defeated enemy.’

It might have been more impressive if the cloak wasn’t cut and damaged, everything from the knee down heavy with clinging mud, woman’s breath still heavy and panting.

Stathis grabbed her other hand and pulled, her slight weight easy enough to pull. ‘Come on, before more of them show up!’ She pulled the woman back towards the house, managing to get inside without drawing any more attention. As soon as they were inside, the woman pulled her hand back with a sniff.

‘I do not appreciate being manhandled by random, and frankly suspicious-looking, fighters, of dubious provenance! What are your intentions?’ She raised a hand to her chest, looking suspiciously at them all.

‘I did save you from those skeletons.’ The woman’s tanned face was pale beneath her makeup, and Stathis noticed that the rents in her cloak were stained with blood, the swords having sliced her in several places. She swayed for a moment, as Stathis put a hand on her shoulder. ‘You feeling OK? Have you been in combat before?’

Ruby-hued lips frowned at her in disapproval. ‘I am skilled in…’ She blinked, face growing paler, her cloak flapping open to reveal heavily blood-stained clothing, several large cuts to her arms, chest and stomach. Fine silks were plastered to her body by the flow of blood, a fancy dress, slit daringly high, but entirely inappropriate for combat. And heels – no wonder she’d had difficulty dodging, trying to walk through the heavy mud in those must have been a nightmare!

Her eyelids fluttered, consciousness fading, as her green eyes rolled back in her head. Stathis swore as Pajaran stepped in, casting a healing spell. Cold metallic light filled the room, spell taking effect and making the bleeding stop, wounds closing. Stathis caught the woman as she fell backwards, putting her onto the kitchen table. As she did so, her cloak fell open, revealing the rest of her clothing – a fine silk dress, intricately embroidered around the bust and throat, although cut and sliced from being attacked, completely sodden and distractingly clingy. As her dress fell open, Stathis tugged it back into place to try and keep her vaguely decorous.

‘Looks like she’s escaped a party.’ The rogue felt the dress, running it between her fingers. ‘Could get good money for this. Shame about the blood and the cuts, that’s going to hurt the value.’

‘We’re not stripping her! She’s not even dead yet.’

‘Well, if she doesn’t wake up, she’s pretty useless.’ She poked the unconscious woman in the cheek. ‘Nice jewellery as well, I call dibs.’

Pajaran looked at Stathis. ‘Any idea who she is? You seem to know most aristos, seen her before?’

Stathis checked the woman’s wounds, now faded to slight scratches thanks to Pajaran’s spell. ‘No idea. Looks wealthy, but not anyone I recognise, but this place is a long way from home. Guess you don’t know her either?’

‘She’s wearing Lashmeri silks and golden jewellery. Think she’d be seen dead with the likes of me?’

The rogue shrugged as well. ‘No idea. Pretty, probably a wizard, I guess? Saw her throwing, like, darkness stuff. Think she’s a monster?’

Stathis took her hand again, feeling her wrist. ‘She’s got a pulse and was fighting the skeletons. We should at least see who she is. I’m guessing that she’s also been hired to do this rescue.’

Pajaran moved close, taking over checking her wounds. From her clothing, lack of armour and weapons, and the absence of callouses on her hands, she was almost certainly a wizard, although apparently a foolhardy one, and without the usual bags of spell components the profession required. Fortunately, it didn’t take long for her to regain consciousness, awakening with a delicate groan. She sat up, staring at Stathis, emerald eyes still cold.

‘That was most discourteous of you.’ Her accent was aristocratic, every word precise and cultured.

‘You were going to get killed by those skeletons!’

‘I would have managed. And you have done quite some damage to my outfit.’ She looked down at her costume, cautiously feeling the cuts to the fabric.

‘That was the skeletons. You know, the ones that were trying to kill you?’

‘Hmm. Regardless, you could have been more careful, rather than simply manhandling me. As a warrior, should you not be rather more courteous towards nobility?’

‘Is this really the time for manners? There’s still a necromancer and a load of skeletons. I’m guessing you’re a wizard? Got any useful spells?’

She stood up, wincing in pain, a shapely leg emerging from beneath her dress, wound re-opening from the movement. Stathis put a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. ‘Easy there! Don’t injure yourself more. Let me bandage it at least.’

She leant back on the table. ‘Very well, if you must.’

Stathis found a clean cloth, tearing it into strips and tying it around the leg. It looked a lot less enticing than the lace garter around the other thigh, but it should help keep the wound closed. ‘So, what are you doing here? Hired for a rescue job?’

‘Is that really any concern of yours?’

Pajaran spoke, angrily smacking her mace against the stone hearth. ‘Well, it looks like that bastard sorceress pulled a fast one and hired all of us separately. And there’s only payment for one group, so we’re getting shafted.’ From the woman’s clothing, she was clearly unarmed, although her spells had been effective, at least until the skeletons had gotten too close. ‘There’s also an archer hiding out in the bushes, dropped a skeleton. Probably someone else hired by Karmalina, but they might try and target us, if they want the reward money.’

The wizard grimaced prettily. ‘That sounds decidedly inconvenient; I was led to believe this would be a simple task. Karmalina was most insistent.’

‘Yeah, it’s gotten complicated. We were going to try and take the skeletons down a few at a time, and then find the necromancer. And then go shake that damn sorceress down and try to get properly paid.’

The woman looked at them all in turn. ‘While the offer of alliance is appreciated, the pair of you both appear quite… disreputable. What assurances do I have that either of you are trustworthy? You have already all but kidnapped me, no doubt for nefarious purposes.’

‘Hey, it’s us or the skellies! And you’re all, like, noble, so you’re probably a bastard as well.’ The rogue was indignant.

The woman’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of dark energy wavering around her hand. ‘On the contrary, my bloodline extends back for millennia. I am a descendent of…’

Pajaran smacked the hearth again, the noise drawing attention. ‘If we could focus on the problem? If we wanted you dead, then we could have let the skeletons kill you.’

‘Yeah, and then looted the body. I reckon that dress is worth a good chunk of gold.‘ The rogue fondled the material, enjoying the feel of it.

The wizard pulled back, fabric slithering around her. ‘You would strip and desecrate my defenceless body?’ A faint gleam of scarlet came to the tips of her glossy, black hair, Stathis’ hand dropping to her sword as the shadows seemed to darken. ‘I thought there was at least a certain level of honour, albeit crude and rough, amongst those that lived by blade or spell.’ The darkness around her hand coalesced together into a dart, ready to throw.

Stathis raised her hands, trying to calm everyone down. ‘She was joking! We wouldn’t strip you naked. Anyway, shall we try and deal with the skeletons and the necromancer first, then we can try and get a fair payment, OK?’ She stared at the rogue. ‘Without fighting amongst ourselves.’

The rogue shrugged. ‘Sure, I guess. Don’t like skeletons though, not got any squishy bits to stab.’

Pajaran drew her mace back to swing again, stopping short as everyone went silent. ‘With the four of us, we can take down several at once though. And unless we draw down all of them, then we can deal with small groups, we just need to make sure they don’t gather up together.’

‘Oh? And just who do you think you are, taking charge? Any oaf can swing a sword, surely someone capable of mastering the arcane weave of magical puissance should be in charge?’ The crimson had faded from her hair; probably a good sign.

Stathis looked at her, taking in the exquisite dress, closely cut to her body, although slicked and dirtied with clinging mud from the knee down. Her open-toed stilettos were utterly impractical for anything outside of a ballroom or bedroom, and her feet must be freezing. ‘Do you have any plan, then? I don’t think just walking up to the door is likely to do much, unless you want to get blasted with whatever spells the necromancer has.’

Irritation flickered across her face, although no more dark energy appeared. ‘I would propose splitting the enemy forces, and dealing with as small a number as possible. If we can remove all of the enemy troops, then their leader will be weakened.’

‘Right. That’s what I said.’ Stathis moved up close to her – wet and bedraggled, but despite her undeniable beauty she was clearly out of place on the battlefield. Her arms lacked any muscle tone, obviously more used to turning the pages of the tome strapped to her waist than swinging a weapon. ‘Those bolts of yours looked powerful.’ She pointed at the rogue. ‘You scout out, take any stragglers down.’ She turned to the wizard, about half-a-head shorter than her. ‘I’ll take point, and look after you, as long as you blast anything that gets close, so I don’t get swarmed under. And we all need to watch out for stray arrows, and make sure the necromancer doesn’t notice us.’

Pajaran nodded. ‘Sounds good. I’ll heal anyone that gets dropped, and stay with Stathis to smash any that get close. Everyone good with that?’

The wizard looked up at her, green eyes cold. ‘Do I look as though I need protection?’

Stathis reached out and ran fingers along her ribs, sticking fingers through a cut in the fabric and twisting, the slick silk tearing further, feeling the woman’s warm skin beneath – at least she wasn’t a vampire or lich, then. ‘The dress is really nice, but it’s clearly not magically enchanted. So unless you want to get sliced up some more, then yes, I’d say you do need protection. But your bolts are clearly powerful, so I’d appreciate you covering me.’

Her expression softened, although nowhere near as far as a smile. ‘Very well, I suppose I must acquiesce to your commands, in this particular instance. But should you turn on me, then there will be a reckoning! And that goes for you as well; you look even less trustworthy.’ She jabbed a finger at the rogue, currently digging through a cupboard, having found an old wheel of cheese and breaking through the crust to get at the contents.

‘Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just don’t do anything, like, eldritch,’ she waggled her fingers for emphasis, ‘or spooky to me, and I won’t have to rip your arms off.’

‘No-one is ripping anyone’s arms off! Except for the necromancer, you’re allowed to rip his arms off.’ Stathis looked at Pajaran for support, who shrugged without speaking.

‘And do not think I will forgive you so easily for tearing my dress. Skeletons may lack the sense to know better, but even a low-born fighter such as yourself should have some standards and know better than to interfere with a lady’s ensemble, at least without explicit permission, and in rather more pleasurable contexts.’

Stathis sighed, again. ‘Sorry, but couldn’t you get armour? Or even a wizard’s robe? They’re heavier wearing and have pockets for spell stuff.’ It was abundantly clear that the woman had no capacity to carry anything other than the heavy tome strapped to her waist other than in her hands.

‘Wizard’s robes? A motley sack of dull colours, sewn together by thick-fingered apprentices, designed to hold as many oddments of occult arcana as possible? Such things are no respecters of silhouette or form; you expect me to hide myself in such rags?’ She sounded more upset than when she thought she might be getting murdered for her clothing.

‘Right. Sorry. Just… Just try not to get stabbed again, OK? Those wounds were nasty. And don’t move too fast, or you’ll open them up again.’

‘Very well, I suppose I shall allow you to honour me with protection.’ She lowered her voice, although was still clearly audible by everyone within the small room as she gestured at the rogue. ‘I would keep an eye on that one, she has the look of the very lowest sort of roguish vagabond. No doubt likely to slit your throat in the night for a copper piece.’

The rogue answered, mouth full of cheese. ‘Nah. Like, gold, maybe. Or some really good beer. Lot of work for a copper though, slitting throats. Blood gets everywhere.’

‘Can we just get a move on? Before the skeletons notice us.’ Stathis glanced outside, where the animated bodies were starting to move in a more organised fashion, going from house to house. ‘OK, out the back door, and we stay in the alleyways. And do you have any more sensible shoes to wear? You’re going to get stuck somewhere in those things.’

‘These are of finest drakeskin!’ Still leant back on the table, she lifted a leg as though inviting Stathis to examine them, her dress sliding open to reveal a long and enticing sweep of leg and thigh.

‘Well, I guess that means they’ll be easy to clean afterwards. Look, can we get moving now?’

Fortunately, the rogue followed orders, sliding out the back door, before the wizard lowered her leg with another indignant glare, signalling at Stathis to lead on. ‘As you will be protecting me, then please, lead.’

Pajaran drew close. ‘Told you she was one of yours. High-bloods are all the same, commanding and stuff. But keep an eye on her, in case she turns traitor or demon.’

‘I’d expect a demon to be more subtle, or trying to kill us already. Unless this is a really weird double-bluff, I think she’s just strange. Probably kept in a tower full of magical stuff as a child or something. Some noble families get weird like that.’

Pajaran gave her a long-suffering look. ‘Remind me of your parentage again?’

‘Shall we be moving on, or are we planning on allowing the necromancer to die of old age and senescence?’ The wizard’s heels clicked on the ground as she walked forward, gesturing at Stathis and Pajaran to lead on. Memories of that feeling of darkness and coldness rose up – could the woman be demonkin, or even a demon herself? She seemed alive and warm, but was definitely not dressed for anything close to combat. But would a demon be this overt? They were normally either blood-mad berserkers, or masterfully subtle infiltrators, any demon this transparent wouldn’t last long. And it seemed unlikely a demon would trouble itself with some small village, far from anywhere. Still, something to keep an eye on.