Several nights previous to the current one and with great anticipation the Dark Priest eagerly sliced the leather cord bindings on a moulded leather case, the rigid pouch quickly falling victim to his impatience. The delivery method of his Master’s promised gift unusual, although welcome. Too late to react, the giant bat, wingspan the height of a man glided silently across his minor hoard of walking dead, unerringly dropping the pouch at his feet. The creature immediately working its leathery wings, gaining height, the downdraft of air whipping his black robes about him, dust eddies trying to invade his eyes and gone.

Plunging his fingers inside the pouch, a gem, yes, his night vision unable to discern the colour, although dark, so perhaps, just perhaps ruby red. The next two Items thin metallic circles. What use could they be put to, he wondered?

In the intervening nights, under the guidance of his Master he soon learnt to bake the silver circles in the sun and when he required magic, subdue them with a portion of his blood magic and draw from them. With this magic source he conserved his own blood magic, regenerating daily, draining overnight to raise his walking dead army. His Master’s plan proceeding as envisioned, inspiring the Dark Priest to greater loyalty.

The ground under the western border of the Duchy concealed three major battle sites, each an attempt, separated by multiple human generations, of another Duchy trying to invade this one and each time repelled, destroyed on the banks of the river when routed. The dead answered his summons, again and again erupting from the soil, which preserved them, a few equipped with their ancient weapons, most without. Their souls in an uneasy alliance with the decayed remains of their former bodies, horrified by undeath and reluctantly under the puppet like command of the Dark Priest. One within every ten or twenty risen the Dark Priest cursing missed potential, their souls eager and desperate for revenge on the living, ripe given time and the proper ceremony, to return as greater evil with a will to destroy life. The middle strength between walking dead and soul bound servants with potential sentience.

After nights of ceremony, his Master assaulted his psyche with an unrelenting urgency, their link growing over time, strengthening and the Master-Servant relationship firmly established. The Dark Priest seeking release from his torment commanded his army of walking dead to march. The vastness of his army only possible due to his Master’s generous sharing of his precious power, depositing inky drops of darkness in his already dark soul. The Dark Priest instructed each night by his Master to sacrifice blood magic to their mutual blood pact to draw in his Master’s power.

Driven to march night and painfully every day the Dark Priest’s discomfort festered, his skin peeling from his body due to sun burn, a constant reminder. He probed his Master’s attention of him to determine a pattern and waited for a simple opportunity. An abandoned and ruined village provided him hope. Defying his Master’s will while he languished in hibernation, he commanded his followers to tear away several wooden walls from ruined buildings. After numerous attempts, finally a wall held together. With a great deal of patience, he commanded twenty-four higher potential walking dead to hold the improvised platform, six a side, their arms at their sides, the makeshift platform at knee height and to march as one. He ordered in replacements due to height or gait differences, to further perfect his conveyance. After a night of practice, he climbed upon the platform, relieved.

He drew his army of walking dead around him, his platform the eye of a slow-moving flock of humanoid shaped sheep, which obeyed his will implicitly. Uncomplaining, constant, lurching as one solid mass towards his Master. A Master demanding urgency and therefore regardless of the wear and tear, he kept himself and his walking dead army marching. The overcast weather and occasional snowfall made the day travel tolerable as his servants carried him through most of the ordeal, protecting his pale skin and eyes by hiding under his furs, occasionally taking an interest in their direction of travel to ensure they plodded in the correct direction. Initially aligning his march with the mountain range and then as recognisable peaks came into view during the night he adjusted.

The Dark Priest planned to avoid Farstay, passing the village on the Bircharbor side, although he could finesse their path as he estimated he would be awake before they reached the village with the coming of dusk. He awoke prior to dusk due to the noise of battle, to discover his walking dead army trying to walk through Farstay! An invisible barrier of some sort preventing them from actually entering the village with the excited villagers throwing oil and fire brands from their protected ground!

Fortunately, his platform, situated in the middle of the army didn’t advance within range and staying by his side he silently celebrated the survival of his own servants. He then drew upon his will and called the walking dead back to him. As they retreated from the barrier more were destroyed. The unfortunate situation couldn’t be helped, he couldn’t stay awake every moment, day and night to guide them.

Then a blood ice fear gripped his evil heart as his Master contacted him, their blood pact providing the pathway, his Master demanding his whereabouts and scolding him for his tardiness.

---

Her Master ordered her to make a special delivery. This reminded her of her servitude in a very real and freedom shattering way. With her regular feeding though, her bat form grew, and the additional wingspan propelled her at speed across the western plains of the Duchy, her sonar soon locating multiple humanoids shambling across the ground, while a clump of two or three walked differently, one in particular, more human like. She dropped the moulded leather case, not even waiting to see if the human celebrated or cursed. Her Master would surely reprimand her upon failure and if he didn’t, she knew her errand completed.

She enjoyed her new freedom, the nights spent either expanding her cohort or convincing her Master she enslaved more than she really did to ensure he left her alone. Embellishing her hideout into an underground warren of multiple rooms and sophisticated tunnels, allowing her access to various parts of the town to further impress and surprise him. In the meanwhile, choosing and drinking from healthy and beautiful men and woman and draining them or enthralling them at a whim, keeping her entertained and in a semi-permanent blood rapture.

Her Master ordered her to march and while stronger after many nights of blood taking, her resistance still futile, her freedom once again curtailed by him. Her thralls, her walking blood bags needed additional care when exposed to the cold and snow, tedious, although necessary. Secretly though she relished the excuse. Sorry Master many perished, I didn’t realise their frailty, the snow and cold their bane. While they lived, she could regularly drink from them, which made her strong, so very strong, her senses heightened, and her confidence soaring beyond limits.

“I grow impatient with your success without progress!”

His voice growled in her mind. Past memories of him standing nearby and shouting abusive orders returned to her in a flash, her cold undead heart jumping. Her mind freezing starving her response of words.

“Don’t hide from me wretched minion, you haven’t the talent, skill or age!”

A lance of pain burnt through her heightened senses, her mind reeling, hands holding her head to no avail as she dropped to her knees. She silently screamed; her voice stolen by her Master by way of demonstration.

“Speak!”

His grip on her mind relaxed slightly, she exhaled an empty breath, a throw-back to her mortal life followed by a testing squeak.

“I go now to scout the Cleft, my thralls are skilled at stealth as you commanded and they will capture if possible, slay if necessary, to ensure your freedom Master, this I promise.”

Her knees remained in the snow; dress tangled by the chilled Northern wind blowing through the Cleft. Hands crossed over her pounding black heart, while fear rippled along her spine as she wilted under his presence of mind, squeezing and analysing her devious and traitorous thoughts.

“I sired you, you are all mine, heartless body, conniving mind and deceitful intent, you exist because of my blood, no other reason. To serve me is your purpose anything less and you’re a broken useless tool. Be gone this instant and serve as I command!”

She transformed into her bat form involuntarily, his mind directing her forcefully. In a panic she strained to gain height pumping her wings in a frenzy of activity. His release of her consciousness afterwards, calculated. His absence a startling sudden shock, her bat form collapsing mid-air, her dress whipping around her falling human body and smacking into the snow with a dull whoosh leaving an outline of her dressed body shape in the deep soft snow.

Snowmelt soaked her pretty dress, the silk layers grabbing at her skin, her defiance similarly drenched, although not in water, in fear. He threatened to end her existence. Could he from his prison? She didn’t know, he denied her knowledge, failed to teach and she decided he did so by design, his plan to keep her his toy, his pet. She fumed, her blood boiling, a molten surge racing through her dead veins. Reaching out into the snow around her, punching, kicking and screaming her blood cooled and fear returned. Did he sense her pitiful display? Would he punish her? Truth and fact aligned, she belonged to him, any other thoughts, pure delirium and falsehoods. Any freedom an illusion.

Suitably humbled, tearing away handfuls of snow, she climbed out of her snow hole. Leveraging her strength, she ripped away the water-soaked garment, shredding the once majestic dress, the red silk contrasting against the white snow. She transformed to her bat form and winged her way back to her thralls, satisfied they slept and rested as commanded she began her Master’s tedious mission to scout The Cleft and locate the entrance to His prison, The Cavern.

Her sonar confirmed the sheer cliff face before her, one of two, perfectly opposite each other. She imagined an ancient past, where a giant wielding a huge sword sliced through the mountain range, once to the left and then once to the right, he then kicked the section in between away. She banked east, pushing her wings down to capture the updraft and soar skywards through the night air. The only discernible movement, several packs of four-legged animals descending the gentle mountain slopes either side of the deathly drop into The Cleft. The mirror cliff face to the east constituted one side of a squarish plateau with a town nestled high and safe. The other two sides of the plateau eventually tapering off to meet the final side, low with a manageable slope, although still requiring a twisting trail with back-switches to reach the Town Gate.

She detected the life within; behind the walls, hidden in the houses, the well-fed human cattle brimming with fresh blood.

“In time we shall feast.”

The thought gently entered her mind. Sympathetic? She searched for the trap or the trick in his words as she reluctantly banked away from the promising feast to comply with her Master’s order. She craved new prey, spoilt by the sweet energic taste of her thrall’s blood which now sadly deteriorated night after night due to their arduous journey, battling the snow and wind in haste.

Her Master drew her to the Cavern Entrance, located under the town side of the Cleft. Her senses highly attuned to find him, an overwhelming urge to join him annoyingly twitched inside her brain. An instinct she tried to resist, without success. Resigned to the realisation he Sired her, she bent to his will.

“Send in your thralls first, there is one they must subdue.”

She returned to her camp, two horses tethered to stakes in the snow cleared ground, the six bodies of her thralls in bedrolls, enwrapped in blankets and furs. Exactly as she left them. While night surrounded her, she knew the pre-dawn would arrive shortly by instinct, the impending doom a constant restriction.

She looked down into her box, the sides painted with her blood, baked upon the wooden boards which made up the base, four sides and lid, hardened gloss red. The sacrifice of blood affording her protection from sunlight, restoration and renewal. Most importantly, mobility as her thralls could transport her during their waking hours. Her Master instructed her how to create a temporary haven by sacrificing her precious blood, fortunately a ready and plentiful supply of victims in Bircharbor allowed her to make up the substantial blood loss in a glorious slaughter.

She reached in and chose her other red dress. With deliberate slowness she fitted the luxurious garment upon her sensual body. The dress her choice therefore her pleasure, a snug fit accentuating her full and renewed flesh contours, she slid her hands down from breasts to hips in celebration once in full raiment.

Laying in her box she commanded her thralls to wake, break their fast, seal her sanctuary and suspend the box between the two horses. She imprinted in their minds the destination, the Cavern Entrance and the path to take. Then upon the arrival of dusk she would rise and command them further.

After several repetitions the slinging of her box between the horses became routine, steady and calming, no longer concerned with them dropping her. Her box shattering under dawn sunlight a near destructive outcome.

---

His Master urged him on, and so he sacrificed pairs of horses to speed, the exhausted and worn out horses exchanged at each village stable from the City to this final village, or perhaps more rightly hamlet, the Inn at the foot of the winding trail dominating several nearby cottages.

Accursed daylight remained, his eyes sensitive, although the dullness of Death Season a blessing. He didn’t understand the function of the Items, only the consequences. His evil suppressed, not only presence, also innate talents and weaknesses, including the curse of sunlight. His human co-conspirators not encumbered by his condition, their presence ordered by his Master, their rise in position and power manipulated and plotted and now they needed to repay a portion of the price.

The Inn’s chimney puffed out billowing smoke, soon swept away by the Northern wind, the Mage first to appreciate the significance.

“We stop here.” He eyed the winding trail, judging their chances. The condition of the horses, exhausted to the point of silence, neither a whimper nor a snort as their driver relaxed them to a walk.

Swivelling his head towards the Mage, he growled, “With sunlight the gates will not yet be closed, we can enter now.”

“The horses won’t make the gates.”

“We will acquire new horses,” he snapped back.

“The stable has no obvious bales of hay, the corral gate open, therefore no horses to be acquired I suspect and even if there were by the time they were stolen or purchased and then harnessed dusk would be upon us.”

A light dusting of snow floated downwards, a pause in the until then constant blowing wind. The Mage could hear their fearless leader grind his teeth, knew he wished to charge forward and now frustrated he couldn’t. He couldn’t suppress the smugness he felt at that moment. For the entire journey, the five others kept silent, no discord, no murmurings, obedient, sleeping in the wagon, eating in the wagon and taking their ablutions in the wagon. Male or female sharing no privacy with regards to the chamber pot and the snow mush sprayed by the contents when emptied behind the moving wagon. Their haste resulting in unusual arrival times at the various villages and the waking of stable hands or simply pure theft during the night.

“We walk from here, all out.”

“I need time to make ready, casting magic isn’t like wielding a sword, I need rest and meditation to clear and prepare. One night is all I ask and then tomorrow I know I will succeed.”

He couldn’t steal or purchase horses which didn’t exist, he couldn’t force the Mage to cooperate otherwise the fool would run at the first opportunity and he would need to slay him probably raising the alarm, if not immediately then after the discovery of his blood drained husk of body. The House would need to be entered violently and again risk discovery. Thwarted.

He commanded two of his companions to negotiate with the Innkeeper, while he negotiated with his Master.

While resting awake in his bunk in the Inn he contemplated his actions to date. The past he couldn’t change, the future though, required the death of the Mage, immediately if possible, in time otherwise and then manipulation of circumstances to ensure his reward would be to remain by his Master’s side instead of skulking around the City in a false form, manipulating and inhibiting like a puppet on a string for an unknown purpose and for unknown reasons.

---

She smelt her several days ago and easily located her lair. Spying upon the building during the day fruitless, during night though a large night black bat flew from the double storied building roof, although before dusk the nocturnal beast returned. Over the course of several nights rascals and scoundrels would approach and be invited into the building.

One morning the routine changed, none visited the market, instead a wagon pulled by two horses disappeared into the workshop on the ground floor, the teamster shortly after hurrying away, his head swivelling rapidly, searching, drawing his heavy jacket about his shoulders.

She followed his steps in the light snow, confirmed by his sweat, fear oozed from him. His first stop an Inn, several drinks in silence and then to a warehouse and his confessional. Two other humans consoling him. He didn’t believe their story, supplies for Needlepines they said and yet as he left and glanced back, they began unloading the wagon.

Abandoning her training for the day she watched the two storied building. Shortly after hammering started, lasting until mid-afternoon and then silence. At dusk no giant bat flew from the building, instead the iron scent of human blood drifted towards her upon the chill wind. The wild nature of the wolf in her challenging the revulsion expressed by her human nature. Standing, gripping a doorway, she staggered away, needing escape from the temptation, her inner wolf calling to her, salivating at the prospect of devouring prey.

Before dawn, with effort she returned. The smell of blood still drifted upon the air, although feint. She wrinkled her nose and concentrated on her task at hand witnessing the departure of the now covered wagon being driven by two rogues, one wielding a long whip.

After negotiating the back streets, the rogues drove the wagon at walking pace towards the Town Gate. A thrown leather purse arced towards the approaching guard, who, after an inspection waved the wagon through, another guard pushing one side of the gate open after removing the crossbar.

Her human façade remained in her rented room, which included weapons, armour and clothes. Her loin cloth and breast wrap remained, covering a slim pale skinned, blue-eyed female escaping the Inn through an impossibly small window assisted by petite breasts and narrow hips. Her Inn conveniently situated near the Town Gate and the roof height sufficient for her to leap and reach the wall, escape her priority in case of discovery when she first arrived and serving her now.

With perfect timing, she leapt and reached the wall without raising an alarm from the patrolling pre-dawn guards. Leaping from the wall her human form morphed into a large white snow wolf, the two pieces of cloth bound around her flying free, carried away by the fluttering northern wind. Landing on all fours, her white fur insulating against the snow and cold she bounded towards the trail originating from the town gate, quickly picking up their scent and also their wagon wheel runts in the snow.

Half a day down the trail the humans seemingly abandoned the wagon, unloading a single long box. The humans then unhitched the two horses pulling the wagon and after many attempts, including several near drops slung the long box between the domesticated beasts. The reins still attached they lashed the horses to strike out across the open snow, pushing a path when deep, catching a breath otherwise, an unnatural haste upon them.

While her white coat provided excellent camouflage, the evil she smelt would display her full powers and be most dangerous at night. If the evil could see into the night, perhaps using bat sonar, distance and caution would protect her more than camouflage. Their scent hung in the air and with little snow falling they wouldn’t allude her. Their forced passage through the snow also obvious.

After two days their destination became clear. Unerringly straight, like a bird they hurried towards the Cleft, favouring the plateau or town side or perhaps the Cavern underneath. She stretched out her form, her sleek muscles under her white coat carrying her lightly over the snow in leaps and bounds. Given their struggling pace she knew she could skirt around to avoid detection and still beat them to their destination.

---

His strength ebbed; his eyes lids flicking open in response, revealing malevolent red bloodshot eyes, black pupils expanding. A new sensation, a horrifying sensation, although for now disturbingly subtle, a consequence of his lack of feeding, understandable he reasoned with himself, dismissing his concern. He immediately shared his displeasure with his minions, encouraging them to haste under threat of dire consequences.

His cold stone bed now a comfort more than ever offering safety. An unexpected gift from his foolish minion who did at least prepare the space well, the depression in the stone well protected from the accursed sunlight. The late afternoon sunset the true threat, able to enter the Cavern proper.

Reduced to hibernating, waiting patiently day and night to conserve his strength, the instinctive triggers of pre-dawn and pre dusk waking him, enabling him to torment his followers, to urge them to action and his rescue. His humiliation palatable. Brought low by fate and circumstance eloquently enabled by Judge’s curses, the blood bags not even realising they served no purpose in his imprisonment. As jailors inadequate, as guards pitiful, no they would finally realise their true purpose as he feasted upon each one, slowly sampling each in turn, night after glorious night in retribution for their misjudgement and overreach contesting his centuries of cultivated might and power.

---

“Welcome daughter, you have done well in smelling out this evil. We were warned a mighty evil is trapped and would be calling to those it commands to rescue it.”

Her mother released her from their shared embrace.

“The one I tracked an old evil, those with her are under her thrall, if we could destroy her, they would be freed mother.”

Her mother explored the snow at her feet, with a naked right foot. “How many?”

“Six guard her, and horses carry her in a box during daylight. Our pack many.”

“Her box is her sanctuary from the sun, destroying it would at the very least inconvenience her.” Her mother’s laughter a light crystal tinkle, enjoyable. Reassuring.

Another joined them, morphing smoothly from snow wolf to naked human.

“Mother. Sister.” She nodded at each in turn. “Do we hunt?”

“Yes, we attack at dawn. As they prepare her box for transport, we threaten and frighten the two horses into bolting and then retreat ourselves. They will perhaps mistake our purpose, horseflesh instead of evil. Her servants will need to carry her, tiring them and reducing the number able to defend when the pack returns in the afternoon.”

The two sisters embraced, the late arrival transforming to her wolf form smoothly bounding away until she realised her sister remained behind.

“You hesitate daughter?”

Her daughter looked far away, unknown to her mother chewing the inside of her cheek. Taking one step and then another following her sister until she dropped to her haunches. Her sister glancing over her snow-white fur shoulder paused, apprehensive, transforming back into her human form, returning.

Her mother’s arms wrapped around her, before she could blink, let alone recover from her burden. Silence. She would need to speak, her mother’s patience infinite.

“My inner wolf called to me mother, I almost succumbed.” Her head remained bowed. Her mother’s arm held her all the closer, while her hand waved her other daughter to a stop.

“The evil spilt blood in Bircharbor, barrels of blood, in my human form my sense of smell overpowered, my inner wolf growled. I could only stumble away or be lured into the slaughter. Luck mother, pure luck, a stronger breeze, spying from a building adjacent instead of across the street and the evil would have enthralled me if I answered the call.” Tears splashed upon the snow as her arms reached for her mother, turning in her embrace to do so.

Her mother ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair, kissing her forehead. Her other daughter placing a hand over her mouth in response to her sister’s confession.

“You and your sister are a product of your mother’s union with your father and your inner wolf will always call to you because in that form resides your primordial strength. Your go to nature when your mind can’t comprehend. Fortunately, your mother contributed your humanity and iron will. You didn’t pass your test due to fate, your mind recognised the danger and remained in command. So, hush daughter and celebrate your triumph.”

The wind whistled about them, pushing and propelling snow flourishes in celebration. The natural display ignored by the two still embracing and the third silently observing.

“You contributed humanity mother? You aren’t wolf also?”

Her mother’s hand patted her back along her spine, her mother’s head rested upon her shoulder.

“My ancestry is, at least for now, unique. I am known as a Descendant.” Her mother stood and invited her second daughter to stand with her sister.

“A demonstration is probably the easiest explanation, so please be brave and stand your ground.”

Their mother exploded into a ball of thick brown fur; the black muzzle of the Brown Bear issued a low growl. The Brown Bear shrunk and before them stood a naked male, although not any male, a masculine copy of their mother. She then resumed her, to her daughters at least, true shape. The daughters advanced upon their mother questions on the tips of their tongues when her shape bubbled and distorted, skin flexing and shaping until another female stood before them. The face a hint only of the truth, the ears especially non-descript.

“Don’t you recognise me?”

“One of the Seers, mother. Niobe?” answered a daughter.

“Yes Isadora.”

Their mother’s skin flexed and shaped again into another female form and before the form settled her daughters knew who her mother impersonated.

“Zoe!”

“Yes Isabella.”

“Why, mother.” Isadora gently explored her mother’s new face. “Perfect. Why not Niobe?”

“I have tasted Zoe’s blood daughter, while I have only seen the other.”

“Are we still your daughters?” asked Isabella, her voice on the brink of cracking.

“Of course, nothing has changed between us.” She drew both of her daughters to her in a family embrace.

“Why do you tell us now?” asked Isadora.

Their mother smiled upon both of them, a warm motherly smile. “Next Death Season you will each run a pack to challenge any evil which tries to control the mountains while I continue on my quest to find a perfect mate.”

“Aren’t you unique?” They both asked as one.

“To my knowledge, although I hope in this case my knowledge isn’t complete. Now go, defeat the evil which dares to challenge our domain.”

As they turn to transform, one last question from Isadora. “Who are you a Descendant of?”

“Mother needs to keep at least one secret, go!” She waves them away, silently confident after two more seasons they will be ready and after a hundred years of preparation she would be also.

---

Dione rode with her sisters, although leading in front instead of scouting ahead as the farm gate loomed ahead in a shadowy wind-swept dusk. Zoe and Alcmene rode as a pair next with Niobe last, leading their string of spare horses behind her.

As Dione rode triumphantly through the farm gate, lanterns from the farmhouse lit up the yard.

With a shout the farmer welcomed them and waved them towards the stable.

The sisters began the arduous task of grooming their horses, checking on hay and oats to ensure the extra horses could be accommodated.

“Come sisters, I am sure Niobe will care for the extra horses. We need to greet the farmer before he wonders where we are,” said Dione.

Niobe held to her task, grooming the next horse. Alcmene assisting her.

“As one of Charis’ Lady Three I believe the duty falls to you Dione,” said Zoe as she also began the grooming of another horse.

“Um, yes well you are correct of course.” Dione hesitated, half turning towards the farmhouse. “I will be sure to let the farmer know to save a meal for you.” Dione strode through the stable doors confident, her sisters, including two Seers recognising her right to lead, and represent the Daughters of the Duchess.

In a defeated voice Niobe said, “I can groom the horses if you wish to follow Dione.”

On tippy toes Zoe peered over her horse. “Sister I believe Astera and I don’t wish to follow Dione … to the farmer’s house until the work is completed.” Not waiting for a reaction Zoe resumed her grooming.

“She is correct sister. Dione has become different in some way. Don’t respond to Zoe, although at some stage sneak a look at Dione’s Stallion, he is more than an ordinary horse and I believe spies upon us.”

Niobe experienced first-hand Dione’s teasing and oddities, she reported the more unusual. Deliberate and calculated she couldn’t believe, although sneaking a glance, the Stallion’s head faced them, both ears pricked forward.

---

The howling and excited yelping echoed off the cavern walls, the volume increasing as her heartbeat hammered in her chest. Whatever the cause or reason the calamity would soon enter the Main Cavern. Nysa checked a glance at Kyra and shared an urgent look with Alexis. Alexis returning a strong nod, indicating she contacted her Seer Sisters in the Inner Cavern calling for help.

Two desperate men in a scrambling, half stumbling run burst through the Main Cavern Entrance. Their leather armour in places shredded, each hauling one end of a narrow human height box upon their shoulders. The larger of the two collapsed from the effort, exhausted, several steps inside the end of the long box crashing hard upon stone floor with a loud crack, echoing until fading. The snow wolf released his leg, now shredded and blood covered, bolting in the direction of the Cleft.

The smaller man kept struggling forward like a man processed, his strength beyond normal, awkwardly dragging his end of the box further inside the Main Cavern. A sudden stop, his mouth wide in one final gasp as his strength failed and his end of the box slid from his shoulder dropping heavily onto the stone floor of the Cavern. The lid sprung free, revealing the red painted interior, lantern light reflecting from the hardened red gloss.

The small man crashed to the floor like a felled tree, landing on top of the now open box. Two arms wrapped him in an embrace, the scene heartfelt as their heads rested side by side. Then with his final breath he screamed, his pale, blood drained body flung away.

Nysa and Kyra took in the scene, unable to comprehend the snow wolf, the two men and now the female occupant of the box and how to digest their story. The whites of Nysa’s eyes showed as a young woman, in a highly fashionable dress stepped out of the red box, a finger pushing one last drop of blood into her mouth, which then flashed a satisfied smile her way, while her devouring eyes drank in the possibility of another feast.

Alexis stood stock still, incapable of any movement as fear gripped her heart. Nysa realise then the creature standing before them represented true evil and her instincts took over. Trying to comprehend the unfolding scene suddenly unimportant.

Kicking the broken walls of her box away she raised her arms in triumph as she sensed her Master’s presence trying to call upon him, his rescue at hand. Her thoughts of independence a fallacy of exuberance, she now realised where she should truly be, firmly within his shadow, his dark, evil, malevolent shadow.

Her euphoria trembled as an unexpected challenge arose.

Nysa drew upon the light of Judge within her soul, raised her shield and strode forward to confront the evil celebrating before her. This wasn’t the overbearing, all powerful evil which swept her away previously. This new evil less. Nysa absolutely convinced in the purity of her faith and belief, challenging with the unrelenting and purposeful duty of an ordained Judge Knight to vanquish evil.

The young woman lost her composure under Nysa’s assault, her body bending over, her knees giving way, all the while fixed in position. The seven-pointed sunburst emblazoned upon the shield this human presented pierced her black heart, fear and destruction filling the dark recesses. The surprise of the unknown assault leading to her demoralisation. In truth she could have swept this Knight away for the cost of some pain, like her Master. The fear of the unknown, never before experienced humbled her.

Her Master answered her call and filled her with his presence, her fear washed away in an instant, her spine straightened. Nysa now wondered.

“Be gone, take away your faith in a false God. I am done with being pursued.” She raised her head and snarled in Nysa’s direction, her extended eye teeth on display.

Not again, never again, Nysa pressed forward compelling the evil to shun the Holy Symbol of Judge glowing upon her shield. The eyes of evil turned away, cast to the ground, her arms raised defensively. Nysa drew faith and confidence from the evil’s reaction, true intimidation without pretence! Nysa continued to step forward.

“Master save me,” she screamed as Judge’s symbol forced her back towards the Cavern Entrance one step at a time. The feeble Death Season afternoon sunlight stretched further into the Main Cavern as the moments of contest passed.

Nysa read the fear on the young woman’s face, her youthful appearance and unblemished skin full of stolen life a contrast. Her eyes though held her true age, many years more.

Driven to the brink she transformed into a large bat almost in an instant, her large leathery black wingspan greater than Nysa’s height. Nysa took several steps back, surprised. The bat flew to its Master, seeking refuge and safety, fear urging her on to supreme effort and speed. Recovering, Nysa chased, presenting her shield toward the escaping creature, assaulting the evil with her faith. Alexis now released, sprinted to join Kyra and pick up her own shield.

The bat suddenly stopped as if it hit a wall. The bat paused mid-air for a stunned moment. The fell black creature plummeted and with a thump settled on the cavern floor, the solid hard stone not forgiving and punishing severely. The form changed once again back to that of the young woman. Then Nysa struck, her sword plunged into the heart of the evil, which drew a scream in reply, a scream of someone in a nightmare, unable to wake, unable to prevent further violence, even though they knew they needed to.

Nysa then struck the neck, looking to sever her head from her body. There wasn’t a second strike as the body before her turn into misty fog, what looked like a cloud from the sky come down to ground. It sought escape and the oppressive evil previously exuded no more. Then a beam of light attacked it, it recoiled and tried another direction. Again, the light struck it and then it found a direction where the light did not strike it and in fact eventually found a darkness to hide in.

“The reflective sunlight didn’t seem to affect the Master, but it sure affects his servant!” announced Alexis. As Alexis held the silver shield steady, the Goblin Sisters quickly melded the stone, sealing the entrance to the sisters once upon a time bed shelf with solid stone.

Somewhere, far from where they were attacked by snow wolves four humans woke; cold and shivering, now released from their nightmare. Two others weren’t as fortunate; the effort expended at the urging of their Mistress ended their lives, although she did help one to his end quickly and without mercy. When the survivors heard the growls nearby, they instinctively ran from them. Within a bell, almost exhausted, they saw each other across the snow-covered land and ran to form two groups of two, companions before this trauma and therefore some reassurance, the only reassurance available to face their fate. Once they embraced, the howling from the wolves ceased, only the silence of a gentle wind gusting across the snow remained, reminding them of how cold they really were! Across the snow-covered field, a horse dug into the snow using its hoof, trying to uncover foliage, the two observers not believing their luck. A similar disbelief visited the other pair.