“I don't care about my enemies because my enemies care more about me”

- Anuj Jasani

‘I did not even get to present any kind of argument!’ Vanessa fumed silently as she shot through the silent trees. ‘I did plan to kill her.’ The next step was especially forceful and snow sprayed behind her, ‘But she seemed approachable and I risked talking. Much good it did me in the end. This Lily character was no innocent flower. Anyone participating in the ritual at the fort was prepared to spend a lot of lives.’

She had released control of the shadelings and most would simply fade back into their home dimension after the supporting magic failed. A few might reach a location saturated with magic and if particularly lucky manage to stay for a few years.

Nothing to worry about.

She was really worried about Iseret, Alyssa and her friends. Alea would be the most natural choice to combat a void magic user.

She sighed.

And she was also the youngest and most vulnerable among them.

The loggers camp at night

“Good to see you all.” Iseret grinned as Mireille jumped involuntarily from fright and reflexively lifted her hands. “It’s only me. Vanessa is still south, looking for the source of the undead.”

“Puuh. You nearly gave me a heart attack! Are we really so inattentive?” Mireille huffed.

“No. The sentries seem reasonably alert but don’t forget that this is what I was trained for.” The snake-woman gave a half-smile. “After sneaking into the camp to look for you, I did not want to go back and argue with your guardians about my reason for being here.”

“Mh. Makes sense. How are things with the dryads...dryad?” Mireille corrected herself with a slight stutter.

“We had an attempt by a group of soldiers from the northern army on Sirviel and her protectors. Of which I was a part this time. We had some problems but with the help of her magic managed to rout them. It seems they deemed it wiser to leave the area?”

“We did not see hide nor hair of them. There is still one of those machines behind the log cabin. It seems defective, maybe used for parts.”

“Good to know. And you and the others are on your way to the fortress?”

“Mh.”

“Iseret!” Alyssa walked up to them with energetic strides.

“Alyssa.” Iseret frowned as she inspected her. “Is it the light or...you look really pale and thinner than I remember from a few days ago?”

Alyssa fidgeted and then shrugged, “We had a most unpleasant time of it. When we were traveling, we were apprehended by Nordmark soldiers which then brought us to an encampment. There we soon realized that they wanted us as prisoners, hostages, or something else. And when push came to shove, I used a lot of void magic.” Scratching lines into the snow with the tip of her boot, she continued, “But I still have two potions left- And it's not that bad, really!”

“Tell that to Vanessa when she comes back. But if it was necessary, it was necessary. I can’t begrudge you defending yourself and your friends. Do try not to kill yourself. In the worst case, it might not stick.”

“Who is that? Do I know you?” A male student with a stocky build and dark brown hair, well in need of a thorough cleaning, addressed them. He wore the usual heavy winter coat, sloppily buttoned.

“That is Alea’s maid Iseret Sekesh.”

“She had a maid!” The young man looked highly indignant, and his face grew red. “And for a mere scion of a viscount. I, as the heir of a major barony, did not have even a single servant. The indignity!”

Alyssa had to stifle a laugh at that.

“Greetings, my lord. I was not present for the training. But rumors made it seem like my presence would be needed. So I came from Fort Wolfsbane and met friends of my mistress. Just now, I was asking for her whereabouts.” Iseret skillfully positioned herself so that the khopesh was not as visible.

“Mh. Then…” Under the scrutiny of slit-yellow eyes and looking at the handsome and exotic woman before him, the student began to stutter. “...that is probably alright. Good night.” Not prolonging the awkwardness, he hurriedly walked back to the tents.

“That was Viktor Turmalin von Tiefenmoor. A barony some days travels to the south. I think they are known for their beer?” Alyssa pondered.

“Mh. Worse things you could be known for, really.” Mireille grinned. “Even when I don’t think I get the taste.”

As the young man walked out of sight, Iseret continued, “I was sent by the tribesmen protecting Sirviel to scout the situation. They had too many wounded, and as they will not leave even in the face of a superior foe, I was asked.”

“Do you mean to stay?” Mireille shook her head, “dumb question. You still have to tell them what you found, but...after that?”

“I don’t know. You seem well-protected, and I would like to wait for Vanessa before deciding what to do. Depending on what she found, there could be something we have to do quickly.”

“Most likely.” Alyssa nodded and looked at Asandria, hanging unobtrusively in the air behind her. “Do you feel anything different?”

‘No. The void is no longer getting stronger. But it is far from getting weaker either.’ She looked faintly displeased. ‘You and I should profit from that, but everyone else might suffer in the longer term. Especially if using magic.’

“Like warmth and cleaning spells.”

‘Like that.’

“Mireille.”

“Yes?”

“If you see someone using magic- not items- tell them to be careful. There is a lot of void magic in the air.”

“Good that I can not use much else but my lightning.” Mireille nodded affirmatively. “I will.”

Alyssa escorted Iseret past a young teacher and a female second-year student standing sentry. The young man frowned at the snake-woman but otherwise did not hinder them while muttering, “There was a snake-folk but wasn’t she left at the fort?”

Iseret turned and looked at Alyssa. Her left eye flickered with darkness, the illusion magic not sufficient to fool her acute senses. The skin was white as the surrounding snow, and the breathing was so shallow it might as well not be there. It reminded her a lot of Vanessa, which made her repress a frown. Hopefully, everything went well. She was beginning to miss her. She nodded at the girl and, with a quick wave, turned around and strode into the quiet woods.

Alyssa looked after her until even her enhanced night vision lost the departing figure between the trees.

Mireille meanwhile walked back to their tent, rubbing her hands in a redundant effort- the enchantment still held- to gain a bit more warmth.

Inside the tent was Alea lying on her bedroll with her arm resting over her blindfolded eyes while letting Cecily read a complicated spell-scroll.

‘A special way to read, to be sure.’ Mireille thought and grinned to herself.

Annabeth was talking animatedly to Valens while keeping her voice down.

Vivienne was napping inside her bedroll, seemingly exhausted by the trek through the wilderness.

Cyrus was grooming himself and fiercely gnawing on his talons.

Butler One stood beside the tent flap and acknowledged her entry with a slight turn of its porcelain mask.

The next day saw them trudging up the narrow ledge going up the ridge the group around Alyssa had descended just a few days ago.

‘That was a whole lot sooner than I had hoped. It will be good to get back to civilization.’ Laughing at herself because of her inflated expectations. Alyssa walked carefully behind Mireille. ‘If I slip, she will get to me faster than I can hit the ground- probably.’

Looking at the back of her friend, covered in a thick coat with red hair sticking this way, she looked more like a ranger than Zhira. Cyrus had taken a seat on the wagon, and because most students were fit to walk again, no one had objected too strenuously. He would have to learn to fly sooner rather than later. With two strong legs and his clawed wings, he could ‘walk’ relatively quickly, but it did not only look a bit clumsy, but it was also relatively slow and tiring. As long as he could perch on her shoulder, that was not a problem but even carrying him in her arms was no longer really feasible for longer distances.

The town of Mannsbruck some days to the east (from Sirviels grove)

Sitting inside a large carriage with thick curtains fixed to the wood with nails Zygmund von Nordmark swayed with the rocking motion of the wheels rumbling over the uneven road. “When was the last time I invested in the roads? The year before last? I will have whoever pocketed my money for such shoddy work whipped within an inch of his life.” Cursing, he strained against the drowsiness. It was well past noon, and the worst had passed, but the eye of Gesserach punished him even through the heavy oak paneling shielding him from the sunlight.

The younger frost elf sat opposite and kept a watchful eye on the cranky vampire.

“It should get better soon. We are also nearing the epicenter of the ritual. That should supply you with void and block some of the light energy of the sun.” Against his better judgment, the elf tried to lighten the gloomy atmosphere.

At the mention of the ritual, the old noble grimaced. “Sacrificing what is mine is never pleasant. Even when it is the dregs of the peasantry, spilling their blood in wars is one thing, but pulling the roots and salting the ground, as it were, will be costly. Villages, maybe even a town, will fall, and nothing will remain but the dead.” He looked as if he were grieving, and as the frost-elf looked at him in surprise, the older man continued, “They are mine! I spill their blood. I spend their lives. Killing them off, even for my goddess, is hard to swallow.”

Ivyander, the elf, shrugged internally. He had rarely seen someone so fixated on his own wants and needs. But perhaps he simply had not been in contact with enough nobles. He was too young to have experienced the elven empire and what came after were village elders and councils. Those were no longer the magnificent elven nobles of the past. They had mostly perished anyway. Would that the imperial family had survived, then there could have been a rallying point, something to build around, build anew.

But the surviving old ones with the most ability and wisdom were cautious, fearful, and plain cowardly. Only the young who knew no better clung to the hope for a better future rather than pine for a lost past that would never come again.

Silence returned, broken only by shifting cloth and the grinding of teeth as the vampire resisted the call to sleep.

An interminable amount of time later, the swaying stopped, and the coach arrived at their first destination.

The door was opened after a short knock, and they saw the head of the guard detail a grim-looking older man with snow-white hair but still impressive muscles straining against his sleeves. “We have arrived, my lord. Lodgings have been prepared, and we have several eyewitnesses about the disaster at the prisoner's camp. News from the north is more favorable, I have been told.”

“Then let us not waste time. Ivyander, with me.” Zygmund von Nordmark alighted from the carriage and gazed at the muddy ground in distaste. He wore a fur-lined expensive-looking woolen coat in dark grey stitched with geometric designs, as well as polished black boots with silver buckles. A cloak clasped before his chest with a silver chain, and on his left breast, the coat of arms of Nordmark. A slim sword hung at his left hip. Some heavy gold rings, including his signet ring, as well as a heavy chain of office, were his only ornamentation.

Undead agreed with him, and his wrinkled skin was much smoother but still ancient looking. Deep-set dark eyes glinted in the dim light, and his mouth and demeanor exuded casual cruelty.

The coach had stopped before an inn in a small town. The residents were quickly dispersing as they saw their lord. Fear shone in many eyes, and mothers dragged the few children with them.

Dim red streaks shone on the clouds far above as it was still shortly after dusk. The inn meanwhile was emptied by the guardsmen who, just at this moment, shoved an older, portly merchant into the streets.

“I was still eating! And I paid already for the night. My luggage!” A cuff to the back of the head cut off the protests.

“You can rest in the prison if you so much as breathe loudly.” A middle-aged soldier grinned maliciously.

“Where is my…” Another cuff and the merchant tumbled into the frozen slush of the street, darkened by unidentifiable substances. Spluttering, he tried to get up but was kicked down again.

“Have you finally learned to hold your tongue?”

Nodding fearfully, the merchant laboriously stood up again. Several other guests were leaving, some wearing just ordinary house clothes while shivering in the cold.

“My daughter…” The old merchant tried a final time, but as he saw the guard balling a fist, he gave a whimper and quickly limped after the other guests.

“The inn has been prepared as per your orders, your grace.” The captain nodded at the younger soldier, who returned the nod and went into the inn.

Zygmund gave a brief acknowledgment and entered together with Ivyander.

The innkeeper and several maids stood to the side, bowing deeply as he entered. Several soldiers kept a close eye on them.

A large fireplace cast flickering shadows on the dimly lit taproom. A large wagon wheel was hoisted near the ceiling with chains, and several candles were burning shedding a soft light. The floor was made of wooden planks closely fitted and clean, even as some dark spots had soaked into the wood, never to be removed. A hint of tobacco smoke still curled in the air.

“W...w...welcome, your lordship!” The corpulent innkeeper managed a greeting.

Zygmund frowned and then said dismissively, “Ensure my men are fed and given lodging. I need your taproom for a confidential meeting. You and the barmaids can wait in the kitchen. If I want something, I will call. You will not enter without being bidden. If you do, it will be the last thing you ever do. Understood?”

“Yes!” The innkeeper hurriedly walked into the kitchen, not before giving some orders to the maids.

“Lars, my boy.” The vampire smiled at a man descending the stairs in the back.

“My Lord!” Lars von Nordstrom bowed his head. “Good to see you well.”

“Never better. Never better.” Zygmund sat at the largest table back to the fireplace, features cast in shadow. “Tell me about your assignment.”

“It worked just as planned! After the commandant died, the army wanted vengeance. The old diplomat from the tribes has been captured, and all over the border, skirmishes have broken out.” Lars smiled before looking around and grabbing a flask of ale. “May I? It’s been thirsty work.”

“Drink! You have earned it. If you need something more, I can have the maids bring it. This inn should be the best in town, so don’t hold back. But isn’t there a bit more you have not told yet?”

Lars, who had been in a good mood, began to sweat a bit, loosening his collar. He wore a frilled, white shirt beneath a dark-blue samite vest with black cloth pants. “The soldiers sent to capture the academy group failed. Through some sorcery or other, they woke large amounts of undead and killed or dispersed the surviving troops.” He breathed in deeply and sighed. “I was at the front at this time and had no idea things were going so badly. But a lot of the students and their teachers were killed, so...there is that I suppose.” He fell silent, drinking another large swallow of ale.

“And you did not think to lead with that? Many soldiers in which I invested considerable resources dead, the academy group is now firmly opposed to us, and no hostages. I would term it an unmitigated disaster. Choosing the right subordinates to succeed where one cannot be present in person is also a vital skill.” Dark eyes bored into the younger nobleman. “But thankfully, all is not lost. I contacted ‘our’ academy, and the dean Irene Wellinghorst has dispatched a group of mages and promising students to support our soldiers.”

“Irene Wellinghorst? Wasn’t there some discord not so long ago?”

“Nonsense. We are of one mind in this matter. The academy of the arts is no longer as it was. Teaching useless commoners and diluting the attention and resources, the school should rightly focus on those of noble blood. In addition, there is their squeamishness regarding useful applications of necromancy, summoning, and other magics that are not as well regarded by the ‘common’ folk. And there it is again. Appeasement of our lessers. Beat them down, I say.” Zygmund licked a protruding canine and looked around, a hungry glint in his eyes. Lars saw and gestured toward another flask of ale. The old noble waved dismissively. “I will later have a ‘meal’ brought to my chambers. Now is the time for planning.” Turning to the captain waiting nearby, he said. “Bring in the eyewitnesses. I want to hear it for myself. Lars, you should stay and listen too.”

Two men and one woman, the men, still bandaged and with an unhealthy complexion, entered accompanied by soldiers.

“The first thing I saw was the earth bursting open and a skeleton clambering out. It had a black shadow in its hands, and then it killed Lemuel...and then…”

“...the officers had been running at this point, so I did what they did. There were those skeletons everywhere...”

The woman wore the robes of a magician without the insignia of the kingdom's army, making her an adjunct to the Nordmark’s household troops. She was in her early thirties with a plain face and dishwater blond hair bound in a loose ponytail.

“Just about when the red moon had risen to its zenith, there was a massive surge of something. In retrospect, I think it must have been void magic. The area was saturated the day after. And someone or a few someones must have known what was to come and used it. I cannot explain how such a large-scale ritual was in place at exactly that moment. And it raised every dead body in an area at least a quarter mile across.” She shook her head. “I ran after getting my squad extricated. Not proud of it, your grace, but there was nothing I could do but die if I had remained. The majority of the troops were already running at that point.”

“Mh.” Zygmund rubbed his chin. “You two have disappointed me gravely.” He looked at the two soldiers. “But I lost enough of you. So extensions of 10 years to your duty and no leave for the next year.” He grinned mirthlessly at their relief. “You.” He looked at the woman. “Did good. Tell your superior that you have been promoted. Dismissed.” He carelessly waved for them to go. The woman bowed and smiled gratefully before hurrying outside, following the wounded soldiers that had departed before her.

“Ivyander. What do you think of that?”

“Without knowing exactly when the void would be released, no ritual to harness it would have been prepared. So either they knew, or it was no ritual. If it was no ritual, it would have been a single caster or a very close-knit pair, perhaps.” He pondered, “No, I don’t think that's possible. Even with my closest associates, it would be impossible without the bounds of a rite.”

He gathered his thoughts and continued. “So...it should have been a single caster. And that is impossible. The only being I know which could spontaneously raise hundreds of undead, even with the help of the free mana, is the queen herself.”