Page 115 of Deadly Maiden

To my left, the first of the undead cracks the soil and shoves his bony arm into the light, wriggles his fingers.

Done.My vision blurs for a few seconds, wobbles, then shrinks back down into crispness.

Impressive, if I do say so myself.

“I don’t know. I can fly us above the wall but who knows what is in there. I was rather more hoping the key would deter those.” He lifts one mighty leg and points with his shiny black claws at where several hundred undead are dragging themselves from their burrows after, probably, fifteen years of sleep.

In that instant, I know that I have succeeded. And who is their mistress.

“Oh, them? Those are now mine.” I smile at my dragon mate, hold my arms out with my fingers reversed and laced, stretching them until they almost crack.

“Them?” If he still had eyebrows Rorsyd would be raising one. “You own them?”

“Mmm-hmmm.”

“IfI was into spanking my female mate, and in man form, you would be getting one. There is still a problem. The arrows everywhere hint at our fate iftheystart shooting.They, meaning our pursuers.”

A glance over my shoulder reveals a troop of thirty or forty cavalry approaching. “True. Let’s walk fast.”

Kyvin lurches forward, joining us as we advance. He shows no signs of recognizing that his relatives are at his feet and climbing from the earth.

“Don’t squash them, please,” I tell Rorsyd. “I could feel them under the soil, waiting for someone to command them.”

“Huh.” He turns his head, looking backward. “Probably for the best. The Aos Sin are lining up as if to charge.”

“Would they have the courage though? It looks as if the king has left Slaedorth alone for ten years or more, after trying to enter in force and losing all these men.”

“Let’s not find out.”

“Once we get through the gate, we should be safe.”

The gate. I study the structure as we weave our meandering path toward it, dodging the emerging undead. Clods of dirt roll off their bodies. Most are dressed in rags, for the soil has hastened the rotting of the cloth. A few lodged arrows rattle or crack within the architecture of their skeletons.

Those who remained on the surface do not move. They cannot be raised. And I can actually sense the difference between them. My parents commanded the others, the raised, to bury themselves. Were these surface corpses surplus? More than they needed? Perhaps.

I have a rule to add to my own necromancer notebook.

Rule One: To raise an undead and make it stable one must, clearly, do it within a certain time frame.

Like Landos. My stomach lurches, and I swallow, twist my mouth. No. No. No. Not going there. It would be the most horrific sacrilege to even try.

Yet…all of these undead had families. That’s bitter food for thought.

When we are closer to the gate, it’s obvious that it has a proper keyhole at head-height. A black-as-sin keyhole. “What do I do?”

“Stick it in?” Rorsyd suggests. “With both hands.”

Wondering why he is specific but suspecting he is following some instructions passed down through the years since the battle, I do as he says. “And?”

“Turn it, then maybe lick it with your hot little tongue, and blow on it?”

I eyeroll. “Dirty dragon.”

“You started this.”

I have a sudden inclination to cover Kyvin’s ears so as not to corrupt him. He is, however, oblivious to flirtatious talk. Our behavior is ridiculous, considering what is behind us. I think both Rorsyd and I are exhausted, and sick of catering to fear. At least we are for today.

Tomorrow may be different.

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