Page 141 of Deadly Maiden

My undead number one hundred and twenty-three. This is more than enough. Most can remain down here.

One hundred and four. Ninety-one.

What’s going on?

I study the length of the tower, a red-and-gray brick needle of a thing with that single door at the bottom.

Smoke and flame puff out the tower’s lower windows. Someone is destroying the undead with ease. I expected this might happen. A fire mage is in there.

“You.” I cock my finger and thumb at the globby darkthing pottering about at my ankles. “Time for you to do your thing... Glob.” I name it in a fit of passion. Why not christen it? Death is all around, and I plan to suck it dry. Glob will not be Glob soon.

I practiced on the boat, in the comfort of the cabin, using tiny shards to knock targets off a shelf.

I can do this.I march to the door and look up, jump backward to dodge a rolling ball of flame that has barreled down the stairway frizzling everything it touches. I glimpse the mage, a woman with red hair—how appropriate. “I can do this,” I tell myself and emerge from my hiding place before she can conjure another fireball.

Standing in the doorway, I splay my fingers, pretend to throw my hand up the stairs, watch the darkthing shards arrow upward like black bees. The mage ducks, and I only kill a soldier hiding behind her. I summon another handful and throw a second flock of shards, miss again.

My glob is down to half size. Frowning, cursing, I create one larger arrowhead of darkthing, wait for her to step out with a fireball rolling in her hand, but she drops down the stairwell, her coat flaring like wings. She lands neatly, throws her flame.

I spin and flatten myself to the tower wall beside the doorway. The heat sears my face as it whizzes past and crispy fries about thirty-four of my undead.

“Damn it.” I hate hand to hand, but I may need Glob later on. Hearing her coming at speed, I unsheathe my sword, reach in, and ram it point first in mid-air, mid-doorway, at stomach level. She runs into, at neck level. Trying to surprise me? Much of her neck is severed. Blood gouts appallingly, splashing door frame and floor.

I retch then jump her twitching body and begin my cautious jog up the stairway, avoiding the severed limbs, torsos, the heads rolling, the little blazes smoldering on clothes and flesh, and the embers drifting. Another massacre. This is getting to be a bad habit, one that I would like to forsake. Is anyone up there left alive? The stairwell crackles and stinks of smoke and released bowels but is otherwise quiet. I summon ten of my army and ascend.

The rest can be a rearguard. As long as no more fire mages appear.

As long as nothing above me is deadly to my undead…

And I can heal Rorsyd and pull out that iron…

Today is almost a victory. I do not care if Jannik Stryke is a gibbering, mind-lost fool.

Okay. I scowl at myself as we go up step by painful step. My undead are slow on stairs and keep falling over.

I do care about Jannik. I do. I simply have priorities.

We pass two floors, and the doors leading onto them, and keep going.

Then a man is roars and a blade rings on stone. Pieces of undead fly past, heading to ground level. A head drops, then another.

I can see the swing of that blade a few yards overhead.

“Sorry, Glob.” I grab the last of his darkthing matter and assemble the shape into three finely wrought flechettes, thin enough to sneak through the finest gaps. I need to see the target though.

Another three heads topple past on the steps, bouncing. He knows how to kill undead, this warrior. The bastard.

I lean into the tower wall, inch upward, see him dispatch my last two undead. He grins at me with a mouthful of teeth, his two-handed great sword angled across his chest.

With another roar, he heads for me, negotiating the steps with ease and speed.

I flick my dark arrows at him and slice him into three neatish parts, which flop to the steps as he kicks out his last life. Or rather as his lower torso kicks. His head portion is gasping for air, his chest twitching.

I press my lips together and sidle past, aiming to avoid the worst of the guts and gore.

The steps end. Cautiously, I peer around me. I am alone.

I’ve reached the top floor with only the coned roof above.

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