Chapter 3

When the order came, it came without words. It bloomed within her mind, like fire.

One Eye had crouched at the small hill a mile from the walls of Shandil and swept her one eye along the contravallation. The term was alien to her mind, but familiar, fitting onto her long, long tongue like the thumb of a lover. She hissed it out. “Contravallation...” Her tongue flicked and she cocked her head to the side.

The defenders had thick, high stone walls and a harbor. Shandil would not fall to the old mainstays of siege warfare – starvation and privation. It was why Shandil had never fallen during the old war for the Silver Crown. The harbor itself was entirely enclosed within the walls and protected by the city’s respectable naval defenses. There was a thick enough nest of mercenary ships brought by the Corpse King to ensure no one would escape en mass, but there was no way for even a fleet of ships to keep every single fisherman, every single smuggled shipment of food, every single barge and scow out of a harbor.

So.

The Corpse King had built his own defenses. Wooden walls rose and ditches were dig by shambling skeletons while the humans in the army worked their siege weaponry – catapults and balista, launching their missiles at the walls. The walls withstood the attacks, but they prevented the enemy from shooting arrows down at the working dead, and the contravallation was completed before any hope of a sortie could come. Now if the knights of the city came forth, they would ride into fire and death.

One Eye hissed happily.

Her mission throbbed in her, a driving hunger almost as intense as her need for flesh. The Corpse King had whispered it in her ear, that evening.

My One Eye. My finest creation, my fiercest ghoul. You will find this and you will do but a simple thing for me...

The image of her objective burned in her mind. It was so deliciously simple.

A door, concealed and locked, warded and made of stone and wood, with carefully oiled hinges, tucked just so...

One Eye hissed happily, then crouched and crawled, on hands and knees, down the hill. She moved through some shrubs that hadn’t be crushed and trampled, then slipped past several nervous humans – mercenaries from the Black Walkers, watching the walls as the evening began to fall. She laid along the ground like a shadow, her joints twisting and popping out of their sockets with quiet rhythmic snaps as she took advantage of every single aspect of her new found ... mobility. She had once been burly and broad and strong, but her tendons had once been tendons. Now they were magic, void magic, and she used every pivot and lever to compact her body to the mud and the muck.

She came to the walls. Her fingers – her claws – found the tiny gaps between stone and bit into the mortar. The crumbling powder dribbled along her front as she reached, caught, reached, caught. The walls were bright white, but the day’s battle had daubed them with enough soot scars and impact craters, giving her plenty of shadow to work in. She crawled up and up and up and came to the crenelations, which jutted outwards, then swept upwards. A human would have found it impossible – but she arched her backwards, bending away from the wall while keeping her feet hooked against the bricks. Her claws caught the crenelations – and slipped.

Either magic or industry had made the stone slippery and impossible for her to hold on. She flailed...

And fell.

Even a ghoul would be dashed apart by that fall. She twisted around, thrust out her left arm, tightened her fist. The crossbow built into the leather that was sewn into her undead flesh jerked and a black bolt with a whipping, hissing line attached to the base shot out. It cleared the crenelation and was jerked back, chuffing loudly as the grappling hook caught against stone. She dangled, then hissed, then started to crawl up, hand over hand over hand.

“What the-” a confused voice spoke as she came to the crenelations. A guard in padded armor with a crossbow in his hands had stepped up to the crenelation, torch held in his hand. Two more guards were walking beside him – and both had turned to look. One Eye knew she could kill them ... but she jerked her legs, swinging herself around and grabbed onto the underside of the crenelation, tucking her legs up so that she was balled almost entirely in half. There, she wedged, and waited.

“A grappling hook?” One of the guards said.

“Must have been thrown during their sally,” the first guard said. “Fucking walkers.”

The hook was yanked off, then tossed. It fell into darkness and One Eye clenched her wrist just so. The crossbow’s gears and enchanted ratchets chittered softly as it retracted the grappling hook. Her nose flared, smelling warm, living blood – and her ears perked, hearing the crunching sounds of footsteps. She waited. Waited a moment more. Then, very quietly, with her body still tucked in tight, she released her grapple again. With a single long arm she tossed up, caught, then scrambled.

In the pool of darkness left between two patrols, she entered the city. She paused, glanced left and right, then swung herself over the inner wall – dropping down to land on soft thatch with a quiet crunch. There she waited, looking over the city itself. She gauged her distances. She gauged the location. She gauged her mission.

She crept off the roof, then scuttled across a paved road, then slipped into a sewage drain. She would wait.

She knew exactly where to go.

And exactly when to strike.

Sari’s eyes opened and she groaned, sitting up and looking around the chamber she found herself. Bright, buttery yellow sunlight shone through and cast itself along rows of cots, where men and women laid. Many of them were bandaged and trembling, shivering in the morning warmth, and as she looked around, she saw both a beautiful nun in the garb of the Ninth Dragon tending to a striken man and Rana, who was enjoying being both invisible and incorporeal to look down the nun’s grown – easy considering the extravagant and complex robes that the Ninth Dragon’s cult preferred. The nun herself was middle aged and quite beautiful, and her palm was held out above the man, her fingers glowing faintly.

“Rana!” Sari hissed.

Rana grinned at her. “Ahhh, you’re awake. At last,” she crooned. “Sir Seldon dropped you off here – rather ungracious of him. He could have at least born you to a more comfortable bed to sleep off your little fainting spell.” She pouted. “At least he’s well built...”

The nun lifted her gaze, seeing Sari. She smiled, warmly. “Ah, my Lady Sorceress,” she said. “You’re awake – I thought you’d be today.” She walked over, sitting beside Sari and gently pressing her back into the bed. Sari, more intimidated by the high headdress and the expanse of visible flesh presented by the robes than anything else, allowed herself to be squished back into bed, even if she blushed furiously as the nun tugged her tunic open to peer down at her shoulder. “Your wound has healed far faster than I expected, considering it was a vampire’s blade.”

“I always did h-heal quickly,” Sari said. “What ... how long have I been out?”

“Only a day and a night,” the Nun said. “The city is safe – enough. The Necromancers have set up shop outside.” She chuckled. “It won’t be the first time the city has fared against a siege, never you fear.” She patted Sari’s cheek, allowing her to do up her tunic again.

“I have to ... my bag!” Sari said, sliding from the bed and looking around frantically.

“Your belongings are downstairs, and quite safe,” the nun said, chuckling. “We don’t rob from heroes here.”

Sari blinked. “H-Heroes?”

“Yes, Sir Seldon said without you, the vampires would have overrun the entire refugee convoy. You saved hundreds of lives,” the nun said, smiling brightly as she took Sari’s arm, leading her to the stairs at the edge of the room.

“Oh!” Sari blushed as Rana grinned and mimed something very lewd with her fingers – likely to indicate her suggestion for what Sari should do with this newfound status. “I ... thank you?”

“No, thank you,” the nun said, amused as they came to the lower floor, where there were several tables that were still soaked with blood. Sand and grit on the floor had been tossed around, soaking up yet more blood. Several novitiates – not full nuns, but on their way – were scrubbing the place up. Or at least doing their best. “You’re the hero after all.”

Sari, still stunned by this, took her belongings once more. She breathed a sigh of relief as she found the Chanti crystal was still contained in her bag and safely so. She strapped her sword to her hip, shook the nun’s hand, and stepped out into the bright streets of Shandil, shading her eyes as she saw that the city was bustling with people – the streets were lined with people heading too and from places. Many of them were carrying timbers, and quite a few were armed and armored. The cacophony of hammering and nailing filled the air, and she could see quite a few buildings had caught fire and were now being repaired.

Rana stepped out next to Sari, wrinkling her nose. “Ah, a city under siege, everyone’s favorite,” she said, clicking her tongue. “Now, to find this Lord Menelag. Unless ... what’s that?” She brightened as several people were jostled aside by a pair of horses, both with men atop – a knight and a younger man in mail with a skull cap. The knights were in their full regalia, and they were heading straight for the small healing house. Sari stood up a bit straighter as one of them swung from his horse, and she recognized his helmet before he swept it off, revealing...

“Sir Seldon!” Sari said, blushing as she stood before him. The young noble took her hand with a flash of bright pleasure on his face, bowing over her head.

“Lady Sari,” he said, a term that was wildly inaccurate considering her lack of noble status and her somewhat middling rank in the schools of magicians, but it made Sari’s head spin so much that she didn’t even try and contradict him. “I was told the moment you awoke. I am here with my squire to escort you to the manor of my master, the Lord Menelag.”

“That would be marvelous,” Sari said. “Uh, I don’t have my horse...”

“You may ride with me, if you wish,” Seldon said, and Sari’s entire face turned red.

“Oh yes. Ride.” Rana crooned – but despite her most vigorous eyebrow wiggling, Sir Seldon showed nothing but the most complete tact and chivalry as he swept Sari onto his horse, who bore her additional weight with little complaint. They rode through the city, past the second set of inner walls, and into a part of the town that overlooked the harbor. In the distance, ships with black sails add their own ominous edge to the otherwise beautiful view. The in harbor itself was a large ship that flew the flags of Sandil and a rose-petal insignia. It had bright white sails and looked as if it was being made ready to sail.

Menelag’s manor house was practically its own fortress inside of a fortress, with high walls surrounding it, a thick front gate to keep out the common folk, and a pair of unfurled banners that bore his house’s crest – a falcon on a red rose with three petals with the symbols of the First, Second and Third dragons on each of the unfurled petals. The gate was open and supplies were being transferred in – through the assistance of ... of...

“Oh,” Sari whispered.

The most beautiful girl that she had ever seen stood before the gate, her hands glowing with purple magic as she gently directed crate after crate of supply through. The telekinesis that she was demonstrating was almost as breathtaking as her fine boned features, her crimson red hair, her warm green eyes, her pale skin. She had a fine constellation of freckles that sprawled along her cheeks and coiled along her back, which was exposed by her front hugging gown, and the freckles actually formed into the rough pattern of wings on her back, as if they had been placed there by an artist. She turned as Seldon swung off the horse...

And Sari’s own initial introduction died on her throat as the girl squealed. “Tanner!”

She sprinted straight at Seldon, who caught her with a laugh, picking her up and twirling her around. The girl showed absolutely zero shame as she locked her hips around Seldon’s hips, crooking ankle over ankle, and kissed him fiercely and deeply. The crates in the air wobbled as her attention split between telekinesis and sticking her tongue down a nobleman’s throat. Sari yelped and sprang off the horse, landing and adding her own magic to the spell with a quick jolt of energies. The crates settled as Seldon tugged and wriggled and squirmed until the girl had been disentangled and sat down.

“Ah!” He coughed. “Ah ... uh ... heh ... uh ... L-Lady Sari, this, uh, this is ... Ch ... er ... uh, the Lady Charlotte!” He said.

Charlotte curtsied to Sari, her smile bright – even as Sari tried to control the strange crumpled feeling in her belly. “That’s Lady Charlotte Menelag, if you want to be official. Soon to be ... Charlotte Seldon Menelag.” She smiled at the strapping knight, as Sari gave her the best attempt at a smile that she could.

“Ah! My ... uh ... congratulations,” she said. “To the both of you!”

Rana, being an invisible demon, took utter delight in cackling.

“Do you want to know what they’re doing right now?”

Rana’s voice was a dark purr in Sari’s ear. Sari, who was unpacking her meager belongings in the small guest house that she had been assigned during Charlotte’s whirlwind tour of the manor, tried to ignore her. It was hard. It was very hard. The tour, which had clearly been Charlotte’s joy, had taken her to the library, to Lord Menelag’s dining rooms, to the courtyard between the guest house and the main manor, and all the way, Charlotte had happily told Sari about every fun little detail she could think of – and that was before Sari, despite her embarrassment, had started to talk to her about magic.

It wasn’t just that she was vivacious and redheaded and gorgeous...

She was also a skilled magician. Sir Seldon (or Tanner, as Charlotte kept calling him, which Sari supposed was his given name) had been deeply amused by the way the two of them had immediately fallen into exchanging facts, figures, numbers and theories. The tour had ended with Charlotte begging that Sari practice spells with her.

Sari knew, quite intently, what spells she’d like to practice with Charlotte. Or ... on Charlotte. Half formed images of chains of crackling force and the purple whip-tendrils of ... control spells ... flickered through Sari’s brain. Shame followed on them. Those kinds of spells were not the kinds of spells one should be thinking of casting on a perfectly nice...

“Little flirty whore...”

Sari froze, hearing Rana’s voice crooning in her ear. “W-What?”

“Come on. She’s due to be married to that strapping hunk of a knight and you saw what she was wearing,” Rana crooned. Her voice was warm and rich. Like dark chocolate. “She practically flaunted her entire body to every servant and guard in the manor – and she’s supposed to remain pure and virginial ... curious.” She chuckled, then flitted past Sari, to ‘lay’ upon the bed, her eyes smoldering darkly. Temptingly. “Do you want to know what Charlotte and Tanner are doing right now?”

“N-No,” Sari said, turning aside. She walked to the window in her room. It looked out onto the inner courtyard of the manor, where stacks of provisions in crates and spell-enchanted jars were being gathered. “We’re going to be good. Professional. Friends.”

Rana chuckled, then...

“Oh, Sari! Tell me more about the Chanti crystal!”

Sari spun and saw that Charlotte was now on her bed, dressed in the same skimpy getup she had worn before. Her eyes glittered and those eyes showed it was still Rana, they were the same pure midnight black as the succubi normally had. Her tongue darted along her lips. “I love hearing about these things ... oh ... don’t worry, Tanner won’t be back all night...”

“Stop it,” Sari said, frowning. “I’m just here to deliver the Chanti Crystal, then to assist Menelag with ... with whatever he needs help with.” She brushed her hand along her face, slowly. “Master Phenrig said this would be exciting. He never mentioned that an army of necromancers would be thrown in...” She shook her head, then turned to face Rana. “Wait, you can spy on the necromancers, can’t you?”

“On their camp,” Rana – still in Charlotte’s form – said. She put her hands under her self, arching her spine – causing her facsimile of a dress to creep forward to the edge of her breasts. She purred. “But if I get too close to the Corpse Lord, then he’ll be able to rip me into spectral pieces.”

Sari jerked her head away – but heard the rustling of fabric that made it clear she had just barely avoided seeing Charlotte’s ... she forced the thought away, glaring out at the gathering afternoon light. “I can’t help but wonder if the Necromancers and us are on the same mission. They sent the Black Walkers to the Chanti tower for the same crystal as Phenrig. And now, they’ve sent an army to Menelag, one of his allies?” She shook her head. “They want the crystal. But why?”

Rana smiled. Her body flowed like ink. “Why indeed.” Her tongue darted along her lips. “Now, come here.”

She crooked her finger.

Sari knew she shouldn’t. She should study. Practice. Make sure her shoulder was working right after the healing. Instead, she stepped over. Her rump settled onto the bed before she had even realized it. Rana’s voice was warm in her ear. “Lets focus on what matters right now...” She whispered. Sari bit her lip. Her nipples hardened, puffy, and eager. Her cock throbbed between her thighs, caught as she locked her legs together. She bit her lower lip as Rana’s voice continued to whisper in her ear. “Forget the Necromancers. Forget the crystal. Forget everything except this moment...” She grinned. “Now. Do you want to know what Charlotte and Tanner are doing, right now?”