Chapter 1

It was a good time to be a mercenary, if you didn't mind the odds. Of course, there were always some who had a way of evening the odds, of decreasing their own, personal chance of becoming one of the thousands that were dying in the current spate of Mage Wars. Adara was one such warrior.

You wouldn't know it just from looking at her, though. She seemed just another human fighter ... tall, short black hair, brown eyes. She wore dull black leather armor, and the sword at her side was unremarkable, as was the scarred black oak staff she carried. There was nothing about her appearance that set her apart from any other mercenary, but her performance ... that was something else entirely.

No one knew how she became as good as she was. She didn't socialize, rarely even spoke. It was easy to dismiss her as just another muscle-bound brute. Easy, but not wise. Those expressionless eyes took in everything and gave away nothing. Those who pried, she ignored. Those who challenged, she defeated with no apparent effort. She listened to the campfire gossip, absorbing it as she did any information, but while panic gripped the world, she remained calm. The Mages' magic might be faltering, but she knew that hers was not. And if the gods were, indeed, dead, it made little difference to her ... she'd never thought it wise to count on the favor of gods. Your own hands, your own strength -- those are what a warrior can depend on, not the capricious whim of deity.

The panic and the wars that came in its wake were quite a nice source of profit, though, she had to admit. Of course, with the rate at which Mage towers were falling as their masters went insane, there might soon be none left to fight for. It didn't really worry her -- in her experience, someone, somewhere, always needed a killer. She wouldn't starve, come what may.

She wasn't fond, however, of her current employer. He paid quite well, though, as he had trouble finding reliable guards. Even mercenaries don't like working side by side with zombies and vampires, and Debrios Varelli was a necromancer, a powerful one. He was engaged in a war against two neighboring mages at the moment, and from Adara's perspective, he seemed to be the one most likely to emerge victorious. He was, by far, the most powerful ... though his two opponents were not powers to dismiss ... and, at the moment, seemed to be the least affected by the madness that was spreading through the Mages of the land. These were important things to consider when choosing one's employer.

Adara rose quickly through the ranks of his living army to become his most trusted personal guard. His admiration of her skills was plain, but she'd recently began to have the impression that he was studying her more than was healthy. She knew he knew she wasn't, truly, human, and that was always dangerous. Varelli was likely having thoughts about raising an army of creatures like her, but as of yet was not intrigued with the idea enough to risk losing her as his guard. Still, had the tower not been under siege for the past several days, she would probably have found the opportunity to leave, just to be on the safe side.

It had been besieged, however, and while it didn't seem likely to fall, Varelli hadn't been able to drive the attackers away, either. He did have a plan, though. That was obvious by his attitude, and by the amount of time he spent in his private dungeons, where he usually had several potential tools awaiting transformation. Usually soldiers who'd been convicted of treason, or thieves he'd caught, or other such criminals, suitable for ghouls and zombies and the occasional vampire. But right at that moment, unknown to Adara and most of the rest of the tower, he had a very special treasure.

Adara's first knowledge of the girl came when the mage's servants fetched her to the ritual room. She was a pretty little thing, young and innocent looking in her white robe, with her dark curls long and loose around her. She was terrified by her zombie guards, crying and struggling uselessly.

Adara's hand tightened on her staff, though her expression didn't flicker. Quickly, she considered the odds and reached the sad conclusion that there was nothing she could do to save the girl. The wizard was just too powerful. He opened the door just as Adara silently promised that some vengeance would be forthcoming, if there were any way she could manage it. The mage froze the girl with a word, though her eyes remained aware and fearful. He smiled. "Good. Perfect. She's worth every grain of gold that I paid for her. A beautiful young virgin. Exactly what the spell calls for." He licked his lips, exposing sharp fangs. "Delicious." Adara forced herself to stay still, to not betray her emotions ... there was nothing she could do for the girl. She knew that. Dying in the attempt would change nothing. The mage picked the girl up easily under one arm, her limp body draped over his hip, and motioned the zombie guards away with the other hand before turning to Adara. "This is the most important work I've ever done, Adara. If it is interrupted in any way, the tower may well fall, and the girl will be simply wasted, dead. I'll never find so perfect a candidate again. I must not be interrupted, understand?" he asked, speaking slowly and clearly, having made the mistake of so many others in assuming her silence was due to lack of intelligence. "Whatever happens, I must complete this spell. Guard me well in this, and I will see you rewarded."

Slowly, anger and disgust seething in her gut, she nodded, and he turned and carried his victim into the chamber.

Standing outside the door, Adara could hear when he released the paralysis spell and the girl started screaming. She closed her eyes. He was dead if ever she had the chance.

The sound of the wizard's chanting rose above the screams even as they faded into helpless sobs and pitiful begging. Then, the chanting broke off, and there was a sound of tearing cloth and the girl screamed again, piercingly. The scream was cut off in the middle with an obscene gurgling noise, then all was quiet for a few moments until the chanting began again, sounding somewhat shaky. It broke off abruptly at the sound of snapping chains.