Rough hands seized Nyssa by the arms and began dragging her toward the watchtower. She allowed herself to stumble slightly, playing up the helpless maiden act as the bandit gripping her left arm commented with jovial surprise, “Damn, this girl is ice cold. Like touching a corpse in the winter!”

  His companions were busy with the dirtier tasks. Two of them hauled Willem's body toward the tower while the others rifled through the cart's contents. She watched with mild irritation as one of them discovered Mrs. Halsan's cookie box and immediately began stuffing the treats into his mouth.

  Poor Gerrard. No cookies for him.

  The interior of the watchtower was dim and cramped, built for the function of hosting warriors rather than comfort. The bandit shoved her harshly down onto the stone floor and positioned himself before her like a guard, though his leering expressions made it clear they had more than security in mind.

  "Stay put, little lady,” the bandit sneered, chuckling low as he said. "We'll get to you soon enough."

  Nyssa knelt quietly and took stock of her surroundings. The tower's usual occupants were present, not too far from her. Three guards lay sprawled across the floor in various states of rigor mortis, their throats slit and their blood still relatively fresh. Less than a day old, by her estimation.

  The new dead made the best zombies.

  She pouted her lips as poor Willem's body was dumped unceremoniously beside them, his shocked expression frozen in death. Amithaera wasn't responsible for this tragedy, he would be dead with or without her presence. Regardless, he was a man that deserved a better death.

  Perhaps she could give him a better undeath.

  She considered her options now. When she reached Harrathen, and she would reach Harrathen, Nyssa would need to explain what had happened.

  The obvious story would be that bandits had killed Willem but spared her, perhaps she escaped. That would only work if she arrived without the cart or goods, which meant she'd have to abandon them here and walk the rest of the way.

  There was also the matter of these fools. Letting these men live was now completely out of the question. They had made their intentions clear enough, and she couldn't afford to have witnesses who might contradict her story later.

  The bandits finished their looting and filed back into the tower with their immediate spoils. Cookies and turnips and bottles of swill that counted for alcohol these days, laughing as their spirits were lifted in yet another victory. One of them, a young bandit with a bow, got pushed out of the tower and told to move the cart out of sight, the bottom of the pecking order.

  The remainder of the brutes turned to Nyssa, their eyes fixed on her with anticipation. Number Six, who had been giving orders outside, swaggered forward with obvious authority and spoke with mocking gallantry, "Allow me to introduce myself, lovely girl. Ser Olwenn, at your service."

  Ser?

  Nyssa looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes, asking, "Are you truly a knight, ser?"

  The bandits burst into laughter at that, and Olwenn grinned broadly, "If it'll make what's about to happen easier for you, then yes, I was. Once upon a time."

  One of his men grabbed Nyssa's arm to haul her to her feet, then immediately jerked his hand back, "Orie's blood, she really is cold as ice. What's wrong with her?"

  Olwenn chuckled and began unbuckling his belt, one hand up to take control of the situation, "Don't worry, lads. I know just the place that’ll be hot enough.”

  Nyssa rose gracefully to her feet and smiled, "That’s funny. I do, too, ser."

  The heavy wooden door slammed shut with a resounding boom that seemed to shake the entire tower. Even though the sun still hung high in the afternoon sky, the interior plunged into absolute pitch black. Amithaera had begun one of her favorite dramatic entrances, starting with a silent cast of darkness.

  “Whoa!”

  “What just happened? Someone open that damned door!”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  There were no windows in the tower's main chamber, and the only light that remained came from thin slivers around the edges of the magically sealed door and the occasional glimpse of sky visible through the opening far above where the spiral stairs led to the watchtower's peak.

  Among the chorus of creaking joints and dusty groans, one of the bandits began to walk to the door, pushing and pulling at the iron handle, cursing as it refused to budge.

  "What the hells? Brayton! Brayton, open the godsdamned door!" The bandit yelled out to the fellow they'd sent out for the cart. Others, sensing his desperation, approached him to help, shoving at the door in the dark.

  “Move, you idiots!” Olwenn growled out, slamming his heavy body against the reinforced door. It didn't budge.

  Shivering in the dark, one of the fools felt an icy grip, “Something just grabbed my leg! Something jus– Oh! Oh, help me! Heee–”

  He never finished the sentence. Something in the darkness seized him and dragged him away, tearing him apart noisily amidst screams and death gurgles before cutting abruptly. They were back in the oppressive silence.

  The remaining bandits drew their weapons, steel singing against leather, metal clanking against others in the confusion.

  Olwenn shouted out suddenly, “Where's the girl?"

  Another bandit suddenly flew upward with a terrified shriek, his boots kicking frantically at his mates as something dragged him toward the ceiling. His panicked loud struggle was the only indication of his position to the terrified fools below.

  His warm blood began raining down on the three survivors below.

  "To the Hells with this! To the Hells!” One of them yelled, shoving his way past Olwenn and the other bandit. "Make for the stairs!"

  Amithaera stood on the ceiling and dropped her kill down to the ground, watching the next lucky man stumble blindly and desperately toward the barely lit stone staircase.

  She had him meet The Hand of Behrouz.

  Before he could even touch the first step, the wall beside him began to glow with a sickly green swirl of miasma. A massive bone hand barreled out of the portal and took hold of the bandit’s entire body.

  “HELP! Gods, help!” The poor bandit screamed out before being slammed down into the stones beneath him.

  Watching the man get reduced to a stain of red, Olwenn and the other bandit screamed out in terrified frustration as they retreated, swinging wildly into the dark, with the forsaken knight challenging Nyssa, “Come out, you bitch! Come out and face us!”

  She chuckled into his ear, and the fool swung wide behind him, cleaving his own man in twine.

  The darkness let up, dissipating into the air and letting the lone bandit to see his grim handiwork. Horror splayed on his expression at the dead man he’d killed, at the carnage round him: the flayed bandits, the stains on the ceiling, the viscera that claws had torn from stomachs and chests.

  Amithaera stood in Nyssa's pristine yellow dress, her true elven features visible now that she had dropped all pretense of illusion. Her violet eyes seemed to glow, even in the soft dark, and a wide bloodied smile stretched across her pale face.

  Olwenn found himself alone with his terror, his ragged breathing and whimpering the only sounds in the sudden silence. His trembling hand dropped his greatsword, the deep clattering of steel on stone echoing into his ears as Amithaera approached him slowly, wiping the crimson from her lips.

  Hands, dozens of them, cold and strong and unmistakably dead, seized Olwenn from every direction. He tried to scream, but one of them clamped over his mouth. It was the guards, zombified and eager to tear apart the Necromancer’s foes.

  "And when you get to that hot place, Ser Olwenn," Amithaera whispered as the zombie hands began to pull the bandit away, "be sure to greet my Lord of Sulfur for me."

  Not a single bit of Ser Olwenn was intact by the time the sounds ceased.

  Thorough!

  When silence returned to the tower, the heavy door swung open on its own, letting afternoon sunlight stream back into the chamber. Amithaera walked out and stood alone among the mess they’d left searching through supplies, calmly brushing dust from Nyssa's dress and looking round to find the last remaining boy, the bandit with the bow, cowering behind a tree trunk at the sight of the village woman.

  “Oh, you’re the one that was firing the arrows, yes?” She asked him, smiling politely.

  Trembling, the young man nodded, shakingly saying, “Y-Yes..?”

  Amithaera nodded solemnly and waved at someone inside the tower, beckoning them.

  Within a moment, Willem appeared, his blood still hot from life, arrow wounds still in his stomach and throat, his limber limbs aching to serve his mistress. The zombie looked to her for direction, following her pointed finger that stopped right at the last bandit.

  “Oh! Oh, gods, no! Please!” The bandit begged, putting his hands up as he backed away.

  Willem knew no mercy, for he was given none. He was upon his killer before the boy could even react, tearing chunks of flesh from his face without reprieve. Amithaera picked up the discarded box of cookies that had been thrown on the road, finding a single half-chunk, cracked but still edible.

  “Sorry, Willem… I hope that makes it up to you,” the Necromancer murmured, munching.