The weapon matched the staff’s description. Morwen snatched at it, but the skeleton gripped it tightly. They played tug of war until Goron intervened with a mighty kick that sent the skeleton rattling across the floor.
Morwen held up the heavy staff and inspected it with glinting eyes. Scratched in the iron shaft were power runes. The knob at the top was a fist-sized, black onyx.
Morwen felt something gently tugging at the hem of her robe.
It was the skeleton, eyeless sockets staring into her eyes, jaw clicking open and closed. ‘Please give it back,’ it seemed to implore.
Morwen kicked the skeleton away, and Goron stomped on it until it was dust and shards.
“Let’s go and wait for Siarl in the sanctum,” Morwen said, a wily smile on her face.
“Can we have lunch?” Szat said weakly.
Morwen didn’t bother to recite passwords for the door. She’d have all the time in the world for that very shortly. Besides, she was too excited and wanted to try out her new toy. Goron and Szat kept busy stuffing their mouths with a loaf of stale bread and dried beef. Morwen smirked at the thought of their faces when they found their packs empty before the journey’s end. She’d be fine, of course, she could always summon a demon and have it slow roast itself.
Caroc didn’t eat; instead, he stood against the wall near the door and glanced furtively from passage to passage as he awaited the necromancer’s approach.
The bone golem unwittingly lumbered into the sanctum. Morwen slid down from the altar. Goron briefly glanced up and returned his attention to a bottle of dandelion wine he’d found in Morwen’s backpack, while the demon begged for a just a sip.
The assumption was obviously Morwen had all this in hand.
Siarl stopped and glared at the staff, “Where did you get that?”
“Some skeleton gave it to me. It took a little persuading, of course.”
“Mervyn,” Siarl cried and stumbled to Morwen.
“He looked like a Mervyn,” Morwen said picking at the scab forming on her wrist and pointing the shiny end of the staff at the necromancer. “I’ve always wanted to use this spell on something other than rats, but I’ve never been very good at it.” No manipulation of shadow or blood price was necessary. The spell was a gift for the powerful from the night mother herself. “Dordmakk kvaod.”
The runes on the staff glowed faint red, and a pale green beam zapped Siarl. Morwen waited. Nothing happened. Goron looked up from his bottle of wine, a questioning eyebrow raised. Szat’s face was buried in Morwen’s backpack. Caroc began to edge away along the wall. Morwen started to worry. Siarl was drawing very close.
Siarl’s steps slowed. A femur from the necromancer’s bone armour fell to the stone floor and disintegrated into a pile of dust. With the next step, a spine and a tibia, equally decrepit, dislodged and puffed into a powder. By the time Siarl was close to the altar, he’d shed his bone armour and was wearing only his black robe. His face already wizened, now took on a sunken and parched look like a corpse baking in the sun.
“Blight ray, it steals all the moisture from your body and turns you to dust,” Morwen said.
Siarl’s eyes widened, “No, not dust,” he groaned. His jaw wouldn’t close and hung open twitching before it fell away and took half of Siarl’s face with it. A mouldering skull was exposed beneath. Both Siarl’s legs broke simultaneously and he fell with a grunt. His body exploded in a cloud of dust as it hit the stone.
Morwen trampled through it on her way to the door. She knew what the password was now, a particularly nauseous verse. “Everything for Love,” she said, and pulled the door open. Caroc pushed past her and bolted up the stairs. A strong breeze that smelled of dry leaves and rotting apples scattered the dust that was Siarl into the air and sent it whirling down the three passages.
Caroc had taken charge after they left the sanctum and decided they should follow the river into the forest. The ranger was proving his worth in this capacity at least. Morwen, exhausted after her fight with Siarl, was happy to follow his lead—for now.
Grayl’s cold waters ran down from the mountains, through the forest, and emptied into the Black Sea in a spectacular waterfall. Willows lined the river’s edge like sad sentinels. Their drooping branches trailed in the grey waters. Birds, the size of small children, floated on its rippling surface and ignored the bulbous translucent fish that swam beneath.
The journey wasn’t easy. The bank was muddy from a recent rainfall, and it sucked at Morwen’s feet with each step. Her heavy packs and the fat demon sitting on her shoulder didn’t help, and now there was also a heavy iron staff to lug around. Her mood was becoming more sour by the moment
“What?” she yelled catching Goron observing her. He looked away and pretended to study a strange, six-legged lizard crawling along a tree branch. “I’m not interested in men like you, and besides, have you forgotten your curse?” If she were honest, she had little interest in men full stop, nor they in her. They perceived her as being too haughty. Men were time-consuming creatures who required constant reassurance. Her principal concern was power and its acquisition; any other pursuits were pointless.
Goron flushed in anger. “I saw you were struggling, so I was going to offer to help carry something for you.” He looked to Szat.
“Oh.” Morwen lowered her eyes, embarrassed.
“I could carry Szat for you.”
“Him? He won’t…” Szat jumped off Morwen’s shoulder. His tiny, blowfly-like wings buzzed to slow his fall. Goron bent down and lifted the demon onto his broad shoulder.
“Much more roomy.” Szat sighed and stretched out.”
“Fine, but don’t come whingeing to me when he craps
