Two massive shoots of steam pierced the dust. The Deadhorn burst from the hut roaring and steaming with rage. The nearly ten-foot undead Mino swung a massive stone mallet. The assassin managed to sidestep the crude hammer by a hair. Its shaft was the length and thickness of a thin pine. The head was capped with a roughhewn rock the size of a grindstone. The Deadhorn’s hide was black, blackened with age from its natural red parlor, and held the look of old leather—dried and cracked. Shade could see the bone in some areas. Balding tufts of hair swelled under masses of old dried out muscles.
The assassin surged forward, but the Deadhorn brought his mallet up with a surprising swiftness.
It charged forward and swung his huge mallet.
Shade ducked barely missing the blow that would have shattered his body. He knew it was foolish to try to outrun a Minotaur, never mind the closeness of his shelter. He spun to face his foe. The dead Mino slowly recoiled this time, but the assassin knew that once these hulking brutes threw their weight into a swing they could catch you with an alarming quickness. The key to fighting Minotaur was to turn their powerful momentum against them. If he could not slay this accursed creature, he would have to make a clean break.
The undead Mino brought his hammer down again. The Dark Elf wheeled to the side. The Deadhorn swung his mallet up and down in a battle tantrum. Shade’s muscles groaned as he danced around his untiring foe. His leather armor was soaked with sweat. His pounding heart rattled in his quaking ribcage. The huge hammerhead whiffed past his jaw again and again. It became increasingly difficult to evade the colossal deathblows. He realized to his terror that had this Mino been alive he would have already driven it beyond exhaustion, but the dead felt no fatigue.
Shade saw the human undead closing in around him again out of the corners of his eyes. The Mino swung his hammer in wild abandon. The hammer ripped through the ranks of skeletons and zombies. Chunks of corpses and chipped bone scattered amongst the dead Bullgrasses.
The assassin felt something grab hold of his ankle. Its touch burned. He cried out as it squeezed his ankle hard. A flaming numbness shot up his leg. The sudden distraction caused him to trip over his feet. He fell backward and landed on his bottom. A severed skeletal hand had wrapped its bony fingers around his ankles. He gaped up in horror as the undead Minotaur pulled its huge hammer back. There was no escape. Not even he could dodge this blow. His only consolation was that this Deadhorn was not Xzoron himself. Then he remembered—the necklace.
The assassin reached into his cloak and took hold of an object wrapped in black cloth. He unwrapped the cloth and took out a bone necklace. The bones had been carved with eerie arcane symbols.
The undead froze suddenly. Even the Deadhorn lowered its hammer. Its big dumb head stared at the charm as if in a trance. The necklace was a Wickovan charm Shade had once found in a witch’s den in the fading woods of Fogrim Forest. The assassin was unsure of its meaning or its magic, but he had noticed such artifacts held power over undead when passing through these ruins before. He just never had been forced to test the necklace at such close range. He could not believe his luck.
Shade brandished the Wickovan charm and scrambled to his feet. He held the charm up. He waved it in front of the undead Minotaur’s cold dead face. Icy snorts, reeking of death and decay, steamed from the Mino’s massive snout, but it held its ground. The Deadhorn remained so still that Shade could see the mud and maggots spilling from its ribs.
The assassin backed slowly away, staring up in paralyzing awe at the bull-man’s sheer horrific countenance. Its eye sockets were empty chasms that held no gaze, except for the worms which wriggled in those cold black holes. Shade’s stomach turned and yet he could feel its icy stare glowering back at him from beyond the grave. The undead behemoth’s tongue, teeth and ears had fallen out, although one could still discern the bovine shape of its ringed snout. Two massive coal black horns protruded from its thick dead skull.
Shade stepped carefully backward. He trembled, but kept his fears in check. He backed up to the vine-covered hut. He skirted around the building and ducked inside. He exhaled hot desperate breaths.
The Deadhorn roared as soon as he was out of sight. He heard it charge the hut. Dust rained down from the ceiling. The hut walls had been marked with similar arcane symbols like those found on his bone necklace. The Wickovan, or witch men, as they were better known, had cast a spell on this hut to keep the undead out. Shade had discovered it years ago and used it as a shelter whenever passing through these grounds, but he doubted it would protect him now. The walls shook. He feared for a second the ward would not hold.
The blood drained from his face. He heard the undead Mino’s hooves trample the earth. More dust kicked up from underneath the cracks and crevices in the stone walls. He gasped. He knew one wallop from that mighty mallet could cave the wall in and bring the weighty blocks down on his head. The Minotaur stopped suddenly just outside. He heard the ceaseless moaning of the undead humans. He saw their lurching shadows closing in around the hut. The assassin’s heart fluttered with a building terror. For the first time in decades he chewed on the bitter taste of fear. He remembered what it was like to feel helpless and alone.
The undead reached into the hut through the holes. Hands grabbed for him from every angle. He waved the bone necklace at the shriveled hands, but they did not retract. The Deadhorn’s infuriated snorts steamed through the cracks and crevices. Even its cold breaths stirred up the dust. The scent of death was overpowering. Bugs wriggled from the mud and crawled up Shade’s leg. He swatted them off. He heard the Mino pacing back and forth as if awaiting the command of some diabolical overlord.
Then suddenly the pacing ceased and the hands withdrew from the hut. The dust settled and the night filled with the chirping of crickets. He exhaled deeply. It’s over. They’re gone. He slid back down. He rested against a stone wall. The charm must have worked. He brought it to his lips to shower it with kisses of gratitude when he felt a chilling pressure at his ankle.
Shade looked down.
The skeletal hand was still wrapped tightly around his ankle.
The assassin ripped it off. The hand hit the ground, fingers still wriggling. He picked up a large rock. He screamed in rage. He beat the skeletal hand beyond recognition. He pounded it into a fine dust and the late winter gusts swept it away on the wind. He sunk back against the wall in exhaustion, sleep stealing over him. His last waking thought was whether these Wickovan wards really worked at all…
Chapter Five:
Of True Worth
to the Order
The screams of horror echoed down the eerie black corridors of the Sada’Korum. Shade did not let the screams break his concentration. This place was always filled with screaming, of the living or dead one could never tell. He had simply learned to drown out the din of it all and focus on his goal of ascending to the most elite ranks in all Jui-Sae.
The ancient and abandoned Faelin dungeons had been reclaimed in recent decades, converted into the Unseen’s secret training facility. The Unseen who moved in shadow and killed in shadow kept many secrets. The clueless masses living on the surface above were ill-prepared to do the deeds necessary to keep their forests safe, so the Unseen concealed their methods from foe and friend alike. Such were the ways of the Unseen. The young recruit was proud to serve the order that enabled the rest of his midnight kingdom to live in peace.
Shade’s chiseled youthful frame glistened with sweat. He sparred barefoot with his training partner in the arena the ancient wardens had once used to pit murderers and thieves against one another for their own amusement. The pit was illumed by the low flicker of thousands of black candles, which filled nearly every riser to the highest stand of the old underground arena.