Two Days Prior

Despite the windowless tomb’s seclusion, Sallow could sense the hateful sun as it dropped below the horizon. It wanted to burn her. There was a god somewhere in the heat, impotent, locked in a cage. Every day that she persisted in her undeath was another victory against whatever It was. She sat in her casket, eyes closed, enjoying the silence for a moment before her master Aratali called, but that moment passed quickly. His psychic whistling howled in her ears and beckoned her to patrol the halls of their sanctuary before he rose.

The gloom of Sallow’s darksight made her sick to her still heart for being undead. Everything was a silhouette, outlined with a halo of white light—an artifact of her ability to see the positive and negative energy planes where ghosts dwelled. She missed the dark. Sallow climbed down from her casket and lit the candelabras to banish those halos. The pleasure of candlelight was one thing undeath hadn’t stollen from her.

She made herself clean with a cantrip and donned her leather armor. A shadow fashioned her hair into a braid. Aratali’s prodding grew more insistent. She could almost hear his voice. Make certain no one has trespassed. But he didn’t know she could read his unconscious. Bits and pieces snaked their way out to tell her the urgent truth: mortals were seen skulking through the ruins of the superstructure; one of them had the divine light of the Dwarven god of justice.

Aratali was terrified. Rightly so. Few had the power to kill him. Few could even touch him. But this Dwarven paladin might as well have carried the hate of the sun; she should leave the door open, send the lich dragon away, and let fate run its course. Aratali had claimed she would be destroyed the instant he was slain, bound as they were, but he was full of shit. There was no way she was THAT bound.

Sallow slipped through the shadows of the catacombs. Her brother, Ero, fell into step behind her.

“I’m going to hunt the paladin,” he said.

“You’re an idiot. Who cares about the paladin,” said Sallow.

“It isn’t my idea.”

She stopped and turned to face him. Ero was so thin, and his vampiric powers were those of the mind rather than the body, same as hers. The paladin would break him in two. “Aratali can have the paladin after we take the archmage. And by then, he won’t care about the paladin at all. Use your brain.”

“I don’t think we should resist his will on…”

“Please,” said Sallow. She didn’t have much respect for Aratali. “Look. I answer to him, and you answer to me.” She didn’t mean to sound disrespectful, but Ero was being an idiot, and Aratali was a coward who had taken enough from them. He would take more over her still body. “Just help me with the stupid archmage.” She gave her brother a hug.

“Fine.” Ero’s reluctance to argue might be the only thing keeping him undead.

***

The Inn

Sallow crossed the threshold of the inn like any common traveler, thanks to the old man’s invitation. If she got into trouble, Ero was right outside, waiting to help. Hopefully, she wouldn’t need him.

A human sat on a stool at the door, playing his lyre. His spontaneous style struck a chord with her. The ballad’s lifting scales rose to meet his charming voice as he sang about an elf and a human falling in love. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, it felt like he was singing only to her. But with a wink and a toothy grin, he upped the tempo and now the elf was dragon all along. She scoffed. Why ruin the moment.

He was very handsome though, unusually muscular, and wearing a sword. His confidence made her uneasy. Like the paladin, this was someone best to avoid. Sometimes musicians were resistant to mind control, and she’d rather not test her powers on him. Though…he looked delicious. Maybe later when the hunger returned.

She tossed a silver coin into his case and sat in a plush chair across from the archmage, right next to the old dwarf he was trading stories with. With a glance, Sallow caught the eye of the halfling behind the bar and had him under her spell instantly.

“To what do we owe for such lovely company?” The dwarf took a drag from his pipe. He was thin for one of his kind, almost halfling-like, with a fine frock coat and closely braided beard. He had been in deep conversation with the archmage; maybe he was a wizard of sorts too.

Sallow crossed her legs gracefully and reached toward the bar. The halfling placed a glass of wine in it, just as she had wished. “It’s a fine night for travelers.”

“A dangerous night as well,” said Shalis, the archmage. His superb, fishbone weave suit, cape, and cowl gave him a respectable look that stood at odds with the powerful aroma of pleasure-inducing and mind-altering herbs clouding his air. His face was flushed with the effect of alcohol. A cup of his blood would probably send her into the astral realm.

His hand vanished into his sleeve, and though his demeanor remained unchanged, it was a warning sign. He wouldn’t strike out at her, not yet. But he was preparing himself. What had given her away? She was just having a drink—these things were so fraught with peril before she had been turned.

Sallow adjusted her seat on the sofa, making certain the long knife on her belt was visible. Her armor alone wasn’t enough to send the message. “Relax, Gentlemen of Magic. If I wanted you dead—”

“Dead like you?” asked Shalis.

“How?” How did he know already?

He smiled knowingly. “My dear, we are invisible, trying to have a private conversation. And yet you see us, plain as day. Are you aware your heart isn’t beating?”

If there was illusion magic at play, she couldn’t see it. Being undead meant her brain was as lifeless as her heart. Shalis could be lying, but his story made sense. And if it was a lie, so what, she could lie too. “Then you should know that I am very, very quick. I came here to talk.” Shalis cast a spell under his breath. His magic flowed into the air so subtly, a less skeptical eye might have missed it. His enchantment became a barrier floating between them. Good. The slight distortion was its only tell, but Sallow was familiar. She tried to speak again, but Shalis wasn’t finished; he sought an even stronger lead on her should it come to blows. He whispered another shimmering field between them, this one so powerful it toppled his ale. At least the dwarf wasn’t casting spells. Instead, he held an iron rod, patiently waiting to unleash some horror against her.

“Are you finished,” asked Sallow?

“Quite, and you as well,” said Shalis. “Who sent you?” Confidently, menacingly, he leaned in as if his barriers were all he needed. Fool. He had been scared of her knife. He should have been more worried about her eyes.

Sallow put her wine glass down and looked away, as if unable to meet his gaze—

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he said.

And she did.

The spear of her mind lanced into his, so addled with wine and herbs—his discipline was pitiful. “Incapacitate your friend.” It was a risky bet. If they were too close, he’d break through the mind control and attack her, but she had a strong suspicion these two didn’t think much of one another. Both spun to face each other, Shalis pulling his own rod from his sleeve. They spoke their spells aloud, competing to finish first. Of course, Shalis had the edge. His spell opened a hole below the old dwarf, not in the floor, but in the air itself. With a scream, the dwarf fell into another space, and the portal closed after him.

Shalis could have easily cast spells to protect his mind, but he had been transfixed by the threat of her blade. She had never needed magic to control people. Watching him strike out at her command was thrilling. Delicious. Oh! She could do so many things with a wizard like this under her spell. What couldn’t she burn. But that was just the vampirism talking. She didn’t care about destruction, or at least never had before.

Silence filled the inn. The doorman set his lyre down and drew his sword, confusion writ across his face.

“Bartender, we are leaving,” said Sallow. “Master Shalis will cover my tab.” The way the halfling was staring at her, it was unclear if he was still under her spell or not. Disrupting the peace might be unforgiveable.

 “Master.” The bartender removed his hat and held it respectfully on his chest. “Hope that was nothing serious.”

“Nothing at all,” said Shalis. He looked to Sallow for direction. With the most subtle wave of her fingers, he raised his cowl and headed for the door.

Hopefully, the dwarf wasn’t anywhere too horrible. Whatever had happened to him, it must be temporary. Right? After all, the archmage had precious little time to cast that spell. He couldn’t have sent the dwarf far.

Ero appeared beside her, having been mist only a moment before. “Easier than I had hoped.”

“You say that,” said Sallow, “but be ready, just in case.”

Shalis’ fought fruitlessly against her domination. He could mentally thrash all he wanted, but he wasn’t escaping her control, and he wasn’t calling a spell to mind unless she willed it. Once she had her fangs in someone, literally, figuratively, she wasn’t letting go. No, she had plans for him. Aratali wanted to make Shalis a servile thrall and loot his strongholds. But Sallow wanted something from him first—a way to free herself of Aratali’s magic. Shalis didn’t even know he had such power. Hopefully, he’d appreciate the poetry in surrendering it to her when he needed it most to save himself.

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