Chapter 151
Denethia walked hand in hand with the handsome man who had stolen her heart the first night of the autumn festival. He was dressed in mouse-colored robes, with a comical pointed cap sitting rakishly off-center on his head. A false beard hung from his square chin down to his leanly muscled chest. He carried a fanciful, feather-adorned staff in his other hand, the costume unmistakable as that of a wizard. The garb seemed to suit him well.
Denethia's costume also suited her perfectly — her willowy form wrapped in a white dress, green leaves painstakingly stitched into the hem and neckline by her mother. Her lustrous blonde hair, flowing freely down below her shoulder blades, had flowers and leaves woven in with the golden tresses. A bow and quiver slung over her shoulder, and points made of wax attached to the top of her ears completed the costume. Denethia's friends remarked that one had to look twice to be sure that an elf warrior-maiden did not actually walk amongst them at the festival.
She knew her parents would disapprove of her seeing a man that was ten years or more her senior. The townsfolk whispered amongst themselves whenever the couple passed, as well. None of that mattered to Denethia. Almost from the moment he had introduced himself, her fifteen-year-old heart was his. The previous night of the festival stood out as her most wonderful memory, and this night promised to overshadow even that pinnacle of her life.
She was nervous, of course, walking along nibbling on a sweet with her gorgeous wizard. Darkness was settling over the town, and soon she would be creeping away under the cover of night to discover the wonders between man and woman. Celdin had promised — amid passionate kisses — that he would take her away and remove the mystery surrounding the things boys and girls did off in the shadows when their parents weren't around.
When darkness fully descended, Denethia's heart started to race. Celdin led her ever farther from the flickering torches and bonfires, toward the edge of town and the woods beyond. There amongst the trees, in the light of the full moon, Celdin would make love to her.
As they walked toward the trees, Denethia's nerve nearly failed her. Despite her excitement, and the tingling between her legs, the cold fingers of fear gripped her heart as well. Cloaked in darkness, the woods looked foreboding indeed. She remembered the stories about this night, when the veil between this world and the dark was thin — and that only caused the trees to appear even more sinister in her eyes. The adults all warned their children that this was a night when evil sought to smother the light, and thus the festival had started to counter that black power. Celebration and shared generosity kept the darkness at bay, saving the world from a fate unimaginable.
A squeeze of his hand, and a smile, soothed Denethia's fears. In the face of that smile, and anticipation of what was to come, feelings of love and arousal smothered all thoughts of evil spirits and black magic. She smiled back, and they stepped onto the trail leading into the forest.
It was not the pleasures of the flesh that greeted Denethia in the woods, however, but the cold flesh of the walking dead. The clammy hands covered her mouth before she could scream, and held her tight so she could not run. Terror and the stink of death overwhelmed her, and Denethia slipped into unconsciousness. Her last thought before she fainted was to wonder why Celdin was just standing in front of her, watching the dead take her captive.
Denethia cringed and trembled, her skin covered in gooseflesh. Though the air of the cavern — her prison — was cold, and tinged with the stench of corrupt flesh, it had nothing to do with the chill that permeated her body. Buried now, deep in the bowels of the world, for five years, she barely noticed the mundane chill seeping from the stone any longer.
The frigid bite of the spell's mastery rushed through her, filling her with a perverse mixture of revulsion and accomplishment. She despised her study of Necromancy, the magic of death, but it was only through mastery of those foul spells that she continued to live. Although her life now was one of hopeless despair, Denethia could not face the price of failure. Death would be only the beginning of her eternal torment if the Master decided she was of no use to him.
More disturbing still was the fact that some part of her rejoiced in the power she had just attained. Magic burned brightly in her blood, as it did in all of her line. Her soul sang in exaltation, even as it screamed in torment.
Denethia slumped as the sensation faded, her tangled blonde locks falling to hide her face, and her chin coming to rest on the stained canvas smock she wore. She sucked in short, gasping breaths, trying to draw air into her deprived lungs, having involuntarily held her breath as her body reacted to the mastery of the magic.
Placing her hands on the rough stone table, carved from the rock by the tireless hands of the undead, Denethia raised her head and opened her brown eyes once again.
“Are you done?”
Denethia looked at the man who was now her Master and she looked at him and said,” Is there any reason that you are doing this? Why me? Of all the people why me?”
“Stupid wench. Because your blood makes you special. Because my Queen needs to rise from the dead and there are only a few of the people who can do that and amongst them you are the most fuckable, talented and beautiful then why not you? Tell me….why not you?”
“Because I was supposed to have a life. Because this goes against all the laws of nature. Because if your Queen is dead then there must be a reason that she is dead and she needs to stay dead…” and immediately there was a resounding slap on her face and she fell down on the stone floor of the cavern.
“YOU DO NOT DARE TO SPEAK OF SUCH NONSENSE AGAIN IN YOUR LIFE BECAUSE IF YOU DO I SHALL MAKE SURE THAT I FLAY YOUR SKIN FROM YOUR BODY WHILE YOU ARE ALIVE.”
“You might be able to silence me. You might be able to make me not speak and do all this nonsense and make me rise creatures from hell but you know, that when she was dead once then she has been killed and the one who killed her will find a way to kill her once again. And of this I am certain.”
“Don’t worry, sweet witch. The end for the wolf queen is near and before my Queen is back I shall make her captive and let her scream to make her watch her own kingdom burn. She lives for Amorentia…and I shall destroy her precious land and kingdom…”
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