Chapter 153

Celdin, master of these dark caverns, and a Necromancer of the highest order, watched Kyleria lead Denethia into the room containing the bathing pool. The magical mirror allowed him to follow her, and study her in great detail as she disrobed in preparation to wash the filth from her fair skin.
The woman moved with a natural grace that complimented her petite form. He watched her with rapt attention, as she pulled the stained smock over her head to reveal her body. Her small breasts stood out firm and proud, crowned by the slightly darker circles of her areolas and protruding nipples. A frown crept onto Celdin's face when he saw the darkened tangle of hair on Denethia's mound. Eventually, should she prove worthy, something would have to be done about that.
As Denethia turned to step into the bathing pool, Celdin admired the taut curves of her backside, rising and falling in an arousing dance with her every move. The young woman sank into the pool with a great sigh of relief, leaning back to soak her hair, resulting in her breasts teasingly breaking the surface of the water.
Celdin continued to watch her as she bathed, the young woman's beauty emerging from beneath the layers of accumulated filth. His manhood erect and throbbing, Celdin knew the woman was going to be difficult to resist. He had known as much when he had taken her as a girl, and she had blossomed into a woman since that time.
He heard Kyleria enter, but did not acknowledge her presence. She knew why she was here, and she would be prepared when he was ready. Celdin smiled, knowing Denethia had taken her first step today. He had seen the ecstasy on her face when her magic brought life to the corpse on the bier. Likewise, the pain of losing control of her creation had been unmistakable in her face. The years waiting for that sign — the indication that the alluring woman was succumbing to his dark instruction — had been torturous. He desired her as he had no other woman, but until her will shattered, allowing the darkness into her soul to consume her, she was a danger. He dared not submit to his desires until the light of her purity dimmed to a pale flickering ghost of its former strength. Only when she was broken would he snuff that final flicker, drowning it in his darkness. Then, she would truly be his, forevermore.
When Denethia stepped from the pool to dry her body, Celdin banished the magic of the mirror. Turning, he saw Kyleria kneeling on the floor behind him, her lush body bare and anticipation lighting her eyes.
Standing and removing his robes, Celdin was prepared to give her what she desired.
Little in Denethia's life changed over the course of the following year. Her living conditions improved, but otherwise Celdin still expected her to absorb as much of the dark magic as she could manage, or face harsh punishment. Wearing clean satin robes, bathing and eating regularly, and having her own room with a bed instead of a pallet in a common sleeping chamber did nothing to dull the reality of her enslavement.
Gone were the days of simple hunger and filth that had served as punishment for failure during her novitiate. Now pain and humiliation served as a reminder that Celdin demanded constant progress. Three times in the last year, Celdin ordered Denethia to go about her day nude for failure to meet his expectations. Each time, she bore the welts of his whip on her backside as well. Though the two male apprentices stared at her body with lust, they knew better than to do more than look. The hunger in the men's eyes was frightening, yet more painful still was her body reacting to that hunger.
Forbidden by the Master to pleasure herself, Denethia lay awake many nights with an ache in her sex that was near maddening. The protective walls of indifference she surrounded herself with failed in the face of her arousal. Each time, she fell asleep exhausted from weeping, with the musky scent of her need hanging heavily about her, mocking her with its power.
Through her magic, Denethia learned to raise the dead as skeletons and zombies. She spoke with spirits, bending them to her will through her Art. Disease and decay were hers to command. Each day she grew more powerful in the dark magic, and each day she turned more inward. Like a puppet, she performed the tasks required thoughtlessly, because the horror of her actions was too difficult to bear otherwise.
She absorbed the knowledge of her black studies, discovering the means to create even the powerful, intelligent undead such as vampires. The strengths and weaknesses of those unliving creatures fell into place within her mind, preparing her to combat or command them.
The instruction concerning the nature of liches in Celdin's works showed that he abhorred the creatures, powerful wizards who sacrificed their own lives with a potion for the power of undeath. Only the strongest necromancers could hope to survive the transformative powers of the potion, to rise again in three days as creatures feared by all. Denethia shuddered reading about these obsessed beings, wondering how anyone could choose to snuff out their own life in the pursuit of power — even ultimate power second only to the gods.
This night, six years to the day since her capture and enslavement, Denethia sensed she was again at a threshold, a time of change similar to her elevation from novitiate to apprentice a year earlier. Outside, in the world now denied her, people laughed and celebrated. Dressed in fanciful costumes, feasting upon sweets, and drinking far more than was good for them, the people beyond the rocky walls of her prison rejoiced in the harvest. The harvest festival was a buffer against the coming winter, a time of freedom and merriment to carry through the cold months ahead.

Denethia marked the turning of the seasons not with festivity, but with blood. Her only costume was the black robes of evil that she donned each morning without thought. Instead of the sweet taste of chocolate, the rancid stench of death coated her tongue from the thick miasma surrounding her.

Once again, she stood in the frigid, reeking room of stone biers and corpses. Lying upon the bier before her this time was the body of a child. Dirt clinging to his small form revealed that the Master's unliving servants had pulled the child from the earth, rather than taking his life by violence. A rude loincloth, which appeared to have been fashioned from his torn funeral shroud, girded the boy's hips.
Yet another reason for the celebration in the world above was that dark power was strong on this night. The gaiety and positive energy helped hold the night at bay, protecting those who participated from the touch of evil. It was also why Celdin had chosen this night to take her so many years ago, and to test her now.
"Cast the spell," the Master ordered, a note of anticipation Denethia had never heard from him before evident in his voice.
Denethia cast the black spell, feeling the bond to the small corpse form instantly upon its completion. Unlike the zombies she had animated previously, the boy's body did not begin lurching violently on the bier. Instead, the corpse trembled as if shaken by an inner quake. Although she knew the expected results of her magic, and fought to maintain a cold, clinical detachment from the sight, Denethia was still horrified as she watched it unfold.
The boy's arms and legs elongated with audible cracks, his dead flesh flowing in nauseating ripples as the transformation took place. His face, innocent and serene, twisted into an animalistic cast. When the corpse opened its mouth, it revealed elongating, sharply pointed teeth. Yellow claws pushed out from the now larger fingers and toes of the body, and the boy's flesh changed to the yellowed color of old parchment.
The transformation complete, the ghoul immediately sprang with unnatural speed to crouch on the bier, a guttural growl emerging from its gaping maw and spittle dripping down the creature's chin. It sniffed at the air, hungry for human flesh, restrained from attacking its creator and her Master only by the reins of power Denethia held in her hands.
Her skin tingled, and she closed her eyes, feeling the control over the creature that was hers to command. Far stronger than the zombies and skeletons she had raised before, there was a faint hint of intelligence in this creature, once the body of a child. She could feel the strength in the creature's limbs, aching to be released in ravaging fury. She could feel its hunger and frustration, starving for her flesh but denied its feast by her command of the magic. She opened her eyes and ordered the ghoul to extend its hands to the side, yellow-clawed fingers stretched wide. She wondered how far the creature could leap on its powerful legs — how fast it could run in pursuit of its prey.
"Excellent," Celdin declared, and then cast the spell that would wrest control of the ghoul from Denethia, and bestow that power upon him.
As always, the sense of loss shot through Denethia when her Master's spell was complete, stealing her creation from her. This time, it also brought the realization that she had been enraptured with her power over the twisted flesh-eater. Her face pinched tight into a disgusted expression, self-loathing consuming her.
The creature loped off at Celdin's command, to join its own kind elsewhere in the dark caverns and await further instructions.
"You have proven yourself worthy," Celdin announced. "Now, you shall have the reward due you for your labors. Come!"