A dart flew past my shoulder, embedding and shattering into the birch tree to my side. Green liquid beaded from its needle. The birch, at least where it hit, slowly wilted away, blackening and chipping into ash.

  I had just crossed the river by paying the ferryman, who had told me the woods were infested with goblins. My bone daggers were already floating near me, since I was expecting the onslaught.

  But I wasn’t a fighter. The goblins knew the terrain well, hiding in the foliage. My breath quickened, my heart began to race. I couldn’t even see the creature that had launched its barrage against me.

  Another dart whistled in the air, coming from somewhere toward the east. It hit! The dart tip felt like a quick pinch, and instinctively my hand yanked it out. The green fluid was already dripping, worming itself into my body.

  My blood was blackening, and whatever it was spread through my veins. It felt like a living flame snaking through my flesh, boiling my blood. My mind fogged. I turned my head toward the foliage, trying to find any clue of where it was hiding.

  I was still thinking like a [Farm Girl], hoping to catch things with my eyes, and not my brain.

  [Mortis Visio]

  The winter howl surrounded me, and the aura of life and death contrasted against the world. Trees and grass, while technically alive, didn’t trigger my senses. I could sense the birds in the sky, the insects in the ground—and the goblin hiding within the withered bush.

  I couldn’t see the silhouettes of any of the creatures; just the reverberating sounds of the symphony that felt like solidified echoes. It was surrounded by the snows of winter. I had to force myself to focus—the poison dragged at my eyelids.

  The ghost-bone dagger I had been using shot through the air with a noisy crack, disappearing into the bush line. I had to keep my focus split between my dagger, the aura of the goblin, and my own fading consciousness. The dagger flew at the center of the spectral orb.

  THUD!

  I heard the body collapse, and I slowly began to move forward. My left arm burned, and pain surged through all my senses. Each step was forced, powering through my body's desire to shut down and rest.

  Yet, I knew that way was death. I had to move forward.

  The warty, ugly, green creature had a bone dagger impaled in its chest. Yet, I felt nothing for it; no sense of guilt like for the bandit, no sense of fear like the wolf. My hand opened up, calling on the powers of the dead.

  The green stream of vitality poured out of the goblin’s body, joining my Symphony. I felt the surge of life go through me, and my blackening arm slowly returned to its normal, pale color. In my palm, the common soul rested, awaiting further use and study.

  THWIP!

  Two darts flew past me, missing again and embedding into trees. The same green fluid flowed out, blackening the bark and causing the branches to droop, and then break with a noisy crack.

  And I grinned.

  I needed practice and experimentation, and a live laboratory was the best way to learn. My daggers could find their mark, but…

  I took one of the ghost-bone daggers to my hand, and pricked my finger. A slow, black dollop of blighted blood poured like syrup, dropping onto the desiccated green corpse below. The soul flew down as well.

  “Orak… Rhyvest!”

  (Arise, and Serve!)

  The howling chills of winter flowed around me, and I felt my thoughts slowly fade. It was a long time since I had used magic off my land, and the constant return of energy and mana was something I took for granted. But that wasn’t the case here, and the frozen storm of the Symphony came from my own will.

  Snow and frost poured against the dead goblin on the ground as its arms twitched lifelessly.

  The body below began to writhe and twist; the deceased eyes rolling upwards against its deformed skull before igniting with the same soul-fire green flame. Its mouth opened and shut, as the gaping hole in its chest stopped bleeding. The green skin turned white and chalky as it stood back up.

  A Dredge. The weakest of the basic undead, a corpse made to act as cannon fodder. A hasty creation, I realized—but a goblin was already cannon fodder.

  It clambered upwards, grabbing the blowpipe it had dropped on the ground. It held it dead center, and I was sure it was going to beat something to death with it rather than blow on it.

  “NECROMANCER!” A squealing, whiny voice rang out from behind.

  “TELL THE SHAMAN! GO!” screamed another voice, and I could hear the…

  Fear in its voice.

  I licked my lips.

  Something was wrong with me in this situation, but I wasn’t opposed to the change. I was learning quickly, and if Bazerie was going to be hunting me down, being able to hold my own without panicking would be ideal.

  But these were goblins. No matter how I looked at them, I didn’t see man, nor beast. Just an ugly, worthless creature.

  The small, pallid, chalky dredge stared at me. I didn’t bother questioning it, since I knew it couldn’t respond.

  [Mortis Visio]

  Two of them were running back toward the center of the forest. I flicked my head, and two ghost-bone daggers flew from my satchel.

  They whistled in the wind, cutting through the leaves and branches as they traced to find their mark. The skeletal grasp I was using was intense, and they weren’t far enough for me to lose sight of the daggers or my concentration.

  The first one I stabbed through the heart. The dagger piercing through the warty skin felt like a gentle push to my senses. As it pierced the heart, it was the same sensation as bursting a rather juicy grape.

  The other dagger went downward, and I sliced it straight against the back of the goblin’s leg, from the tendon to the ankle.

  I motioned for the dredge to move forward first, in case there were more of its kind. It was clearly different with its glowing eyes and pale skin, so it could do its job as a meat shield and attract attention. It clumsily walked forward, legs almost collapsing from its awkward and stiff motions.

  When we arrived at the ambush point, I could see the two: the dying and the recently dead. The dying goblin turned around and babbled something out, but the other one?

  I made a dredge by draining the life out of the first, but this one was still fresh and the soul was able to be harvested. I held my hand atop it, and felt the flow of winter.

  The strong storms of ice burst free, and my head felt even emptier. I wasn’t restoring mana this way, and if I kept this up, I would be completely drained before the castle. And it wasn’t just me. Even now, I could see the dredge slowly beginning to fall apart; no blight underneath its feet for it to sustain its mockery of life with. I still had work to do.

  I focused my attention on the freshly killed goblin and let Rhyvesta’s will flow through it. The body was cleaner, much more ripe. Its skin didn’t drain of color as I reanimated it, and its glossy eyes burned with the same green witch-fire. It seemed sturdier and not as faulty—a Zombie.

  If I had prepared the body right, I could make it lose the weakness of flesh and just be bones to become a skeleton. It was odd how easy this was coming to me.

  “Cursed bitch,” the downed goblin said. “Wizex will know we didn’t report back. He’ll burn your kind—a friend to a [Night-Thing] isn’t a friend to us.”

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  I ignored his words, and turned to inspect my minions. I had originally thought the zombie was slow, but watching the dredge move in its awkward motions made me reconsider. Even the quality of flesh was different; the dredge’s pale skin was thin like paper, but the zombie had a thickness to it. Where the dagger had left a gaping hole on my lesser minion, the zombie was recovering, the wound stitching in. Even the amount of musculature was different, with the zombie still keeping the goblin’s musculature, whereas the dredge had lost it into its wiry-thin frame.

  “He’ll burn you! And he’ll free—”

  I had found its chattering annoying, and pressed my knee into the dirt. At eye level with it, I produced another dagger from my satchel and lifted its chin with the sharp edge of the blade. A small dollop of blood went down the knife’s edge.

  “How do I get to the castle?”

  “The castle?” The goblin responded, utterly confused at my demand, but staring down at the knife.

  “The castle. I don’t care about whatever you, or your… ‘Wizex,’ is up to.”

  The goblin’s face lost its edge of fear, and instead became calm. Its lips pursed, sneering and silent.

  I stabbed his other leg, drawing the knife against the muscle and pushing deeper. When I felt the bone, I began to carve downward. “Talk.”

  “To the Judge with you, Necromancer. I won’t tell you shit about Levan’s grave,” he screamed in pain.

  I watched his eyes, and his face was filled with hate. “I’m not the first one to attempt this, am I?” I realized.

  He stared at me, forcing his face to remain still even as blood dripped from both of his legs. “Tell me, or I’ll find someone in your tribe that will.”

  “Okay,” he began to speak, but his voice drew to a hoarse whisper. It was slow and dying, filled with the sounds of exertion and pain. I leaned in to hear what he had to say.

  His lips pursed, and he spat his disgusting blood against my face. My eyes shot open, and my hand shakily rose toward my cheek. Red blood stained my palm, which I wiped down on the dirt.

  “To the Abyss with you, Necromancer. The Enemy will desecrate your corpse,” he spat out again.

  There was a path through the forest that led to a crack in the wall that the kids used to slip into the castle grounds, but Dalliance had told me to “follow the owl that hooted.” I had initially thought it was another Fae creature, but at this point…

  This creature wasn’t doing anything for my cause, and it was slowly becoming a waste of time. I didn’t move my attention from the goblin, but called to my zombie. “You hungry, boy?”

  The goblin’s eyes went up in shock. “No! Just kill me and rai—”

  “How do I get to the castle?” I repeated my question.

  “Only Wizex knows! He’s in the warrens.” The thing croaked out, backing away from the lumbering zombie.

  “Thank you, was that so hard?”

  “A-Are you going to call it off?”

  “To the Abyss with you. I’m sure the Judge will sort this out.” I whistled to my monsters, and they quickly descended like hounds off a leash.

  The zombie and dredge dashed toward the fallen goblin, whose screeching sounds were mixed with the gnashing of teeth and tearing of flesh. Tears mixed with chewing filled the air, as I looked toward the direction the goblin had indicated.

  I wasn’t planning on causing mass-scale murder, but these loathsome creatures started it. I had just wanted to go toward the castle.

  The sounds of the two undead eating were grating my ears, but it gave me the time I needed to think of a plan. I only had two creatures to face an entire warren, and then, I’d need to find a shaman.

  I let out a deep breath and began to walk, whistling for my monsters to follow behind. The bone daggers jutted out of the dirt and bodies they lay in, and slid back into my open pouch.

  Coming across the entrance of the warrens was easier than I had thought. The opening was a cave system, and right outside was a small encampment flanked by two watchtowers. I only had two creatures with me, but I had the advantage. Every death wasn’t just a loss for their side, but an addition to mine.

  I narrowed my eyes to see what was actually in the watchtowers, and of course, the goblins that were supposed to be on guard weren’t present. I looked at the other one beside it, and it too was unmanned.

  The encampment was different. A massive pot was set in the center, which was swarmed by those blighted creatures. Heavy fire licked the bottom as a bubbling brew frothed out. It only seemed to be vegetables and herbs, and judging from how my undead acted, I figured they were more interested in meat and gore.

  I scanned the area, looking for what was supposed to go into the pot, and then I spotted them. A massive barn owl was tied like a chicken to be roasted, struggling against its rather lackluster restraints. Beside him, however, was…

  A living tree. Maybe a bush? He looked masculine, but his skin was green and his hair was leaves. His eyes seemed to be blueberries, or at least that sharply purple. He was nude, and his chest was also the color of grass. He too was tied against the ropes, as a rather fat-looking goblin beside him butchered the remnants of what I assume was a cat.

  At least I found the owl that hooted.

  A horn bellowed out!

  While I was staring at the chef, I didn’t notice something coming from behind me. A goblin was atop a wolf, flanked by two holding bows. “More meat,” the rider snarled, and the call of the horn turned the attention of the encampment.

  No time to think or plan.

  I immediately motioned my two creatures to lunge toward the encampment. I didn’t care if they did any damage; all they had to do was buy me some time. I reached into my satchel and let out the ghost-bone daggers. They immediately came to life—all 24 of them.

  My head burned and felt distant. I was using far too much of my inner reserve just to maintain everything. I needed the blight, or I had to be smarter about my casting, but that was tomorrow’s problem.

  Today’s problem was the rider steering its wolf straight. “NECROMANCER!” it shouted, causing its hunting party to kick into a frenzy. The two bow-goblins beside it quickly raised their bows.

  THWICK!

  The whistling of my bone daggers flew straight, my instinct coming before my conscious thought. They slid right into their skulls, soft and pliable. I heard and felt the sensation of bone cracking, and it excited me. My heart raced, even as that wolf sprinted toward me.

  Yesterday, I was Ashley Hart, a [Farm Girl].

  As it pounced, I grabbed one of the floating daggers in the sky and quickly thrust my arm upwards. The wolf previously had done the same, and I adapted. The tip found its mark in the creature’s gut, and then, using the beast’s own momentum, carved its stomach out.

  The goblin was launched forward, smashing his face against the dirt. I could deal with him later. I pricked my fingers and dabbed a small dollop of my blood on the carved-out wolf, and the two bowmen.

  Their bodies twitched, and the incoming storm of winter flew out. They rose upwards, the goblin-zombies picking up their bows in forced obedience and aiming at their former leader.

  THWIP!

  The arrow flew clumsily, but it found its mark. One pierced the hunt-leader’s eye, and the other pushed right through his throat.

  The wolf, however, was a different story. Since it wasn’t humanoid, its skin melted away and became this… [Abomination].

  No fur, just flesh and muscle exposed. The open gut expelled the innards, and replaced it with sharpening bones.

  I’d call this a [Hell-Hound].

  The fleshy maw was muscle and teeth, the eyes burning away into green witch-fire. When it growled, I didn’t hear a wolf, but the howling cacophony of winter. Its body was muscle with no fur. It was oddly cute.

  I quickly turned around to see my zombie taking the blows from the weak, broken weapons. The dredge was dead, but I knew that it was made to be cannon fodder.

  When the goblins noticed what I had done, they broke free from their assault. “RUN! TO THE SHAMAN!” they screamed. I aimed my bone daggers at each of them, trying to prevent that escape.

  I hit seven out of the twelve, each within their skulls to preserve their bodies. The remaining five wisely used their hit comrades as cover before entering the cave mouth.

  I moved toward the downed hunter and opened my palm again. The flow of green vital energy began to burn out.

  This time, I focused it into my Symphony rather than my body. I could hear myself think; I could feel my thoughts and the brain-fog fade away. I shook it off, and elected not to make another dredge. They were basically useless.

  I cut my finger and dripped blood onto each of the seven downed goblins, and all of them rose up again. Their lanky arms grabbed the weapons they had used in life, and awaited further command.

  I motioned for them to go watch the entrance so nothing came out. I then approached the owl and… green plant-man, who both shivered in fear.

  I moved toward the [Fey], and undid the bindings against his mouth.

  “Foul Daughter of Rhyvesta! I will not yie—”

  “That’s very nice. Do you know how to get to the castle?” I interrupted, getting tired of this.

  “—ld to… the castle?”

  “Dalliance Rather told me that some fairy creature would know. He even gave me a lemon drop candy to bribe you. I think saving your life counts as well?”

  “...You’re killing a tribe of goblins to find out how to get to the castle?” the [Fey] repeated.

  “You look a bit too human for me to want to kill.” I stopped myself from saying “but your owl did not.”

  “A Necromancer with a compass, Elora’s Laces…” he repeated. “Look, I don’t know, but they took the [Druid] deeper in. If you rescue him, the [Fey Contract] he is bound to will indebt him to your service.”

  “Great, so I have to kill these things,” I pouted. I pulled out my bone dagger, which caused the Fey to back up.

  I grabbed his head, and slid my knife close.

  And then I cut the rope bindings. “Told you, you look too human for my tastes.”

  The Fey stood up, completely in the nude, but for once in my life I didn’t feel flustered. I was getting excited at the notion of just seeing how this entire experience went.

  A part of me was glad that I was given a reason to keep raising the dead.

  Was that all I needed? A reason?

  Cryotheurge was nice, but I didn’t really feel the need to hide what I was becoming.

  Here, at least.