I was expecting the warrens to be cramped and tight, but I didn’t realize how much taller I was than the typical goblin. My abomination crawled and led the assault, its extended claws scraping against the stone floors. Behind it, shambling mounds of goblin zombies lurched forward, green witch-flame eyes illuminating the darkness.

  The flames from their eyes were the only illumination I had in this cave system, and the tunnels branched and curved. The entire place reeked of refuse and dirt, and even now, my shoes squeaked with what I hoped was mud.

  Filthy creatures.

  The main path led toward the interior den. Tables were upturned, but the sounds of scratching and shuffling carried about. The horde I was commanding halted, and the abomination in front snarled—from both of its misshapen mouths.

  I raised my hand and my horde halted. Their shambling forms still creaked noisily, and the abomination continued its vigilance. “Give me the druid, or tell me how to get to the castle.” I tried to reason with them.

  The creatures began to mutter behind their table, the whispering starting quiet and growing in pitch and urgency.

  “You’ll just kill us anyway!” one of the goblins shouted out. That caused the whispering to stop, and a chorus of agreement to sound out from behind.

  “So be it,” I stated. I would have let them go, probably. I wasn’t Ophelia, and I didn’t really get anything from this experience nor want anything they had.

  Save the druid, of course.

  I whistled, and the abomination at the very front launched itself forward. The zombies lurched behind, uncaring for the volley of darts and arrows that had been launched at them.

  The abomination vaulted over the upturned tables, dirt spraying into the air from the force. Its second maw—the one I had carved open with my knife against its stomach—lurched downward and impaled one of the sheltering goblins. The bone shards pierced into its skull and dragged it inward. It didn’t even get a chance to scream before it died.

  The Symphony began again, and this time, I didn’t feel the surge of winter. I heard the grim rattles of maggots once more, and the chewing and gnashing of locusts and teeth. I smiled at the sounds, and instinctively placed my hand against the damp cave wall.

  It was cold.

  It was cold!

  I wasn’t sure what my witchmark had changed to, or what a pure Necromancer was at that point, but it didn’t really matter. My thoughts had a habit of switching and not focusing on the task at hand—not that I needed to pay too much attention.

  The zombie horde had made it to the table, and the seven creatures that were under my command began to bash against the wall. Their knives and swords were cracking the wood, but they kept themselves exposed to the lunges of spears and volleys of arrows.

  All in all, I counted ten in this room that didn’t belong to me, excluding the one my abomination already devoured. Five were acting as a shield, piercing the skulls of my lumbering frontline as the other five had surrounded the abomination.

  My ghost-bone daggers hovered idly behind me. I was content watching the scene in front, more curious about how all this fighting actually worked.

  One of the goblins surrounding my abomination lunged forward, the tip of its spear glistening green. The abomination made no attempt to evade, so black blood spurted out of its wound. It snarled at the goblin, turning quickly to the side and lunging its jagged maw at its throat.

  The goblin stepped back! From the exposed flank, another goblin charged in and pierced the abomination.

  Rhyvesta’s Gaze, these things were idiotic. Did I actually have to command them to think?

  My hand rose to the sky, a conductor in my own Symphony. I closed my eyes to hear the cicadas and maggots—and I was so glad that it had returned. I missed my bugs.

  The horde that was being battered against the table-made walls had to be reassigned. Instead of idly smashing against the wood, I took direct control of two of them.

  I couldn’t feel anything they did, but it was like pulling on string. The green flames in their eyes turned black, and they began to follow my conducting. Their tiny frames came to the edge of the wooden tables that were locked in the center, and their hands found purchase against the edge. I yanked them both backward, which they understood to mean “pull.”

  CREAK!

  The wooden tables shifted like a gate opening. The remaining zombies—spears and arrows in their wounds—stopped bashing uselessly against the walls and began to clamber inward. Their bodies smacked against each other, dropping their weapons on the floor. One of the goblins that had been standing on a stool to pierce the invading force stumbled backward and tripped.

  Two of my minions immediately descended upon it, their sharp teeth tearing chunks into the flesh. Their claws greedily scraped into its green skin, pulling out pieces as it screamed and screamed. The goblins beside it shouted in shock, their hands trembling and their weapons rattling. One of them nocked an arrow, which immediately slipped between his fingers.

  Another spear pierced my abomination, and its body heaved. I released my mind from the two I used to open the table “gate,” and turned it toward the beast. Its eyes went black, and it didn’t feel like pulling strings. It felt more like being atop a steed, guiding its thoughts and vision toward a target.

  I forced it to lunge, ignoring any threat to itself. The beast was disposable, after all—I could make more. The spear pushed deeper into its already deceased body, but the abomination’s jaws caught the rough throat of the goblin. I yanked myself back, which the abomination mimicked—ripping the throat right out. Red blood spilled against it, and more green energy flew toward me. I quickly redirected it back to my horde.

  “RUN! DEEPER INTO THE WARRENS!”

  The remainder turned tail and began to flee, and my abomination snarled. Its knees buckled down and its rear wagged to orient for another pounce, but I called it down. There were four dead goblins, one of which I had used to restore the life force of my horde.

  Three more zombies joined the horde.

  We followed the trail of blood, making an easy path into the warrens. The next room was an armory and food storage. It was already looted, and the fortifications here were abandoned. Noisy running and hollering came from the tunnel behind it, leading deeper into the warrens.

  We continued our march, passing the barracks, then what I assumed was a recreation room, even if I did not understand goblin recreation.

  Finally, my horde arrived at the throne room, where fifty goblins awaited at the edge. In the very center was another, but it stood a full head taller than the others.

  Wizex was muscular, and unlike his nude brethren, actually wore clothes: thick leather hides, and a human skull as a helmet. His left arm had beads that draped to the ground, and his right hand held a wicked-looking curved knife.

  “Necromancer,” he stated, looking at my horde. I couldn’t see hate in his eyes, nor fear. Just amusement. “What do you want?”

  I pushed my lumbering zombies to the side and rubbed the abomination’s head. “Honestly, I just want to get to the castle. So either tell me how to do it, or get out of my way and give me the druid.”

  “Are you Levan’s successor, then?”

  I stared at him, but my blank expression must have given it away.

  “Oh! So this is just some mad quest you’re doing on your own? How surprisingly refreshing, and just like him. Underhill, we have a guest.” His voice was benign at that point, and he waved his hand over the armed goblins.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  All of them looked at each other in confusion, causing Wizex to growl. “Lower your weapons.”

  “What is going on?” I finally broke. “Are you going to tell me how to get to the castle?”

  “Levan is… or was… the first Lich, if you hadn’t known. His soul is bound to four phylacteries. Well, three now. The Ordo-Inquisitis already destroyed the first one, and the second—his own scythe—is in the tomb.”

  I said nothing. My eyes watched him, then scanned the room. The goblins up there had lowered their weapons, but were muttering to themselves as well.

  “The Underhill tribe was given one important task, and that was to find his successor, if the successor can handle the first trial of Levan,” Wizex continued. His golden eyes stared at me. “So, Necromancer. Do you want to do the trial, or do you just want to die where you stand? You’re too new to be facing a boss like me in my own lair alone.”

  I growled at this statement, but he raised his knife to me in response. “You aren’t the first adventurer to make their way into the warrens. A bunch of kids fought a few of my goblins and two of them died. You might be older, but you’re nowhere near as experienced, and that horde behind you..?”

  He waved his knife at them.

  The bodies behind me immediately collapsed, and the green flow of magic poured into the dirt. Wizex cracked his neck. “I don’t know how old my papi was when he learned it from his papi, or how old grandpapi was when he learned that, but Levan taught our tribe.”

  I looked back at the corpses, then turned my attention to Wizex. “I don’t get what’s going on anymore. Do you want me to go to the castle?”

  “Yes! Yes I do! We were waiting for a necromancer to arrive with such a selfish, stupid goal like Levan’s! The other ones spoke of such silly ideas like a grand unity, or making the dead work instead of the living. That wouldn’t be in line with our Dread Mother’s teachings. Power begets power, Necromancer.”

  “I don’t think I have much choice here, do I?”

  “You can turn around and leave. I won’t stop you.”

  “No.” I immediately replied. That suggestion was an insult.

  “You could try killing all of us. Those ghost-bone daggers you have in your pouch will make quick work of my warren till I find a way to replace them.”

  “But it wouldn’t kill you, would it?”

  Wizex shook his head. “Or you can do the Trial of Levan, and if you succeed, I’ll let you in on a secret. I’ll even give you the annoying druid back. It would be boring if my game with the fey ended quickly.”

  I rolled my shoulders. “So be it.”

  “Excellent! I was awaiting something just like this. Step forward, Lady…?”

  “Ashley Hart. Wizex, I assume?” I responded quickly.

  “Lady Hart. Ironic name for a necromancer. A proper Hart-Stopper,” he chuckled, beckoning me to the center of the throne room.

  I followed behind. His feet made an X, and then he walked fifty paces away. He motioned for me to stand there.

  Seeing as I had no choice, I did so.

  “I will give you one piece of advice, Lady Hart. Think like a necromancer, or die like a mortal.”

  The Goblin Shaman pulled out an ancient, tattered scroll from his inventory.

  “Yina-Ov’il’as’arath. Rhyvest—Kill’ MATHRA!”

  (From the Words of the Cycle, Obey my Command and Kill!)

  The ground below me shook, and hundreds of bones in the throne room began to emerge out of the dirt. The circular arena formed a cage of bones to prevent me from retreating, as the skeletons rose to the surface.

  Their bodies reassembled, each one of them glowing with green eyes. I was completely surrounded, but it didn’t stop there.

  Their bodies rattled and shook, and then they disassembled. They began to fly upward toward the center where Wizex was standing—hundreds of skulls, two hundred arms, legs, and thousands of minuscule bones. They connected together into one massive being that was hunched over. Skulls made joints connecting to thousands of bones. It rattled and moved.

  And I didn’t feel fear. My eyes continued to look over it, impressed with the craftsmanship. The bones, while discarded, were of perfect quality. The skulls all seemed to have a small modicum of intellect, and I could see each one was assigned a very specific purpose. A skull that handled the arm joint was only responsible for the arm joint.

  WSSH!

  The “tail” of this giant bone-beast whipped at my chest while I was staring at it with awe. My body collided with the bone wall and I coughed up blood—black and thick and sticky.

  “Pay attention, Lady Hart. That was a warning shot. The next one won’t be so clean.”

  “Thanks, Wizex,” I replied, getting back up and wiping the blood off my mouth. Hundreds of skulls roared at me, cutting the air with their chattering cacophony. Even the goblins moved their hands to cover their ears, but Wizex was leaning against the cage wall, unbothered.

  I immediately summoned my bone daggers and let them fly upward. I launched all twenty-four of them at the thing, and it didn’t even bother to evade. The glowing green of my ghost daggers pierced the bone, passing through the natural protection it had. Yet it wasn’t bothered, and as I tugged the blades back, they were stuck!

  “Still thinking like a mortal, Lady Hart. Try again.”

  The golem began to run at me, bones cracking with its step. I shivered as it got closer and closer.

  Sweetest Daughter, use the gift I have given you. Learn, or Die.

  Her voice in my head was like honey, but it left like ash.

  Unbound? What?

  The golem was fifteen feet away from me, and my thoughts began to race.

  Rhyvesta was about the cycle, about life and death. An [Acolyte] served her, but it could branch into a [Necromancer], or [Vampyre]—and the third was a [Reaper].

  Ten feet away. The ground shook as it closed the distance, each mighty slam causing the roof to crumble.

  [Reaper] was the harvester, enforcing the will of the Cycle. They brought death. How I knew this was beyond me, but I suspected it had to do with The Dead Mother.

  Five feet. I could smell its stench.

  [Vampyre] was domination. It bound things and people against their will. It was also the “failed” version of an [Acolyte], one who misunderstood the gift given.

  Its mighty arm raised to the sky.

  [Necromancer] was the one who continued the cycle. Theirs was the domain of the dead and the living, the keepers of the great wheel.

  All would serve.

  Rhea. The true name.

  “Yata’Rhea.”

  (You Too Shall Serve)

  Where this spell came from, I did not know. It wasn’t in my list, but it was part of me. The howling storm of the [Necromancer] mixed with the powers of the [Reaper]. I could feel the domination of a [Vampyre], but this was far more pure.

  My hand raised to meet the golem’s as green tendrils flew out, wrapping against the arm and bone. It twisted about, seizing so that both of our Symphonies became one.

  The false Symphony became subservient to mine, and the black eyes in the hundreds of skulls turned green.

  Wizex grinned, clapping his hands.

  “Domination. That is what a [Necromancer] was made for—to be Shepherds of the dead. A soul is not wise; it must be guided and controlled. Levan told me to teach the next one ‘Destroy Undead’ as well, but with how greenhorn you are, I think you should keep it.”

  “Are you going to tell me how to get to the castle now?”

  “Of course. Do you want the druid back?”

  “I don’t really care. Free him so you can continue your war.”

  “Good choice, Lady Hart. I will do so, but you should talk to the fey as you leave. And, if you would, could you compost those things you killed—I do not want my warrens to continue smelling like dead bodies.”

  “Of course.”

  “And Lady Hart?”

  “Yes?”

  “Lyrelle Forest is yours, right? I’ll see to it that the Underhill tribe moves closer.”

  “Stay away from Oakheart.”

  “As you command, Lady Hart.”

  He bowed to me. I returned the curtsy.