you understand? Or has that Wakeful brain of yours rotted to nothing?”
Across the void, she knew Malachai’s lungs burned as she tightened her grasp on the illusion’s throat.
“Your majesty is unquestioned, Highness,” Malachai’s illusion gurgled, “I thought only to honor you by destroying the coven of heathens.”
Won over by the expected flattery, the Liche Queen released her grasp. “You will bring the girl to me, Captain. You will not delay. You will not assume. You will do as commanded.”
“Of course, your Highness,” Malachai muttered. “Always as commanded.”
The silhouette retreated back into the Echo, massaging its throat.
“And Captain... You are being followed.”
Pandora waved her hand, severing the mystical connection. The Echo went cold and fell from the hooks, crashing into the depths. The water’s mirror-like surface rippled once and then was still. The walls cringed with mortal dread as the Liche Queen’s furious scream rattled the throne room. Blasted Malachai had once again overstepped his boundaries and required punishment. She would deal with him later; a fact he should count on. Still, that she had been unable to sense the petulant Captain’s whereabouts disturbed her. Perhaps it had nothing to do with the child after all? Had he found a way to obscure the tie? A place to hide?
The twisted branches of the floor circled up and encapsulated the seething Queen. The chamber’s large branches spiraled away, allowing her descending passage into the heart of the dark castle. The Hollow.
Pandora dismissed the branch-lift with a wave. The cradle separated into singular pieces and rejoined the chaotic tangle of the wall. From floor to ceiling, a sophisticated layout of breakneck walkways and narrow tunnels crisscrossed the Hollow. The armory, barracks, throne room, and even her private chambers were all within reach. She threw open the heavy door to her War Room, smashing it into an unfortunate goblin slave. The frail creature, who looked on the brink of starvation, tumbled head first into a shelf, dumping stacks of parchments and dusty tomes to the floor. The goblin picked itself up, eyes bulging, certain its life was to be gruesomely interrupted.
The Liche Queen said nothing and walked by the trembling slave without so much as a customary backhand. She stepped over the scattered mess, taking a place by General Thraal’s side at a monstrous triangular table. The goblin sighed all the relief it dared and began returning the shelf’s contents.
“Out.”
Slaves and minor members of the War Council hastily filed out. Few spoke, none established eye contact. All knew the penalty for dawdling. The clumsy goblin was the last in line. Until the Liche Queen commanded the contrary, freezing the creature in place. The goblin’s knobby knees knocked, echoing the chatter of its teeth. The Liche Queen sliced at her throat with a pale bony finger. She regarded the doomed creature with a mask of stone as a thin, oily line seeped free of his scrawny throat. She blew a kiss...
Its head tumbled free.
The goblin’s eyes bulged as his head bounced, smearing blood onto the fallen parchments. Its body twitched once and slumped to the floor. A coil of branches peeled away from the floor, wrapping around the corpse like the tentacles of a squid, claiming the carcass for the Nekropolis. The Liche Queen turned to her top advisor and the strange artifact recently delivered on the table.
She beamed like an excited child. “Now, where were we?”
Thraal drummed his fingers on the table’s edge, pounding like miniature hammers. The grizzled veteran cut an imposing figure at over six feet tall. Dressed in casual garb, evidence of a lean body hardened by decades of combat and discipline were abundant. Thraal’s dark hair was touched with gray and cropped close to the scalp. Two ghostly scars carved jagged ravines up from his throat clutching at his temple. Thraal gestured to the strange object
Across the void, she knew Malachai’s lungs burned as she tightened her grasp on the illusion’s throat.
“Your majesty is unquestioned, Highness,” Malachai’s illusion gurgled, “I thought only to honor you by destroying the coven of heathens.”
Won over by the expected flattery, the Liche Queen released her grasp. “You will bring the girl to me, Captain. You will not delay. You will not assume. You will do as commanded.”
“Of course, your Highness,” Malachai muttered. “Always as commanded.”
The silhouette retreated back into the Echo, massaging its throat.
“And Captain... You are being followed.”
Pandora waved her hand, severing the mystical connection. The Echo went cold and fell from the hooks, crashing into the depths. The water’s mirror-like surface rippled once and then was still. The walls cringed with mortal dread as the Liche Queen’s furious scream rattled the throne room. Blasted Malachai had once again overstepped his boundaries and required punishment. She would deal with him later; a fact he should count on. Still, that she had been unable to sense the petulant Captain’s whereabouts disturbed her. Perhaps it had nothing to do with the child after all? Had he found a way to obscure the tie? A place to hide?
The twisted branches of the floor circled up and encapsulated the seething Queen. The chamber’s large branches spiraled away, allowing her descending passage into the heart of the dark castle. The Hollow.
Pandora dismissed the branch-lift with a wave. The cradle separated into singular pieces and rejoined the chaotic tangle of the wall. From floor to ceiling, a sophisticated layout of breakneck walkways and narrow tunnels crisscrossed the Hollow. The armory, barracks, throne room, and even her private chambers were all within reach. She threw open the heavy door to her War Room, smashing it into an unfortunate goblin slave. The frail creature, who looked on the brink of starvation, tumbled head first into a shelf, dumping stacks of parchments and dusty tomes to the floor. The goblin picked itself up, eyes bulging, certain its life was to be gruesomely interrupted.
The Liche Queen said nothing and walked by the trembling slave without so much as a customary backhand. She stepped over the scattered mess, taking a place by General Thraal’s side at a monstrous triangular table. The goblin sighed all the relief it dared and began returning the shelf’s contents.
“Out.”
Slaves and minor members of the War Council hastily filed out. Few spoke, none established eye contact. All knew the penalty for dawdling. The clumsy goblin was the last in line. Until the Liche Queen commanded the contrary, freezing the creature in place. The goblin’s knobby knees knocked, echoing the chatter of its teeth. The Liche Queen sliced at her throat with a pale bony finger. She regarded the doomed creature with a mask of stone as a thin, oily line seeped free of his scrawny throat. She blew a kiss...
Its head tumbled free.
The goblin’s eyes bulged as his head bounced, smearing blood onto the fallen parchments. Its body twitched once and slumped to the floor. A coil of branches peeled away from the floor, wrapping around the corpse like the tentacles of a squid, claiming the carcass for the Nekropolis. The Liche Queen turned to her top advisor and the strange artifact recently delivered on the table.
She beamed like an excited child. “Now, where were we?”
Thraal drummed his fingers on the table’s edge, pounding like miniature hammers. The grizzled veteran cut an imposing figure at over six feet tall. Dressed in casual garb, evidence of a lean body hardened by decades of combat and discipline were abundant. Thraal’s dark hair was touched with gray and cropped close to the scalp. Two ghostly scars carved jagged ravines up from his throat clutching at his temple. Thraal gestured to the strange object
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