The Girl and the Granite Throne: Chapter Five

Erin and Byert sat in the cobbler’s shop, sipping tea his wife had brought to them. It was dark now, and the cobbler had been out for several hours letting the other faithful know that there would be a gathering that evening. He had told her they may not be ready until late into the night. Some of the faithful would need to cancel plans or make excuses in order to sneak away for an unscheduled meeting such as this. She tried to act as though that’s what she had expected–but truthfully the thought hadn’t occurred to her. Though she followed the god of secrets, she’d spent most of her life among the god’s followers, and never needed to make excuses for pursuing his ends.

The cobbler’s wife–Nara, if Erin recalled correctly–entered the room with clasped hands.

“They’re ready for you now, mistress” the woman said. Erin thanked her. No need to be haughty when someone was already showing you the proper respect. She stepped out of the room, gesturing for Byert and ‘Nara’ to follow. They descended the hidden staircase, not bothering to close the shelf behind them as it was well past midnight. The walk through the tunnel was brief, and they emerged into the meeting room to find it filled with a scant handful of people. Erin took count, there were only nine, including the cobbler and his wife. Nine faithful to help her conquer a town of over a thousand. She’d known her resources were scarce when she made her plans with Immar, but seeing their numbers in front of her made the task seem all the more impossible.

She did her best to put her uncertainty aside. She needed to appear confident, and authoritative. Again she strode to the center of the room, and stood behind the altar.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked, hoping she sounded intimidating. Every head in the room nodded, and she hoped that was a good sign. “Good. Then here’s what you need to know: the government of Heathrop has been deemed corrupt by The Bite. It must be cleansed by the brilliance of the Hidden Lord. Tomorrow night, during the festival of high summer, we shall take the town as our own.”

Erin paused for their reactions, and she wasn’t disappointed. They looked shocked, and rightfully so. She had not, nor would she, mention that several Trenche of Illumian warblades would be coming in to handle most of the fighting. They didn’t need to know that. Immar trusted the faithful of Heathrop, but he wasn’t willing to let his entire plan hinge on their discretion.

Erin continued, without acknowledging their trepidation. “I was told that one among you is a local brewer, is that correct?” A thin young man stepped forward, clasping his hands nervously.

“That would be me, ma’am.”

“Excellent,” she said. Loatie hopped out of one of her robe’s many pockets with two plants in his mouth. She took them and held them up to the young man. “Are you familiar with these two flowers, brewer?”

“Well, the red ones grow just outside town.” he replied. “I’m not familiar with this thorny one, though.”

“It grows in the woods, about half a mile south near the edge of the stream. Tomorrow I want all of you to gather as many of these flowers as you can before mid afternoon. Once you’ve got them, you’ll crush four of the red ones and two of the thorny ones into each barrel of ale you’ve got. Together with the alcohol, they form a powerful sleeping agent. During the festival tomorrow evening, you’ll be giving away as much free ale as you have. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good. Now who is the priest that leads this congregation?” The eldest of the group straightened up

“I am Erbon Illad, a Thought of the Hidden Lord.”

“And our lord has blessed you with the ability to raise those who have fallen as our allies?”

“He has.”

“Then you and I shall travel to the graveyard as the festival begins. My magics have not yet granted me that ability, but my warblade companion and I can protect you as you chant your spells.”

“Perhaps you overestimate my power, ma’am.” the priest said, choosing his words carefully so as not to offend her, “I cannot raise enough to subdue the town’s guard.”

“I don’t expect you to.” Erin replied, “I merely expect you to raise as many as you can.” The priest looked unsure, but bowed in submission.

Erin looked out over the room again “The remaining seven of you will also have a task to perform during the festival. As you know, there are three armories in town for the militia to arm themselves from, should the town come under attack. These buildings are locked, but not guarded. As twilight approaches, shortly before the festivities begin, you will force your way into the armory nearest the town square, and barricade it from any entry. With everyone in the town square for the festival, the other two armories will be too far away to do them any good.”

“I assume everyone understands what I’m asking of them. Are there any questions?” Another young man, this one more broadly built than the brewer, spoke up.

“That’s hardly enough for us to take the town, ma’am.”

“No, it is not.” Erin agreed. “But it is what you will do.”

The man snarled “And why should we think this girl speaks for the Maimed Lord?” he shouted, half turning to his fellows. Byert began to step forward, but Erin was already moving. Swinging her duom spear in a wide arc, she brought the steel shaft across the blaggard’s temple, hard. He dropped to the ground with an ugly thud, some blood dribbling from his slack lip.

“You had led me to believe that my credentials were well understood, but let me repeat myself. I am Erin Wallcraft, sent on behalf of Immar Twistfinger, known to you as The Bite. I speak for him. When this brute wakes, I trust you’ll inform him of why my orders are to be followed, yes?” She turned immediately and strode to the exit, trying to hide the smile creeping on to her face. Her delivery of that speech had been much better this time.

She caught only a glimpse of their frightened nods as she left. They were…satisfying.

Erin took a room at the Heathrop Inn and got as much rest as she could. She instructed Loatie not to wake her, and without him she slept well into the midmorning. When she woke, she studied her spellbook more carefully than normal, knowing the incantations selected would be the ones she took with her into battle. It took her over an hour to meticulously lay the pathways for each spell in her mind, focusing the complex energies of the arcane so that when she needed, she would be able to release them with a snap of her fingers, rather than a twenty minute ritual. It was very nearly noon before she walked out of her room to meet Byert downstairs.

With her plans already set in motion, there was little to do but wait for the evening. The pair spent their time walking through the streets, examining the guard’s movements, and the festival preparations. They hoped to spot some of the paladins and take their measure, but the two of them had no more luck on that count than Erin had the day before. They checked the armories to ensure no guards had been posted there as part of the festival preparations, and did their best to familiarize themselves better with the streets which would soon be their battlefield.

The waiting was interminable. Erin’s stomach was twisting itself into knots, and she frequently caught herself gritting her teeth. She just wanted the fighting to start already. The danger couldn’t be any worse than the waiting was. She had skipped breakfast, and wasn’t feeling hungry at all. If anything, the thought of food nauseated her. It took Byert an hour to convince her to join him in a small meal purchased from a street vendor. The two sat by the side of the cart. Byert ate vigorously, and Erin envied his calm. Young though he was, this would probably not be his first time in combat. The best she could manage was to nibble at the steamed vegetables and sweet bread.

Suddenly, she was struck from behind, and nearly bowled over. Regretting that she left her spear in the Cobbler’s shop, she brought a spell to mind, and nearly cast it before she noticed a man’s form tumble to the side of her. She righted herself, dropping her food to the dirt road and leaping to her feet. She noticed Byert was already up, clutching a small dagger she hadn’t realized he was carrying. The tumbling man was sprawled in the street, face down. With a quiet hiss and a nod, Erin indicated Byert should put the dagger away, and it disappeared into his sleeve.

“Are you alright?” she asked the man, trying to sound like someone who hadn’t been convinced she was under attack a moment ago. He made it to his knees, and Erin offered him a hand to help him to his feet.

“I’m fine, but what about you? I’m so sorry, I ought to look where I’m going!”

“It’s no problem, you just startled us is a-” Erin trailed off as her eyes met his. He was gods-damned gorgeous. He stared back at her, and it seemed as though a long time passed before he spoke again.

“Well…if you’re sure you’re alright, I won’t impose on your time.” he said, offering her a small bow before turning and taking a step away. He didn’t get further than that before he stopped, and turned around to face her again.

“I’m sorry for being so presumptuous, miss, but will you be attending the festival tonight? Would it be possible for me to meet you there? I am told the local cuisine is particularly superb during festivals, and I would be happy to treat you and your companion by way of an apology. I clearly owe you that much.” He indicated Erin’s lunch lying in the road. Her lip quirked a bit. This would have been a pleasant surprise at any other time.

Vecna did love his irony.

“You’ll see me there.” she said, trying to sound alluring rather than ominous, and not sure she succeeded.

“Excellent. I’m glad.” he said with a smile. He reached out a hand to shake hers. “I’m Sarin, by the way. And you are?”

Erin returned his smile “You can meet me properly tonight. Much more fun that way.” It took a significant force of will not to visibly wince at her own pitiful attempt at dodging the question. She wasn’t even sure why she’d done it, it’s not as though her name would give anything away. Fortunately for her, he seemed oblivious to just how awkward she was being.

“Then I’ll meet you tonight. Good day, miss!” he said cheerily, before bowing once more and turning to leave. She stared after him for a moment before Byert stepped up beside her,

“We should get moving” he said in a low voice. “Twilight is approaching, and we should equip ourselves before meeting with the others.”

Erin nodded, returning to the grim present.

The two made their way back to the cobbler’s home, where they’d left their more obvious combat gear the night before. Adventurers passed through town often enough that she doubted anyone would have found it terribly suspicious if they had kept it with them but there was no need to risk undue attention. Byert donned the light leather-and-chain he had brought, strapped his sword to his side, and his shield to his back. Erin, meanwhile got out of her non-threatening robes, and changed into her more comfortable breeches. She was relieved to take possession of her Duom back from the cobbler’s wife. It had only been a few days since it had been given to her, but she’d felt naked without it.

When they emerged from the back room, the old priest from the meeting was waiting for them. Erin stepped forward and nodded curtly.

“Good eve, Thought.” she said, addressing the priest by his formal title.

“And to you, Tooth.” he replied, using hers.

“Does your congregation understand my instructions?”

“They are being implemented as we speak. We all spent the day gathering the herbs you showed us. When I last saw Horace, he was beginning to add your concoction to his brew. The rest will meet at the armory 15 minutes after the evening lamps are lit and the festivities begin.” He smiled a wicked smile “And I am here to lead you to the graveyard. At a casual stroll, we should arrive shortly after full darkness.”

“Lead the way then, Thought.” Erin said, giving him a smile of her own. “And may the hidden lord see our victory in his right eye, and our failure in his left.”

“Let us pray it will be so.” replied the priest.

The three moved casually through the streets, taking side roads and avoiding any paths with the sounds of people coming from them. Not that there were many people to be avoided. Everyone had already gathered in the center of town for the festival of high summer, leaving the side roads deserted. As the priest had estimated, they reached the graveyard not long after dark. It was a modest plot of land a few hundred feet away from the nearest building of the town proper. The local custom of planting a small bush on each plot was the only indication that anyone was buried there.

The old priest nearly skipped as he approached. Despite his earlier trepidation, he seemed eager to begin. If Erin had to guess, she’d say he had rarely had the opportunity to reanimate the dead. Immar had told told her the feeling of power was an intoxicating experience.

“They’re too deep for us to dig up quickly” he said. He was trying to keep his voice low, but Erin could hear the excitement in it. “They’ll have to dig themselves out, but the spell will take longer if I can’t touch the bodies. I’ll raise as many as I can.”

“Be quick about it, Thought.” Erin said, turning to look back towards the town. “Our time is limited, and The Bite is relying on us to do our job well.” His only reply was to begin chanting the reanimation ritual behind her.

“Byert,” she called the the warrior, standing just a few feet away. “Keep your eyes peeled for anyone who might be within sight or hearing. If the town is alerted to this before we’re ready, then the entire plan will fail.” The warblade nodded. He’d already subdued his lighted runes to help his night vision, and was peering out at the town intently.

A quarter hour passed, then another, then a third. The edges of the town remained dark, and the sounds of the festival remained distant. Every few minutes Erin heard the squish of dirt as another skeletal creature clawed its way out of the ground to stand behind the chanting priest. It was a half hour longer before Erin saw it—a flare of light. Red and yellow dancing around each other as they flew into the air, and paused just past the treeline.

The Illumians had entered the city.

“Alright!” Erin called behind her, so terrified it was a wonder her voice didn’t crack. “The signal has been raised. Thought, lead your skeletons towards the center of town and drive anyone you come across back that way. Don’t let anyone escape!”

“Yes, my lady!” the priest roared. To his newly raised minions he commanded, “Now, through the city! Drag any who flee back to its center!”

Silently, the dozen and a half skeletons slinked towards town, with the priest behind them shouting praises to his god as though the battle was over, rather than just beginning.

Erin chanted a spell of protection for herself, running through the words and gestures quickly to surround herself in a magical field. It wasn’t as good as a suit of armor, but it was better than going into battle in nothing but her breeches and blouse. And, unlike armor, it wouldn’t hinder her movement enough to make the gestural aspect of spellcasting difficult.

“Byert, my magic is best used from a distance. We need to find the closest area of heavy fighting so I can assist.”

“Lets climb to a rooftop, then.” the warblade suggested. “It will give us a better vantage point, and provide us with some cover if any bowmen spot us.”

“Good thinking.” Erin replied, already running off towards the buildings. Byert was close on her heels. They dodged through the streets, moving closer to the town square, and trying to avoid any minor skirmishes as they approached the center of the fighting. They found a nice two-story building–the Inn they’d stayed in the previous night, actually–which would give Erin a good vantage point to cast from. It had a gnarled tree beside it which was easy enough to climb, though Byert’s armor gave him some trouble.

They made it to the roof and walked carefully towards the edge. What they saw was chaos. A large number of people were passed out, asleep from the drugged ale, but many others were armed and fighting back against a ring of llumian warblades who, masters of battle though they were, were struggling against numerous defenders each. Aside from the town guard and a few peasants with swords, there were the Paladins. Fully armored titans on the battlefield. There were fewer of them than there were of the warblades, but with Immar’s forces already overwhelmed by the townsfolk, they were no match for the seasoned crusaders. The paladins waded through the crowd, slaying the Illumians as they would animals at slaughter. She didn’t see Immar, but a lightning bolt called down from the sky to strike one of the Paladins dead told her that her master was still alive.

She was trying to determine where her help was most needed when she heard a rapid series of heavy footsteps behind her. She dropped to her face immediately, but not so quickly that she didn’t feel the wind from a large weapon pass through the space where her head had been. Erin rolled to her back to see the heavily armored paladin reverse his swing, bringing an armored elbow to bear against Byert’s head, forcibly pushing the young warrior to the side, where he stumbled and fell from the roof with a cry, and an ugly sounding thud.

The Paladin turned his gaze back towards Erin, as she frantically moved her hands and chanted the words required to release a spell. Then their eyes met, and the warrior and the wizard both froze in place. The paladin was the gorgeous young man Erin had flirted with mere hours before. He stumbled to speak.

“How…I thought you were…” he began, visibly upset. She locked eyes with him, saying nothing, but offering a silent prayer that he didn’t notice her hands finishing the motions of her spell.

He didn’t.

Erin stretched out her hand, whispering the triggering words just as the paladin raised his sword to defend. A bolt of white light shot from her index finger like an arrow, striking the man in the center of his armored chest, sending him stumbling back and giving Erin time to scramble to her feet. She leaped towards her dropped spear, and brought it to bear just in time to block another swing from the Paladin’s sword. It struck hard enough to send the spear flying from her hands and off of the roof. The force of the blow rattled the bones in her hands painfully. She had no time to react as the paladin brought his greatsword around for a second blow, connecting directly to her hip. The magical protections she had cast upon herself did a little to turn the blow, but the blade still cut into her side, and the force of it sent her stumbling towards the edge of the roof. She fell, tumbling through the air gracelessly and landing hard on the dirt road below.

A moment later she woke to Loatie frantically croaking in her face. She hadn’t even realized she’d fallen unconscious, but she wasn’t dead or in custody so it couldn’t have been very long. She tried to stand, but fell immediately prone again, nearly crushing Loatie beneath her. Her body could not support her. She dragged herself through the dirt to the wall of the building she’d fallen from, propping herself up against it to prepare for the imminent arrival of her foe. She didn’t have to wait long.

His clanking footsteps announced his presence before Erin was able to see his form in the darkness. He stood in front of her broken body, sword held at the ready.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, sounding confused and sad. Erin made no reply, giving him a hard look with her one good eye. He raised his sword with both hands, and placed its tip over her left breast.

“I’m sorry. I’ll make it quick.” He said. Then, whispering only just loudly enough for her to hear, “You were so pretty, too.” He paused to look her in the eye before delivering the finishing blow, and in that moment Erin completed her spell.

Black energy arced between the two, filling the air with a shifting, crackling magical force. Erin couldn’t see his face in the darkness, but his shoulders slumped and the blade drooped away from her breast, then fell completely as his arms became too weak to hold the heavy steel. The paladin fell to his knees before her, breathing heavily.

“Gods, what did you do to me?” he rasped. Without answering, Erin struggled to a kneeling position, bringing herself face to face with the boy. She bore into him with her eyes, breathing hard and trying to gather her strength. The spell of weakness would last a full minute. That was enough time. She reached out to cradle his jaw in her hand.

“It’s too bad,” Erin coughed. “You were so pretty too.”

Then she placed her index finger in the boy’s mouth, and released another bolt of energy, directly into his head. His body twitched, and went suddenly limp. Erin released him and he dropped to the ground. Blood, and bits of grey matter dribbled from his gaping mouth.

She remained on her knees and stared for a long time. Stared into the blank expressionless eyes which had seemed so alluring to her only a few hours before. Then she doubled over and vomited next to his corpse. She’d hurt people before. She’d hurt a lot of people, actually. But she’d never killed anyone. But…she’d had to, right?

“I’m sorry.” she whispered, feeling a lot less sure of herself now that the immediate danger had passed.

Carefully Erin rolled the body to the side, away from the mess she’d created. She shakily pulled herself to her feet. This time she managed not to collapse. Calling for Loatie to return to her, she moved to find her spear. It had fallen off this side of the roof as well, and wasn’t difficult to retrieve. Leaning heavily on it as a walking stick, she shuffled around to the opposite side of the building, where Byert was struggling to pull himself to his hands and knees after his own fall. In the dim light of his runes, she could see his head was covered in blood. It looked like his fall had been worse than hers.

“Damnit, Warblade!” she said, trying to sound jovial as she rushed to help him to his feet. “Some protector you turned out to be!”

“I am sorry, my lady.” he said deliriously. “I’m sorry…”

“Shut up, I was joking.” she spat. The boy had enough presence of mind to force a weak courtesy chuckle.

Just then, the two heard a voice from up ahead, so loud it had to be magically enhanced.

“People of Heathrop, I come to you bearing good news!” it began. It was Immar’s voice. “Your corrupt mayor has brought my wrath down upon this town, but I do not wish to come to you as a conqueror. I have defeated you, and now I wish to liberate you…”

The old wizard continued on, but Erin stopped listening. It was clear what the speech meant – the battle was over, and her master had been victorious. With Byert standing somewhat sturdily on his feet, the two shuffled through the streets towards the center of town, leaning on one another to keep from falling over. They emerged into the town square after a few minutes, with Immar still speaking. Most of the warblades stood in a containment perimeter around the people there, while others moved into the street to search for anyone trying to flee.

As Immar finished his speech, telling the people he’d just conquered that he would lead them into a new era of enlightenment, he saw Erin and Byert near the edge of the crowd, and gestured to one of his bodyguards. She stepped down into the throng of frightened humans, and they scrambled to give her room. She escorted the two wounded teenagers up to Immar, who embraced his apprentice, grinning as though he didn’t even notice her bruises and blood soaked clothes.

“My dear girl!” he cried. “You did well! We might have been overwhelmed if not for your efforts.” Erin struggled to think of how to reply. Right now, she felt pain more acutely than any sense of victory.

A weak “Thank you” was the best she could manage.

“Please,” he continued “Name any spoil, it will be yours!”

“A week of sleep would be nice.” she said, managing a smile for her mentor. He laughed boisterously, clearly in a good mood after his victory. Then Erin noticed a group of people off to the side, away from the rest of the crowd. Perhaps two dozen of them, guarded by four Warblades.

“Who are they, Master?” she asked, nodding towards the group. Immar glanced at them. “oh, no one, really. The mayor, his cronies, and their families. I’m afraid we can’t keep them around to disrupt the utopia we will build.”

“Those two.” she pointed, indicating a pair of boys in the group. The same two boys who had mocked her the day before. “The blonde haired boys in white shirts.”

“The mayor’s sons?” Immar asked. “What about them?”

“I would have them.” she said, turning to look Immar in the eye. “They insulted me, and if I may have my pick of the spoils then I would have them.”

Immar shrugged “As you wish, my dear. Now I’m afraid I must attend to the securing our conquest. For now, take the rest you asked for. You’ve earned it.” the older wizard walked away.

Byert stepped forward, apparently having regained some of his senses. “Would you like me to cut out their tongues?”

“No” Erin let a wicked grin spread across her face, and turned back to the two pretty captives which were now hers to do with as she pleased. “I have use for their tongues.”

The Girl and the Granite Throne: Chapter Four

Erin and Byert on the road to Heathrop, by cbMorrie

This probably requires some explanation.

If you’ve been reading my blog for any length of time, you’ve probably seen the link at the top which reads ‘The Girl and the Granite Throne.’ In all likelihood, most of my readership hasn’t made a point of exploring that link or that story. Or, at least, I assume so because I probably wouldn’t have if I were them.

The Girl and the Granite Throne is a work of fiction which I started writing a little over a year ago. It follows the story of a young woman named Erin in my Regalia campaign setting. She was a pivotal NPC in that game world. Over the years we played in that world, both my players and I came to care for her a great deal. By a wide margin, Erin is the most memorable NPC I’ve ever created. I often found her much more interesting than anything else I was doing in that world. I’ve literally got a binder filled with notes about her and those who followed her.

One of the first things I did when this site began was start writing episodic fiction about Erin’s life. I had a very rough outline in mind, and a lot of notes from my Ascendant Crusade campaign. For the most part, though, I simply wrote each chapter as ideas came to me. By this time last year, I had four chapters posted, and two more outlined in great detail. That’s when I decided to start taking this blog more seriously, and began updating it five times a week instead of “whenever I felt like it.”

The increased writing schedule was really good for me in a lot of ways, and I’ve accomplished a lot since I started doing it. Unfortunately, the number of posts I started requiring of myself meant that I had difficulty finding time to write the much longer, and more difficult, Girl and the Granite Throne posts. So for nearly a year, that story has sat unfinished. Perhaps the single most consistent request I receive from my readers is that I finish the story–which is odd, because upon re-reading it, there are some very serious flaws with my pacing.

When I passed the 1 year hurdle, I made two resolutions: first, I wanted to start taking on more ambitious projects than simply putting up four ramblings a week. There’s a limit to the value of that kind of post, and if I want to continue to grow and improve, I need to move beyond them. Second, I wanted to learn to write faster. Regarding the latter goal, I’m actually doing remarkably well. I think I’ve dropped the actual time I spend typing up posts to about 25% of what it was previously. Regarding the former goal…well, the post is entitled “The Girl and the Granite Throne: Part Four,” so you take a guess.

If you haven’t yet–or if it has simply been a very long whilte–I recommend you read the story so far before continuing below:

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3

The Girl and the Granite Throne Chapter 4


“You cannot be serious. Never?” Erin asked in disbelief. Byert, following a few paces behind, kept his eyes fixed on the ground.

“Not as such, miss. No.”

“Well hells, you ought to. It’s fantastic, and it’s not as though you’d have any trouble finding someone willing!”

“Please, miss Erin-“

“Just ‘Erin,’ will do, Warblade.”the young wizard corrected.

“Please, Erin, this is not an appropriate subject.”

“Oh?” Erin turned to face her guardian, continuing to walk backwards along the forest trail “Are young Illumians forbidden? Or just young Warblades?”

“No, it’s just, you see that…it’s not proper.”

“Pft, fine,” she said, turning away from him again and continuing on her way. Erin’s familiar mirrored his mistress’ disappointment by hopping from one of her traveling robe’s many pockets and on to her shoulder, croaking loudly at the warblade. “You’re quite right, Loatie!” Erin replied, as though she could understand the toad’s speech.”So, what do you do for fun then, spoilsport?” The air between them was silent for a moment, and Erin thought perhaps she’d taunted the boy a little too much.

“I read.” he finally responded, quietly. She laughed.

“Gods, you’re as much fun as a wizard. What use does a soldier have for dusty tomes?” Silence was her only reply, so she continued. “Well, tell me then, Warblade, what do you read?”

“History.” he replied, simply. Erin pressed for more information.

“Who discovered what, and when such-and-so treaty was signed? Riveting.”

“No,” he began, his voice finally beginning to take on a bit of heat “I like to read about great generals, and tactics, and battles that were fought. That sort of thing.”

“That’s a little more exciting, I suppose.”

Byert continued, his voice sounding more engaged than before. “Just last night I was reading about the campaigns leading up to the fall of Oriac. Not many records from that time period still exist, but a man named Jorus Balt came up with a good estimate about how the war progressed from the documents that survived from that era.” Erin murmured her approval, and allowed Byert to continue his story. It was good to hear him talking passionately about something. And the subject was interesting enough that it would help the time pass more quickly.

The two made small talk for the next several hours. Erin allowed Byert to dominate the conversation with tales of ancient battles, and found she quite enjoyed them. The boy was a talented storyteller. It wasn’t until noon that they finally reached the main road through the forest, and another several hours before they crested the hill outside of Heathrop.

“Warblade-” Erin began, interrupting her companion’s tale of General Kaygan’s charge.

“Byert.” the Illumian corrected, sounding more confident than he had a few hours prior.

“Right, Byert. I know it’s not exactly comfortable, but subdue your runes. Immar is familiar enough here that they will mark you as one of his kin. We need to be inconspicuous.” The young man’s face screwed up in annoyance. All the same, he closed his eyes and began to strain. The glowing letters which encircled his head slowly faded, then were gone. If he were anything like Immar, Erin knew, suppressing this natural trait of his species would give him a dreadful headache, but there wasn’t much choice right now.

While he did that, Erin pulled out a tangle of gaudy baubles and cord, and began wrapping them around the three blades of her Duom spear.

“What are you doing that for?” Byert asked.

“Weapons aren’t strictly prohibited in town, but a girl with an exotic Illumian war spear is likely to attract a little more attention than a girl with a fancy walking stick.” Byert was silent for a moment after she spoke, watching her adorn her weapon before getting up his courage to ask,

“What about your face?” Erin stopped what she was doing and glared at him. An expression only enhanced by her missing eye.

“What?” she asked, sharply.

“I mean…what I meant, um…won’t anybody recognize you?” Erin continued to glare, letting him dangle for his remark before turning back to her work.

“No,” she answered, “I’ve never been to town.”

“How is that possible? You’ve been my uncle’s apprentice for years, have you not?” Erin paused before answering, keeping her hands and her eye on her work.

“I have no fondness for uneducated peasants. Let’s leave it at that.”

Byert did not press her further. The two completed their preparations, and continued along the road and down into town. Heatherop was a small town of perhaps 1200 inhabitants, with many more trappers and merchants than that passing through daily. It had no walls, but an active town guard which–in honesty–was probably much more competent than Immar gave them credit for. Erin kept an eye open for anyone who looked as though they may be a paladin, but all she saw were the common goings-on of a trading town on the edge of civilization. Byert spoke, cutting into her thoughts.

“It’s nice here, actually. The buildings aren’t too close together, the air smells of cooking meats. And look at those children playing over there!” Erin rolled her eyes and tried to ignore his naivete. She knew that beneath the town’s idyllic image was a corrupt government supported by an easily swayed populace. They were sheep, and she was here to herald a shepherd.

Byert continued pointing out Heathrop’s supposed beauty. Much as she enjoyed the boy’s company, after several hours of his enthusiasm, she needed some space to clear her thoughts and scout the town in peace.

“Byert, we need to eat something before we meet with the faithful,” she said. “Go and get enough for the both of us, then meet me across the street from the Cobbler’s shop near the center of town.”

“Understood,” the warblade responded curtly, before eagerly jogging over to a nearby street chef. Apparently suppressing his runes wasn’t bothering him too much.

Alone, Erin walked casually through the town. She made a show of examining the wares of several merchants, handling furs and glass baubles as she scanned the streets around her. All together she counted six different guards currently on patrol. Doubtless there were more on duty elsewhere, and still more who could be called to action if the need arose. They were outfitted in leather armor, and each had a sword and club. Their ages ranged from young to middle aged. She didn’t see anyone young enough, or old enough, to look like easy prey. But neither did any of them seem battle-hardened enough to be a paladin. She had hoped she mights spy one of them and take their measure, but she saw none.

After an hour of scouting, Erin began to feel hungry, and was about to go find Byert when she happened upon two of the most lovely boys she’d ever seen. They were blonde, and lean; likely brothers. Both looked to be a bit older than her, perhaps sixteen and eighteen. They were kicking a ball between the two of them in a small field at the edge of town. She sauntered towards them, hoping she looked casually alluring rather than just flustered. She leaned her back against the wall of a nearby building and watched them move. Making contact with the faithful could wait a few minutes longer.

At first the two boys didn’t notice her. But when a stray kick sent the ball flying in her direction, they turned to follow it, and stopped short when they saw her. Erin flirtily curled her red hair around her finger as they exchanged some excited words she couldn’t hear. Without looking, she made sure Loatie was safely hidden away in one of her robe’s deeper pockets. He’d ruined her chances with more than one pretty boy in the past, and she wouldn’t have any more of that today.

She straightened as they trotted over, and when they came within easy hearing distance, she called “Hey there. You looked pretty good out there with the ball.” They didn’t answer at first, grinning as they continued to run towards her. They came to a stop about five feet away from her, and the younger one turned to the elder, speaking as if Erin couldn’t hear him.

“Gods, you were right, Raf! Look at that face!”

“An old boyfriend cut you up, sweetheart?” the older boy mocked. “Poor slut couldn’t keep her eyes to herself, so she lost one!”

Erin immediately turned and began to walk away briskly. It wasn’t the first time her scars had served as a snake detector. Normally she would have responded with more violence. But she needed to keep a low profile, and that meant letting the bastards walk away without severe burns. Of course, the downside of avoiding violence was that they could follow her.

“What’s wrong, red? We hit a sore spot?” the older boy crooned, jogging to keep up with her.

“I think a fisherman must have mistaken her for a whale and harpooned her right in the face!”

“No need to run, we get it! Ugly girls need to get laid too!”

Erin gritted her teeth and struggled against the urge to send bolts of energy through the boorish peasants’ legs. She began walking more briskly, aiming for crowds and taking unexpected turns, moving generally away from the cobbler’s shop where she needed to meet Byert. A few tears began to form in the corner of her good eye, but she clamped down on them as hard as she could. It shouldn’t matter. They were children, she was a master of the arcane. Their words could not hurt her–and her words could certainly hurt them.

Besides, in a few days, no one in this town would ever dare speak to her like that again.

Byert looked anxious when Erin finally reunited with him twenty minutes later.

“I thought you were going to come right here?” he asked, sounding put upon, as he handed her some kind of sugary bread wrapped around shredded meat and local fruits. It was soggy by now, but Erin didn’t care. She devoured fully half of it before answering.

“I wanted to surveil the town. It took a little longer than I expected.”

“I should have accompanied you for that! What if you were attacked?”

Erin answered through a mouthful of food, “Unlikely. The fighting hasn’t started yet.” she swallowed, “Besides, it’s easier for one person to be subtle than two.”

“My job is to protect you. Not wait around with your lunch like a fool.” Byert sounded as though he felt hurt more than angry. But he did make a good point.

“You’re right” Erin said, as she chewed the last mouthful of food, dropping a slice of fruit into her pocket for Loatie. “But it’s getting late. Shops in town close after dark, so if we want to avoid looking suspicious we better go inside now.”

The two crossed the dirt road and Byert began pulling open the door before Erin stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“One thing before we go inside.”

“Yes?”

“Our conversation has been casual to this point. You are my master’s nephew, and I know I can trust you. But from here, you must address me with respect, and obey me without comment. Do you understand?” It would be hard enough for her to command men and women twice her age. The last thing she needed is for them to think she couldn’t even command a boy a year her junior. Byert appeared a little unhappy with the command, but nodded.

“I understand.” She wasn’t sure that was true, but she didn’t need him to understand. She gestured for him to open the door, and he did, causing a small bell to ring. Erin stepped inside, doing her best to appear authoritative. She could not show weakness. Behind the counter was a middle aged man, already standing up from his work bench and walking over to speak wither her.

“What can I help you with, young lady?” Erin was quiet until she heard Byert close the door behind them.

“Can you make a shoe for a man with one foot?” she asked. His brow furrowed and he glanced around nervously before answering.

“I think you’re looking for the glover. Her shop is down the street.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Erin replied, with a nod. The cobbler nodded back, and turned his head to call out,

“Nora. Come look after the counter for awhile!”

A woman appeared from elsewhere in the small shop, and the cobbler gestured Erin and Byert to come behind the counter. Silently, he led them into a back room where he closed the door, and shuttered the window. He moved to a shelf filled with tools, and began to push it aside. The shelf was heavy, and the man clearly struggled to move it. Byert moved to help, but Erin placed a hand on his chest. If she was to appear aloof and in control, so must her companion. Byert looked annoyed, but did not press the issue. They waited as the man gradually revealed a hidden stairway in the wall. To his credit, he didn’t ask for any assistance. Erin appreciated that respect.

The cobbler gestured for them to proceed him, and they did, descending the small staircase into the dirt tunnel bellow, then waiting as he pulled the shelf back into place, just as slowly as before. While his back was turned, Erin nudged Byert, and waved her finger around her head. He understood, ending his suppression of his runes with a barely audible sigh. The dim light didn’t provide much more illumination than a couple candles would, but she didn’t see a torch in their guide’s hand. Perhaps he had intended to test them with an unnerving walk through the dark.

When the shelf was back in place, the cobbler squeezed past them, and began leading them through the narrow tunnel. It was simple construction, probably the best that the handful of faithful in this wretched town could accomplish. It was little more than a corridor of dirt, with lumber used as support every few feet. Erin estimated they walked perhaps 100 yards, towards the north western edge of the town. Then the walls opened up into a small room, and the cobbler pulled some flint from his pocket to light a torch mounted on a free standing post. He then used it to light several more throughout the room. Erin watched it all in silence. Like the tunnels, the room was small, and supported by wooden planks with a ceiling that rose to about 7ft in the center. Aside from the torches scattered throughout the room, the only ornamentation was a small stone altar in the center, with a tome and a dagger resting upon it. Both bore the crest of the hand and eye.

Erin moved to the altar and rested her hands on the cool stone, hoping that occupying a position of power within the room would give her commands a little more weight. She rested there for a moment, Byert moving to stand behind her, and waited for the cobbler to finish lighting the torches. Once he had, he turned to look at her and asked

“Who are you?”

“My name is Erin Wallcraft. I’ve been sent here by Immar Twistfinger, whom you know to be The Bite of Vecna, as his voice. I am to take command of the faithful here, to carry out our Lord’s will. You will assemble them tonight.” Erin spoke a little more quickly than she wanted to, letting the words she’d practiced pour out of her in a single excited breath. Not a great first impression. The cobbler sneered a bit.

“Do you mean to tell me that The Bite sent a disfigured child to lead us?” he spat out disdainfully. Erin straightened, and tried to inject a little venom into her voice to hide the tremor she knew it would have.

“The Bite sent a maimed wizard to lead the faithful of the Maimed Lord.” she declared, keeping her eye locked with the older man’s gaze.”Now assemble my congregation.”

The Girl and the Granite Throne: Chapter Three

 “But if the Hidden Lord teaches that each of us has in our heart a dark seed of weakness, then why would He bestow upon his high priest the title of “The Heart?”” Erin asked, incredulous.

“Ah, but The Hidden Lord also admonishes us never to reveal all that we know, child! Our greatest strength is our secrecy.” Argetta replied “Surely, you do not think that even a priestess such as myself would know His thoughts. It is enough that he has given us his Heart, and that we follow the teachings the Heart passes on to us.”

Frustrated by the dodge, Erin pressed “How can I know what teachings come from Vecna if I know not who the Heart is?”

The two women sat in the chapel, as they often had in the three years since Erin’s encounter with her god. The Whispered Lord had not spoken to her often in the intervening years–He had made it clear that she had not yet earned His full support. So Erin had taken it upon herself to seek out his teachings through the religion which worshiped Him. Increasingly, however, she found herself frustrated by the shortcomings in the dogma spouted by low level priests like Argetta.

Just as the older woman opened her mouth to respond, Immar stormed into the chapel, throwing the doors aside with a reverberating thump as they struck the walls. Erin stood and turned to face him immediately.

“How was your meeting with Mayor Geonlad, Master?” Erin asked. Normally she would be nowhere near so formal, but she did not want to give her teacher any excuse to focus his mood on her.

“That piss drinking son of a troll!?” Immar shouted, “That pompous bag of flatulence!?” Erin did her best not to quirk a smile, but the corner of her mouth quivered a bit. Immar was not very good at cursing.

“I take it then, sir, that the audience he requested did not go well?” she asked. From the corner of her eye she saw Argetta skulking out of the chapel, and very much wished she could join the stealthy old hag. “Is he still claiming that the tower is within the bounds of Heathrop to try and extort you for taxes?”

Immar took several deep breaths, which seemed to reduce him from a towering pillar of anger, back to an Illumian man. “Would that it was just the large words of a small man as it has been in the past. Today he presented forged land titles to that effect before the captain of the town’s guard. We are to comply within a fortnight, or he will order my arrest.” At this, Erin did laugh, though only for a moment before Immar’s glare made her cover her mouth to straighten her face. As quickly as she could, she explained herself.

“What hope could Geonlad have of restraining you? His city guard can barely keep on top of a rambunctious drunkard!”

“Paladins,” Immar replied, his tone still seething. “Eight of them, Cuthbertians. Apparently here to help the ‘goodly’ people of Heathrop by dealing with the wizards who are ‘abusing their power to avoid their legal responsibilities.'”

Now Erin was starting to feel angry too. “Gods damned paladins!” she cursed through gritted teeth. “Always more interested in being ‘heroes of the common people’ than they are in doing things right.”

Immar rubbed his eyes, then turned and began to walk out of the chapel. “I must meditate and pray.” he said, not bothering to look behind him. “Find Argetta and tell her I would like to see her in my chambers, then get some sleep. In the morning we will discuss whatever plan seems best.”

Erin nodded, and moved ahead of him out the door so she could find the priestess. She avoided looking back at her teacher. Eight paladins was a very real danger, and after all these years she knew Immar was not likely to pay for something he did not owe. She was afraid, and did not want the older wizard to see the fear she knew was evident on her face.


Loattie climbed onto Erin’s face just before dawn, and hopped up and down. Erin awoke, and made exaggerated sputtering sounds of disgust until the frog hopped back onto the bed side table. She gave her familiar a withering glare with her one good eye.

“I know I told you to wake me up in the morning, but shouldn’t you have figured out a more pleasant way to do it by now?” The frog chirped throatily back at her.

“Oh shut up.” Erin spat back, never much a fan of mornings.

Uncovering her Everburning Candle, Erin sat on the floor and cracked open her worn and trusty spellbook to begin memorizing the spells she thought she might need that day. By the time she had finished laying the mental framework required for casting, the first rays of the morning sun had begun to filter through the trees outside of the tower. She washed quickly before rummaging through her armoire for the day’s clothes. She had (somewhat clumsily) sewn additional pockets to all of her shirts and pants to store any spell components. And, of course, each had an extra pocket for Loattie.

Before rushing off to meet with Immar, Erin took a moment to stand in front of the mirror. She checked to make sure her hair was neat, and to quickly adjust the way her clothes rested around her increasingly curvaceous figure. She was not a vain woman, but she had discovered the potential of boys to be very entertaining. Though, she had also learned that most of them needed to be singed a bit in order to get them to do it right–but she didn’t mind. Burns healed.

Thoroughly satisfied that she looked alluring, Erin briskly walked out of the room, scooping Loattie off of a table and into her breast pocket as she did so. She quickly ascended the staircase, which gently wound along the inside edge of the tower’s cylindrical frame, eventually opening up into Immar’s laboratory on the top floor. There she found her teacher surrounded by a dense forest of papers. She saw maps, letters of correspondence, and tomes covering a variety of subject matter, covering not only his desk but the floor around him.

“Master?” Erin asked from the stairwell, unsure of whether to approach through the maze of documents. Immar stood and turned so fast that his wooden chair upended itself.

“Erin! Come here! You must see this.”

Erin could see even from across the room that the older wizard had not slept since the previous night. Before moving to join him at his desk, she moved to the windows and drew back the heavy curtains, allowing the early morning light to fill the room. Immar winced and brought up his hand to cover his face.

“It’s morning already…?” he started, before apparently deciding that the hour was irrelevant, and waving emphatically for Erin to join him.

She did, picking her way through the papers on the floor as gracefully as she could to join her teacher at the table. Immar had never demonstrated the absent minded eccentricity often attributed to wizards before. Erin could not wait to learn what had caused him to start now.

Among the items on the table was a book Erin had perused once or twice before, entitled “Tome of War: The Arcane, and the Mundane.” Speaking as a scholar it was of only minor note, detailing what a wizard named Feyun The Crimson Blade believed to be the optimum application of spells in warfare. Presently it was open to a brief chapter detailing the problems posed to a wizard by paladins.

Erin’s eyes bulged, and before Immar had even said a word she spun on him, carelessly tearing some papers beneath her heel.

“You mean to fight them!?” she nearly shouted, aghast at the thought.

“Of course I do.” he replied, in the same tone he might use if she had just misunderstood the simplest of cantrips.

“But there are only the two of us and Argetta!” Erin replied, “And the tower isn’t exactly a fortress.”

“Which is why we’re bringing in more people, and won’t be fighting from the tower.”

“Indefensible as the tower is, I hardly think the forest will be a better place.”

“Which is why we won’t be defending.” Immar continued.

Erin, still unsettled by the idea of fighting trained and seasoned warriors, unconsciously cocked her head to the side and furrowed her brow, unable to decipher her teacher’s cryptic leading statements. Immar let her dangle for several moments before taking pity and making the leap of logic for her.

“We are going to take Heathrop.”

Erin felt her knees weaken, and fumbled for the chair, righting it and sitting down to avoid falling over. The idea seemed ludicrous, but Immar was clearly serious. Of course, he was a powerful wizard, and though he didn’t make much use of them he was fairly well connected within the Illumian covens of his people. But there were well over 1200 people in Heathrop, and she doubted Immar could muster even a tenth of that.

“Then what?” was all she managed to ask.

“Then,” Immar continued, straightening his back and looking as commanding as he could “We hold it. We rule it. And we guide it into prosperity with the light of intellect.”

Erin was silent. She had been fearful about the paladins before, but had gone to sleep confident that Immar would overcome. Now…

“What role then am I to play?” she asked, looking up to meet Immar’s eyes.

Immar put a hand on her shoulder, and let another moment of silence pass before he spoke.

“You are my right hand, my dear. You will lead a portion of those who join with me. It will be dangerous, but I have confidence you’re up to the task.”

“Master,” Erin began, “I am a scholar.”

“You are a wizard, Erin.” Immar replied. “One of the finest wizards I’ve ever seen at such a young age. This task may test you, but you’ve never failed a test I’ve set before you yet.”

The younger wizard stood, trying to wipe away the small welling of tears in her eye without her teacher seeing. She took a step towards the table, and unrolled a map of the surrounding area which she found there.

“So,” she asked, “what is the plan?”


The room was much cleaner two weeks later when Erin stood next to Immar as he explained his plan to the five Illumian commanders. They, and their men, had been sent in response to the wizard’s request for aid from his cabal. Erin had insisted that the 50-some odd warriors would not be enough against a town with a population more than twenty-times that. But Immar had assured her that not nearly a twentieth of the town was so attached to the mayor, and his leadership, that they would fight and die.

“Besides” he had added “even those that will are peasantry who’ve been given swords and called soldiers. An Illumian Warblade is worth a hundred clumsy fighters. It’s the paladins we need to worry about, they’re the real dangerous element here.”

Immar was droning on, pointing at key locations on the map and using minor illusions to better demonstrate his plan. Erin tried to pay attention, but found herself fading out. None of this was new to her–some of it had even been her idea. Simply put, Erin would go into town ahead and organize those few who were among the faithful of The Whispered Lord. On the night of the upcoming festival of high summer, her group would take any action they could to disrupt the town’s ability to defend itself, while the Illumians would quell any major resistance. Immar would personally lead one of the Illumian Tenche, a group of ten soldiers, directly to the center of town where they would capture the Mayor and his family. There were details, but the plan was straightforward.

Straightforward enough that Erin found herself far more interested in the Illumian boy across the room. he was perhaps a year her junior, and most certainly was not in command of a Tenche, as the five other Illumian visitors in the room were. Part of her was curious to learn why he had been invited to attend this meeting when the rest of the soldiers had been left to wait in the camp erected outside. A much larger part of her, though, was very interested in finding out if he was as well formed as his light leather armor made him look.

Erin barely noticed when the meeting ended, and only turned to look at Immar again once she noticed that everyone else was filing out of the room.

“Will that be all, master?” she asked, hoping he hadn’t already answered that question.

“No, I need you to remain a moment. There are a few final matters for us to discuss.” Immar gestured for her to sit, and she did. He waited until the commanders had left the room before he began.

“You’ll be leaving for Heathrop in the morning, and I need to know that you understand what this role will require of you. It’s just been the three of us here in the tower for most of your life. You’ve never really needed to be a leader before.”

“How difficult can it be?” Erin asked. “You’ve got authority over the faithful in this region, and have put me in charge those in the town. They must do as I command, correct?” Immar bit his cheek.

“It’s not quite that simple, child.” he began, picking his words carefully “Much as I have faith in your abilities, they will still see you as a fifteen year old girl. Many of them will likely have daughters your age, or even older, who they still view as young children.”

“I am no peasant child!” Erin growled, a little more offended at the implied comparison than she knew she should be.

“Precisely why you will be leading them. But if you want them to listen to you at all then you need to be firm with them. You cannot accept any dissent, and you must never show them any fear or indecision. If they view you as weak, then you cannot lead them.”

Erin opened her mouth to respond, but Immar interrupted her and continued. “And you must lead them, Erin. If you fail then so fails the entire conquest, and you and I will both likely lose our lives at the hands of a paladin inquisitor.”

Pursing her lips, Erin merely nodded.

“I haven’t forgotten what’s on the line.” she said, softly, but with a determination in her voice which put Immar’s mind at ease.

“I know you haven’t, my dear girl.” Immar said, leaning forward and placing a hand on top of Erin’s. The two sat silently for a moment, enjoying the familial comfort for as long as they could before the coming battles threatened to separate them forever. Finally, Immar stood.

“I have something for you,” he said, as he walked across the room to one of the tables near the wall and picked up a long shaft wrapped in velvet. “I had thought to make you a proper wizard’s staff, but this seemed more appropriate. I commissioned it a few months ago, and it only just arrived.”

The older wizard handed his student the shaft, and she expectantly unrolled the velvet to reveal a long, expertly crafted war spear, with two additional blades angled back along the shaft.

“It’s called a ‘duom,'” Immar offered, “I was told they are favored weapons among those Warblades who favor the spear.”

Erin turned the weapon over in her hand, admiring the light weight and beautiful craftsmanship.

“It’s magnificent.” she whispered, unable to take her eyes off of it.

“I’m still not sure why you insist on using such unsophisticated weaponry when you have spells available to you, but I’ve never been able to change your mind so you may as well have the best tools available.” Erin looked up and met her teacher’s eyes.

“Thank you.” she said. “I will use it to ensure your victory in the coming battles.” A little flustered by the emotional exchange, Immar changed the subject.

“Speaking of, there is one last thing we need to discuss.” without waiting for an acknowledgement from Erin, he turned and called loudly “Byert!” Almost immediately, the young Illumian Erin had been eying earlier was on the stairs, and moving to stand at attention before Immar. Erin quickly made her face stern, not wanting the emotional moment she had just shared with her teacher to be on display.

“Erin, this is my nephew, Byert. He will serve as your guard during this offensive.”

“What!?” shouted Erin. “Am I now some child who needs a chaperone whilst I overthrow a government for you?”

“Do not overestimate yourself, young wizard!” Immar replied, raising his voice to match her indignant shouting. “There is a limit to how many spells you can cast without rest. No wise mage enters battle without a fighter to protect them.”

Erin refrained from pointing out that the spear fighting skills her teacher had discouraged were useful in precisely that situation. Whether she liked it or not, though, he was right. Even Immar himself would be fighting with ten trained warblades by his side.

“Very well, master.” Erin said, mustering as much of a respectful tone as she could through clenched teeth. “But you-” she continued, whirling to face her ‘protector.’ The warning comment she had ready for him died on her tongue, however, when she saw he was kneeling on the floor.

“What are you doing?” the two wizards asked, almost simultaneously.

“Lady Erin,” the boy said, his voice resolute and his head bowed “I vow I will serve and protect you faithfully, with my life if need be.”

Erin and Immar looked at each other, a little confused by the young warrior’s zealous pronouncement.

“Um…rise?” Erin ventured, and he quickly did. The two youths stared at one another blankly, both waiting for the other to speak. The silence might have continued indefinitely had Immar not stepped in.

“The two of you will leave at first light for Heathrop. Now get some rest.”
The young warrior crossed his arms over his chest in a formal Illumian salute, spun on his heel, and marched back down the stairs. Annoying as Erin found him, she couldn’t help but watch him with lusty eyes, and wonder if he still had his cherry. She was in the middle of enjoying that thought when Immar grabbed firm hold of her ear and painfully twisted.

“He’s my nephew, you cad!” The older wizard scolded, only half joking.

The Girl and the Granite Throne: Chapter Two

Erin’s eyes fluttered open and glanced out the window. It was still dark out. She started to roll over to find a comfortable spot to drift back to sleep, but the mechanical alarm Master Immar had placed in her room sounded a shrill ringing sound, abrupt enough to cause her to start. She reached out to silence the monstrous thing, cursing it to the depths of the 9 Hells as she did every morning. Moving slowly, with all the eagerness of a 12 year old who had chores to do, Erin pushed back the covers and dropped down from her bed.

Bare footed, she padded across the stone floor, which was pleasantly cool on her feet compared to the warmth of the summer’s night. She washed her face at the wash basin next to her door, paying special attention to the creases and folds caused by her scar. Once that was done she pulled on her simple leather breeches and boots, along with her loose white shirt.

Dressed, Erin darted out of her room to get about her duties cleaning her master’s laboratory. First, she dusted, using chairs and ladders to get to the spaces she couldn’t reach. Following that she swept. By the time she was half done with the mopping, the rising sun’s light was making its way down the wall opposite the east window. According to the system she had worked out, she had until it reached the floor to finish her chores and meet her master downstairs. She hurried her way through a cursory inventory of the available spell components, noting that they were running low on Bat Guano, Obsidian Orbs, and Birch leaves. By the time the sun reached the floor she had placed the list on her Master’s desk and was darting for the spiral stairs.

Immar often reprimanded her for sleeping in too late to get all her chores done, but what did he know? Every task was complete–at least complete enough that she probably wouldn’t be scolded–and she’d gotten plenty of beauty rest. Erin was descending the stairs two at a time as she rounded the final bend. Only to find Immar had gotten there first. He was looking right at her, biting the inside of his cheek the way he always did when he was annoyed with her.

Maybe she should get up earlier.

“Erin,” Immar began.

“Yes sir?” she replied, sheepish.

“What have I told you about being late for morning prayers?”

“I am sorry, Master.” Erin whispered, head bowed. Not so subtly, the Wizard rolled his eyes and sharpened his tone to emphasize his annoyance.

“I don’t buy your false regret for an instant. If you’re going to lie, make it better than that.”

“Yes, Master” Erin replied, the injection of remorse mostly gone from her tone.

“Now get inside, Child. Priestess Argetta is waiting for us.”

Erin did move quickly to enter the small chapel, and wondered (not for the first time) why she had ended up apprenticed to the only Wizard in all of Regalia who made time to serve the gods. Most were too busy unlocking hidden mysteries of the universe to bother with kneeling on a stone floor breathing bad incense and regurgitating the cryptic teachings of some far off deity. Master Immar not only spent time on religion, but had devoted an entire floor in his modestly sized tower, to worship. When she was a wizard, Erin wouldn’t waste time on such nonsense.

Still, she was expected to chant along, so she obliged.

“Knowledge is the root which grants the fruit of power.” she droned. The words had been heard so often that she didn’t even acknowledge their meaning anymore. “Hidden beneath the flesh of the fruit lie the secrets–the seeds which grow and grant evermore knowledge, evermore power.”

She listened half-asleep as the old crone, Argetta, told the story of the battle of Fleeth, and the lessons to be learned regarding the value of forgiving one’s enemies. Erin had heard it all before, and so far it had not become more compelling as she aged the way master Immar was always telling her it would.

As the short service began to wind down, Erin heard a loud murmuring. It was like a dozen voices all shouting at one another. But the sound was muffled. It was as though the shouting was happening two rooms away, shaving the words down into indecipherable sounds. She looked around to see if anyone else had heard, but wasn’t surprised to see them all still intent on the end of the service.

Argatta loudly slapped her hand over her eye, ceremonially ending the service, and with it, the murmuring.

Erin wasn’t too terribly concerned about the sound. It was hardly the strangest thing she had encountered in Immar’s tower. The constant use of magic had a tendency to cause random minor effects in the area. None the less, she resolved to ask Master Immar about it during their morning study.

She skirted out of the chapel with as much speed as she thought she could get away with and still avoid a lecture on reverence. Once outside, she dashed back upstairs to her the laboratory, and began pulling the last book of spells she had been studying off of the shelf. She was halfway through deciphering the diagrams and runes which made up the “Orb of Acid” spell, when Immar finally made his way up the stairs. Erin stood, making sure she marked her place before doing so.

“Can we study evocation today? I really think I can avoid setting anything on fire this time!”

“No.” Immar said, his voice flat.

Erin’s face fell a little, but she pressed on.

“Well…maybe we could do some conjuration? It’s kinda similar, and it would give me practice!”

“No.”

Erin screwed up her face, an expression which her scar made a just little more creepy than cute.

“What will we study today, then, Master?” Erin asked, refraining from allowing any hint of exasperation into her voice. Immar was a kind enough man, but her sharp tongue had earned her more than a few switchings over the years. She wasn’t eager for more.

“We will study nothing today, apprentice.” Immar said. “Today, you will leave the tower, and you will not return until you have correctly summoned a familiar.”

“But sir!” Erin wailed in a tone she was starting to get too old for “I’ve tried that four times already! I can’t do it.”

“You can, and you will. It’s long past time for you to get this over with. Now off with you! I’ve got work to do, and I can’t have you underfoot.” The wizard then turned and sat at his work bench, gesturing for a tome which drifted through the air and opened in front of him.

Erin wanted to argue, but she knew it would get her nowhere. She gave a deep, sarcastic bow to her Master’s back, then bustled down the stairs to get ready to leave. She realized that, in her frustration, she had forgotten to mention the murmuring to her Master. But she was too upset with him to stomach asking him for any help right now. Fifteen minutes later she walked out the door at the base of the tower and into the surrounding forest. She wore a large hat to protect her from the sun, carried her tiny (and still nearly empty) book of spells in one hand, and her spear in the other. Around her waist was a belt containing what components Immar said she would need, and a few more she’d managed to slip off with in the hopes of trying them out herself.

Lacking any specific destination for the ritual, Erin decided to make the trek two miles north, to a small clearing where she sometimes came to read. Once there, she began using the red mud from her spell component’s pouch to make the summoning circle on the surface of a large rock. It was an hour before she was finally satisfied that each and every line was perfect, every arcane word conjugated correctly, and every intersection at the precise point indicated as ideal by her studies.

Stepping back, she tossed a handful of dirt, a feather, a pebble, and a bit of tinder into the circle with one hand, while furiously signing the gestural elements of the spell with the other. She began to mutter the verbal component of the spell as well, but stopped when she saw the items she had tossed into the circle fall naturally to the surface, instantly destroying an hour’s worth of labor as it marred her circle. Not that it mattered, if the spell was going to succeed the components would have been suspended in the air above the circle for a moment to allow her enough time to speak the words.

“Curse the Blackleafin’ luck!” she shouted, relieved that Immar couldn’t hear her gutter mouth.

After gathering her things, Erin began to wander through the woods again, nose deep in the spellbook she had brought. Her circles had been right, she had no doubt of that. She had checked them, and checked them, and checked them a dozen times over. That was far more precision than the spell even called for, so it couldn’t be the problem. No, her problem was somewhere in her selection of material components. She knew she needed the dirt, but the rest of it was a bit of a puzzle. She’d tried making the circle out of tree sap, water, even bear feces. Nothing had channeled the arcane energies correctly to allow the other components to work.

A half hour of wandering and reading later, Erin arrived at a small lake where she sometimes swam. The sight reminded the fisherwoman’s daughter that she hadn’t had time to break her fast yet. She was famished. It was the work of twenty minutes to spear a fish, and only twenty more to cook it over a simple fire made with the flint and tinder in her spell component pouch.

As Erin ate, she thought about the spell. It wasn’t the most complex spell she had ever tried to cast, by a long shot. Yet the exact method for casting it eluded her. For every other spell she’d ever learned, everything was very specific. The gestures, the words, the materials, all were specified in exact amounts by whatever spell she was casting. The caster could vary amounts slightly, or even substitute similar gestures or materials to create different effects, but the essential elements of the spell were always there. By contrast, the spell required to summon a familiar left several important spaces blank. Supposedly the intent was for the spell to be more personal, yet Erin didn’t see how it could be personal when all the items she had selected had failed.

“Wait a moment!” She shouted, causing a squirrel to flee from a nearby bush. It was obvious! The spell being “personal” was not an invitation to try any elements which struck her fancy. The components had to be personal in order for her to form a personal bond with a creature.

Leaving her fish half eaten, she found another flat rock and knelt in front of it. Using the tip of her spear she made a small cut in her palm, wincing as she drew blood. Using the index finger of her opposite hand like a quill, Erin dabbed blood onto the rock, reassembling the summoning circle just as she had created it back in the clearing. She moved much more quickly now, less concerned that she had been missing some mistake now that she had latched on to this new hypothesis.

When the circle was completed, she began to glance around, trying to figure out what materials she could cast into the circle to be consumed by the spell. She tore a strip of cloth from her sleeves, then grabbed a few bones from the fish she had just caught. Finally, she used a rock to chip off a tiny splinter of wood from the shaft of her spear, then clumped all three into a ball of dirt. She repeated her actions from earlier, throwing the ball into the circle with one hand, while gesturing with the other. This time, the ball of dirt and everything in it did not succumb to gravity. Instead, they formed into a whirlwind, obscuring her vision of the circle. Erin grew excited, but didn’t allow her voice to falter as she uttered the verbal portion of the spell.

“Arcanacus chryot zho uleer!”

A sudden gust of wind blew past Erin, whipping her hair into her face. She quickly brushed it back, only to see that the wind had carried everything away. Even the circle of her own blood was completely gone, as though it had never been there. And, in its place, sat a toad.

Grinning from ear to ear, Erin knelt and held out her hand.

“Hello there, little Loattie!” Erin said, having decided a long time ago that she would name her familiar after the stuffed toy she had loved as a younger child. “My name is Erin!”

The toad obediently hopped towards her waiting hand. The moment it touched her, the murmuring returned. It was louder now, like it was coming from just behind her. And now that she wasn’t in a wizard’s tower, it suddenly seemed to Erin a much more serious thing. She whirled around, holding Loattie to her chest, but saw nothing there which could have caused the cacophony of sound.

The murmuring began to change. The dozens of voices became one dozen, then half a dozen. Each voice seemingly merging into another, until there was only one voice left. One remaining voice which spoke int a terrifying, rasping sound. One whose every word seemed to slice through the word before it.

“Well done, Erin.” the voice said. The murmuring returned when it–‘he,’ she now recognized–spoke, repeating his words over and over again in tones which seemed even more frightened of the original voice than Erin was.

“Who…what are you?” Erin shouted, trembling.

“Be not afraid, child.” spoke the voice. “I am here to guide you.”

Erin couldn’t say she was relieved by that. “But who?!” she shouted.

“I have been with you all your life, child. And with your deepening powers of the arcane, I am now able to speak to you more easily.”

Erin was feeling bolder now. “To the Nine Hells with all that, I asked you who are you?” She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard the voice laugh.

“You know me, child. I am The Whispered One, The Secret Holder to whom you offer your insincere prayers each day.”

Erin’s eyes widened, and she nearly dropped Loattie to the ground in shock. She let her feet drop out from under her, landing hard on her knees.

“My…my lord I am so sorry…” she began.

“Save your apologies, I have no stomach for them. Nor do I care for your prayers.”

Erin nodded, speechless.

“What I want is you. To groom you, to grant you the opportunity to earn the right to be my chosen representative on the Material Plane. I will mold you, if you are worthy.”

Erin remained silent. This was too much to take in. But then…the favor of a god could only help her…right? She raised her head, though the voice–the god–had offered her no form to meet eyes with.

“Yes, my lord Vecna. I will prove myself worthy of your favor.”

The Girl and the Granite Throne: Chapter One

Immar Twistfinger strolled casually through the countryside, dressed in a blue robe, with a pointed, wide brimmed hat. It was a ridiculous outfit, but he found that it occasionally helped to look the way most peasants imagined a wizard ‘should’ look. And today was likely to be such a day. While speaking with a priest this morning, Immar had been advised that his god wanted him to meet someone on the Shildhaven trade road today.

Sometimes he thought the gods took pleasure in being cryptic, just to amuse themselves watching their followers fumble about trying to follow their instructions.

It was nearing mid day now, and Immar had been strolling since just after breakfast. He’d passed a few travelers, but none seemed to him worthy of a deific message. There had been a young woman shapely enough to be a celestial creature, but Immar doubted his libido was a matter of divine concern.

As he passed through a small fishing village he’d not visited before, he saw a small group of children standing around, and heard indistinguishable shouting from the tiny mob. In all likelihood they were throwing bones or partaking in some other childish pastime. Immar remained only vaguely aware of them as he scanned the rest of the village for anything which stood out. As he continued down the road, though, Immar saw that what the children surrounded was not a game, but another child. A young girl, unless he missed his guess.

The other children were hitting her with sticks, and kicking dirt on her. The kind of simple minded cruelty reserved for goblins, and children. Immar had just resolved to frighten the little cretins away from the poor child, when a man from the village interceded before he could, shouting loud enough that Immar could hear him.

“You little beasts! Leave her alone before I tan every one of your hides and drag you to your parents by the scruff of your necks!”

The children complied without argument, collecting into smaller groups and moving off in different directions and, Immar hoped, less cruel forms of play.

With the children now gone, the wizard could get a better look at the young girl, and could see why the children tormented the poor creature. Her face was a mess. A large, unnaturally puffy scar took up most of the left side of her face, devouring her eye, her ear, and large tufts of hair, leaving her red locks thin enough that her scalp was visible on one side.

Immar slowed a bit, impressed by the sheer brutality of her disfigurement. What could possibly leave that kind of horrible mark on a child?

Then he noticed one of the larger boys from before come out from behind a nearby tree and move slowly up behind the girl as she was pulling herself to her feet and dusting off her dress. The boy pushed her to the ground, and Immar was close enough now to hear his taunting.

“Pretty girl, pretty girl, you’re so beautiful.” His tone was beyond sarcasm. It was contemptuous, even hateful. The girl lay on her face, and she appeared so defeated that Immar quickened his pace to teach the little brat some manners. But before he could reach her, the boy grabbed her shoulders, spun her around–and got stabbed in the eye with the pointed stick the girl was clinging to like a dagger.

With her other hand, the girl grabbed the boy by his tunic, and pulled her face close to his, whispering something the wizard couldn’t hear. She then pushed off of the boy, knocking him to the ground before he scrambled to his feet and ran off towards the village. The stick was still stuck in his eye, which bled freely. The organ was probably ruined.

Immar stopped dead in his tracks, stunned. He was only a dozen paces from the girl now, just staring at her back as she watched her attacker flee. If her appearance had not intrigued him before, her quick minded and decisive ferociousness most certainly had. Moving close enough to speak without shouting, Immar asked,

“What did you say to him?”

The girl jumped and turned around, startled.

“Who are you?!” she shot back, clearly distressed by an adult presence so soon after she’d half blinded the boy. Rather than answer her, Immar said

“He deserved what you gave him. I won’t tell anyone. But what makes you so sure he won’t?”

“Everyone will make fun of him if they know.” the girl said, appearing to relax as she shifted her attention to examining the wizard. Immar was silent as she did so, and after only a moment she spoke again. “You’re an Illuminan.” She stated, without any question in her tone.

Before, Immar had been stunned. Now he couldn’t help but let his mouth drop open for a moment. Most humans had never even heard of Illumians, assuming that the lighted runes circling Immar’s head were the result of his wizardry, not his heritage. None the less, he corrected her.

“It is pronounced ‘Illumian.'” he said.

“I knew that!” the girl shouted. Immar didn’t press the point.

“How do you know about Illumians?” he asked instead.

“Vicar Tolkris lets me use his library sometimes.” she replied, gesturing towards a small stone building with the symbol of the god Pelor on the door.

Once more Immar was taken aback. Most peasant humans he had met were barely literate, yet this child apparently took an interest in study, and at an age of no more than seven or eight! The wizard had no doubt that this remarkable girl was the one he had been sent to to meet.

“I’m still curious; what did you say to that boy, after you wounded him?”

The girl’s eyes dropped to the ground, her fear of Immar as an adult apparently returned. He guessed she had been punished for a sharp tongue before.

Nervously, she said “I told him that now he can be pretty too.”

Immar had to suppress a boisterous laugh at that, and knelt to put himself at eye level with the girl.

“What is your name, young human?”

“Erin.” she said simply.

“Well, Erin, how would you like to be a wizard?”

Erin’s mother was more difficult to convince than the girl herself had been.

“She’s seven summers old!” the woman shouted, becoming distressed as Immar continued to press her.

He gritted his teeth as subtly as he could manage. He had to take this child as his apprentice. If not for the will of the gods, then simply because she deserved it.

“How long can your daughter be happy with the books at the chapel?” Immar asked.

“He’s right, Mother.” Erin chimed in, not one to be left out of adult conversations.

“And even if she could be, what future is there for her in a village this small? The boys who throw rocks at her now won’t show her any more love when she becomes a woman.”

“Hey!” Erin shouted, turning on Immar angrily. He pressed onward.

“And how effective can a one eyed fisherwoman really be, anyway?”

“HEY!” Erin shouted again, louder this time. “I’m the fourth best spear fisher in this village!”

Immar turned to look at her.

“I really must learn to stop being surprised by you. I apologize for assuming.” he said, before looking back to lock gazes with Erin’s mother. “But that only goes to demonstrate my main point. Erin is made to face greater challenges than those offered through the eternal struggle between fish and fisher. Let me give her the tools to do that.”

“Please mom!” Erin begged.

Her mother looked back and forth between her daughter, and the wizard who wanted to take her away. Tears began to appear on the woman’s eyelids.

“Is this really what you want, Errie? You know you can’t change your mind once you do this.”

Erin seemed a little surprised by that, and turned to look at Immar for confirmation.

“It’s true.” he said. “I live very far from here, and I am a very busy wizard. I cannot be bothered with an apprentice who is not dedicated to her craft.”

Erin’s face was as serious as a seven year old’s face had ever been. But it only a took her a moment to return her gaze to her mother.

“Yes, mom. I want to.” uttered with the solemnity of a soldier.

The woman stepped back until her feet met the edge of a chair, and slumped into it, bringing her hands up to cover her face. When she removed them, Immar saw her try to hide the tears she wiped away.

“Alright.” she said, sounding suddenly lonely.

Immar nodded, and moved to the side of the room to begin casting a spell while Erin and her mother made their goodbyes. He heard the woman telling her daughter to be good, and not to forget that she was loved. By the time the woman’s heavy sobbing had quieted, the spell had completed, creating a portal in the center of the room.

“Come, Erin.” Immar said.

“Just a moment!” she shouted, and ran into the next room. She returned shortly with a bag slung over her shoulder, and a fishing spear in one hand. Immar could see the leg of a stuffed toy sticking out of the bag. The wizard nodded, approving. Nothing about wizardry discouraged a fondness for possessions.

Immar then placed his hand on Erin’s back, and turned once more towards her mother.

“You are giving her a great gift. She will always thank you for that.”

Before the woman could respond, the wizard and his apprentice stepped through the portal, into a tower several days travel away.

“Welcome home,” Immar said.

The Girl and the Granite Throne: Prologue

Along a muddy road through the woodlands of Shieldhaven province trundled the black caravan. Three carriages pulled by six spindly horse-shaped figures shrouded in black cloth. Guiding the horses were human-shaped figures–no less spindly in their frame, and so buried beneath black robes that no other distinguishing feature between them could be found. The only sound as the caravan passed was the squeaking of the six axles, and slosh of hooves moving in and out of mud. Those who saw it pass thought it to be part of some funerary rite. A few even removed their hats and bowed their heads as the carriages passed, out of respect for the dead. In a manner of speaking they were correct to do so.

For I was very much dead.

As the last dim light illuminating the clouds faded into darkness, I flung open the door of my casket, and took a deep breath of air I no longer needed to function. I climbed out of my carriage and onto the roof to get a good look at our surroundings. I recognized them. The fishing village we were approaching was not far from the hidden mountain pass which would lead to my stronghold–the stronghold of Vecna’s power on the material plane. With my tireless skeletal minions marching ceaselessly, I would arrive long before I needed to sleep through another day. Long enough, in fact, that I had time to stop and satisfy my hungers here in this small, and delightfully defenseless village.

Instantly my form disintegrated, leaving behind a swarm of buzzing mosquitoes. As one, guided by my consciousness, the swarm moved into the air to grant a better view of the people below. There appeared to be an informal gathering in the center of town. Torches stuck in the ground, and bonfires over which food was being prepared provided light to the few dozen people sitting, talking, and drinking around tables. I eyed them one by one, wishing my form had lips I could lick in anticipation.

My gaze came to rest on a voluptuous young woman flirting with a boy about her age. I slid my many hundreds of eyes along her graceful curves slowly, savoring her casual sensuality. I would have lusted for her in life. I don’t know if it’s just my imagination, but the ones I want to fuck always taste the sweetest.

Single minded, I guided the swarm in a steep descent towards my meal. As the flitting insects began to skirt in and out of her vision, she waved them away with her hand as though they were any other bug. As they grew in number she turned to look, and at the sight of the cloud of insects gathering behind her, she screamed in terror. That gave me more pleasure than a dozen such girls could have given me in life.

I wrapped her in my swarm before coalescing into my “natural” shape–the pinpricks my bugs had made in her neck widening to accommodate my teeth. She struggled valiantly, screaming curses and calling for her nearby friends and family. But my unnatural life had granted me unnatural strength. She would have had more success struggling free of iron manacles than against my grip. And by the time her form grew limp, and grey in my arms, her fleeing boy was only two dozen stumbling steps away.

Spitting the woman to the side like the shell of a nut, I leapt into the air, alighting three paces in front of the boy. I heard him fumble to a stop, and turned just in time to see the oaf fall on his ass. I scowled, and held out my hand to the side. From the darkness, a cloud of bats appeared, and flew around my hand in a frenzy. When they dispersed, I held a great sword. So large a dwarf would have needed two hands to wield it.

“Coward’s blood is too bitter.” I said, before bringing the sword down to cleave the boy through from shoulder to hip.

The group was fully alert now, some grabbing rocks and sticks, the slightly wiser among them grabbing the torches mounted in the ground. The wisest ran to the houses, calling the town to arms as if it would do them some good. I took a moment to look around. The young lady had done an admirable job satiating my hunger for blood, and her lover my lust for slaughter. But the night couldn’t end without causing someone a pain I knew would last long after I left.

Then I saw the woman with the baby, hiding beneath the table.

Moving at no great speed, I walked towards her. I opened fatal wounds in four brave–but foolish–attackers in the space it took to reach her, without breaking step. The mother locked eyes with me, and I could see the panic fill them as she realized I was coming for her. She tried to climb out from under the table to flee, but a kick from my boot sent the table spinning, and knocked her to the ground.

I knelt, ignoring several large rocks as they bounced off my back and head, and took hold of the baby’s leg. I held the child in front of me as I stood. It was a girl, couldn’t have been more than six months old. I grinned, baring my teeth at the mother. She stared at me from the ground, frozen in suspense and terror. She jumped with fright when, suddenly, I threw my great sword to the side, burring it hilt deep in a young woman charging me with a sword. Apparently they’d found some weapons, useless though they might be.

Slowly, deliberately, I drew Vecna’s dagger from its sheath at my hip. The pommel was shaped like a dismembered hand, clasping an eye. And from the eye shot the blade, a glare made of steel. The dagger is sacred to the followers of Vecna– intended for sacrifices offered by only Vecna’s highest ranking cleric on the material plane: myself.

I held the baby high then. I couldn’t see, but I was sure that the cattle surrounding me were lowering the weapons in fear of what they were about to behold. Slowly, I brought the tip of Vecna’s Glare to the baby girl’s left eye, not quite touching it yet. I wanted everyone to see this.

The crackle of the fires was the only sound in the terrified silence the moment before I plunged the dagger up to its hilt in the child’s eye. And for a moment after that, the silence continued, the villagers too shocked at first to respond. But shock quickly became rage. In the moment before they charged, I dropped the child, letting gravity pull it off the blade. Just as the first blade swung through my form, I became again a swarm of insects, flitting off into the darkness to rejoin my carriage for the ride home.

It wasn’t until months later that I would notice the tiniest of flecks of metal missing from the blade of Vecna’s Glare, and wonder where it had gone to.