the strange, pale-fleshed mage constructs. They seemed to be sleeping—at least, they were lying down with their eyes closed. Given that they didn’t seem to be breathing, Esset didn’t know if their rest state qualified as sleep.
There was also a man in the cave. Esset almost missed him because he was in the back of the cave behind one of his constructs. Esset’s best guess was that this was the mage. He wore the same heavy winter gear that most everyone in the north wore and had only a dagger belted at his waist.
The group retreated back down the tunnel after getting a good look at the scene.
“We should go for reinforcements,” one man said.
“Five undead, four constructs, one mage. I think that’s doable,” Perrin disagreed. He was looking at Esset, who nodded. It never failed to make him nervous when people relied so heavily on him, but the war had taught him much about his own abilities and limits.
“My summons can take out the two sentries before they can react, so it’s more like three undead. That leaves three men against three undead if you stay with me, Perrin. My wolves can engage the constructs, and I’m confident it’ll be a quick battle,” Esset said.
“But the mage,” the original objector persisted.
“He’ll be a challenge, but with his creatures out of the way, we can beat him,” Perrin said. Esset knew the outcome would be hugely dependent on how strong the mage was. Given that the mage had carved out this hideout and created constructs, Esset was betting the mage was quite powerful, but he was hoping that his magical power would be somewhat depleted from his clearly strenuous activities.
“We go in. Protecting Esset is our number one priority. Without his summons, we don’t stand a chance,” Perrin ordered. “Other than that, just do as much damage as you can.” They nodded as one, followed their orders, and crept back to the cavern. Fears and reservations aside, they were soldiers first.
Esset whispered incantations under his breath, and three more wolves materialized right on top of the sentries. They knocked the two undead over but didn’t stop to destroy them properly. Instead, they left the downed sentries to the soldiers and went after the constructs. Esset’s group moved in their wake; two soldiers hacked at the heads of the undead, the only sure way to destroy them.
The four wolves flooded forwards, lethal messengers of fire and death. They headed for the constructs as the mage turned in alarm, and the undead were too slow to intercept them. The mage shouted at his constructs and they woke up, but the wolves were already upon the first one, tearing it apart and filling the enclosed space with the smells of burning flesh. The other constructs worked as a unit—they ganged up on one wolf and clawed and bit it until it vanished in a small cloud of sparks. The red-hot skin of the summoned wolf burned them even as they attacked, but they didn’t seem to notice; constructs were like that.
A shimmering dome, a mage shield, had appeared around the mage—Esset was sorry to see it, but he knew the mage would have gotten it up before his summons could have taken him down anyways, and they hadn’t had a clear line of sight to take him down with an arrow. The mage seemed to be weighing his options for the moment; he glanced around at the battles, neither fighting nor fleeing. In the meantime, the soldiers were fighting the remaining three undead, and as Esset summoned another wolf to replace the fallen one, his summons took down another of the constructs.
The mage decided to join the battle. He raised his hands and a spear of ice shot up directly beneath one of the wolves, instantly vanquishing it. Esset grit his teeth and summoned another, and this time the mage saw him do it. Esset saw the mage’s hands rise again and swore under his breath—a habit he’d acquired after time among soldiers. The ground turned cold—colder—under his feet, and he moved just in time to avoid an ice spear that sprang up from the ground where he’d stood a moment before.
Deciding to give the mage something to think about, Esset redirected two of his wolves to attack the mage. They slammed against his shield and the mage smirked, confident in his defence, but the wolves didn’t give up after one assault—they slammed against the shield again and again, slowly wearing the barrier down. Esset had to dodge two more ice spikes before the mage realized what they were doing.
Meanwhile, one undead fell, allowing the remaining men to gang up on the last two. The constructs and summons were fairly evenly matched, but the constructs were looking the worse for wear—one had lost the use of a leg, the other an eye. It didn’t slow them down much, but it was something.
The mage destroyed another wolf with an ice spike, forcing Esset to summon another and granting the mage a slight breather. The mage used it to conjure a foul-looking mist that he sent towards Esset. It expanded as it moved; it floated past the constructs and summons, failing to affect either, but Esset knew it would probably be lethal to him and the other men. The soldiers killed the last two undead before the cloud reached them, and they recognized the incoming threat. Everyone but Perrin retreated back to the tunnel; Perrin ran to Esset when he saw the summoner wasn’t moving.
“Come on,” Perrin hissed. Esset grimaced. If he retreated, the mage would escape; he was sure of it.
“Go,” Esset replied. They hadn’t won this war just to have the country plagued with renegade mages for the next decade or more. He was going to weed out as many as he could—at the very least, he was getting rid of this one.
He didn’t look to see if Perrin left; the miasma was too close, and he needed to concentrate. The cloud seemed to be moving faster the bigger it got. In a reckless move, Esset dove forward. The mist passed overhead, but there was roughly two feet of clearance underneath. Esset crawled forward with his elbows until he could get a peek at the battling wolves and constructs and the mage beyond. His summons were only half as effective when he couldn’t see them and direct them, so getting eyes on them would be necessary to win.
Esset had one of his wolves peel away from the mage’s shield to ambush the constructs from behind—when the first construct fell, the second soon followed, standing no chance against three enemies after it was already crippled. Then all four wolves concentrated their attack against the mage. Esset caught a glimpse of panic as it crossed the mage’s face and felt the thrill of vindictive pleasure that he couldn’t help but feel when evil men got their just desserts.
Then pleasure turned to shock and fear when Esset’s chest seized as he tried to inhale. The sickly miasma had sunk closer to the ground, and Esset had inhaled a breath of it. Now, like a living thing, the mist was curling down around him, caressing him as it made his muscles freeze in a painfully tense lock. Esset fought for breath, but his chest only moved in fractions. His cheek pressed up against the cold stone floor as blackness encroached on his vision. The mist swirled around him, but it was thinner against the floor. Esset’s eyes were too dry as his eyelids froze open, but he could still see blurry shapes beyond the miasma: his fiery wolves fighting the mage.
Esset felt like his mind was separating from his body and drifting; the battle he could see but not affect was like a mural painted in the air, moving with its own life. The wolves were jumping around a great, shimmering egg, and their viciousness was lost to Esset’s delirious mind. Then the egg hatched, and the wolves danced in the broken shell.
With a jolt, Esset’s lungs spasmed, and he sucked in a real breath. The miasma vanished, and Esset found himself coughing uncontrollably and curling onto his side. Esset fought the coughing and lifted his head, once again firmly seated in the present. He wanted to see if he’d been hallucinating or witnessing the battle’s end.
The mage was prone on the floor, burnt and bloody. Esset’s fiery wolves had shattered the shield through the strength of sheer persistence and torn the mage apart. Now they were charging towards him—no, towards Perrin, who was still behind Esset, and if they reached him, they would tear him apart too.
Esset banished them. The wolves vanished into wisps of ash and sparks, leaving the cave stinking of burnt and rotting flesh. Esset succumbed t
o another bout of coughing before finally getting himself mostly under control and sitting up.
They truly were safe again. The mage and constructs were dead, and the undead were hacked apart, never to rise—or be raised—again. Esset looked over at his own men; the mist had caught up with all of them, but they seemed to be coming around as he was. Perrin was even struggling to his feet, so Esset followed suit.
“Good job, summoner,” Perrin said. Esset just nodded; the rush of victory was subdued by that same sick feeling he always got after taking a life.
They recovered quickly and regrouped with the sentries at the tunnel entrance. It wasn’t long until dark, and they wanted to be back at camp before dusk.
“What if there are more of them? The constructs, I mean. What if they weren’t all in the cave?” one of the men asked as they headed through the drifts and back to the trail.
“Doesn’t matter,” Esset replied with a shrug. “You saw them. They weren’t designed to survive on their own. The cold alone will finish them off.”
Perrin nodded to confirm his words. Catching Esset’s eye, Perrin dropped back from the rest of the group. Esset kept pace with him.
“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders and a good set of