In the camp, beneath Natasha's soft gaze, I waited anxiously for my mother's reply. A matching marble, set into an ivory ring, rested on my raised hand before my face.
Her voice came through at last, soft and hoarse. "Hello, my little waverider."
The joy in her tone was unmistakable, but it couldn't quite smother the ache beneath it. My anger simmered, rising in quiet volatility, yet I kept it contained, savoring the reunion however brief it would be.
"I'll be back. I swear," I choked out, using my free hand to wipe away the tears gathering at the corners of my eyes.
"Be safe… and enjoy the gift. I'll leave the little guy to keep you company," I said, getting hold of my emotions. "I've got a few more things to take care of before I head out."
"Enjoy the show. I love you, Mom." I said it quickly and severed the connection.
My hands dropped to my sides as I leaned back against the tree. Relief tangled with rage, all of it dusted with worry, warring inside my mind. My mother was powerful, and now that she had a way to escape, I shouldn't worry for her safety. But the curse still held her tight.
My resolve set, and I stood to my feet. "Let's begin," I ordered. I headed to the Hold's southern flank first, where a stagnant pool lay waiting.
I tapped into the essence shard once again. Natasha withdrew something from one of her pouches and tossed it into the pool's center. I focused my will and sent my intentions into the water. The strain crept up pleasantly, and after a moment I released the channeling.
Pleased with my work, I called over my shoulder, "One down, three to go." On each of the fortress's four cardinal flanks, I recast my ritual. Four stagnant pools of swamp vegetation and muck lay before me, primed and ready to be transformed. At the campsite overlooking the Crimson Hold, I sank deep within myself.
The pools filled with my essence, and seeded with the essence shard fragments Natasha had thrown in, they became beacons to my senses. Grasping them with my will, I began to channel once again. Urging and directing growth, I poured my rage and sorrow into them.
The pools began to bubble and churn, as if the flow itself had been restored. Slowly, in chaotic clumps, golems of mud, bone, and swamp muck rose from the water's depths. From each spawning pool, the swamp golems plodded steadily toward the stronghold. With each step, more swampland was absorbed into them, feeding their ever-increasing size.
Before the strain became too unbearable, I finished channeling. The spawning pools would now be a constant thorn for a while. With my gifts delivered, I could sit back and watch the pandemonium unfold. It didn't take long for the swamp golems to become noticeable; some had grown to tower over the trees.
The patrolling undead offered no resistance, their bodies flowing into the swamp golems' forms to be repurposed. The Hold's walls were quickly filled, legions of undead commanded by the Nightweavers taking up defensive positions. Those on the walls soon discovered that necrotic spells had no effect—only the more explosive ones stood a chance.
I watched, perched atop the trees once again, as the golems crashed into the fortress's outer wall. They began to mold themselves into a ramp, slow and deliberate, building layer by layer. The defenders did their best to destroy as many as they could, but the swamp sent just as many in their place.
Only when an elder personality arrived to support the defense did I call the golems back. They withdrew to the edge of the swamp, just out of range, but still very much in sight. The Elder, a cloaked figure with a bowed back, stalked along the walls. The hidden taint of Orvakis was clear to me.
The corruption of the Nightweavers became clear to me then. And with the curse they wielded, most of the family were hostages. That thought almost made me change my plans, but casualties were inevitable. Night fell, and the swamp began to move once again.
It took them a month to develop a working counter to my golems. They erected a tower atop the fortress, which created an essence barrier around it, preventing the golems from stepping within its radius.
Six hours—that's how long it had been up, and the fortress was buzzing with activity. Troops were forming, ready to storm the gates and finally take the fight to the enemy. An Elder led each flank's offensive, and the gates were opening when I called to Natasha, "You're up."
"About time, Captain," she said as she and Thark positioned themselves out in the open. Thark knelt on one knee, his hand bracing the ground, the growths along his back shifting and rippling as the cannon moved into place. Natasha stood beside him, a hand resting on the cannon, gently guiding it into position.
I felt her essence channeling into the cannon's breach, a deadly mix of our affinities. A condensed ball of essence formed as a low whine began to echo. Natasha's cold, "Ready to fire, Captain," was the only sound heard above it.
My command of "Fire" was followed by a blast that threatened to send me flying if I hadn't been prepared. I watched as the tower they had built erupted in an essence explosion so vast that no part of the fortress escaped the shockwaves. The instant the tower exploded, the barrier fell, and the swamp golems wasted no time rushing forward to claim those unfortunate enough to be outside the walls.
"Good hit," I called down to them. "Don't think I didn't notice you two practicing that setup display," I added as I made my way toward them. When I arrived, I saw a blushing Natasha and a bashful Thark, the rest of the crew waiting nearby.
II smiled and said, "Let's head back to the Deadwood now. It won't be long before they actually get free." The crew fell in step around me as I set off, back through the Heart's Quagmire. This time, a little more slowly—I had some time to enjoy this primordial place.
~
Vora sat within her cell, no longer alone. Her new companion was surprisingly complex in its cuteness. What had been mistaken for fur turned out to be a mixture of grass and moss. The way her son had interwoven his affinities into this creation spoke of his mastery. She marveled at being able to examine it up close for the first time.
Her study showed it was indeed the same principles she had once taught him, but taken further—beyond even the next step. Over the past month, they had spoken many times, and she had learned that she, too, might be able to mimic his work. Death-attuned plants are particularly susceptible to a necromancer.
Those thoughts fled her as she once again smiled in amusement and awe. The curious little thing had somehow gotten its tail stuck in her bindings. It was now staring at her with those cute bioluminescent eyes of its. With a chuckle, she freed it once again. "Bright Eyes—I think I'll call you that."
Bright Eyes stiffened at her declaration, tail wagging in a blur, before a sound interrupted them—a door opening and footsteps approaching the cell. Bright Eyes bolted into the shadows, diving into the concealed hole before the figure could appear.
Before Vora stood a cloaked figure—but not just any figure. She knew him intimately. He had been a constant presence over the decades, tormenting her with his demented desires. He wasn't even a true Nightweaver—just a married son, yet one who had the Patriarch wrapped around his finger.
"That bastard will die," they said in rage. "I know you knew it was him causing all this trouble. The Elders and the elites may be bogged down with his little tricks, but they will soon capture that stain of a necromancer." They continued.
"I will drag his barely breathing form before you and kill him. Then we'll see how well you resist," they spat in fury.
Vora just smiled and began to sing her haunting ballad once more, her voice now tinged with a faint hint of essence that echoed throughout the dungeon, soon reverberating through the stronghold. The figure turned, a flourish of their cloak, and stormed back the way they had come.
In the cell's shadows, two eyes glowed. One was Bright Eyes' normal bioluminescence, while the other pulsed in a deep midnight blue.