The Chained Maiden: Bound by Hope

by Ian Rodgers

  “Do not mind me. I was simply coming here in search of Miss Dora to offer her a chance to earn the knowledge she needed to break into Targua. But you seem to have acquired that information already,” Vord said, glancing over to Dora as he glided over the floor towards the head of the table. A skeleton rushed over and pulled the seat out, and the master of the Solemn Mausoleum joined his guest and his minions.

  “I hope that is not a problem?” she asked, before she thought, ‘Did you really just come here for that, or were you already watching us?’

  “Not at all. In fact, I’m quite pleased at the outcome,” Vord said, a smirk audible in his tone. Now her paranoia senses began to tingle.

  “Good for you?” she congratulated weakly.

  “Yes. Good for me, indeed,” Vord chuckled. He then turned his baleful gaze onto his two older male minions who shrank back in barely restrained fear.

  “If I had a heart, it would have been warmed by the display put on here just now. And,” he gestured to the two monsters, “since it seems you two are eager to volunteer things freely, I have some tasks that need fulfilling.”

  The pair gulped nervously, but bowed their heads, accepting the inevitable.

  “Return to your chambers and prepare for your new assignments. A servant will be along soon to inform you of your missions.” Vord waved them off, dismissing their groveling forms.

  The vampire and Leech-kin hurried out of the dining hall, the latter somewhat slower thanks to his bloated, slug-like lower-half that oozed along at walking speed, if he was lucky.

  Once they were gone, however, Vord snickered darkly to himself, turning back to Dora. “My thanks to you, Healer. Those two have been lounging around the Mausoleum for weeks now, doing nothing productive. You gave me a wonderful excuse to send them off on minor matters I needed done.”

  “Glad to help,” Dora said faintly. Anette giggled in amusement at how her surrogate grandfather had tricked her ‘uncles’ into getting their lazy butts into gear.

  “Now that you have all that you came here for, it is time to send you on your way,” Vord said, rising from his chair and beckoning Dora to his side. She did so reluctantly, parting from Anette with a fond pat on the head for the young girl.

  Anette looked sad, but there was determination in her eyes that the half-orc approved of. Dora might not like Necromancy, and Dark magic in general, but if Anette was going to be the apprentice of a Lich, she might as well be the best darn Necromancer Vord ever trained. Dora’s words had resonated with Anette. Hopefully she’d put her powers to good use.

  Squaring her shoulders resolutely, Dora walked over to Vord, and followed as he swept out of the room, heading through the twisting halls.

  “Why did you want me to help Anette overcome her self-confidence issues? If you don’t mind me asking,” Dora inquired nervously after a minute of silence. “You wanted me to help her, I see that now. Why else would you effectively force me to spend time with her?”

  Being so close to the Lich was unnerving. The Miasma coiled and squirmed beneath the surface of Vord’s body, trapped inside his very bones, and contained by his will alone. She could feel the Darkness within Vord acting like a black hole, swallowing everything into his essence, empowering him. Feeling her own magic being tugged and gnawed at simply for standing too close made her stomach queasy.

  “Do you know how long it normally takes a person to overcome deep seated psychological trauma, especially the sort a young child like her had to go through?” Vord asked in response.

  Dora shook her head. She knew about psychology, of course, mental health being just as vital for a Healer to understand, since not all wounds could be fully healed with magic. But it was a side of healing she and her mother had never gone over in depth. Not a lot of need or requests for it out in the boonies.

  “Two to four years, at a conservative estimate,” Vord revealed. “And that is just getting over her fears of abandonment and coming to grips with her new reality. The mind is brittle, and a child’s even more so. Yet, a mind can be surprisingly flexible as well.”

  “I wanted you to give her something to focus on. Something to believe in. Now, instead of wasting my time tending to her mental anguish when she could be spending that time learning to become a Necromancer Erafore has not seen since myself, I can play upon what you built already.”

  “She adores you, now. Idolizes you. Better, you gave her a family! The most important thing her young mind and soul craved. And that newfound belief in her own talents, coupled with an attachment to making you proud, will allow her to push herself hard in her studies so she can someday be useful to you,” Vord said as he laughed darkly, and Dora shivered.

  For all his debonair attitude and his professional tone, this was still the being who had slaughtered tens of thousands of people when he’d been alive, carving a bloody swath through the ruins of the world almost immediately after the Great Calamity. And Undeath had not changed him much. He was still cruel and bitter towards his foes, and though he chose to strike out with more subtlety than before, he was not above killing an entire town just to take out a single target.

  “Do you know why my previous apprentice was such a pathetic failure?” he asked out of the blue, startling Dora with his abrupt shift in tone.

  “Is it because he tried to go against you?” she hedged as a guess. Vord roared with laughter at that, his wretched voice echoing through the dim passageways.

  “That is part of it, but not entirely,” Vord revealed. “No, he was a failure as a Necromancer because he believed that he could create superior Undead just by stitching different corpses together. That was his failing. He did not understand that to create the perfect Undead, one must take from the greatest of the living.”

  “Take my servants, for instance,” Vord said, gesturing grandly to the assorted skeletons in butler and maid outfits shambling around. “While it is true I could just pluck a random corpse from the ground and command it to do the same tasks as my servants, a farmer’s remains would do the work in an inferior manner compared to a person who lived their entire life training and working as a professional servant.”

  “Y-you trained them,” Dora said, realization coming to her. “These skeletons, they all belonged to people who had been actual butlers and maids!”

  “Correct,” Vord said, sounding oddly pleased that the green-skinned Healer had figured it out. “In life, many of these Undead served the great noble houses or powerful merchants across Erafore. And of those well-trained talents, quite a few have me to thank for their success. After all, how many street urchins and waifs would ever find a kind patron like myself who would willingly spend vast amounts of time and gold, both precious commodities even to an Undead, to send them to vocational schools and training institutes so they could make a living and a better life for themselves? All I asked for in return was their bodies and their skills after their lives came to a natural end. When I revive them through my Necromancy, all those years of ingrained knowledge and skill come along for the ride, as it were. Why bother mucking around with the soul when they have, I believe it’s known as, ‘muscle memory?’”

  Dora shivered in horror but found she couldn’t deny the sheer ingeniousness of it all.

  ‘Give a man a chance at a better life, and they’ll do anything to obtain it,’ Dora thought. ‘And if the only price they have to pay is one that involves their bodies, and not their souls, then I know hundreds of people here in the Cracked Land alone who would jump at the opportunity.’

  “That, my child, is why I am glad you helped Anette with her problems. That is why I am grateful you disposed of that stain on my teaching record. The living surpass the dead in many ways, which in turn leads to the Undead born from such great talents as tools of unparalleled quality,” Vord explained, stopping in front of the door to Dora’s room.

  He removed from his tattered dragonskin robe a scroll and passed it over to the Healer. It was bound with a length of silver cord, and the parchment looked
ancient beyond reckoning, preserved alone by the knowledge it contained.

  “Here. The final piece of your reward,” Vord declared as Dora took it with trembling hands. “A complete copy of the Level Ten Healing spell, Restore. Capable of turning back time itself on wounds as well as bringing the dead back to true life. Use it well. You will find it useful on your journey.”

  “Thank you,” Dora said, bowing deeply. “This will certainly help me rescue my family!”

  Vord chuckled. “I suppose it might, but in truth, I speak to your other journey. Your true destiny that you cannot hide from for much longer.” He turned and left, waving farewell. “When I see you next, Dora Halfmoon, it will be on the battlefield to determine whether or not this world deserves to live any longer.”

  Dora frowned darkly at the retreating back of the Lich. She hated the fact that Vord seemed to know more about what was happening to her than she did. She despised the fact that he was so cold and dismissive of Anette’s struggles. And worst of all, she was disgusted with herself that the name he had given her actually sounded pleasing to her ears.

  “Halfmoon, huh?” Dora mused to herself as she opened the door to her room to fetch her belongings. “Curse that Lich, but it sounds amazing! As if it was a name that was always meant for me!”

  She grabbed her pack, and after checking to make sure nothing was missing from it, slung it over one shoulder and headed back to the skeleton butler waiting for her.

  “Lead me to the exit,” she commanded, and the Undead servant obeyed.

  Eventually, Dora was brought to a large door of gold and ebony set at the end of an empty waiting room. The skeleton fiddled with the door knob for a bit, and the clicking of a lock being opened resounded through the empty lobby.

  The door swung open, revealing a pitch black emptiness. Nothing could be seen beyond the doorframe, but Dora detected a large amount of magic.

  ‘Some sort of localized Gate spell, perhaps?’ the half-orc mused. The skeleton gestured for her to step through the door, and she did, only pausing for a moment.

  A sensation of being grabbed and thrown struck Dora, and she staggered as her boots slipped and failed to find purchase in the ground for a moment. The next thing she knew, the darkness that had surrounded her was gone in an instant, replaced by hot, blinding light.

  She gasped and threw her hands up to cover her eyes, wincing at the pain of natural sunlight bombarding her again. For a few minutes she simply stood there, panting as she recovered from the trip through the magical door. Dusty gravel crunched underfoot, and the sound of hooves beating the ground filled her eyes.

  A worried and familiar neigh rang through the air, and Dora lowered her hands somewhat, squinting through the light at a brown blur coming towards her.

  “Starspot? Is that you?” she asked, confused as the creature approached. A happy whinny came out, and as Dora’s eyesight slowly returned to normal she saw her precious steed approach her.

  “Oh, Starspot! You’re okay!” Dora cried happily, rushing towards her beloved partner. The large warhorse neighed in joy as well and nuzzled up against the half-orc as they reached each other.

  “Did you get hurt? Is everything alright?” she worried, looking over the horse carefully. She was filthy, covered in dust and a bit of mud, but there were no wounds or signs of injury. Still, Dora ran a healing spell over her just to make sure.

  The horse was fine physically, but was hungry and thirsty from spending a full day alone without any supplies. Dora quickly got out some of the remaining oats and water from the baggage still strapped to Starspot, and gave a feed pouch to her so she could sate her hunger.

  Starspot nudged Dora in an apologetic manner, and the half-orc patted her nose fondly. “It’s alright. I don’t blame you for running. I’d have done the same if I’d had a chance.”

  “Now, where are we?” the Healer wondered, looking around. To her surprise, she was close to the exit of the Aldani Gorge, only an hour from the entry point, if her memory served.

  “Come on, let’s get back to Creidor, and report back to Reed and Rindel,” Dora said to Starspot. She let her horse wear the feed bag as she mounted her, and the two rode quickly away from the interior of the ominous canyon.

  Chapter 7: Reunion

  “Would it have killed you to warn me about who my client was?” Dora asked, glaring at Reed who at least looked apologetic for sending her into a place full of Miasma and ruled by one of the most reviled creatures to ever exist.

  It had been late afternoon when Vord had released her from his hidden base back into the Aldani Gorge. From there it had taken her and Sunspot a few hours to ride back to Creidor. They’d barely made it back in before the town gates closed for the evening.

  Once she’d returned, she’d stomped back to Reed’s mansion, and had made her displeasure known to the mayor of the town as she debriefed him on what had occurred.

  “Given who he was, yes,” Reed said, bitterness lacing his tone. “Had I spoiled his ‘fun’ by revealing to you who you were going to meet, I can honestly say he’d have disposed of me for that.”

  Dora growled but couldn’t argue with that. Vord struck her as a man who would punish someone for something like that.

  Still, that didn’t mean she was going to stop glaring at Reed, and Rindel was also shooting the elderly man a dark look from his spot at Dora’s side.

  “How long have you been working with Vord the Undying, Reed?” the blue-haired gnome demanded. “Is that part of how you’ve maintained your control over this town?”

  “You assume I approached Vord, not the other way around,” Reed shot back. “And that Creidor was ever mine to begin with.”

  “He’s the real power in charge of the area, isn’t he?” Dora guessed, and Blackjack Reed nodded.

  “He built Creidor, you know. When he was defeated by the dwarves back in his mortal days, his army was shattered. Some of the descendants of his minions and lieutenants settled here, in the Cracked Land. When he rose to power once more, Vord gathered the offspring of his servants and gave them the option to renew their oaths to him or die and serve as Undead constructs. Wisely, they chose to obey and live.”

  “He created the Tower Lords, you know,” Reed said with a snort, and both Dora and Rindel stared at the man in shock. “They were originally his most loyal followers to whom he granted a great deal of authority as a reward for their services and loyalty. He set up the Tower Lords in Annod Bol for the purpose of breeding quality stock for his Undead legions. It was already turning into a center for slavery, even back then, but Vord took it one step further.”

  He leaned back in his chair, ignoring the looks of horror on his audience’s faces. “Even now, he controls the Tower Lords, even if they don’t realize it themselves. Vord the Undying is the secret power behind the throne, so to speak. All of the Cracked Land answers to him, in one way or another. Several of the oldest and largest slaving caravans are descended from the soldiers in his broken army and continue to serve him with ‘undying’ loyalty. Any Outpost that tries to gain too much independence finds itself cut off and starved of resources, or just crushed mercilessly.”

  “Yes, I am one of his mortal agents, and yes, when I die, my body will serve amongst his unholy army of the dead, but that’s just how it is here in the Dreadlands. Survival of the fittest. Kill or be killed. Obey the evil Lich willingly or have your mind lobotomized and body bent to his desires regardless. I choose the former option because I rather enjoy having my mind intact and my life my own to an extent.”

  Reed raised an eyebrow at Dora and Rindel. “Any other questions?”

  “…Do you know when Ain and Enrai will be back?” Dora asked in the stifling silence.

  “I have heard nothing from either of them. Still, given the time frame, they should be back in about two weeks. Three, if they run into complications on the road,” the Lich’s informant said.

  The Healer bowed her head in thanks. “I see. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve had an
exhausting past few days, and think I would like to rest for a bit.”

  She turned and left, Rindel bowing stiffly towards Reed before following after her. The mayor sighed wearily to himself once the pair were gone. He got out of his chair and went over to a shelf that contained an assortment of liquor and poured himself a generous helping. Talking about his master always left a foul taste in his mouth.

  ∞.∞.∞

  The next two weeks zoomed by for Dora. Her meeting with Vord had given her all the information she needed to track down her family, but she couldn’t afford to rush off just yet. She needed to prepare. To plan. And, above all else, to wait. The Healer knew she had no chance of rescuing the members of the Yellowmoon Menagerie without the help of both Ain and Enrai. They were high B-rank to low A-rank in terms of power. That power would be vital to her if she desired to assault a demon-infested city.

  Normally, waiting for Ain and Enrai to return would have been excruciatingly boring for Dora. But she managed to make the wait seem less agonizing than it actually was. Most of her days were spent in Creidor’s clinic, healing whom she could. The rest of the time was devoted to planning out the route she’d travel to the headquarters of the Unchained Legion.

  The famous mercenary army was based in the Dreadlands. Specifically, the Sprawling Jungle that lay to the south of both Saluda and the Cracked Land. They had set up their main fortress in Argyne, one of the coastal cities that was, at least officially, considered a colony of the kingdom of Varia. To reach it, Dora and her companions would need to travel due south for at least two weeks before arriving at the edge of the lush, thick jungle. From there, it would be a treacherous trek through untamed wilderness to the more civilized southern coasts.

  In regards to preparing enough supplies, maps, and resources, Reed had been exceptionally generous. Dora thought it was his way of apologizing to her for making her go through the Aldani Gorge and meeting with the top dog of the Shadowspell Alliance.

  To be honest, Dora had forgiven the man for his deception shortly after returning to Creidor and hearing Reed’s side of the story. With a master like Vord, she fully understood why he had done things the way he had. That wasn’t to say she wouldn’t milk the opportunity for all it was worth. When Ain and Enrai finally returned, their jaws would drop upon seeing the pile of supplies and goods she’d amassed. That thought put a smile on Dora’s face.