"The Empire's Archmages are the greatest servants of Her Eternal Majesty. They are few in number, but each of them wields almost unimaginable power. As the most powerful Mages in the world, their knowlege and skill is beyond comparison and they speak with the voice of the Undying Queen. Wherever they go, the enemies of the Empire tremble. When they are not traveling in service of the the Undying Queen, they generally spend their time in Trevayn, assisting the Empire in whatever way they can."

Two Thousand Years of Empire by Jahangir Amini

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Sethre Marcni smiled to himself as the girl bowed low in acknowledgment of his command. Coming upon her had been an unpleasant surprise indeed, but hopefully the situation could be salvaged.

The wards had told him to expect some thieves, trussed up and ready for the ritual table, his mother no doubt already preparing them. Instead, that thrice damned Chartered Mage was deep in his catacombs and he did not even want to think about what that might suggest. He would need to deal with her and deal with her fast.

"Thank you my lord." She might speak like the upjumped gutter trash that she was, but at least she knew how to show respect. He waited a moment, but she did not start moving. Spirits-cursed peasant! Why could she not have died at the Arcanist's hands like she was meant to?! Anger flared, but, with long practiced ease, he did not let it show on his face.

"We should get moving. I do not know what else might be down here!" He took a step forward. If only she would turn her back on him, then he would have her.

"Of course my lord," she agreed, her tone laced with delicious terror. "I must confess though, I don't know the way back. These tunnels, the undead. I just got so scared and I think I've lost my way." The bloody girl probably thought she was being clever with that unconvincing lie. Well, she was not quite as stupid as he had thought, or she would have given him the opportunity to strike. No matter. Today was not the day that he was going to die. She could not be that suspicious anyway. If she even suspected even half of what he had done, she would have tried to kill him the moment she saw him.

"Oh, my apologies my lady." He winced as if he had done something ill-mannered. "Please, follow me." He started forward to pass her.

He might not be able to take her from behind, but that was no matter. He would more than crush her either way. No wet behind the ears Chartered Mage was going to challenge him. Particularly not here in his most secure sanctuary! Then, once she had been dealt with, he could go and work out what under the Throne was going on.

The girl pressed herself against the wall as he approached. She had been too clever to let him get close to her before, but she had no choice now. Sethre gave her a reassuring smile. He had always been told he had a kindly face.

Now, the big question was, did anyone else know she was here? If they did, he would likely have to return her body. A tragic, regrettable accident. If not… He resisted the urge to shiver. The possibilities were delightful. A Mage's body would be crafting material beyond any he had had the chance to enjoy, and if he could keep her alive long enough to reach the ritual table. Well, it would be transformative. He might even forgive her for all the trouble she had caused him.

Sethre moved himself against the far wall of the passage, to give the girl as much space as he could as he passed her. It was fortunate for her that the corridors and passages of these catacombs were so wide.

Her eyes followed him as he moved. She was tense as a coiled spring, but he could see her unwind, just slightly once she thought the moment of danger had gone.

"Lady Mazar I should…" Sethre struck. A wordless spell that would slam her into the wall without warning.

"Dachaid." In an instant his spell was gone. Fuck! She was… "Xànjar diwaien'fa."

One of Sethre's Schemas flared with the impact of her spell. Great Spirits she was fast! Not fast enough to save her though.

"Xëy spèittan'fa." He threw his magic into the spell, sending heavy tendrils of magic grasping at her, he would drink her vitality.

"Do'aelt." Her own magic lashed out, weak, but fast. His spell came apart despite its strength. Sethre let out a growl, he didn't have time for this. "Saig."

"Dachaid," he smashed aside her spell and then had to refocus and crush it all over again as some slipped past his disjunction. Clever girl. There was some talent there. No matter though. "Tambrgh saarde'fa."

She staggered as the stone around her exploded into hot shards. The magic of a Schema flared around her, bathing her in sparkling light, along with something else, too fast for him to follow.

A fraction later Sethre's vision whited out as a hail of razor sharp shards of stone whipped into him, triggering his own Schema. She'd used his spell against him!

"Xànjar diwaien'fa."

"Dachaid." He tore her spell apart.

"Diwaien ai'saig."

"Dachaid." Again he had to act against her magic before he could retaliate. This was getting frustrating and he had limited patience for a magical duel. He had her measure now. She might have the training he would expect of a Chartered Mage, but he was stronger. He had more tools at his disposal.

Moving far faster than his bulk should have allowed, Sethre leapt forward, drawing his sword.

=====

Ester couldn't let the panic she was feeling overwhelm her. It was worse than she'd feared. Worse than she could have imagined before finding herself down here. The Duke was a witch, a necromancer, and an unbelievably strong one too. Witches weren't meant to be able to overpower Mages! Where had he even learnt magic?!

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The only thing that was keeping her alive was that he was slow. His magic was strong, but diffuse, unfocused.

"Xëkera ai…" Ester started to cast just as the Duke leapt forward, unnaturally fast, drawing his sword as he came. She shrieked and just managed to stop herself from falling over backwards.

Without thinking she threw her magic into a crude, wordless spell to slam him into the wall. He stumbled, broke through it and then he was on her.

In a panic, Ester did the only thing she could and slapped her hand onto the top of his.

The world froze around them.

The Duke was like a raging inferno, black power surging at her, tearing at everything that made her her.

Ester didn't flinch. If she shied away she was dead.

She threw herself, her very being, at that dark furnace of power. The Duke was stronger than her, but her will was steel. She carved through the tendrils of his mind, cutting away his attacks.

Outside the battlefield of their minds she was vaguely aware of the two of them standing, completely unmoving in the dark corridor of the ossuary, but she couldn't spare any attention for that.

Ester pushed forward, focusing everything she had, everything she was, against the weight of the Duke's power.

Dark flames burnt away under the light of her mind. It was like lifting a coach and its horses, pushing back against the weight of his strength. But her will was indomitable. Years of hard training at the Academy came to bear. Gradually, achingly slowly, Ester started to push them back.

It felt like an eternity, a Mage and a witch frozen in glass as they battled for dominance. Inch by inch, step by step, Ester forced her mind forward, imposing her will on the Duke. He had the power, but he was weak where it mattered. He lacked discipline.

The Duke's angry satisfaction faded, slowly transforming into fear. At the same time a feral snarl spread across Ester's face as she strove for dominance, fought to be able to impose her will and her magic on the Duke's body.

At the back of her mind she felt something unpleasant. A vague smell of decay. The taint of broken magic. She couldn't pay attention to it though. If she allowed herself any distraction she'd be gone. Obliterated amidst the flames of the Duke's power.

The feeling of wrongness grew, even as she ground away at the Duke's mental defences. An urgent warning, calling for her attention. She just needed a little longer though!

The Duke's magic flared around them and with a yell he yanked himself away from her, stumbling backwards and falling onto his back.

The sudden change was like being doused in a bucket of cold water. It took Ester a valuable second to reorient herself. If the Duke had been in any better condition she might have died then and there, but he was even worse off, blinking with confusion.

Ester gathered herself and was about to cast when the smell hit her full force. One of the undead, behind the Duke. Sweet decay assaulted her nostrils, accompanied by quiet, shuffling steps. Behind her!

Ester spun.

"Saig." The walking corpse erupted into a magic fuelled inferno. The Duke was shaking his head, more were coming out of the darkness behind him. She needed to strike now. "Tambrgh saarde'fa."

"Dachaid." The Duke barely stopped her spell, but he was gathering himself and two of the undead had reached him. She couldn't fight them off and him at the same time! Could she hear more coming behind her? There was no time!

Ester turned and fled.

=====

"Fuck! Push it back! Push it back!"

"It's too strong!" Ruben groaned as he tried to force the slathering, walking corpse away while avoiding its snapping jaws. Abiel danced around him, slashing at it with a knife, to fuck all effect.

"Dachaid." He could hear the confusion in Aliana's voice as she tried yet again to stop the magic animating the thing. He couldn't see the magic like she could, but he didn't need that to see her spell was useless. With a huge effort he slammed it back another step. He was sure he'd put his hands on more disgusting things in the past, but right then he certainly couldn't think of any.

The shove made the dead thing stumble and Abiel used the opportunity to duck in and hamstring it. For a brief moment it hesitated and hope sparked in him. Ruben forced it back another step. But it didn't collapse the way it should have. He didn't know what the fuck was wrong with it. Except magic of course.

"Shit!" He moved his arm just in time to avoid it being torn open by rotting fingers. Thank the Spirits this thing didn't seem to be able to think or really do anything more than mindlessly try to grab and bite. If it had any brains they'd probably already be dead.

"Gränn ai'diwaien." Aliana practically screamed the words behind him. Her magic slammed the monstrosity backwards hard enough that it tumbled over. Before it could get up, Ruben leapt forward, pinning it down with a knee across its belly and drawing his own knife.

He didn't bother stabbing, instead sawing frantically at its arm until the disgusting, rotting appendage broke away. Abiel had taken advantage of its immobility to work on the other.

Next was the head. Ruben ignored the decaying ichor that splashed onto him. He could worry about that later. He urgently worked his knife into the greying flesh with one hand while he held the thing's forehead down with the other.

His knife hit bone and almost jolted out of his hand. At the same time flesh sloughed off the thing's forehead under his palm as it twisted and tried to snap at him.

"Fuck!" Abiel finally cut away its other arm as Ruben started cutting back and forth again, trying to ignore the way the decaying body was writhing under his knee.

His knife scraped through bone and suddenly the undead creature's movements slowed. It was working! Ruben forced his tired arm to work harder, sawing away at bloodless flesh until suddenly there was nothing as its head came away.

Slowly the creature's movements slowed as it finally died. Ruben could only hope whoever that had been would be able to find some rest now.

He wiped his knife on the corpse's rags and considered doing the same with his hands and arms, but he wasn't sure they'd end up any cleaner. After a moment he stood up, resisting the urge to groan as his body complained about the exertion of the fight.

Abiel did the same. "So that was one of the undead…"

"Two of them and we'd have been fucked!"

"Another one might do it by itself. How the hell was that thing still moving?!"

"I know." Ruben shook his head. "We'll just have to be quieter and even more careful."

=====

Ester jogged down deeper into the catacombs, doing her best to ignore the lingering, tainted magic that flowed in stuttering starts and stops through the bones embedded in the walls. She needed to get away from the Duke. If she could get enough distance between them then maybe she could work her way round him. Or ambush him. Or do something other than get overwhelmed by monstrous undead and his magic.

She swerved left down a side passage and nearly ran straight into another one of the shambling corpses.

"Saig ai'exbal!" She winced at the blast of heat that washed over her, but a second later the corpse was a flaming mass on the floor.

Ester ran on. From behind her came a long, demented cackling. Almost before she could look behind herself she dismissed it. The Duke was trying to scare her.

It was working. She was terrified. She couldn't beat him and the undead at the same time and if she couldn't get past him, eventually he'd trap her down here and she'd be at his mercy. She needed to stop him. Or at least slow him down.

She skidded into another chamber. The entrance was lined with skulls. Maybe here. A quick look over them and Ester quickly got to work. Muttering under her breath, she rapidly carved a series of runes into the skulls with her magic.

By the time Ester had finished she was almost shaking with fear. She needed to keep moving, the Duke might get there any second. But she couldn't just run, she needed to hit back. He was strong, but it was crude strength. He could be outwitted.

With a flex of her will Ester forced her magic into the rough Schema and activated it. It wouldn't last long. Minutes perhaps, but if the Duke was following her that might be enough.

With one last look at the Schema she turned and ran again. If she could just find another path up, she could get round him. Her chances had to be better with whoever was coming down through the vaults than with an insane necromancer. Surely.

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