1. Mouse

one

Mouse

Mouse didn't want to serve a fallen master.

In fact, he never wanted to serve this master to begin with, but when a powerful wizard stalks into town raving about an opportunity to build something with him. To be more…

He'd felt hope for the first time in his life. Then, Master had given him his new name, demeaning even for a lowly faeling like him. And so, each day since swearing fealty to Master Yurghen had been torture compared to the flowery vision of promise he'd once held in his mind.

And so, he made a bid for freedom as soon as he could.

When the Vessel and Shards finally departed from his former master's quarters, Mouse was ready to as well. All of those who served the former Master Yurghen were eager to do so. Chains of slavery finally severed. Though few of them survived; the cook, Mouse, and two of the house brownies were all that remained. Many bigger, stronger members of his household had been demolished by the Shards and their Vessel, but their loss was of no matter to those who remained. Mouse and the cook had quietly cleaned up the bodies, since the brownies fainted dead away at the sight of the mess.

None of them had the courage to touch the pile of flesh and rags. That was all that remained of their master.

After, they prowled the edges of Master's territory, pressing against the wards that kept them tied to his ruthless wrath. Mouse, a now balding pixie, hadn't been this far from the keep since following Master Yurghen there in his youth.

They expected to find the wards broken. Deceased, decayed, decrepit, the same as the rotting heap that was their caster.

Instead, they found… flickering.

The cook, a simple kitchen witch, was the first to escape. Gasping, she made it through to the other side and ran, sprinting as far and as fast as she could go.

Mouse watched as the first brownie pressed through the boundary as it fluttered in and out of being.

The second brownie, unfortunately, answered a lingering question that had been in Mouse's mind. While she was partway through, the boundary snapped back into place.

Mouse treated half of her remains with dignity.

The other half was eaten by wolves a mere day later.

Terrified, unwilling to press his luck, Mouse watched the ward flicker, growing ever stronger, as the days rolled on. He cursed himself and his cowardice, watching his hope of escape dwindling.

It seemed Master Yurghen was not so dead after all.

Yet the pile of burned flesh and rags did not stir.

But Mouse knew his master better than that. Mouse knew it was only a matter of time. Each day Mouse returned to the edge of the ward, pacing and gathering his courage. Finally, when the last of the food the cook made was gone, he made his choice despite the ward becoming more solid than ever before.

Deep within the keep, the pile of rags that was Master must be gaining strength.

Mouse did not plan to be there when the master manifested himself again. Mouse would find his courage.

The dawn was clear and crisp the day he settled on his escape. Mouse breathed deeply, choosing a spot along the ward line that did not overlook the memory of the remains of the less fortunate brownie.

Mouse didn't think he could stomach the crossing if he could so clearly perceive the danger.

He breathed in.

Shut his eyes.

Opened them.

And stared at the ward.

It remained solid as a wall, the Chroma powering it sparking a myriad of colors as the dawn sunlight filtered through.

Mouse knew he would only have one chance.

Somewhere in the keep, Master Yurghen's life force powered this ward.

Which meant Master was more alive than dead.

Toward evening, when the first fingers of golden light caressed the tops of the dark trees in the wood, Mouse noticed the ward flicker.

He stilled, as watchful and nervous as his namesake, pressing his thick glasses further up his rounded nose.

When the ward disappeared, Mouse sprang. He got one whole foot over the boundary before he snapped back. He shrieked as tendrils of a dark magic, cruel and familiar, curled around his small body as he flew back toward the castle. The threads of Chroma receded only after Mouse was dumped unceremoniously onto the steps of the tower.

A shape loomed there, barely, but still there.

Mouse trembled, unwilling to look forward. From underneath his lashes, he watched as the pile of rags heaved a great, beleaguered sigh.

"You can't find loyal minions these days. They just don't make them like they used to."

Mouse wasn't sure if he was supposed to respond, so he did not.

The pile of rubble moved. It reminded Mouse of a slug or a snail; instead of the sure motion of legs striding forward, the figure seemed to ooze, spilling down the steps one inch at a time until it came to rest in front of Mouse's face. He glued his eyes to the ground, terrified to look up.

Like a snail, the shape had left a trail on the steps. Only the slime of a garden creature felt pleasant compared to what Mouse saw. The smell of rotting flesh and diseased fluids confirmed his suspicion.

"Well, where are they, then?"

Mouse squeaked. "Um. The cook is… she's…"

"Not the cook, you idiot," the pile of effluvia snapped. "The Shards and the Vessel. Where are they?"

Mouse shook his head. "I don't… I'm not…"

"Silence," the trembling pile commanded. Grateful for something he could do, Mouse obeyed. The pile of flesh that had once been, and apparently continued to be, Master Yurghen seemed to contemplate something.

Mouse only assumed. He remained quiet, but there was no head to scratch, no brow to furrow. There was no way to tell what the puddle of bones and flesh was doing, because there was no way to read his body language.

Bodies, it seemed, needed to have shape to communicate.

"No matter," the fleshy blob finally snapped. "I'll deal with them when the final ritual is completed."

Mouse trembled, barely able to keep tears from staining his cheeks. If only he'd gathered his courage a little faster, he'd be free like the cook.

Mouse wanted to be free.

Courage, a strange sensation like the beating of wings in his chest, buoyed him to stand. With a strange rush of irrational emotion, he turned to face the stinking pile of rotting bones. Eyes and a skeletal face, masked by thin strips of glistening flesh, peered at him from beneath a hood.

Mouse swallowed, his courage faltering. Instead, he bobbed his head, averting his eyes. "Mouse will serve Master Yurghen."

In response to his renewed pledge of fealty, a wisp of inky black Chroma formed around the rags. Mouse gasped at such evil. His lips curled into a grimace, and his voice released a scream.

Pain ricocheted through him. It roiled through his skin, biting his nerves and burning through his mind. Mouse collapsed, writhing on the ground. Finally, when his suffering stopped, he looked at the wizard through tear-stained eyes.

The lidless eyes were hard as they stared back at him.

"The others might have escaped. But know this, little Mouse. You will never be free of me."

Mouse, still reeling from the ocean of hurt that had overwhelmed him, nodded.

Mouse is weak.

Mouse is coward.

Mouse will serve.