Servant of Darkness

  Marci stared into the mirror of what seemed to now be her bedroom.

  A monster stared back, two burning coals for eyes boring into her.

  Of course, the kobolds hadn't said anything. They didn't know what fairies' eyes were supposed to look like. And, as far as they were concerned, having eyes that bzed with crimson evil was a perfectly normal thing for their overlord to possess. It was the whole 'wage' thing that seemed to be really throwing them for a loop.

  "I can just wear an illusion," said the monster in the mirror. "Easy."

  Marci did not believe them.

  It had been around ten hours since she had woken up, and she had discovered many things about the Shardforts in the various Infernal books on them she had skimmed—none of which was helpful in her current situation. Oh, it was fascinating, really. Shardforts rendered their wielders immortal as long as the Shard remained unbroken like Liches of legend, allowed them to channel vast, oceanic quantities of mana in a far safer and steadier way than most wizards could dream, and the metaphysical bonds that the kobolds had seemingly not even attempted to refuse could be made with anyone.

  Oh, sure, the bond had be 'entered into freely,' whatever that meant, and there were gradations of how binding they were, but they were potent metaphysical chains that ensured that even the 'loosest' of them made it very hard for a servant to betray a Shardkeeper.

  What wasn't clear, however, from the books she had read, was how the Shardforts were made. They were all conspicuously silent on that detail.

  "Red, or… bck?" asked the monster, holding a skirt up to her waist.

  Aisling, the st Shardkeeper who had vanished without any trace Marci could find, had been a succubus, and a good one and a half feet taller than Marci. Magic, however, was magic, and she'd already managed to shrink down a few of the least offensive and 'evil' looking items of the wardrobe: a satin blouse that needed to be closed with a vivid scarlet scarf, riding boots which were the only thing with a heel under six inches, and a few skirts.

  "Red," decided the monster.

  She focused, and mana swirled from the Shard, almost eager to flow through necessary forms. Marci had always been good at magic, but it had never been so… effortless. She hadn't really flexed her new mystical muscles—part of her was a bit worried she'd like it too much—but she was pretty sure that higher ranked spells would be almost as easy as the simple rank three enchantment to shrink the skirt down to an appropriate length and width.

  The monster in the mirror was just pulling on the boots when one of the kobolds came rushing in.

  "Lady Keeps!" said the cerulean-scaled woman.

  "Yes?" asked Marci.

  "There is a persons outside!" said the Kobold. "We has armed the traps!"

  Marci gulped. A person? Already? A bead of sweat ran down the back of her neck; she wasn't ready! Ready to do what wasn't entirely clear, but Marci was sure that, whatever it was, she wasn't ready to do it.

  She closed her eyes, reaching out with her Shardsense and focusing on the entrance-way, which was already starting to fill back up with snow and ice.

  "What the fuck?" said Marci as her 'gaze' fell upon a single elf who was kneeling in the entrance-way.

  Marci couldn't see colour with her infernal senses, but she immediately recognised the figure even without the vibrant red of her hair: that stupid demon-worshipping elf who Marci had knocked around the night beforehand. Well, three nights beforehand: 'Ms. Vos.'

  "Oh, great and mighty Shardkeeper!" she shouted into the depths of the entranceway. "I have heard of your ascension and come to pledge myself to you, soul and body!"

  As soon as the words, presumably accompanied by intent, left the elvish woman's lips, Marci felt a metaphysical link form between the woman and the Shard.

  Marci had read about 'bonding,' which was a process whereby one could pledge themselves to a Shardkeeper. Typically, according to the books, there were contracts involved that 'limited' the bond. However, as the case had apparently been with the Kobolds, it seemed to be possible to form a bond without Marci's oversight by just pledging unconditional and indefinite loyalty.

  The elf gasped, apparently sensing the link form, and put a hand to her chest theatrically.

  "Oh thank-you, oh great and powerful Shardkeeper-"

  Marci cut the tether.

  "Fuck off!" shouted Marci, although, without the link, she didn't think that the woman could hear her. Marci would need to install some Voice-throwing charms near the entranceway…

  "Master?" said the elf. "Why- why have you forsaken me!? I- I pledge myself to you!"

  The link formed again.

  "Fuck off!" said Marci, this time pushing the words through the link. "You absolute psychopath."

  She cut the link again.

  The elf's eyes widened dramatically, then she began to cry, great, heaving sobs.

  "But- but I pledge myself!" she screamed, reforming the link.

  Marci growled.

  "I will serve- I will do whatever you wish of me, great master!" said Ms. Vos. "And- and- and I have skills to offer! I am- I am a skilled warrior!"

  "You have a stupid sword," countered Marci.

  "I have- I have contacts!" she said. "Contacts in the- in the Middle Realms, and- and the Underworld. And- and I will do anything you desire of me! Anything!"

  Marci was about the sever the link again, when she paused.

  Contacts in the Underworld? That was… that was actually, potentially, useful. The library hadn't given her any joy in finding out how to disentangle her soul from the Shard, but that didn't mean that the information didn't exist. If it did, it would be in the Underworld.

  And… well, so long as she was pledged to the Dreadfort, Ms. Vos literally couldn't harm Marci. Actually, it was probably doing a public service to keep the clearly demon obsessed woman on a short leash and stop her doing anything particurly treacherous or insane.

  Was that a slippery slope? Maybe. But Marci did kind of need help…

  "Alright, fine," sent Marci.

  "Thank-you! Thank-you, Master!" said Ms. Vos, leaning down and kissing the ground. Which was… odd, since Marci could sort of feel it if she focused. "I will not disappoint you! I swear it!" She kissed the ground again. With tongue.

  "Stop- stop that! It's so weird!" sent Marci, grimacing.

  "Apologies, great one!" said Ms. Vos, wiping her lips. "What- what may I call you?"

  "Marci."

  "Forgive me, Mistress Marci, I did not realise you were a woman!" said Ms. Vos, prostrating herself once-again. "I will accept whatever punishment you deem fit! Chains, whips, paddles…"

  Marci rubbed the bridge of her nose.

  "Just… just come up into the library," said Marci. "I'll send a kobold to show you."

  "Of course! I live to serve!"

  Marci withdrew her attention and opened her eyes, adjusting her scarf minutely before flying out of her bedroom, down a long hallway which was being cleaned by the too enthusiastic kobolds, before reaching the library and settling on the other side of the desk to the door.

  Then she got up and added some books to the seat, so she didn't look like a child. Stupid high desks!

  How was one supposed to carry oneself as an evil overlord? Steep the fingers? That probably worked.

  She settled herself into what she hoped was an ominous looking visage, since this was an actual crazed demon cultist, not some poor abused sve, and waited for Ms. Vos to reach the library.

  A minute or so ter footsteps approached, and a small kobold with silver and gold scales led the much taller elven woman in.

  The red-haired elf was still bruised and battered from the pummelling Marci had given her. Up close, and in the well lit interior, Marci could see she had piercing green eyes, and an artistic scar over one of them that she was fairly sure was too neat to be anything other than self inflicted. She was wearing a dark cloak, underneath which was a shiny bck leather bodice and shiny bck leather trousers tucked into shiny bck leather boots.

  Well, Marci supposed it was good to have a theme.

  "Y-you?" said Ms. Vos, shocked to see Marci. "But you-" She gulped, and then fell to one knee. "Forgive me, Great One! I- I did not realise- forgive me! I did not know you were a Shardkeeper when I attacked!"

  "I wasn't," muttered Marci. "This is new."

  Ms. Vos frowned, then she blinked, then she smiled—presumably having come up with some likely bizarre rationalisation. "You- I see, your… former allies? Dupes? They thought that you were killed?"

  "Hold on, you know about the others?" asked Marci. "What happened to them?"

  "They reached Goltburg, screaming and shouting about the glorious discovery of the Shardfort," replied Ms. Vos, before smirking. "There were enforcers waiting for them, they were arrested, and word is that the report you took from me has seen them charged as infernal agents. Might I just say, Mistress, that was masterfully done-"

  "What do- what do you mean 'charged as infernal agents!?" said Marci, armed, her wings snapping out behind her.

  Oh fuck. Of course. They hadn't turned in the report before leaving Goltburg. And Of had been carrying it. They would have been searched when captured…

  "Fuck!" said Marci running a hand through her blue hair.

  "This… displeases you, Mistress?" said Ms. Vos. "Were- were- oh, I see, they were actually agents of yours?"

  "Yes, no… fine, let's go with that," she said.

  Marci took a deep breath. Being charged as infernal agents was a death sentence. The trials were spectacles, blood for the frightened masses and fodder for the powerful to be seen to be doing something about the demonic threat. They'd probably be sent to Saxmoor, a week or so for the trial… and then a public hanging.

  "Fuck!" said Marci again, her mind racing.

  They were in danger because of her.

  She needed to get them out.

  She couldn't just let them die.

  But how the was she going to break people out of a major fortress like the jail in Saxmoor…?

  Marci frowned and looked up at Ms. Vos, then turned to stare at the wall behind which, some hundred meters away, was the Shard.

  "Oh," she said. "The Shardfort."

  That was how.