I was old to do this. The skeleton and I made a good match. Both of us were aged and our bones brittle. My knees were stiff, aching in the cold mine. The hair I pushed away from my eyes was white and thin. There was a good chance, as we entered the mine, that we were going down into our own tomb.

My skeleton became accustomed to life, after laying dormant for so long in his grave. He was armed with the ax I used to chop wood for my fire.

The man whose corpse I used to make this skeleton was strong and fleet, killed by disease rather than the animals he hunted. He spent his life supplying our people with meat through the mountain winters. His bones now served to protect them. I watched as the skeleton's long arms swung the ax, cleaving the stale air in the mine shaft. Bony feet dug into the packed dirt floor. Yellowed teeth chattered as he swung his head around, searching for enemies. Grandfather's necromantic art gave this skeleton a mind of his own, but he was bound to my will. He could see and hear as well as a human. I did not know what he thought, or felt. Did he even have a soul, or memories?

A stunted, vicious darkling ran at us. Its eyes glowed yellow, and its jagged teeth reflected the light from my wand. The darkling's body was so twisted I felt surprised it could move quickly. I raised my polished bone wand and power surged up my arm into the wand's shaft. Runes, carved along the wand's length, flashed and a spear of energy the color of blood shot out of the tip. Magic lanced into the darkling's chest. My skeleton swung his ax, and hacked at the darkling. It barreled past us, the yellow-lit eyes fading as it fell to the dirt. My warrior threw back his head and chattered his teeth. I smiled at his display of pleasure.

A wind-driven spray of black ichor came howling out of the dead creature. The fetid liquid coated my skeleton. Hot blood whipped my robe around and tossed my hair back, plastering it to my neck.

It was the magic of the kill: the deathwind. My own creation, it siphoned energy from the dead monsters to fuel my magic.

My wand fed on it, growing hot against the palm of my hand. Power surged through my body, a sensation like sudden emersion in heated oil. The stiffness in my bones receded. I felt young and strong again. It excited me.

Perhaps this task was not impossible.

I rushed to meet the next monster and the next, gaining energy with each kill. The bodies of five darklings littered the narrow mine shaft when I stopped and wiped the ichor from my cheek. My skin was torn and slashed, but there was relief in the bottle of spiced green fluid tucked into my belt. The apothecary brewed it just this morning. He charged me dear for it. Three skeletons served him now, and I lost as many spells. It took a year to prepare the scroll that helped me create them, but I had no choice. I knew this old body would not stand up to the stress of battle.

As I drank the potent mixture my wounds tingled, and then began to heal. I was relieved that the pain would not last long.

My dead friend was not so lucky. He was worn, his energies almost drained, his bones cracked and brittle. Mercifully, I dispelled the incantation that animated him. He crumbled into dust.

Alone, I looked at my wand. It seemed puny, not strong enough to inflict damage to the many monsters in this cavern. I needed another warrior quickly.

I was could not summon more than two skeletons at a time. I was quickly exhausted when running, and I took too much damage when struck. The mine was deep and infested with enemies. Could I do this?

My stomach tightened as my mind filled with doubt. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest. Would I have the time to summon another? Sweat dripped from my nose, even though I was cold. I listened nervously for sounds in the mine shaft, but it was silent. I sighed, and my heart slowed a bit, the tightness in my chest relieved. The wand was icy in my grasp, polished bone covered with runes that emitted a gentle blue glow to help me see.

I searched among the dead for something intact enough to yield a proper servant. There were enough darkling corpses to choose from. I found an intact body. It amused me to know this corpse would yield the warrior I needed to kill its brethren.

I knelt down, ignoring the pain in my arthritic knees and whispered the words of Orcus' Prayer. Using my wand's honed tip, I pricked my wrist and let three drops of my blood fall onto an open wound in the carcass. As my blood mingled with his, the body shuddered. The spell was ready to cast.

Before I could activate it, a loud roaring sound distracted me. A giant, brutish creature charged out of the blackness. He was a Dark Beast, a darkling who had eaten enough victims to grow into a more dangerous opponent. He was the evolution of Tellus' warriors, the largest and most vicious of his kind. The Beast towered over me.

I trembled with revulsion and fear to look at him, with his shaggy head and humped back. His warped body was supported by legs that reminded me of tree trunks. His shriveled loins were stained with yellow, and he reeked of decayed meat. His skin was covered with rope-like veins of yellow, which pulsed as the ichors flowed through them. His tusks were broken and stained. The Dark Beast roared and swung his weapon, narrowly missing my head.

I staggered up and fired a shaft of death magic at his eyes. The Dark Beast's head snapped back and he howled, then swung his club wildly.

The club thudded on a timber supporting the shaft, and the roof shuddered. I was pelted with clods of dirt. My head and shoulders stung and I looked up at the ceiling, clenching my teeth. Would it hold? I didn't want to die in a cave-in. The sound echoed, hurting my ears. I cried out in anger, in terror.

The Beast roared again, and swung his massive spiked club at my head. I dodged and fired energy at the darkling corpse, igniting my creation spell. My new servant would help me kill this thing.

As the magic gathered in the corpse, a squelching sound drowned out the roar of the Beast. He stepped back. His bloodshot eyes widened and he stared as my warrior was born.

Shreds of meat littered the cave floor as the skeleton shook off his flesh. Blood, the color of bile, sprayed to coat the stone walls and splatter darkling bodies. His bones were thicker than my last skeleton. There was strength in him. My skeleton, shining with power, picked up a fallen ax and rushed past me. He charged the Beast.

Together we attacked the foul thing. I struck the Beast with my wand, driving a spear of death magic deep into his chest. My warrior hacked at the Beast's upraised arm. He shrugged off the blow and slammed his club down on the shoulder of my skeleton. I heard bones crack, but my skeleton did not fall. He continued to hack away, withstanding assault as the Beast smashed him about the head and shoulders. I cast shaft upon shaft of death magic into the Beast's torso.

At last we penetrated what served the Beast for a heart. With a screech, the Beast dropped his weapon. He collapsed on the floor at my feet.

I felt weak. The sensation confused me for a moment. I leaned against the dirt walls and tried to catch my breath. My chest was tight with exertion. My old legs trembled. The walls seemed heavy, threatening.

My skeleton turned his head, regarding me. Soft azure light bled out of his eye sockets, dissipating into the black air of the tunnel. He ground his teeth. Stepping back, he placed himself between my kneeling figure and the darkened mine shaft. My heartbeat slowed, and the crushing pain in my chest subsided. I rose, stiff with pain, and walked over to our kill.

I took a moment to prepare the Dark Beast carcass. I cast the last of my spells and another skeleton rose from the body. He was a giant, twice as tall as my first skeleton. He snatched up his spiked club. I heard the club slice through the air as he swung it, his teeth clenched in a rictus grin. He would carry us through the mine to the completion of our task.

They stood there, the two of them, gleaming warriors in the darkness waiting to kill. Wanting to kill.

I knew that we could meet this challenge together, my warriors and I.

Love was something I had forgotten. My wife was lost to me in the birthing of our second child. My son, Kaisie, blamed me for the death of his mother. I mourned in darkness, burying myself in the trappings of my deadly art, and Kaisie hated me. He kept his light from my eyes.

His children did not know hatred. They shared their world with me, so that I was reborn, and I lived for them.

My grandchildren would not starve. Tellus would give up her copper and the village would survive.