Dirge for a Necromancer (5 page)

Brecan’s tail and wings drooped. “Oh, yeah,” he said, flattening his ears. For a moment he was silent, but then a thought seemed to grab him, and he brightened again. “You could hold the lance, Raet! Daeblau could teach you to joust, and then we could joust together!”

“I already know how to joust,” Raettonus said irritably as he started away from the unicorn.

“Hey, where’re you going, Raet?” asked Brecan, hastening to follow him. “Did you meet General Tykkleht’s kids? How’d your lesson go? I was talking to the general earlier; he wants us to join him for dinner. We can, right?”

Raettonus sighed. “I don’t want to join him for dinner,” he said. “I just want to go organize my books and be left alone.”

“But, the general would be so sad if you didn’t come, Raet,” said Brecan, following after him. “I wouldn’t know what to tell him if you didn’t go. Couldn’t you mess with your books some other time, Raet?”

With an exasperated sigh, Raettonus wheeled on the unicorn. “Fine, I’ll go with you to see the stupid general for dinner,” he said, flicking Brecan in the nose.

“Oh, that’s great!” chirped Brecan.

“I do far too much for you,” Raettonus said as he crossed his arms over his chest. “When are we supposed to meet him?”

“In about an hour,” the unicorn replied. “Daeblau said he’d show us to the general’s chambers then. You sure you don’t want to learn to joust, Raet? He could teach you.”

“I told you—I already know how to joust,” Raettonus snapped. “It doesn’t interest me to learn it again. It doesn’t interest me in general, as a matter of fact.”

“You never told me you could joust, Raet,” Brecan said as they crossed the yard.

“That’s because it’s been completely irrelevant,” said the man, brushing a few strands of hair out of his eyes. “There’s never been any call for me to joust—ever. It’s not like anyone ever runs into a tavern all in a fright, looking for a last-minute jouster.”

“I would look for a last-minute jouster,” declared Brecan thoughtfully. Raettonus flicked him on the nose again. “Ouch!”

“Shut up, and no you wouldn’t,” he said.

“I wouldn’t? Oh…” He glanced around. “Hey, where’re we going, Raet?”

“I’m going to my room,” Raettonus said. “I don’t know where you’re going, quite honestly.”

“But, Raet, you said you were gonna come to dinner with the general.”

“And I will. But that’s not for an hour,” Raettonus said. He paused and glanced around. “Which way leads to our tower?”

The unicorn nodded his head toward an open archway. “You take that hall, and there’s a flight of stairs, and then a hall, and you go left down the hall to the second flight of stairs, and then you go left down the hall at the top of it, and then—”

“I think I can figure it out from there,” Raettonus said, starting purposefully away. Brecan made to follow him, but Raettonus waved him away. “I think I can also manage to get there without you.”

Brecan flattened his ears and sat back on his lion’s haunches. “But, Raet,” he began sadly.

“Why don’t you go play with your new pal, Daeblow, or whatever his name is?”

“Daeblau,” said Brecan as Raettonus left him. “A-all right…”

This time around, Raettonus managed to make it up to his chambers without losing his way, even though the citadel was as labyrinthine as ever. He entered the room, closing the door slowly behind him. Someone had lit his brazier while he was out, and the room was warm and filled with light and the smell of smoke. On his desk the obsidian gryphon glittered as Raettonus stared at it. He felt as though the bottom of his stomach was dropping clean out as he looked at it. “When you die,” the elf in the mask had said. “I’ll make sure you’re buried beside Slade the Black and Red.”

To Raettonus, that sounded like it could only be a threat.

He crossed the room slowly to the bookcase, keeping his eyes on the carved hunk of obsidian for a long while. After he finally tore his gaze away from the figure, it took him a couple minutes of looking to find the book he wanted—a large, black volume bound in the tanned flesh of a vampire. It was an old book that he had found in the ruins near Ti Tunfa many years prior. The words inside had been something he’d never seen before then—Zykyna, the language of gods. The language of the gods of the realm of Zylx, at any rate. Raettonus was sure other deities in other dimensions had their own languages.

Zykyna. There had been no easy way to learn to read the language and even now, after years spent in study, he was not fluent in that archaic tongue. No mortal was.

Portions of the book, happily, were written in the elven language of Taurkyna, which he knew just as well as he knew common Zylekkhan or even his own native English. He sat down on the bed with the book spread over his lap, looking at the yellowed pages with the faded ink upon them. When he found the book, he had taken it to a number of elven scholars to find out what exactly it was he had. He knew it was full of power—he knew because when he touched it he could feel it coming into him, turning his veins cold, making the hair on his arms and neck stand up—but he didn’t know from where the power came. None of the scholars could tell him that either, though one said she suspected the book was written five thousand years ago, shortly after the elves abandoned the Creator God to live their own lives. That was why it was written in both Taurkyna and Zykyna, she had told Raettonus—the elves had spoken both languages back then. That was why it had so many rituals and incantations meant to protect from the gods.

The elves had made their choice to live freely, and they feared divine retribution. Typical, Raettonus thought.

Slowly, Raettonus turned the pages. They were brittle and ragged at the edges, but they were still in good condition for a book so old. There were illustrations of a number of creatures done in fading inks—all drawn without any eyes—tearing apart the world, or fighting one another, or killing creatures that were drawn with eyes. He flipped through the pages, glancing at the illustrations, until he came upon the incantation he desired. In the strange characters of Zykyna, the page declared Dur Ghana’iis Pel’lukhro—the Spell of Hiding.

Raettonus stood and drew his rapier, the book still open in his left hand. He began to carve a symbol into the stone in the middle of one of the walls. “Faerha,” he read from the book as he carved it. He went to each of the corners of the room and carved a different symbol in each one, saying its name as he did. “Dulla. Kaemur. Nygrii. Erhiin.”

There was a glow about the symbols as Raettonus took to the center of the room. They were lines of direct power, to the source of elemental magic in the realm of Zylx—the Elemental Pillars of light, shadow, fire, wind, and rock. It wasn’t the sort of magic system Raettonus was used to working under, but he could put it to use in a pinch. This definitely qualified as a pinch. He lifted his sword and began the incantation proper, in the language of the gods.

“Dae balui fa sep; dae dubhra khoriin sep,” he read from it, not understanding all the words. With his sword he pointed to each of the symbols he had made in the stone. “Faerha laeka. Dulla lyka. Kaemur lorha. Nygrii lahba. Erhiin laesha.”

For a moment he felt ill, as though he might collapse onto his knees and vomit until his stomach was dry. He endured and the moment passed, though it left him feeling extremely weak. The symbols he had carved glowed in white and black and red and blue and gray—all the colors of the elements they represented—and then disappeared into the stone. Closing the book and sliding his sword into his belt, Raettonus collapsed onto his bed. All he wanted was to sleep for days and days, until his muscles were atrophied and he was covered in sores. It felt as though he had ran a marathon all at once, and then gone out and fought a war all by himself. Yet, at the same time, he felt serene. He was in a peaceful place now, protected from the prying energies of gods and mortals alike. Raettonus closed his eyes and dozed for a while.

He was awoken not much later by Brecan and Daeblau at his door. Groggily, he put the old book back onto his shelf before going out to meet them in the hall. Daeblau lifted the visor of his helm and frowned as he looked Raettonus over. “You’re going to wear the same clothes as you were wearing earlier?” he asked, leaning on his halberd.

“What’s wrong with that?” asked Raettonus, glaring up at him.

Daeblau shrugged half-heartedly. “Your tunic’s pretty ratty,” he murmured. “Surely you’ve got something a little fresher you could wear?”

Raettonus crossed his arms. “I don’t really see the point,” he said. “Now, sir, if I’m not mistaken, you are not, in fact, my mother. Would you kindly just do your job and show us the way?”

Daeblau cleared his throat and, letting his visor slide back down, said, “Certainly. With me, if you please.”

General Tykkleht kept his private hall on the fourth floor of the citadel, overlooking the courtyard. It was a warmly lit place with portraits of great generals long dead on the walls, and with silken banners in red and purple hung everywhere. Tykkleht greeted them warmly and invited Daeblau to stay. “I’d be delighted to dine with you, General,” said Daeblau with a deep bow.

Raettonus sat at Tykkleht’s right hand, beside the head of the table, with Brecan beside him. Daeblau took his place across from him, beside Dohrleht, who was beside Maeleht. Daeblau took off his helm, and for the first time Raettonus got a good look at him. He had a strong, handsome face, with sharp brown eyes, and a sharp nose. His long, sandy blond hair was tied back, but his bangs fell across his face as soon as he removed his helmet.

Raettonus hated having dinner with centaurs. He hated it more than anything. He was the only one at the table sitting, on a chair Tykkleht had kindly provided. Everyone around him was standing, which made him feel like a child who had somehow snuck his way to the adults’ table unnoticed.

They were brought ale by vacant-eyed Ebha, the human woman Raettonus had met before. She set mugs down in front of Raettonus, Tykkleht, Daeblau, and Dohrleht, and a bowl of ale before Brecan, before placing a cup of goat’s milk before Maeleht. Then she went off, still vacant-eyed, to go do something else. Maeleht toyed with his cup. “I want ale,” he said quietly.

“You can have some of mine,” Brecan offered.

“No, no,” said Tykkleht. “No ale for Maeleht. It aggravates his condition.”

“General,” said Raettonus, leaning back in his chair so as not to let on how small he felt among the centaurs. “I was wandering about your fortress today. It’s a very nice place.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Tykkleht said genially. “I’m afraid we’re not as well staffed as we might be, so we don’t use a lot of the space. I’ve tried not to let it get into a sad state, however. It’s hard; times are tough for the Royal Zylekkhan army. This isn’t an academy citadel like Ruahn or Daerkii, so we don’t have a surplus of men. They always promise me more than they send.”

“As I was wandering about,” Raettonus continued, “I met your hostage.”

Tykkleht furrowed his brow momentarily, but then a look of understanding came over him. “Ah, yes. The goblin prince,” he said with a nod. “Dekho, or Dema, something like that…”

“Deggho dek’Kariss,” supplied Daeblau. “The Kariss chief’s son.”

“That’s the one,” said Tykkleht. He wagged one finger at the air and smiled a little. “Yes, I knew it started with a ‘de’ sound. I mean, Dekho—that’s a goblin name, right?”

“I think that’s actually a werewolf name, General,” Daeblau said.

“No matter.” Tykkleht chuckled. “Goblins, werewolves—doesn’t matter. All those barbarian races are pretty much the same.”

“Oh, yes, very much the same,” agreed Raettonus dryly. “Yes, I don’t know how to keep them straight. I mean, men who turn into wolves are almost exactly the same as seven-foot tall blue-skinned mountain monsters.”

Ebha came back to bring them soup and bread. “So,” Tykkleht asked, pointedly ignoring Raettonus’ tone. “Did Deggho say anything of interest to you? I haven’t seen him in a while. I meant to check up on him more than I have, but you know how it goes. He’s set up fairly, I think, and he doesn’t cause much trouble, so I forget about him.”

“He didn’t say much, no,” Raettonus said. “He showed me some of his paintings, though.”

“Oh, those? They’re pretty good for a barbarian,” Tykkleht said. “He’s taken up the centaurian style of art, which is a plus. I’m not overly fond of his work—I find it unnecessarily violent, and he uses too many bright colors—but quite a few of my men are. They hang those paintings of his all over.”

“I’ve got one of them in my own quarters,” Daeblau said, stirring his soup with a hunk of bread. “It’s a stirring picture of Syrinna Teba with her recently murdered husband, the Creator, Kraah Shohk, in her arms.”

“I’d like to see that painting,” Dohrleht said.

Daeblau smiled at him crookedly. “Then you should. It’s a very…significant scene, I would say. Maybe I could show it to you after dinner.”

“Deggho didn’t mention any specifics of how he ended up here,” Raettonus said to the general. “Who are the Kariss?”

Tykkleht let out a tired sigh. “They’re a stone in my hoof, that’s who they are,” he said. He tore a piece of bread apart. “Since the first day I took command here, they’ve been nothing but trouble. Well, up until I got Deggho. Now we don’t have to deal with them as much, and when we do deal with them… Well, the relationship’s not hostile, but it’s strained. But that’s the best we can expect from that lot.”

“How’d you end up with Deggho?” asked Raettonus.

“Luck, mostly,” Tykkleht said. “We have patrols travel the paths every now and then to make sure there aren’t any armies skulking about, or broken bridges, or—well, you know. All those things that we need to make sure are kept up. The Kariss are under the impression that this mountain belongs to them, so they didn’t like that so well, and they sent a message to us telling us as much. Well, I’m not about to let goblins tell me what to do. I mean, I start bending to the will of goblins, and I might as well cut my hair short and go be an elf. So, I send a message sealed in purple wax and stamped with the king’s hoof back to them, inviting them to kindly bugger off, and inform them that we are a division of the Royal Zylekkhan Army, and that there isn’t a damn place in this entire realm that’s off limits to us, and that if we wanted we’d march right up their asses, and we’d be well within our rights to do so, and they’d have to thank us for the pleasure of getting their guts ground under our hooves… So that’s how a, erm, smallish war started. I mean, there was fighting, but it wasn’t anything worth writing home about.”