Dirge for a Necromancer (13 page)

Dohrleht dropped his gaze to the floor. “There’s no reason to bother him with it. It’ll only cause him anxiety,” he said quietly. “Our father’s not in good health.”

“I noticed,” answered Raettonus. “I don’t suppose you know anything about that? Aside from being old and flabby he seemed as healthy as, well, a horse, not so long ago…”

The young centaur’s eyes widened slightly. “I’m not following you,” he said, his voice sounding slightly choked.

“Of course you aren’t,” Raettonus said with a shrug. “I honestly don’t care either way. However, I’m going to need that vial you took from my room back. It was dreadfully expensive.”

“Y-yes, Raettonus,” said Dohrleht, bowing his head and turning down a smaller hallway that branched off from the main passage. Raettonus continued on his way without any sign he’d noticed his student’s departure.

* * *

That night, when Raettonus dreamed, he dreamed of Kimohr Raulinn in his lush temple overlooking the weedy plateaus and fissures in Kyshem’mur. As before, he was without a body, observing the god from the air. Kimohr Raulinn walked slowly and unevenly through his lavishly decorated temple to his intricately carved throne of black jade. Unslinging his bag, he set it on the throne. He slipped out of his tattered, dirty robe, letting it puddle about his feet. The moonlight shone on his handsome body, nude but for all the strings of beads hanging around his neck and arms and thighs. Black bite marks festered on his buttocks and shoulders, where the flesh once was pristine. The god walked with a slight limp, and Raettonus saw that there was a wound, dripping dark ichor, on his thigh. A deep gouge had been taken out of his ankle, as well, and the bones could be seen working beneath the bloody tissue with each step he took.

Kimohr Raulinn recovered his bag from the throne and limped on through an arched doorway. With every step, blood gushed from his wounds and ran in thick, fetid streams down his soft body, contrasting drastically with his pale flesh. Once he stumbled against a wall and cried out in pain. For a moment, he could only pant against a pillar set into the wall, and Raettonus wasn’t sure he was going to be able to muster up the strength to keep moving. In the end, however, Kimohr Raulinn pushed himself off the wall and kept on, dragging his battered leg as ichor trailed behind him. Tears welled in his eyes, visible behind his devil-faced mask, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain.

He hobbled into a large room with a table at its center. Atop the table a still form lay, dressed in black and red. Kimohr Raulinn made it to the table and collapsed across the corpse’s chest. For a moment, the god just leaned against the body of Sir Slade for support, panting and groaning, his beads clacking together with each breath. Finally, he straightened and lowered the bag from his shoulder, setting it on the table beside Slade’s head. Slade stared placidly upward, gazing toward something far beyond the sight of the living. Hands trembling, Kimohr Raulinn loosened the strings on the bag and reached inside. From within, he drew out a large, pale orb wreathed in curling smoke. The colors of the orb turned and swirled as the smoke around it coalesced.

Kimohr Raulinn stroked Slade’s cheek with his free hand and whispered something into his ear. The smoke from the orb began to reach out toward Slade, filling his nose and caressing his blankly staring eyes. As more and more of it went inside of him, the orb began to dim and fade away. It disappeared completely from Kimohr Raulinn’s hand after a short time. And then Slade sat straight upright and began to scream in agony.

The whole world shook.

Raettonus moaned and rubbed his head. It took him a moment to realize that he was no longer dreaming and that the whole citadel was shaking wildly. He leapt to his feet and grabbed his belt and rapier, not bothering with his tunic. The soldiers were rushing about outside his door, sounding their alarms. He threw open his door and stopped one of the centaurs as he was passing by. “What’s going on?” Raettonus asked.

“Part of Kaebha just collapsed!” said the soldier, panting.

“An earthquake?” wondered Raettonus, raising his eyebrows.

“We don’t know,” said the soldier. He broke away from Raettonus. “Excuse me, I have to defend the citadel.”

Raettonus watched him gallop away before following at a slower pace.

When Raettonus arrived at the area in question where the ground had buckled, spilling stone and wood and glass into a great chasm, he found the Tahlehsons swarming over the mound of rubble that had once been Kaebha’s sturdy wall. Their hooves pounded the shattered stone, sending clouds of gritty dust up around them as they surged through the opening with their swords drawn. The wall had fallen away from the bottom-most basement floor all the way up to the fifth, and outside Raettonus could see a line of earth caved in, leading toward the Tahlehson camp. Amid the churned sand and rock, Raettonus could see the smoking, black remains of some wooden structure.

He couldn’t help but respect Diahsis’ cleverness. The rams they’d built had been a bluff. They’d harvested the trees mainly for use in bracing an underground shaft for undermining. When the wooden braces were burned, the ground collapsed, and so did the wall built upon it. They had bided their time for so long only because they were digging out an extensive tunnel. Since the Zylekkhans could see them building siege towers, however, they had assumed that was the way the attack would come and did not bother investigating any other routes. It was a crafty trick.

Arrows were raining down outside on the attacking army, but more and more of the foreign soldiers were forcing their way through the fissure, out of harm’s way. Metal clanged against metal as the ground level floor filled with centaurian soldiers from both sides. Raettonus withdrew from the fighting to find Brecan. The sound of swords and shields clashing with one another followed him down the halls. He could hear screams and shouts in many different languages, but eventually he got so far away that the noise became muffled.

He wasn’t sure why he headed for the roof, but once he got there, he found Brecan cowering beside the battlements on the ocean-facing side of the citadel.

“We’re being invaded, Raet!” he exclaimed.

“It’ll pass,” Raettonus told him, looking out at the rolling water far below.

Brecan sidled up to him and nudged him with his nose. “Are we going to be all right, Raet?” asked the unicorn.

“Of course,” said Raettonus. “What a stupid question to ask.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I guess it was,” said Brecan, flattening his ears. “I’m sorry, Raet. I shouldn’t be so stupid.”

Raettonus glanced around. “Shit,” he muttered. “I need to go back down there. Maeleht and Dohrleht might be hurt.”

“You’re going to protect them, Raet?” asked Brecan, perking up. “You care a lot about them, huh?”

Raettonus scowled. “They’re the only things here that fall in the realm of ‘my responsibility,’ and I’ll not have it ever said about me—whatever else they might claim—that I shirked a responsibility,” he said, heading for the stairs. His fear forgotten, Brecan followed him giddily.

They made their way directly to the boys’ rooms, only to find them empty. Raettonus rushed to one of the balconies overlooking the floor where the fighting was still going strong. “They wouldn’t be down there, Raet,” Brecan said. “They’re cripples. That’s a lot of stairs from where their rooms are. They couldn’t be down there. Not with how crippled they are…”

“Good point,” Raettonus said. He started away from the balcony, unsure of where to check. He suspected Maeleht would go to hide somewhere, but Dohrleht was the type to throw himself into the melee, busted foreleg or not.

A horn blared above the fighting and was answered by a second, distinctly different horn. Raettonus didn’t understand them, but was certain they had some meaning to the armies, because the sound of fighting died away and the soldiers milled about in confusion. Brecan glanced around. “Oh, they made up!” he said, swishing his tail. “That’s nice!”

Daeblau appeared on a balcony on the level beneath them, on the opposite wall, with Dohrleht limping along at his side. “I regret to inform you all, but General Tykkleht has passed away,” he announced in a voice which echoed in the eerie silence of the citadel-turned-battlefield. “Command has passed to me, and I would like to submit our surrender.”

There was a muttering among the soldiers, but not a very loud one, and no one protested openly.

Diahsis stepped forward from among his men. He was wearing the same beautiful, ornamental armor he had worn to meet with Tykkleht, but it was splashed with blood. “I accept your surrender,” he said. “If any of your soldiers would wish to join my army, you may do so. If you would not, you’ll have to be confined. However, we will not treat you harshly, and when our war is done, you’ll be released.”

A muddled confusion followed, in which the Zylekkhan loyalists were sorted out from the turncoats. Raettonus watched for a while before glancing back toward the balcony Daeblau had spoken from, only to find him absent.

“Magician, I thought I saw you up here,” came Daeblau’s voice from behind him.

“Captain,” Raettonus said coolly, without turning to look at him.

“You have a good knowledge of the dead, I am correct in assuming?” asked Daeblau.

“I do,” said Raettonus.

“Could you prepare the body of General Tykkleht for his funeral?” asked Daeblau.

Raettonus turned to face him. “Isn’t there someone else here who’s qualified for that?” he asked.

“Not more qualified than you,” Daeblau answered. Dohrleht was still beside him, and Raettonus could see deep numbness in the boy’s eyes, as if his mind were somewhere far away from the citadel’s dust and blood. “Please—I know the late general wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Raettonus sighed. “Fine.”

“You’re familiar with the proper customs?”

“I am.”

“Be sure to put him in his best armor,” Dohrleht put in quietly. “He…he loved that armor.”

Raettonus nodded and went to take care of the body before it started to rot. He hated when they began to rot. The smell was unimaginable.

He reached the general’s bedchambers, where he’d expired, after a short delay to get his tools and his tunic. When he approached the bed, he noticed the sheets were covered with blood. Pulling the blanket away, he saw that Tykkleht had been stabbed twice—one time in each heart. The general’s ghost wandered back and forth beside the bed, hands trembling. Ignoring the spirit, Raettonus set about his work.

Centaurs were the worst for funeral preparations. The organs had to be removed so their bodies could be stuffed with straw. Centaurs had a lot of organs. Elbow-deep in Tykkleht’s belly had not been Raettonus’ ideal way to spend the night, but there he was, hands full of centaurian intestines, trying not to gag on the smell of it all.

He removed the general’s organs and burned them in a bowl marked with the star of Kurok, one by one—four lungs, two hearts, an overlarge liver, a massive stomach, yards and yards of intestines.

After that, he filled the chest and stomach cavities full of straw. He sewed shut Tykkleht’s eyes and put a chip of amber in his mouth according to Zylekkhan customs to pay the creatures that lived between realms for his safe passage. He hung beads around his neck—purple for Kurok, red for Kaeriaht, blue for Virkki, yellow for Harkkan, black for Cykkus. He cleaned his body with a rag and brushed out his tail. Then he dressed him in his shining armor with all its gold inlays. Armor to hide the stab wounds.

By the time he had finished, morning was well upon him. The dirty sheets had been taken away, and Raettonus laid the body on the clean bed. He started to leave, but Tykkleht’s ghost called out, attracting his attention.

“Gods above! Treason! Murder! Gods above!” shouted the ghost. “Betrayed by my own son! My own son!”

Raettonus thought for a moment about helping the ghost leave the mortal plane of existence so that Maeleht might not stumble upon him. Finally, however, he decided that he preferred the thought of Dohrleht having to come back in there on occasion, forced to face the ghost of his murdered father. Raettonus had long-since decided he shouldn’t be the only one whose demons never left him.

Chapter Nine

General Tykkleht’s body was burned that night in the courtyard, while the bodies of the dead soldiers, Zylekkhan and Tahlehson alike, were burned in front of the citadel. The Zylekkhans who hadn’t been confined in the fortress’ cells gathered in the courtyard to pay their respects to their dead leader. None of them suspected anything more than that he had died of his illness. Raettonus said nothing as he watched the flames grow higher.

Diahsis came to stand beside him. “You did a beautiful job on the body, Magician,” the half-elf, half-werewolf general told him, resting one hand on the small of Raettonus’ back. “He looked very peaceful.”

“I don’t agree,” Raettonus said stiffly.

Diahsis smiled. “That’s too bad,” he said. He was standing uncomfortably close to Raettonus, and the height difference between them was making Raettonus feel very small. “So, Magician—what will you do now?”

“I’m here to instruct General Tykkleht’s sons,” Raettonus said, straightening up in an effort to make himself look taller. “I was paid in advance, and so far as I’m concerned my job has not been changed or cancelled.”

“I’ll allow you to carry on with that, then,” said Diahsis, looking down at him. He was still smiling—a smug, self-satisfied smile that Raettonus didn’t like at all.

“Awfully presumptuous of you to think you can allow me to do anything,” Raettonus told him, scowling. He locked his gaze on Diahsis’ and was pleased to see the general’s smile falter for a moment. “Never forget that you can burn just as easily as anyone, General Diahsis.”

The general’s easy smile returned, and he was about to reply, but a soldier approached with Deggho, attracting his attention. “We found him on our sweep through the citadel, General,” the soldier said.

“And who would you be?” Diahsis asked the goblin.

Deggho was looking upward at the starry sky. “I haven’t seen the moon in so long,” he murmured. “G-gods, it…it feels so good. Um—ah! S-sorry. I’m a little bit…a little bit shaken. Um, I’m Deggho dek’Kariss. Or, in common Zylekkhan, Deggho who leads the Kariss.”

“The Kariss?” asked Diahsis. “Who are they?”

“The goblin tribe that lives on this mountain,” Deggho said. “I’m the youngest son of their chief…was the youngest son. I don’t know now…”

Diahsis nodded. “So,” he said. “You must be a hostage, is that right?”

“Y-yes, that’s right,” Deggho said with a nod. “For…oh, for years now.”

Diahsis took him gently by the arm. “That must’ve been very hard for you, Deggho dek’Kariss,” he said. “Being away from your people all that time.”

“Y-yes, it was…it was hell, being trapped down there,” Deggho said, his ears drooping. “I didn’t have any windows, you see. They only gave me a few torches, too. It was so dark…”

“I imagine it was,” said Diahsis. “Deggho, could you do me a favor?”

“O-of course. What, uh, what would you like, General?”

“Could you kneel for me?” asked Diahsis.

“Kneel? Um, yes, I can do that,” Deggho said uncertainly. Slowly he got down. “Like this?”

“Almost,” said Diahsis. “But could you bend forward a little more? Double over?”

“Like this?”

“Yes. Exactly so,” said Diahsis. In one fluid movement, he drew his gladius and swung it downward. Its blade passed through Deggho’s thin neck with ease, sending his head rolling away. His body fell to the dirt, a dark spurt of blood spraying out where neck had once met skull. Diahsis motioned and the soldier recovered the goblin’s head. “Take that to the Kariss. The body too. Tell them the Zylekkhans killed him before we stormed the fort. Try to get them to join our cause against the Zylekkhans. If they don’t want to join us, slaughter them. Fifteen men should be enough; pick whomever you want to go with you. Ah, but try not to pick anyone who lost a good friend or a lover storming Kaebha. Those ones should be left to grieve.”

“Yes, General,” said the centaurian soldier. He scooped up Deggho’s frail body and hefted it over his back before loping away.

Wiping the blood from his sword, Diahsis turned back to Raettonus. “Sorry for the interruption,” he said. “Now, what were we talking about?”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Raettonus said. “The Kariss would’ve been just as grateful to you for freeing Deggho as they would be angry at the Zylekkhans for executing him.”

Diahsis smiled and slid his gladius back into its scabbard. “Anger is a far better motivator than gratitude, Magician,” he said. “How about you leave the military tactics to me, hm? I don’t tell you how to do…whatever it is you do.”

“Magic, General—I do magic.”

“Really? I don’t believe I’ve seen any evidence of that,” said Diahsis with a shrug. “I would think if you did magic, maybe you would’ve kept that wall up.”

“I don’t do that kind of magic.”

“That’s a pity.”

“Yes, it is,” responded Raettonus turning away. “Excuse me. I’m needed elsewhere.”

“Yes, of course. Another time, then, Magician,” said Diahsis, frowning.

Raettonus shrugged noncommittally and skulked away across the yard, past a group of Zylekkhan soldiers who were reciting a prayer led by the citadel’s priest. In one dark corner of the courtyard, Maeleht was alone, leaning against the wall. His face was red with tears, and he was shaking. Noticing Raettonus’ approach, he quickly turned away to hide the fact that he’d been crying. “H-hello, Raettonus,” he said in a strained voice as he faced the wall.

“I’m sorry about your father,” Raettonus told him uncomfortably.

“Th-thanks,” said Maeleht. After a moment’s hesitation, he turned to look at the magician. “He…he didn’t deserve to die like that. He should’ve died in battle. That’s how he w-would have wanted to go. He should have… He—he would’ve, if…”

“If what?” asked Raettonus. Some of the branches in the pyre broke, and the whole thing shifted, sending sparks high into the air.

“If Dohrleht hadn’t poisoned him,” Maeleht said in a tiny, scared voice.

Raettonus raised his eyebrows. “You knew about that?” he asked, only half interested.

“I suspected,” said the young centaur. “Father got sick so suddenly. You taught us about some poisons, don’t you remember? You showed us all those vials… So when he got sick, I thought… It’s true, isn’t it?”

“I think so,” Raettonus said.

Maeleht’s lower lip trembled, and he slid along the wall into a sitting position. “I really hoped I was wrong,” he said as Raettonus took a seat beside him. “I—Dohrleht loved our father just as much as I did. For the past few months though, he’s been spending practically all his time with Daeblau… Do… Raettonus, do you think Daeblau might’ve put him up to it? Poisoning Dad?”

“I couldn’t say,” said Raettonus with a shrug. Though, he was certain Daeblau had at least put him up to stabbing Tykkleht while everyone else was distracted with the invasion. That wasn’t something Maeleht needed to know about, however.

“I never liked him, Daeblau,” Maeleht confided. “He’s nice to everyone, but he scares me a little. It’s…something about the way he’s never really happy, even when he’s smiling.”

“So,” said Raettonus, looking up toward the sky. Above them there were hundreds of thousands of stars strewn about in the unfathomable darkness, giving warmth and light to places he’d never see. “What are you going to do now?”

“Nothing, I guess,” said Maeleht glumly. “What can I do, anyway? It’s not as if I have any proof, and even if I did… Well, Dohrleht’s my brother. No matter what, he’s my brother.”

They were quiet for a bit, listening to the nearby priest leading the soldiers in a slow, mournful song in Kaerikyna whose words Raettonus didn’t understand, but whose tune he vaguely recognized as “Carry Him from the Battlefield.” As they sang the dirge, they stomped their hooves, creating a solemn beat beneath the singing. After the song had ended and the mourning soldiers began a new one, Raettonus turned to Maeleht. “I want to teach you something,” he said. “Reach your hands out, palms up—no, together, like this. There. Now, close your eyes.”

Maeleht closed his eyes, leaning his head back slightly. “What are we going to do?” asked the child.

“Summon a rock for me. A large rock, big enough to fill both your hands—can you do that?” asked Raettonus.

“I’ll try,” said Maeleht, squeezing his eyes tight as he concentrated. “But you’ve already taught me this…”

“This is something different,” Raettonus assured him. “Think to yourself about something. Some object—doesn’t matter what it is, just an object. Picture it in your mind’s eye. Picture all its curves and angles. Try to summon up a stone while imagining you’re running your fingers across every surface of that object.”

Maeleht’s fingers twitched slightly. “What should I think of?”

“It doesn’t matter; anything you like,” said Raettonus. “Something familiar to you. Something so familiar that you can see it from every side and angle.”

The boy bit his lip and scrunched up his nose. Dust began to appear above his cupped palms, suspended in the air. The dust swirled and stuck together, forming pebbles, which clung together to form rocks. Slowly, the rocks began to form into the likeness of a butterfly. It was a rough likeness, with lots of cracks and uneven areas, but it was recognizable. “Good,” said Raettonus. “Open your eyes.”

Maeleht inhaled sharply when he saw the stone butterfly floating over his hands. He looked at Raettonus with wide-eyed wonder. “I did that?” he asked.

“You did,” confirmed Raettonus with a nod. “It’s a little rough, but… You did well.”

“I did?” asked Maeleht again. He looked down at the stone butterfly, and it fell into his hands. A smile spread across his freckled face. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I did, didn’t I?”

“With a little work, you can make it perfect,” said Raettonus.

Maeleht smiled and cradled the stone butterfly close to his chest, admiring his work. “Thank you for teaching me this, Raettonus,” he said quietly.

Raettonus shrugged one shoulder and mumbled, “You’re welcome.”

The soldiers and the priest had begun to sing “Carry Him from the Battlefield” again, this time in common Zylekkhan. Raettonus didn’t know the words to it, but beside him, Maeleht joined in quietly.

“From fire we come,

To fire returned.

Carry him from the battlefield.

His heart is broken,

His face is burned.

Carry him from the battlefield.

His sword is shattered,

His fight is lost.

Carry him from the battlefield.

His brothers fight on,

No matter the cost.

Carry him from the battlefield.

Place him on wood,

Give him a light.

Carry him from the battlefield.

Our good soldier

Dines with gods tonight.

Carry him from the battlefield.”

Through the fire, Tykkleht’s body was barely visible. When the flames were finished, all that would remain would be his armor. Perhaps they’d hang up his breastplate somewhere, in his memory. Or maybe they’d send it to his wife in Sae Noklu, on the plains. Raettonus couldn’t shake the feeling, however, that it’d simply be thrown out or put away and forgotten. In his experience, the dead were usually put away and forgotten.

* * *

Even with the sizable Tahlehson army serving beneath General Diahsis occupying the fort, the Kaebha Citadel was still quite empty. Most of the soldiers were stationed on the lower levels, guarding the loyalist Zylekkhans. For his part, Diahsis had taken control of one of the uppermost floors, posting guards at all the stairwells. Raettonus wasn’t certain what the young general needed with an entire floor, but he heard from Dohrleht—who often attended Diahsis with Daeblau—that the whole floor had been redecorated to suit his tastes, which were a lot more elegant than the Zylekkhan commanders who had previously had run of that level.

Those soldiers who weren’t put to work guarding the loyalists or keeping Diahsis’ level secure were mostly employed in rebuilding the wall their undermining had unsteadied. It was backbreaking work, and Raettonus did not envy them, but they were centaurs, and centaurs were strong, with powerful horse bodies to pull and powerful human hands to lift. Raettonus watched them working from the battlements as he sat up there with Brecan. The unicorn was skulking about the roof, catching sparrows and bringing them to Raettonus.

“Do you think they’ll be done with that any time soon?” asked Brecan after he had brought Raettonus another dead sparrow.

“They only just started,” Raettonus responded, tying the bird’s feet together and stringing it up with the others Brecan had caught for him. He hadn’t been counting, but was certain he had at least a dozen birds now. “I’m not sure they’ll fix the wall for at least a year.”

“There’s so many of them working on it though,” Brecan said, flattening his ears. “I think it’ll be done soon.”

“You can think that, but you’re still wrong.”

Brecan twitched his tail and sat back on his lion-like haunches. “I’m not wrong, am I?” he mumbled. After a moment, he stopped sulking. “Hey, Raet—is that enough sparrows or do you need more? Can I eat one?”

“You can eat one when I’m done with them,” said Raettonus, holding the sparrows up by the string and counting them. “I could use two more. This won’t be enough feathers.”

“Two more?” said Brecan, a little dismayed. He glanced around and, spotting a bird perched at the other side of the roof, bounded off after it, nearly bowling over a patrolling Tahlehson soldier who got in his way.

Raettonus turned away to watch the soldiers down below pulling blocks around and calling to one another in Tahlkyna, the soft-sounding language of their homeland. After a while, a shadow fell over Raettonus. Assuming it to be Brecan with another sparrow, he lazily put one hand out to receive it. “They’re not going to finish any time soon,” Raettonus said, still watching the construction. “Too many blocks broke. They’re going to have to carve more of them.”

“Yes, Magician, they will,” said the gruff voice of a soldier. Raettonus looked up and saw an older centaur standing over him. He had the accent of a Tahlehson. “General Diahsis has requested your presence.”