Sevenfold sword necroman.., p.17
Sevenfold Sword_Necromancer, page 17
A group of undead were heading this way.
“Ridmark,” she said. “Something’s coming.”
The words had barely left her tongue when Kyralion jogged to their side.
“Lord Ridmark,” said Kyralion. “Bronze Dead are approaching from the west.”
“How many?” said Ridmark.
“I do not know,” said Kyralion, Kalussa coming up behind him. “I am unable to see between the buildings to get an accurate count, but I would guess at least forty or fifty.”
“He’s right,” said Calliande, drawing on the Sight again. “And they have an acolyte with them. Likely he’s commanding the Bronze Dead.”
She shared a look with Ridmark.
“I suspect the dvargir realized one of their patrols went missing,” said Ridmark, “and they don’t want to lose any more warriors looking for their comrades. So, they sent out an acolyte and a group of the Bronze Dead to investigate. If the acolyte gets killed and the undead destroyed, they don’t care.”
“I would assume the dvargir would get paid either way,” said Kalussa.
Ridmark nodded, gazing down the street to the west. “That is how the dvargir think.”
“I think they are going from door to door and questioning the residents,” said Kyralion.
“Let’s go inside,” said Ridmark. “If they question Theseus, they might realize that he helped dispose of the dvargir corpses.”
“And if that acolyte has any skill,” said Calliande, “he might be able to detect the echoes of the necromantic spell that raised the dvargir warriors in Theseus’s common room.”
Ridmark nodded and led the way back to the inn. Calliande felt a flicker of cold anger burn to life within her. She hated to see magic misused, hated to see it twisted into something malevolent. She also hated to see lords and knights bully and dominate the freeholders and commoners under their authority. The Keeper of Andomhaim was supposed to remain neutral in disputes between the lords and knights of Andomhaim…but the Keeper was far more favorably disposed towards lords who ruled their lands justly and without avarice.
If this acolyte thought to terrorize Theseus and his family, he was about to have a nasty surprise.
###
Tamlin waited in the kitchen, the Sword of Earth ready in its scabbard upon his hip.
The House of the Nine Barrels had a large kitchen, with four brick ovens in the walls and two wide tables for preparing food. Though Tamlin doubted the inn had needed to prepare food for that many guests for a long time. Theseus’s wife, two concubines, and four daughters waited behind the tables, the fear plain on their faces.
No sons. Either Theseus had only sired daughters with his wife and concubines…or his sons had all been killed by Taerdyn.
Tamlin feared it was probably the latter.
Aegeus, Calem, and Krastikon stood behind him, weapons ready in their hands. Having a former Ironcoat standing behind him made Tamlin’s shoulders itch. Then again, the Necromancer was a far greater danger than Justin Cyros, and Krastikon seemed committed to his mission.
Tamlin watched the common room through the crack in the kitchen door. He knew that Third and Kyralion stood hidden on the balcony, watching the room. Ridmark, Calliande, and Kalussa waited behind the doors on the balcony, weapons and spells ready to strike. If the acolyte didn’t make trouble, they would let the sorcerer and his undead go on their way.
If he did make trouble, he would receive far more than he expected.
Only Theseus remained in the common room, his expression grim.
“Can you see anything?” said Aegeus.
“Not yet,” said Tamlin. “Stay quiet. We don’t want that acolyte to know that we’re here.”
Aegeus grumbled something under his breath but fell silent. Krastikon and Calem remained as quiet as the grave.
The door to the street opened, and the acolyte strode inside, the Bronze Dead following.
The acolyte they had fought in the courtyard had been a young, fit man. This acolyte was middle-aged, and he was so grossly fat that his black robe made him look like an ambulatory lump of coal. The contrast from the half-starved people of Trojas was striking. Tamlin felt his lip curl back into a sneer. No doubt the acolyte gorged himself while the people of the city struggled to feed themselves.
A dozen Bronze Dead lined themselves against the walls, as motionless as statues. In the light of the hearths, the blue glow of their empty eyes seemed somehow obscene.
“Well,” rumbled the acolyte, his voice watery. He drew back his cowl, revealing a face that reminded Tamlin of uncooked dough. His features were already showing some of the telltale signs of dark magic-based mutation – the pale skin had a grayish pallor, and the veins in his temples were starting to turn black. “Theseus the innkeeper.”
“Quartius the wizard,” said Theseus.
“That is Lord Quartius to you,” said Quartius with a sneer.
“Really?” said Theseus. “The Lord Taerdyn can call himself that by right of conquest, but I wasn’t aware that he had the right to give titles of nobility.”
Quartius let out a rumbling laugh. “Still bold after all these years? I thought the defiance would have been ground out of you by now.”
“If that were true,” said Theseus, “then the Lord Taerdyn, may God grant him a measure of wisdom, would not need to hire so many dvargir mercenaries to keep order in the city.”
“He hasn’t hired that many,” said Quartius. “And walking around the Outer Ring is thirsty work. I could do with some beer.”
“Very well,” said Theseus. He headed towards the kitchen door, his steps slow and measured.
“Beer,” hissed Tamlin over his shoulder.
One of the daughters produced a wooden cup of beer, and Tamlin took it and slipped it through the crack in the door. Theseus carried the cup to Quartius and handed it over to the acolyte.
“You still have the best beer in the Outer Ring,” said Quartius after a sip. “Which isn’t high praise, I’ll admit.”
“Yet you came here to drink anyway,” said Theseus.
“This is so,” said Quartius. “Alas, good cheer is all too rare in the Blue Castra these days. The Princess is so solemn, and the Lord Taerdyn focused upon his great work.”
“The army outside the walls grows ever larger,” said Theseus.
“Yes, I rather suppose it does,” said Quartius. He frowned, and a glimmer of blue light went through his eyes. “I want to ask you a question, old man.”
“Ask whatever you want,” said Theseus.
“Why don’t you join us?” said Quartius. “You’re an able man, and we need able men. Trojas belongs to the Lord Taerdyn, but you know as well as I do that he’s not interested in ruling. The government of the city has instead fallen to his students, and we need all the help we can get.”
“The government of the city,” said Theseus, “belongs to Princess Zenobia by right.”
Quartius scoffed. “That girl? It is as you have said, Theseus. I have no right to call myself a lord…but I have magical power beyond anything a noble or even an Arcanius Knight can dream of wielding. All that girl has is a title. The Lord Taerdyn has the power to remake the world. And he is going to remake the world. You ought to join us and share in the rewards before it is too late.”
“I have not changed my mind,” said Theseus. “I am still loyal to King Malachi.” Tamlin blinked, wondering why Theseus would throw his defiance in Quartius’s face like that. “I accept that Lord Taerdyn rules the city. One might as well try to rebel against gravity or the tides. But Princess Zenobia is the lawful ruler of Trojas.”
The best lies, Tamlin supposed, were mostly true.
“So, you can accept reality, but are unwilling to do anything about it,” said Quartius. “Unlike the Lord Taerdyn’s acolytes, who see an opportunity when it presents itself.” He finished his beer, belched, and tossed the wooden cup away with a flick of his wrist. “You’re very nearly out of time. In another few weeks, Lord Taerdyn will rule all Owyllain, and then the world.”
“One hundred and fifty thousand Bronze Dead will be enough to conquer Owyllain,” said Theseus, “but the entire world? He’ll need more than that.”
Quartius snorted. “Do you think this is about ruling Owyllain? No. It is about more than that. The shape of the world is about to change. The Seven Swords were the herald of that change. We can either ride that change and seize it for ourselves, or we shall be destroyed in the new age of the world. The Lord Taerdyn, in his wisdom, has seen the truth, and he has shown us the way.”
“I’m sure that he has,” said Theseus.
“Those who help Lord Taerdyn in his great work will be rewarded,” said Quartius. “That includes taking care of problems before they become worse. Such as solving the disappearance of a patrol of dvargir mercenaries and one of the other acolytes.”
Tamlin tensed. Quartius suspected, that much was clear.
“Really,” said Theseus. “I hadn’t heard that.”
“Well, I am not too concerned,” said Quartius. “The acolyte in question was an obnoxious puppy. He managed passable skill with a few necromantic spells, and suddenly he believes himself the master of life and death. You know how children are. The arrogance needs to be beaten out of them.” He waved his hand. “And it seems someone did it for him.”
“I am not a wizard,” said Theseus. “I know little of magic. But I do know that necromancy and dark magic are exceedingly dangerous, and young men are ever rash. Perhaps this acolyte played with power beyond his control and destroyed himself and his soldiers.”
Quartius grunted. “Could be.” He smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. “Or he had help disappearing.”
“I don’t see how,” said Theseus. “No one in Trojas has the power to resist either the Lord Taerdyn or his acolytes.”
Quartius chuckled. “Indeed? A realistic assessment, master innkeeper. But not entirely accurate. No one in this wretched city has the power to confront Lord Taerdyn or his disciples. But the power to resist us? Ah, that is something different, is it not? For resistance takes many different forms. Petty sabotage. Or the surly insolence of an innkeeper who fancies himself a sworn hoplite of a king dead for a quarter of a century.”
“I was a hoplite of King Malachi Trimarch,” said Theseus, his voice hard. “You were too, Quartius, until you forsook your oaths and followed the murderer of the King’s family.”
“What good are oaths to a dead man?” said Quartius.
“Why don’t you say what you mean, sir, instead of dancing around these mocking words?” said Theseus.
“Very well, then,” said Quartius. He beckoned, and more of the Bronze Dead came into the common room, the ancient armor creaking and their exposed bones rasping. “I think you and your malcontented friends have been waging wars from the shadows. I think you killed the acolyte and the dvargir.”
“Lies and calumnies,” said Theseus.
He was right. Tamlin and the others had killed the acolyte and the dvargir.
“No,” said Quartius. He gestured, and ghostly blue fire and shadow writhed around the thick fingers of his right hand. “I think you killed them. I am going to wring the truth from you. You see, Theseus, the world is about to change. Taerdyn is going to become a god, and all mankind will be changed. And when I solve a problem for him, he will reward me.”
A surge of tension blazed through Tamlin. Quartius had just claimed that Taerdyn was going to become a god. Did he mean the New God? Was the Necromancer going to become the New God, the Kratomachar the gray elves feared?
“Find me again,” said Tysia in his memory. “The New God is coming.”
“This is madness,” said Theseus. “You are wasting your time. I will swear whatever oaths you wish, but I did not kill those dvargir.”
“Perhaps I am wasting my time,” said Quartius. “Maybe you had nothing to do with it, but I don’t think so. I think you killed the acolyte, and that the Lord Taerdyn will reward me when I bring the truth before him. And if I’m wrong…well, your corpse will make a fine undead servant, and your wife, concubines, and daughters will make excellent rewards for the other acolytes.”
He stepped forward, blue fire blazing around his hand.
“Now!” said Tamlin, and he kicked open the door.
As he did, a blast of white fire shrieked down from the balcony and slammed into Quartius. The acolyte didn’t see it coming, and Calliande’s magic knocked him back several steps, livid burns erupting across the right side of his face and neck.
“Don’t kill him!” came Calliande’s voice. “Take him alive!”
“Kill them!” shrieked Quartius, starting another spell. “Kill them!”
The rest of the Bronze Dead poured through the door, and Tamlin, Calem, and Krastikon charged into battle. Tamlin risked a glance up and saw Calliande casting another spell, saw Ridmark and Kyralion rushing down the stairs. Third didn’t bother with the stairs, but vaulted the railing, landed in a crouch, went into a roll, and sprang back to her feet, her blue swords blurring, and one of the Bronze Dead collapsed in a heap of bones.
Tamlin cast his own spell, and the magic of elemental air rushed through him. He leaped, covering half the common room in a single bound, and he brought the Sword of Earth up to strike. At the last minute Quartius looked up at him, eyes going wide, and Tamlin brought the Sword hammering down.
He might have cracked the acolyte’s skull, but Tamlin had done this kind of thing before countless times in the Ring of Blood, and he knew exactly how to do it. The pommel of the Sword slammed into Quartius’s head, and the acolyte fell stunned to the floor.
A pair of Bronze Dead lunged for Tamlin, and he dodged, sweeping up the Sword of Earth in a parry. Their swords shattered against his, and Tamlin cut down both the undead in rapid succession. Next to him Krastikon and Calem crashed into the undead warriors, Krastikon crushing their skulls with his bronze hammer and Calem slicing them apart with the Sword of Air. Ridmark charged into the fray, as did Kyralion, and Calliande flung more white fire into the Bronze Dead as Kalussa smashed their skulls with crystal spheres.
In short order, the battle was over.
###
They took Quartius to the cellar.
No one had been hurt in the fight, but it necessitated a frantic cleanup. Theseus, accompanied by his wife, concubines, and daughters, hastily gathered the smashed bones and bronze armor of the undead and hauled them into the cellar. One of Theseus’s daughters ran to get more of the King’s Men to help with the work. The acolytes might realize that Quartius was missing, and they would come to find him.
By the time they did, there could be no trace of the Bronze Dead within the House of Nine Barrels.
Ridmark sent Kyralion with Theseus’s daughter to make sure she arrived and returned safely, and then helped the others haul the destroyed undead into the cellar. He gave Krastikon and Tamlin the task of securing Quartius. Tamlin might not have been entirely sure of his half-brother, but the two of them worked well together. In short order, they had Quartius secured in a wooden chair with thick ropes, his arms tied behind his back, his legs bound to the chair.
Calliande watched, holding her magic ready to strike in case Quartius woke up and tried a spell. She would be able to hold him secure. The magic of the Well and the Keeper’s mantle would overpower Quartius’s dark power, and the Sight would alert her if he summoned magic.
Kyralion and Theseus’s daughter returned with some of the King’s Men, and they disappeared through the secret door to the sewers, hauling the Bronze Dead to their final resting place in the harbor. Ridmark wondered how many dvargir and acolytes had been dumped into the harbor over the years.
The number would come nowhere close to the count of people that the Necromancer had killed.
“That’s the last of them,” said Theseus as the King’s Men climbed the stairs back to the common room. They would remain on guard, pretending to eat and drink, and sound the alarm if any more of the Necromancer’s servants arrived. He looked at Quartius. “What are you going to do with him?”
“We are going to question him,” said Calliande, her voice soft. “My husband will ask the questions.”
“He talked about the Necromancer becoming a god,” said Tamlin, an undercurrent of tension in his voice. “Maybe the Necromancer is the New God.”
Theseus snorted. “Taerdyn is many things, but he is most certainly not a god.”
“No,” said Ridmark. “Ever since we came to Owyllain, we’ve heard rumors of some dark power that calls itself the New God. The remaining seven high priests of the Maledicti have sworn to serve it. Prince Rypheus was a worshipper of it.” Kalussa looked away at the mention of her traitorous half-brother. “Justin Cyros claimed that he was going to stop it. The gray elves call it the Kratomachar, and say that its arrival shall destroy the world.”
“Could Taerdyn really have that kind of power?” said Theseus.
“Maybe,” said Calliande. “That’s what we hope to discover.”
Theseus hesitated. “My lord, my lady…” He touched the sword sheathed at his belt. “Mercy is an admirable quality…but Quartius cannot be allowed to leave here alive when you are done.”
“I know,” said Calliande. Her voice was soft, but her expression was unyielding. “In Andomhaim, the punishment for using dark magic or necromancy is always death. The High Kings of Owyllain have the same law. Quartius made his choices a long time ago.”
“I’ll do it myself,” said Ridmark. He did not like the idea if he was honest with himself. Killing in self-defense and the heat of battle was one thing. Killing in cold blood was something else entirely. Yet Calliande was right. Quartius had made his choices. Killing him would be an execution, not murder, and it would trouble neither Ridmark’s conscience nor his sleep.
“I will give him one chance to repent, though,” said Calliande. She took a deep breath. “I’ll wake him up now.” She stepped forward, flexing her hands, and white light glimmered around her fingers. She put her head on the top of Quartius’s head and cast the healing spell, and her face tensed, her jaw clenching. Quartius let out a groan as the burns her magic had left on his face healed, and Calliande stepped back, grasped her staff, and leveled it at Quartius.
