Drasmyr (Prequel: From the Ashes of Ruin)

by Matthew D. Ryan

  Anduri of Lethuan stared into the mug of ale on the table before him twisting his lips in consternation. Beside him, the elder guardsman, Thelliun, gazed into his own mug with a vacant, almost mindless look, his face drawn and his breath soft.

  Anduri knew the life of a guardsman could sometimes be fraught with danger, but he expected that. Thelliun expected that as well. But what they had witnessed ...

  With a sudden motion, Thelliun reached over, picked up his mug, and downed its contents in a single gulp. The table resounded with a loud crack as he slammed the empty cup down and the fragile handle broke off in his fist. “Barkeep,” he roared, “give me another.”

  Snorting derisively into his own mug, Anduri merely shook his head. “Careful. Don’t want to give the impression something’s bothering you.”

  Thelliun ignored him.

  Anduri shrugged, then leaned over in his stool to study the froth and foam of his beer. The white top might be a little more interesting visually, but in his opinion, it did little to improve the taste. Reaching up, he carefully wiped his finger along the side of his nose as Thelliun had once shown him. Then, he lowered his finger into the foam and began to gently swirl the contents around. In a matter of moments, he knew, the small amount of grease would have its effect and he would be free to quaff a foamless beer.

  “Ahem,” the barkeep said, strolling over with a second mug of ale in hand. He placed the cup down, then swept the remains of the broken one to the side. “That’ll be two ravens for the ale.” The barkeep paused to glance uncertainly at the guild house insignia on Thelliun’s arm. “ ... and a griffon for the damages.”

  Thelliun reddened and looked up. “Damages? You expect me to pay damages? It was the cup that did the breaking, not me.”

  The barkeep glanced nervously around the room. “I’m sorry sir, but it’s only fair. Mine’s a poor tavern, and every mug I have is precious.”

  “Now look here—”

  Anduri laid a restraining hand on Thelliun’s shoulder as the guardsman tried to rise from his stool. Fortunately, the head full of ale made Thelliun’s footing awkward and it was not difficult to force the man back down. “I’ll spot you the griffon,” Anduri said, then reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a single silvery coin. It clinked distinctly as he tossed it on the counter.

  Thelliun paused to stare at the coin, then grudgingly added his own two coppers.

  The barkeep collected his money, then headed off to wait on other patrons. Thelliun grabbed his new mug and pulled it toward him, but he did not drink. Instead, he just shook his head in disbelief and stared off into distant space. A look of horror spread across his face. “He moved ... he screamed.”

  “I know,” Anduri said, a little shaken himself. He tried to force the memory from his mind, but its shadow simply would not fade. “I was there, remember. Just keep your voice down.”

  Thelliun took another swig of ale, then grumbled. “Keep my voice down ... keep my voice down. I drive a stake through a dead man’s heart and his body screams—you’re worried about my voice?”

  “We are sworn to silence.”

  “Easy for you to say. You staked one of the guards, I got to do the mage. His was the corpse that did the screaming.” Thelliun suddenly grew suspicious, and more than a little frightened. “Did you miss?”

  “Miss?”

  “The heart. Are you sure you got the heart when you staked him through?”

  “Yes, we were all careful about that. The young mage was the only one that reacted. Come, you are drinking too much and you’re starting to babble. Barrooms have too many ears for us to continue this discussion.”

  Thelliun stared at Anduri with a hint of challenge in his eyes. He seemed on the verge of replying, then suddenly shook his head. It was a long moment before he took another drink, and an even longer one before he spoke. “Have you noticed the smell? It’s all over the place now. It’s like a curse being breathed by the bloody guild house stones.”

  Anduri nodded. He had noticed it this morning, actually, shortly after they had performed their grisly task. A faint, musty, almost charnel odor had appeared over night and spread rapidly throughout the guild. It varied in intensity from place to place, being extremely faint near the windows and other areas of ventilation; but it was always there, even if only a trace. It had grown stronger as the day progressed; so much so that by dusk some of the lower corridors were so bad one could hardly walk through them without gagging. At one point in the late afternoon, Anduri found one young guardsman on his knees in a particularly potent spot; the young fool had wanted to take a stroll after an early evening meal. Much to his dismay, the man found that the odor of the undead did not mix well with chicken soup—he’d emptied the contents of his stomach throughout the hall.

  Thelliun stared soberly at Anduri, then gulped the last of his ale. “I’m not going back there.”

  Reaching out to pat the older man on the shoulder, Anduri did his best to offer reassurance. “Come now, you’ve had too much to drink. Things’ll look different in the morning.”

  The elder guardsman snorted. “Morning? Who’s going to live ‘til morning?”

  Try as he might, Anduri could not help but wince at Thelliun’s words. The guardsman’s drinking was starting to catch up to him and his normally unrecognizable accent was beginning to show.

  “Thelliun ...”

  “Go back yourself, if you want. Me, I’m leaving the dead ones to the wizards. No job is worth that.” Thelliun reached down and ripped the yellow sash from off his arm. He discarded it on the table. “Tell Mathagarr I quit.”

  With that the guardsman staggered up, and headed for the door.