“Heh. Ye were always trying to anyway,” Gorm said to Niln. He found another note, written in Niln’s more typical tight, neat script.
Once I can explain how this fits together, the others will see the path we must walk. Perhaps then they will not fight their destiny so much.
Gorm smirked. “Aye, ye always wanted us to—” He lost the words in a muffled choke as he read another thought Niln had scrawled in the far margin.
Perhaps then Gorm might not think me such a fool.
“I… I didn’t think ye a fool.” Gorm could manage little more than a hoarse whisper. “Well, no, I did. But ye were the good kind of fool. The kind we need more of, all ideals and courage. The kind I miss every… I…”
He couldn’t find any words to say, and it struck him anew that there wasn’t anyone around to hear them. The book felt heavy as he closed it and set it on his lap, resting his hands gently on the pebbled leather cover. He remained at the edge of his tent for a long time, listening to the crackle of the cookfire and watching the stars wink into sight.
“I’m sorry for being so disheveled. I just wasn’t expecting this,” said Jynn, struggling to pull on his robe.
“I know it’s late,” said Laruna. She stood outside the noctomancer’s tent, pretending to take an interest in the fog of her breath. To the north, the moonlit Plains of Aberreth spread out like a sea of grass, dotted with archipelagoes of trees and rocky outcroppings.
“It’s not so much the hour. I haven’t had many visits from you,” said Jynn, stepping from the tent.
“Yeah, well, we need to get something straight,” said Laruna. “Come on.”
She led him away from camp, waving to Heraldin and Gaist as they started their shift of the night’s watch. It took a few minutes to reach a thicket of wild hedges, where the solamancer found a granite outcropping to sit on.
“I’ve been thinking about you lately,” Laruna said. “A lot.”
“And… and I you,” Jynn confessed with a trembling voice.
“Yeah. I… I mean…” Laruna trailed off, and it took a moment for her to get back on track. “Listen, I hate secrets. I hate them more when they’re between people who are supposed to be a team or in lo—you know, in a relationship… It’s like they’re hiding from each other. Holding back who they really are. It’s like a lie without the words.”
“I know,” said Jynn. “And I am sorry that I kept my father’s identity from you.”
“Yeah,” said Laruna. “But I’m starting to see, you know, that you can’t tell everyone everything. You have to trust people to… to tell you what they need to. If you want to be a friend to them.”
“Really?” A shadow of a smile appeared on the noctomancer’s face.
“Really.” Laruna rested her hand on his. “And I… what you told me about your father’s schemes. About him becoming a liche. You must have suspected something, even long ago.”
“I suppose so,” said Jynn. “I saw some of his experiments. He had guests that frightened me, and they were frightened of him. We all were.”
“You couldn’t tell us that, though,” said Laruna. She picked up his hand and held it in her own. “That was what you were holding back, wasn’t it? When I asked if you had any secrets left, that’s what you couldn’t say.”
Jynn’s eyes flashed in the moonlight. “Laruna, I—”
“I don’t care if you keep things from the party, or anyone else,” the solamancer said. “I’ll keep them with you. But I want more from you than everyone else, Jynn Ur’Mayan. I want no more secrets between us, no matter what they are. Just tell me now, and get them out of my way.”
The wizard licked his lips before speaking slowly, carefully. “I… I knew Father was a necromancer. And I… I helped him with some of his experiments.”
“It doesn’t even bother me,” said Laruna, grinning at the truth of it. “Anything else?”
Jynn rubbed his bald head. “Well, no, but—”
She cut him off with a long kiss and felt his surprised resistance melt away. By the time they broke apart, the wizard could only stare at her, breathless.
“Come on,” she said. “I want to show you something.”
The noctomancer wore a witless grin as she led him around the outcropping. “Where are we going?”
“Not far now,” said Laruna. “We need to be out of sight of the camp.”
“Well, I really wasn’t expecting this,” Jynn babbled. “And bear in mind that it’s very chilly this evening—”
“We’re here.” Once inside the shadows of the trees, Laruna turned to the wizard and took his hands in her own. “No more secrets between us, right?”
“No more secrets. I swear it,” he said, leaning in to kiss her again.
“Good,” she told him. “Then there’s someone I want you to meet. Come on out.”
“Who are yo-hoo. Hoo. Ha. Haaa.” Language failed the wizard as a nearby boulder began to move, warping and twisting into a massive Troll.
“Jynn,” said Laruna. “This is Thane.”
“Haa. Oooh. Oh gods.” Jynn stood rigid and trembling as he stared up at the Troll with wide eyes.
“He’s doing that thing,” said Thane. “The physiological reaction thing.”
“Listen, Jynn. Thane is a friend.” Laruna spoke slowly, for emphasis. “He’s my friend.”
“I… It’s just not what I was expecting,” said Jynn vacantly. He shook his head.
“This was a bad idea,” said Thane.
“No, no, this is fine,” said the solamancer. “Jynn, he’s been protecting us from monsters, but it’s more than that. He’s nothing like other Trolls.”
Jynn didn’t even acknowledge her. “Really, really not what I was expecting,” he said.
“Actually, that’s not fair,” said Laruna turning to Thane. “I’ve never really met any other Trolls. Maybe quite a few of them are just misunderstood, you know?”
“Well, not in my experience,” said Thane. “Most of the Trolls I’ve met are horrible. But I suppose they could become better, under the right circumstances.”
“It’s almost the exact opposite of what I was expecting!” said Jynn.
“Exactly. They might just be conforming to society’s expectations,” said Laruna. “I mean, I don’t know how I would respond if everyone either screamed and ran away or tried to kill me at first sight.”
“That does sound a lot like my life,” said Thane.
“It defies expectations,” said Jynn, lost in a parallel conversation.
“And I am sorry about that, again,” Laruna told the Troll. “It is remarkable how well you’ve adjusted. Maybe you had a better upbringing than other Trolls?”
“Upbringing?” said Thane. “Troll mothers leave their infants on the forest floor to fend for themselves.”
“Leaving babies in the—that’s horrible!” exclaimed Laruna.
“Well, yes, there you are,” said Thane. “That’s what I was saying.”
“Why would anyone expect this?” said Jynn, a hint of manic laughter creeping into his voice.
“Well, whatever other Trolls are like, it doesn’t matter. The point is, you’re a friend,” said Laruna. “Jynn, slow breaths. He won’t hurt us. Thane has been helping us since before the battle of Bloodroot. Gorm has been working with him.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Thane ventured, extending a meaty paw.
“Just… just never would have… who…” Jynn absently set a limp hand in the Troll’s palm.
“How long do you think he’ll be like this?” Thane muttered to Laruna.
“A while yet,” she said, giving the noctomancer’s head an affectionate rub. “But he’ll come around soon enough.”
Chapter 9
“But these things take time, you know?” The Head of Marketing bobbed along next to Tyren, a stack of papers bouncing in front of it. “Listen, an undead army’s got a lot of things going for it, but speed isn’t one of ‘em. Most of the troops can’t manage anything faster
than an excited shamble.”
“I see,” said Tyren as he and the Head pushed through another rank of trudging corpses.
“And when we hit a city like Vetchell, things really slow down,” the skull continued. “We’ve got combatants to convert, recruits to raise from the graveyards and crypts, we have to loot all of the magical items, and there always seems to be a few plucky holdouts boarded up in an abandoned house,” the skull said. “Takes forever to weed ‘em out. This guy knows what I’m talking about. Right, Rotgut?”
“Oh, aye, sir!” said a zombie as they passed. “We was sure we could make it until help arrived, but you got us in the end.”
The flaming skull nodded toward the zombie. “Rotgut and his friends held out for almost a day and half before we overran their farmhouse,” he told Tyren.
“That we did, sir!” said Rotgut. “Would have escaped too, had it not been for those skeletal archers.” He turned and displayed a back so thick with protruding arrows that he resembled some sort of macabre, bipedal porcupine.
“Ha! You almost made it,” said the skull as Rotgut fell behind. “Never stood a chance,” he muttered to Tyren.
Tyren nodded, but he was paying more attention to the great, black carriage ahead of them. It was as large as a cottage and covered in iron spikes and bent chimneys that belched dark smoke into the air. Floating eyeballs and bat-like creatures fluttered among the billowing clouds. A team of horse skeletons dragged the ghoulish wagon along, and a hideous variety of malformed undead plodded along beside it.
“Ugh, great,” said the Head of Marketing. “He’s been working in the lab today. Steer clear of the experiments if you don’t want to be one.”
“Duly noted,” said Tyren, staring at the motley vanguard. Several bony constructs with too many legs and not enough heads labored under the weight of iron braziers that spouted gouts of violet and emerald flames. A lumbering hulk of bones and skulls dragged great, scything claws fashioned from some giant’s ribs. Near the head of the grim procession, a skeletal torso missing its arms was marching along on spindly legs. Part of an old sign nailed to its sternum read “ABANDON ALL HOPE” above a jagged break.
Swirling enchantments swung the carriage door open as Tyren approached, and a set of stairs unfurled in a way that reminded the knight-commander of a beetle’s overcomplicated mouth parts. The stairs retracted as the knight-commander stepped onto them, and he and the Head of Marketing were quickly drawn into the laboratory of Detarr Ur’Mayan.
Every wall boasted chalkboards covered in esoteric symbols and arcane equations. Crates and cages were stacked in the dim recesses of the wagon, boxing in several tables and desks. The room was illuminated, to a degree, by disparate glowing fluids flowing through the labyrinthine tangle of glass pipes and tubes that connected the outer desks. At the center of the alchemical web, the liche sat with a few other figures.
“Ah, welcome, welcome.” Detarr beckoned Tyren and the Head deeper into the lab. “Come in, join the circle. Thank you. I think that means we’re all here, right? Right. Good.”
Tyren sat stiffly in one of the empty seats, and the Head floated above another.
“Let’s start with introductions, shall we?” said the liche. “I’m Detarr Ur’Mayan, lord of this army of the dead, formerly a wizard of some renown. I’m sure you all know me by now. Next?”
They went around the circle. Tyren recognized old Lord Hulch, a local baron who had become some sort of ghoul; he hardly looked any different after death, save the needle teeth protruding from his mouth and a few extra spots on his pale, leathery skin. Next to Lord Hulch sat a woman whose dark hair and almond eyes marked her as Umbraxian; Lady Carabae’s all-black wardrobe and excessive makeup marked her for a vampiress well before her grin revealed long fangs. A spectral lady named Genevieve went next; it was hard to tell if she was a ghost or a banshee, but Tyren had recently discovered that it was considered rude in some circles to discuss such matters. Then the Head of Marketing introduced himself, and finally Tyren stated his name and rank.
“Our knight-commander is being modest,” said Detarr. “Tyren here delivered some great ideas for our marketing campaign. Speaking of which, do you have the drafts?”
Tyren nodded and looked at the Head of Marketing, who bobbed forward and floated a flyer to the liche. Detarr took it and read with interest as the Head passed more copies around the circle.
The flyers were printed with a skull and bat motif in a thick gothic font. The text surrounded a large woodcut of a terrified looking man about to be overrun by a cluster of zombies. It read:
THERE IS MUCH TO FEAR IN LIFE.
(Specifically, the horrible bit at the end.)
YOU’LL HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR AFTER DEATH.
MAKE YOUR TRANSITION AS PAINLESS AS POSSIBLE.
SURRENDER TODAY AND GET A SPECIAL BONUS.
“What’s the special bonus?” asked Detarr.
“Nobody will eat you,” said Tyren.
“You’d be surprised how many of our focus groups wished they got a guarantee like that,” added the Head of Marketing.
“Excellent!” said Detarr. “Excellent! Now, what can the rest of you tell me about this flyer?”
The gathered undead shifted in their seats. Lady Carabae gave an uncomfortable cough.
“Anyone?” asked Detarr.
“I’ve… never seen anything like it?” ventured Genevieve.
“Exactly,” said the liche. “It’s innovative!”
“It’s not going to bloody work,” said Lord Hulch, looking up from one of the flyers.
“Perhaps.” Detarr shrugged. “But if it doesn’t, we’ll learn from it and try something new. After all, before I could craft the Bonereaper, I had to make Gretch.”
“Gretch!” shrieked one of the cages.
“Why, in life I worked on the Leviathan Project. We were trying to create the perfect hero, and we failed utterly,” said the liche. “But a few decades later, it turns out we created some rather useful demonic animals.”
The largest cage in the back of the wagon roared to life with a sudden cacophony of vicious growling, unholy snorts and, if Tyren wasn’t mistaken, malevolent squeaks. Gouts of orange fire licked at the bars, casting hulking shadows around the lab.
“I’m sure they’ll be handy in a pinch,” said the liche. “The point is, we can learn from mistakes. We just need to move fast and be creative. What’s most important is that we’re disrupting the status quo.”
“Of course we’re being thrice-cursed disruptive,” said Lord Hulch with a chuckle. “We’re trying to kill everyone!”
“Yes,” said Detarr slowly, eyeing the old ghoul. “But any necromancer capable of coaxing a skeleton out of a crypt has been trying to kill everyone, and look where they wound up. Some unlikely heroes inevitably rally the living to defeat the undead. And do you know why?”
“They didn’t have flyers?” Genevieve sounded doubtful.
“What? No.” Detarr shook his head. “They all tried the same thing. It’s always only been the one plan: dominate the undead, have them march on cities en masse, and hope to crush your enemy with sheer numbers. But do you realize how hard it is to try to magically coordinate the actions of thousands of undead on your own? By the time you’ve got a decent-sized army together, it’s all you can do to get them to stagger in a line with their arms straight forward! Your only hope of victory with such troops is that mortals will be dumb enough to fall on their weapons.”
Detarr leapt from his seat. There was a gleam in his eye—and not just from the infernal lights deep within his sockets—as he addressed each of them. “If we’re going to end all life on Arth, we need a different way of looking at things. We’ve got to think outside the box, or the casket, as the case may be. As long as it’s a brainless march forward, we’re doomed to fail. We can’t just dominate the undead anymore. We have to elevate them!”
“Then how will you get them to do as you want?” asked Lady Carabae.
“Does anyo
ne have an idea?” asked Detarr.
“Leadership and delegation,” said Tyren.
“That’s the key!” said Detarr. “Listen, it’s not hard to motivate zombies and ghouls to attack the living. It’s their natural instinct. But with proper leadership, we can channel those instincts into a successful campaign.”
If Tyren had lips, he wouldn’t have been able to hide his smile. Leadership meant organization. Delegation meant hierarchy. And chief among the knight-commander’s skills in life was a knack for traversing a bureaucracy and finding a comfortable spot.
Not everyone was as happy with the direction of the conversation.
“It just doesn’t make sense,” said Lord Hulch. “You can already make the undead do as you please! Why would you be looking for another way?”
Detarr steepled his fingers and stared at the ghoul. “You know, Lord Hulch,” he said eventually. “This may not be the best fit for you. Not everyone is cut out for innovation.”
“I should say not!” laughed Lord Hulch. Tyren recalled that the old baron always did have a hard time reading the room. “I cannot imagine how surrendering your authority is to work! Ha!”
“Don’t trouble yourself,” said Detarr. “I’m sure we can find another use for you. Someone needs to feed my infernal beasts, for example.”
“Well, I must say, I’ve no mind for animal husbandry, let alone demonology,” harrumphed Hulch, clueless to the last. “Why, I don’t even know what a demon creature would eat!”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Detarr waved his hand. Lord Hulch’s chair leapt into motion, flying backward across the laboratory floor into the darkness, where the door to the large cage had swung open. The liche gestured again, and the cage door slammed shut behind its newest occupant.
“Now then,” said Detarr. “As for the rest of you, what do you say of my plan?”
The air was suddenly rent by Lord Hulch’s screams and the unholy roaring of the beasts.
“I’m in!” said Tyren hurriedly, and the others rushed to chorus their affirmations behind him.
Son of a Liche Page 16