“Excellent!” said Detarr.
Tyren held a hand up. “And I’ll also see to the infernal beasts, sir, as Lord Hulch didn’t work out.”
His statement was punctuated by a low burp from the shadowy cage.
“I like your initiative,” said the liche. “I can see you’re going to be a valuable member of my team. You all will. Each one of you has an important part to play as we work together toward our ultimate goal.”
“Andarun! The greatest city in the world,” proclaimed Heraldin as the city lights began to glow in earnest. Mount Wynspar thrust up from the plains before them, a black silhouette in the dusk, and the city of Andarun shone brightly from its southern crag.
“The biggest, at least.” Gorm prodded the cookfire with a stick.
“And the most well guarded,” added Jynn.
“Not as well guarded as usual, though.” Kaitha nodded to the muddy road. Though it had been days since Handor’s forces had headed east, the earth still bore the scars of the innumerable hooves and boots. “The army must be to Aberreth by now.”
“All the better for us,” said Laruna. “That means half the bannermen in the city will be gone.”
“At least that,” said Gorm, looking at the churned mud.
“Which is good,” said Heraldin. “But I don’t think that will make much difference when we’re robbing one of Andarun’s most beloved and well-guarded institutions.”
Gaist nodded.
“Perhaps,” said Gorm. “I’ve got friends who might tip the scales in our favor.”
“How?” asked Kaitha.
“No idea,” said Gorm. “But they’re a useful sort. They have a facility up on the second tier, over in Dunedling Fens.” Gorm pushed a charred log deeper into the fire, kicking up a fountain of amber sparks.
“Even with half the bannermen gone, that’s far enough into the city that we could be spotted,” said Jynn.
“That’s a simple matter,” said Heraldin. “Some charcoal in Gorm’s beard, a wig on Jynn, some new clothes, a magical ward or two; nobody will recognize us. Doubly so if we pass through separate gates and meet at the edge of Dunedling Fens.”
“Fair enough,” said Kaitha. “But there’s still a more, ah, conspicuous member of our party.”
All eyes turned to Burt, who froze mid-gnaw on a soup bone. “What?” he said.
“It just might be, you know, a little telling if we brought a… you know…” said Jynn.
“No, I don’t know,” said Burt. “A what?”
“If we brought a Shadowkin along,” Laruna finished. “Only because most of the NPCs left the city. It’d be unusual to see one with six of… er… us.”
“Oh. Well, no worries there,” said Burt. “I’ll just stay behind.”
The other adventurers stared at Burt with a mixture of relief and doubt.
Gorm raised an eyebrow. “Ye will?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” said the Kobold. “I’ll find a big rock and spend the day hiding behind it.”
“And you’re not offended by the suggestion?” said Kaitha.
“Oh, no.” Burt said calmly. “Don’t you worry about me.”
“Uh, good,” said Kaitha. “I guess we have a plan.”
“I guess we do,” said the Kobold.
Gorm stared at Burt through narrowed eyes. The Kobold never sounded this serene; not even when he was asleep. “Good,” he said.
“Yeah. Great.” Burt stood and hefted the soup bone over his shoulder. “I’m going to take this back to the tent.”
“I thought we agreed ye’d not bring food into me rucksack,” said Gorm.
“And I thought we didn’t abandon each other at the drop of a hat,” snapped Burt. “Live and learn, eh?”
“I knew he’d react badly,” grumbled Gorm, watching the Kobold saunter off in the general direction of his tent. “He’s going to get crumbs and grease in me clothes for weeks.”
“He’s still taking it better than I thought he would,” said Laruna.
“That’s not saying much,” said Heraldin, standing with his plate.
The heroes set about their nightly routines. Dishes were cleaned, gear was fussed over and tended to, and the remaining food was packed away. Gaist and Heraldin broke out their ragtag thrones set and settled in for a game. The mages, Gorm noticed, went off together for some training. The Dwarf himself joined Kaitha as she tended to the horses.
“Jynn and Laruna seem to be getting along well these days,” the Elf remarked, brushing her mount.
“I suppose,” said Gorm, taking a brush to his own stallion.
“They’re speaking to each other now, aren’t arguing when they do, are training together once more, and generally seem happy to be around each other,” said the Elf, watching the mages spar in the distance. “Do you suppose they’re, you know, together again?”
“The only thing I know about Human courtship is it’s far too frequent and open,” said Gorm. “I can barely understand half of what goes on between ye tall folk, and that’s too much insight for my liking.”
“Oh, come now.” Kaitha laughed as she stroked her horse’s mane.
“I’m serious.” Gorm plucked the remains of insects off the stallion’s chest. “They ain’t fighting and they’re workin’ well together. Beyond that, we’ve got bigger things to worry about. The undead are comin’. The bannermen are on the march. The Red Horde and the Guz’Varda Tribe are still out there, huntin’ and being hunted. The world is goin’ to war.”
“True enough,” said Kaitha. “It reminds me of how things felt when Marduk of Midnight was threatening Daellan with an army of Demons a while back.”
“Aye, exactly.”
“Or when Deep Thoggus was rising out of the sea near Edaelmon and threatened to wipe out Ruskan with his tide of fish people.”
“Right,” said Gorm. “I hear their docks are still infested with street urchins.”
“And when Az’Anon was raising an army of the undead in the eastern Green Span.”
“Okay, you’re right,” said Gorm. “But what’s your point?”
“We’re always between wars, Gorm,” said Kaitha. “All peace is fleeting. You need to take advantage while it lasts. These are the times when you can find happiness and love.”
“Hmph. Seems to me ye tall folk could find love in a dragon’s gullet,” Gorm grumbled. “Ye can’t be convinced to stop findin’ it. And then ye bicker on and on, and then ye end it, and then ye mope about what ye lost until ye either get back together or find someone else. Then the whole bunch of nonsense starts again. It’s a great mummer’s farce played out around those of us that are actually tryin’ to get things done.”
“All right, you don’t have to understand it,” said Kaitha. “But surely you can see that if we chase it that much, love must be wonderful. It’s… it makes everything seem, I don’t know, worthwhile. If you can find it.” She trailed off.
Gorm peered around the flank of his mount. Kaitha was doing it again. She stared silently toward the thicket of scrub brush where Thane was spending the night.
The Dwarf shivered. Laruna had mentioned the uncanny accuracy with which Kaitha would often stare at wherever the Troll was. Gorm had once thought it a sad coincidence and later assumed it had something to do with Nove’s principles. Now it was starting to give him goosebumps.
He cleared his throat. “I suppose that’s true enough,” he said loudly.
Kaitha shook her head as she turned back to him. “Right,” she said. “Anyway, what I meant is, Jynn and Laruna may have found some small light in all this darkness. That’s important, and all the more so since evil times are coming. Don’t begrudge them the moment.”
“Aye, I suppose you’re right.” Gorm sighed. “If’n they are back together, I hope they enjoy it while it lasts.”
“Just so long as it’s quick,” snarled Handor. The king pulled his cloak closer around him as the royal carriage rattled through the dark streets of Andarun. “I should be back by my f
ire at this time of night.”
Johan grinned. “Take my word for it, sire. This will be worth your while.”
“We shall see,” King Handor said as the carriage rolled to a stop. “It will be just as cold in there as it is on the streets.”
“A necessary sacrifice, I’m afraid,” Johan replied.
“And you’re sure this scheme of yours will work?” said Handor.
“Ha! Failure is not an option, Your Majesty,” said Johan.
“That’s not the same thing as success being guaranteed,” Handor muttered as he stepped down the gilt steps of the royal carriage.
“We’ve got the smartest people in Andarun working on it.” Johan maneuvered slowly through the carriage doors; no small feat for a man with a suit of ornate plate and a huge broadsword.
The Dungeon Gate loomed over them in the shadows, its upper limits beyond the reach of the torchlight. The stone frame and massive doors were as big as the guard towers on either side of the entrance, which was almost as tall as the Ridge itself. Few decorations adorned the gate—there was little room for them among the rivets and braces reinforcing the doors—but a life-sized dragon head wrought in bronze occupied its center. A ring the size of a carriage wheel hung from the dragon’s maw, dangling the great chains that the Heroes’ Guild used to open the door whenever a group of brave or foolish adventurers was sent to challenge the perils of Mount Wynspar.
There were no oxen and pull teams today, however. A contingent of bannermen guided Handor and Johan to the dungeon’s service entrance, tucked behind a guard tower. A pair of guards opened the twin doors in unison, bowing low as the king and Tandos’ Champion brushed past them into the labyrinth below Wynspar.
The cavernous room beyond the door was so cold that Handor could see his breath. Nevertheless, the chamber bustled with quiet activity centered around a fantastic construct near the middle of the room. It looked like a growth of iron roots, smooth and spiraling, that splayed open at the top and grasped a gargantuan globe, green and glowing. Men in long leather coats and red goggles bustled around the pylon, working industriously.
At the end of the chamber, a large contingent of guild heroes guarded the passages that went deeper within the mountain. Johan must have noticed Handor staring at them, because the paladin leaned close and confided, “They cleared the entire level of anything larger than a rat this morning, sire. We’re perfectly safe.”
Handor nodded and turned his attention to the reception area, where attendants had spread a red velvet carpet and set up small black tables. Goldson and Baggs were there, along with a few other prominent members of Andarun’s business community. They gave small bows as the king approached the tables.
“Ah, Your Majesty. So glad you could make it,” said Baggs, offering the king a glass of Halfling brandy.
“As am I,” Handor lied as he accepted the drink. “Though I should have been more glad had we done this in the palace.”
“Apologies, Majesty,” said Goldson. The ancient Dwarf perched on a tall chair, nursing a tumbler of amber spirits. “But the nature of tonight’s demonstration requires both secrecy and safety.”
“Yeah. You don’t want this where any rank one newblood could see it,” said a boisterous voice. Handor recognized the heavyset man it belonged to as Dannel Clubs.
Clubs Incorporated had made its fortune selling its eponymous weapon, as well as maces, morning stars, flails, and any other heavy instrument suitable for a professional hero’s bludgeoning needs. Its outspoken owner held higher ambitions for the company he inherited, and so Dannel Clubs’ well-known exploits included high-profile ventures into construction, security services, and real estate. Yet if business was like a sword duel, Dannel Clubs had all the subtlety and cunning of a branch with a nail through it—coincidentally, his best-selling product—and all of these side businesses had quickly folded.
“Mr. Clubs helped us broker the deal with Yutani Arm Traders Incorporated,” said Baggs, a note of apology in his voice.
Handor nodded and forced a polite smile. “Ah. Well, Mr. Clubs, I’m grateful for your assistance.”
“You want to deal with the undead, you gotta know how to negotiate with the Imperials,” Clubs blurted. “Those guys from Umbrax are the best necromancers around. Only place necromancy is legal, Umbrax.”
“Indeed,” said Handor. He took a long pull from his brandy.
“Those guys from Umbrax love me,” continued Clubs. “I do business with them all the time. I get great deals from all over, but especially Umbrax.”
“It’s true,” said Goldson. “Nobody is better connected in the Umbraxian weapons market than Clubs Incorporated.”
“We checked,” said Baggs. “Extensively.”
“I’m your only choice!” said Clubs.
“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Mr. Goldson muttered into his drink.
“If we want to strike a decisive blow against the undead and end their incursion at a specific time and a very specific place,” said Baggs, “we have to deal with Mr. Clubs.”
Clubs smiled obliviously.
Someone behind them cleared his throat. Handor turned to see one of the workers in a long leather coat with a purple scarf pulled up over half of his face. Blue veins spiderwebbed over his pale, bald head, and his eyes were all but hidden behind the shining red glass of his goggles.
“Your Majesty, honored sirs,” said the technician, bowing low. “I thank you for your understanding regarding the hour and the venue of our presentation. The, ah, sensitive nature of our demonstration necessitates a degree of secrecy.”
The technician pointed across the massive chamber, and Handor felt his blood run cold. A group of three skeletons were being herded across the cavern, each restrained by chains and manacles.
“You brought the undead here?” said Handor, frowning.
“Yes, sire,” said the technician. “If you wish to battle a necromancer, you must understand necromancy. A necessary evil in the most literal sense.”
“It’s a dire threat, that’s what it is,” said Handor. “And it isn’t the sort of thing that happens in my kingdom without my knowing it.”
“I don’t see the problem,” said Clubs.
“I’m sure you don’t,” snapped Handor. If the nobility caught wind that his court had sanctioned necromancy, there’d be riots like Andarun hadn’t seen in decades.
“Apologies, Your Majesty,” said the technician. “Hopefully, you will like the results.”
“Just get it over with,” Handor growled.
“Surely, Majesty,” said the technician, bowing so low that he threatened to fold himself in half. Standing, he held a fist up in signal and gave a quick shout to the other workers.
The skeletons were moved into position by their handlers. One undead specimen stood a short walk from the great, green orb. The second stood a considerable distance beyond the first, and the third was set halfway across the cavern, almost to the edge of the red carpet where Handor and the businessmen uneasily watched the proceedings.
Handor was surprised to see technicians weaving threads of air and shadow over the great pylon; none of the Yutani Arm Traders employees wore noctomancers’ robes. Violet light radiated from the base of the apparatus, creeping over the spindly structure like cracks through the ice in spring.
Then the tip of the light touched the orb itself, and the great sphere thrummed with pulses of wild, emerald energy. Jade lightning arced and spouted from the surface as more sorcery flowed into the globe. The low thrumming accelerated, warping into a high-pitched whistle that put Handor in mind of a teapot.
He tapped Johan on the shoulder and stood on tiptoe to whisper in the paladin’s ear. “Is it supposed to do—”
The world went white in a sudden flash. A rush of sulfurous wind nearly took Handor from his feet, followed by the clatter of bones on the floor. When his vision returned a moment later, the orb sat inert, as did the remains of all three skeletons. Light applause broke out among th
e assembled businessmen.
“The orbs nullify and destroy any undead within a wide radius,” said the technician. “Yutani can assemble three dozen immediately, once you say where you wish to deploy them.”
“Magnificent,” breathed Handor, a broad smile spreading across his face.
“I told you!” Clubs leaned back in his seat with a wide grin.
“Indeed. All that remains is to determine where and when we want to stop the undead incursion,” said Goldson.
“And if we may be so bold, there’s a place we’d like to suggest,” said Baggs.
“Here.” Grignot’s claw touched a point on a crude map as Asherzu slipped into the chieftain’s hut. The satchel of charts and scrolls hanging from her shoulder bumped against a pile of decorative skulls. The assembled warriors of the Guz’Varda and the Red Horde turned to stare as the bones toppled over. Asherzu smiled and tried to fade into the background.
“Why there?” asked Darak. “With the power of Fulgen’s Rest, we can strike anywhere. And your target is far from any suitable site for a gate.”
The wiry Orc cleared his throat and turned back to Darak. “If we use the southernmost gate in the Pinefells, we will be a half day’s ride to the town; close enough for a swift strike. But there are better reasons to strike the Lightlings here.”
“But why strike them at all?” Asherzu stepped forward, one hand on her scrolls. “Why attack the Human town in the first place?”
“You forget yourself, Lady Asherzu,” said Grignot. “The chieftain has not called for you.”
Darak looked at his sister with stern eyes, but she saw the plea behind his mask. Her impertinence dishonored him in front of the warriors of the Red Horde.
She took a deep breath. “I… I am truly sorry, great chieftain. Honor and glory to you.”
Her brother’s relief was evident as he nodded. “It is forgiven,” he said.
“But I question the wisdom of this raid,” she continued. “Why would we risk the lives of our warriors?”
“For vengeance! For the glory of bloodshed! And for the spoils of war!” said Grignot, prompting a roar of approval from the Red Horde warriors around him. Noticing Darak’s stare, the wiry wise-one added, “But most of all, for the honor of our fallen leader, Char Guz’Varda.”
Son of a Liche Page 17