“I’d say as much,” said Ned. “It’s still rough going, but we’re much better off than when we started.”
“Good, good,” said the knight-commander. “Well, let me say that those demonic beasts are very important to the master, as is everything related to that kraken mission.”
“The Leviathan Project, sir,” said Ted.
“Right,” said Tyren. “Anything related to that project is top priority. Rudge and his relic recovery team will be searching the city for connected items and documents.”
“Yes, sir!” Rudge and all of his skeletons saluted, save for the odd one with no arms, no head, and a sign nailed to its chest.
“You’ve made some great gains on a top project in just a week,” Tyren told Ned and Ted. “Keep this up, and who knows how high you’ll go in this organization.”
To the knight-commander’s surprise, the promise of a reward didn’t have much of an effect. Ned and Ted exchanged a knowing look.
“Very good, sir,” said Ned, without enthusiasm.
“No, wait,” Tyren said, pointing a bony finger at the ghoul. “I’m telling you, you’ve got a great career here with the undead. You should be excited.”
“It sounds nice,” said Ned. “We just don’t believe we’re going to get promoted.”
“You know how that flyer on your desk says that rich or poor, noble or low-born, all are equal in death?” asked Ted.
“Yes,” said Tyren, glancing at the page.
“It’s rubbish,” Ned pronounced.
“What we’ve actually got is a rigid caste system, based on which sorcerous curse brought you to undeath,” said Ted. “Your rank among the dead is entirely determined by the nature of the magic that binds you. Which, in turn, often depends on your character in life.”
Ned nodded. “The master made himself a liche, the highest of the high, and beneath him we’re all arrayed down to the lowest of the lows: the skeletons.”
“What, really?” asked Tyren.
“Oh, yes,” said Ned. “Nobody wants to be a skeleton.”
“It’s true,” said Rudge.
“I meant about the caste system,” said Tyren.
“Very much so, sir,” said Ted. “All we are is magic and force of will made manifest, and higher ranks of undead have both of those in spades. So much so that they can take control over the rest of us. The lower your caste, the less you can control yourself when some necromancer or higher undead is telling you what to do.”
“Not to mention the less chance you stand against the armies of the living,” said Ned.
“Oh yes, that’s a given,” said Ted. “The point is, we’ve got an inherent hierarchy that favors the powerful. Undeath is much easier for a ghost than for a zombie such as myself.”
“And vampires have it pretty thrice-cursed good as well.” Ned added. “Lyin’ around on red silk and seducin’ young virgins willy nilly, while us ghouls can’t find a decent meal.”
“Just look at Ned and me,” said Ted. “I outranked Neddard in the service of the city of Vetchell, in part because he was always a bit of a glutton.”
“I’d prefer to say I had a taste for the finer things,” said Ned.
“I’m sure you would,” said Ted. “But the point is, when the master cursed us, Ned’s appetites transformed him into a ghoul. Whereas myself, not having any character-defining flaws—”
“Nor any personality whatsoever,” Ned muttered.
“I just became your basic zombie.” Ted shook his head sadly. “And now he outranks me, just like all the people with unfinished business who became ghosts or the spiteful murderers who became wraiths and the like.”
“But we’re running an undead invasion like Arth has never seen before. This time is different.” Tyren held up a bony hand. “I mean, look, I’m a skeleton, and I’ve come far.”
Ned scoffed. “Please, sir, you may be skeletal, but you’re not a skeleton.”
“Definitely not. I saw him looking around when the master had his crown on,” Ted told the ghoul. “He could move his head and everything.”
“I saw it too,” said Ned. “I can barely keep my wits about me when the master is within a hundred yards, to say nothing of when he’s wearing the crown, but Knight-Commander Ur’Thos here was making suggestions about the advertising and volunteering for a leadership post.”
“I was showing initiative,” said Tyren.
“I’ll bet he’s a wight,” opined Ted. “Maybe even an arch-wight. On account of his high stature in life and desire to protect his territory.”
“Ah, but you’re forgetting that wights come from opulent tombs, Ted,” said Neddard. “My money is on a revenant.”
Ted shook his head. “Can’t be. Revenants look as they did in life so they can stalk their prey among the living, and our knight-commander definitely looks… uh…”
Zombie and ghoul looked at Tyren, and then at each other.
“Well, let’s say he’s lost weight,” Ted finished carefully.
“So? It’s not all appearances, is it?” said Ned.
“Listen, revenants are the spirits of evil men who die dishonorable deaths, right?” said Ted. “Remember Carl?”
Ned’s face screwed up at the name. “Ugh. Total rubbish, Carl was. A bully and a fool.”
“And a deserter. So now he’s a revenant,” said Ted. “Our knight-commander here was a man of the highest character to the very end. He died defending the gate with us, if you’ll recall.”
“Uh, right,” said Tyren.
“I don’t know,” said Ned. “I think that sort of creation myth might just be another example of folklore using a simple moral duality to whitewash what is in reality a complex series of factors.”
“A ghoul would say that, yes,” said Ted.
Tyren covered his eye sockets with a bony hand. “Enough. Does it really matter if I’m a revenant or not?”
“Begging you’re pardon, sir, but you’d have to be a wight to say as much,” said Ned.
“At least,” agreed Ted. “The whole caste thing may not seem that important when you’re sitting up top, but those of us down near the bottom of the sorcerous economic ladder think about it constantly.”
“It doesn’t matter.” The knight-commander shook his head. “Maybe it used to, but not anymore. We’re changing the way things are done. The living have never volunteered to join the undead before, remember? And the master’s plan is never going to work if people don’t have an incentive to succeed.” Nor would Tyren’s designs, but he kept that point to himself.
“Do you really think so, sir?” asked Ned.
“I know so,” said Tyren. “Listen, we’re doing big things here. We can change the model, break down old barriers.”
“Yeah!” Ted bubbled with growing enthusiasm. “We can do this!”
“There’s no question in my mind,” said Tyren. A shuffling sound caught his attention. “Well, perhaps one question. Do you think we’re ready to deploy the infernal beasts?”
“Now?” The excitement drained back out of the zombie.
Tyren looked around. The ghoulish brigades around Tyren’s office had lurched into motion—literally, in most cases. The front ranks of the undead army were already moving toward the doomed city of Parald. “Yes, now would be good.”
“It ain’t like we’ve got much time left, ye know?” Gorm spread his hands out. “That gnurg’s almost lost us, and once one o’ them scaly bastards goes to ground, there’s no telling how long it’ll take to find it again.”
“That’s what I hate most about gnurgs,” said Laruna. “Something that big shouldn’t be able to hide that well.”
“Or move that fast,” said Heraldin. “Gods, gnurgs are the worst.”
Laughter rang out around the remnants of the cookfire. With the Wyrmwood Staff in their possession, the museum guards at their backs, and the horses making a great pace, the heroes had been in high spirits in the days since leaving Andarun. They’d even found time to buy a bundle of rati
ons and a skin of wine from an inn just outside of Haertswood, and now they were enjoying one of the best meals Gorm could remember.
“Exactly,” said Gorm, pointing at the solamancer with his spoon. “So our rogue yells, ‘We’re fallin’ behind!’ But I stands up on my horse, and I says, ‘No, I’m getting a head!’ Ha! So I jump—”
“Wait,” Laruna interrupted. “You said what?”
“He’s getting a head,” Heraldin snickered.
Gorm nodded “Aye! So I jumped—”
“You made a joke?” said Laruna. “In the middle of the fight?”
“Yeah, ‘cause I was gonna… ye know.” Gorm used his spoon to pantomime a few axe blows. “I was gonna chop off its head.”
The mage was incredulous. “It was a struggle for life and death with a giant, monstrous worm. Why were you making a pun?”
“And a really bad one at that,” said Jynn.
Gorm gave an exasperated shrug. “It was just a quip.”
“A quip? Do heroes often engage in wordplay when killing things?” the wizard asked with a smirk. “Do palindromes or anagrams count, or is it more about observational humor?”
“When I’m fighting, I’m not running around making jokes,” said Laruna.
“Not jokes,” said Heraldin. “A quip. You’re allowed to make one. Only one, though.”
“Oh, aye. Any more than that would be in poor taste.” Gorm spoke through a mouthful of chicken and potatoes.
“One is in bad taste!” said Laruna. “Why would anyone say it’s all right to make a joke in the middle of a life-and-death fight?”
Gorm shrugged. “I dunno. It’s one of them unspoken rules.”
“Yes, I thought everybody knew that,” agreed Heraldin. “Gaist knows.”
Gaist sat motionless on the edge of the firelight.
The bard nodded at the weaponsmaster. “See?”
“No,” laughed Jynn.
“And I’m fairly certain he isn’t making jokes in the heat of battle,” said Laruna.
“Maybe he is.” Heraldin grinned. “Maybe you just don’t get them.”
“I…” The solamancer stopped herself and looked at the weaponsmaster, who suddenly seemed a bit more aloof. “Well, I think it’s silly.”
“Maybe, but it can keep your mind off the stress a bit,” said Gorm. “And it looks great in a quest report. My publicist used to love it when I had a good quip. The town criers go nuts for ‘em. Kaitha, your publicist must have… have…”
Gorm trailed off as the heroes turned to the Elf.
She looked back at them with sullen, hollow eyes. “What?” she said softly.
“We was just talkin’ about quips,” said Gorm.
“Oh. Yeah, you’re allowed to make one,” said Kaitha dully.
“Lass, are ye feeling well?” asked Gorm.
Kaitha looked around at the concerned faces. “Ah, no. No, it must be… something I ate. I need to lie down.” She stood slowly, unfolding like a rusted training golem before making some half-hearted goodbyes. A sudden shaking came over her, and she pulled her cloak close to ward off the night’s chill before she headed for the copse of trees where her tent was set up.
“I have concerns about our ranger,” Jynn murmured once the Elf was out of sight.
“Aye,” said Gorm. Kaitha hadn’t been herself for a while, but over the past day whatever condition she was in had deteriorated. “Do ye suppose she’s sick?”
“I didn’t think Elves got sick,” said Heraldin.
Laruna opened her mouth to say something, but then shook her head. “Maybe it’s the wine,” she muttered.
“She didn’t have any,” Jynn countered.
“Maybe that’s the problem,” said Gorm. “Let’s talk to her about it in the morning. Perhaps a good night’s sleep will improve things.”
“It’s getting worse,” murmured Kaitha. “I can’t sleep.”
“What is it?”
“Nothing.” Kaitha sat up in her bedroll. The moonlight outside shone through the fabric of her tent, casting her pack and gear in sapphire hues. The camp outside the tent was silent.
And then there was…
Kaitha shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
“Oh, come on. It isn’t nothing. You can tell me.”
“Well, there’s a turtle in my tent,” said Kaitha.
“Tortoise,” said the tortoise.
“Right, sorry,” said Kaitha. “There’s a tortoise in my tent. And most tortoises I’ve encountered didn’t glow blue or float in the air. Or talk.”
“Maybe I’m your spirit animal,” suggested the tortoise.
“Like the ones that guided the old Elves on their… things?” Kaitha blinked a few times. It was hard to find the things. Words.
“Spirit journeys?”
“Yeah. Those. Are you here to guide me on a spirit journey?”
“Why not?” said the tortoise. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“I’ll… wait, no, I can’t.” Kaitha shook her head. “We’re on a mission. We’ve got to stop Jynn’s father from… being a liche? Doing something bad. And then help the Orcs after that, I think. Something.”
“Well, all the more reason to go on a spirit journey,” said the tortoise. “Taking time for self-discovery can lead you to an epiphany that unlocks your true potential.”
Kaitha rubbed her eyes. “What?”
“Come on,” said the tortoise, already floating toward the tent flap.
“Yeah, all right,” said Kaitha. “Just let me get… I need my stuff… gear. Let me put on my armor.”
“Kaitha,” said the tortoise. “Do you really think weapons and armor will help you on a spirit journey?”
The ranger thought about it. “No, I suppose not,” she said. “That’d be ridiculous.”
“Exactly. Come on.” The tortoise slipped through the tent door.
Kaitha grabbed a cloak and slipped from her tent into the cold evening. The stars were still winking into sight across the deep blue sky. To the southwest, she could see the orange glow of the fading cookfire through the trees. She turned and walked north, relishing the cool mud on her bare feet.
“We need to hurry,” she told the tortoise. “We’re only a day away from… from Highwatch.” She gestured southeast, where the mountains blotted out the stars on the horizon.
“Don’t worry about that,” the tortoise reassured her as it floated north. “Focus on reaching your full potential. On finding that epiphany that leads to inner peace.”
“Okay.” Kaitha took a deep breath. “Epiphany.”
They wandered across the moonlit countryside for what seemed like hours. Her cloak offered a little protection from the cold, and she clutched it tightly around herself. The small tortoise hovered by her shoulder, rambling on about the finer points of spiritual awakening.
As they journeyed onward, though, her thoughts cleared. The crisp air felt good in her nostrils and lungs, and the more she breathed it in, the less she noticed the chill. Her limbs filled with warmth and energy, giving her steps a renewed vigor. By the time she saw the first hint of dawn’s light on the eastern horizon, she was practically dancing over the grassland.
“Feeling good?” asked the tortoise.
“I feel great,” said Kaitha. “Though, you know, I thought a spirit journey would be different.”
“I’m glad,” said the tortoise, beaming. “But what were you expecting?”
“Well, in all the stories about spirit journeys that I’ve heard, the Elves encounter different animal spirits that ask insightful questions. And that’s what drives the Elf toward introspection and then enlightenment. So I just assumed, you know, that we’d meet a bear or a fox or something out here.”
“So far, I’m it,” said the tortoise. “I could try asking you personal questions?”
“Sounds good,” said Kaitha, leaping over a small stream.
“All right,” said the tortoise. “Have you been thinking about healing potions much lately?”
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“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Kaitha’s mood curdled. “You dragged me all the way out here to have a talk about salve?”
“Haven’t you been pulling away from your friends lately?” asked the tortoise. “Haven’t you been sore and hurting for days, only thinking about getting more potions?”
“I like potions,” said Kaitha. “I want them because they’re fun, not because I need them. I could stop if I wanted to.”
“Remember the salve-heads you saw when Leiry sent you to Lady Fjord’s Gardens of Recovery for your drinking?” asked the tortoise. “Didn’t they say the same thing?”
“I am not like the salve-heads!” snarled Kaitha. “Listen, these questions aren’t very insightful. I’m going to go talk to that spirit falcon instead.”
“No, no,” said the glowing green falcon, alighting on a nearby stump. “I think the tortoise has a point.”
“It’s time to admit you have a problem,” said the tortoise. “That’s the first step to recovery.”
Kaitha sighed. “Fine,” she hissed through her teeth. “I have a little problem with salve. And it’s bothering me because I haven’t gone this long without a kick in… in a long time. I was supposed to get some in Andarun, but now I just need to get a potion so I can make it through this battle at Highwatch and save the world. Then I’ll check into Lady Fjord’s and take care of my… little issue.”
“Did I say ‘little?’” said the tortoise.
“You didn’t say ‘little,’” said the falcon.
“Because I heard her say ‘little,’” The tortoise floated over to hover beside his avian counterpart.
“She said ‘little’ twice,” said the falcon.
“I didn’t think I came here to talk about a ‘little’ problem,” said the tortoise.
“You didn’t say little,” reiterated the falcon.
“Let me be clear,” said the tortoise, turning back to Kaitha. “You have a huge problem with healing potions. A healing potion crisis, really. And you know you do, because you saw what the elixir addicts went through at Lady Fjord’s when they stopped getting kicks.”
“Reduced social interactions,” said the falcon. “Trouble concentrating. Sallow complexion.”
Son of a Liche Page 25