Woodcastle

by Kell Inkston

  “Your fellows?”

  “Two other boys from Frau enlisted in The Knights. We all graduated at the same time and were sent to the co-op.”

  “... I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, I guess. I’m sure you know how it is.”

  “That’s true. The names and their faces are different, but the feeling of loss bites just as much. The ones that fought valiantly died with honor, and to the cowards, a well-deserved death,” Law says. Dresmond exhales sharply, as if he were suddenly hurt.

  “Yes, sir,” Dresmond says, chilling up. Law raises a scaled brow in interest, and then continues on.

  “Well, all of these insignias are real. Twenty seven in all; can’t imagine he killed twenty seven Ragnivanian soldiers to get these. Must’ve stolen ‘em,” Law says, pushing the insignias aside to look over the rest of the armor. Everything is authentic, but it’s just too surreal; something’s got Law off his ease.

  “What next, sir?”

  “Rayull.”

  “Yes, sorry- Rayull.”

  “ ’Spose we might as well get our face,” Law says, the two stepping over to the corpse’s helmet. The helmet is impaled shut by arrows.

  “Hmm, getting rid of these,” Law says, grasping each arrow’s shaft from the base of the helmet and breaking them with ease. Dresmond does the same, gently so as not to mess up the face under the helmet. The shafts are now short enough to open the visor, Law quickly pulls it up to reveal the face.

  There is no face under the helmet, only dozens of jagged knifes, pointing outward towards the two knights.

  “Shit!” curses Law the second before the blades fire out from the helmet. Law forces his arm over Dresmond’s side of the helmet, taking the delivery of knives with his armored skin, effectively saving the young man’s life. The suit of armor promptly pulls out its sword, the very same it used to kill those twelve fairy-folk, and thrusts at Law to start the fight.

  Law, armor covered in knives, shakes the weapons off, pushing into the corpse to set it off balance. Dresmond opens his cloak in the meanwhile to draw his daggers, the corpse regains its wavering, lazy balance, and prepares for its next assault.

  Law and Dresmond can see the corpse’s face, a godless meshing of objects, flesh, and internal organs, all held together with wire, nails and cloth. It is a created body with an invading soul as its host; a full perversion of life and nature.

  “Necromancer!” Law snaps just as the amalgamation races up to them.

  The necromancer thrusts its blade forward at Law’s neck, but is quickly stumbled back again by a kick from the dragon-kin to the necromancer’s sort-of-face. Law rushes back to his weapon as his opponent thrusts additional, hidden arms out of its suit of armor, and moves toward Dresmond with a furious gait.

  The cloaked boy unloads knife after knife into his target, but the necromancer deftly grasps them and throws them back with the newly-revealed arms. The corpse closes in, pushing Dresmond to the edge of the room, and is about to go at his throat when Law returns.

  Law swings down his giant mace, swiftly dodged by the necromancer, but then it meets Law’s free fist, forcing it forward and into the wall. Ignoring the necromancer’s arms stabbing at his draconic flesh, Law crushes his enemy into side of the room with a serpentine gaze. Dresmond watches in awe as Law breaths in and looses a torrent of fire on the necromancer, engulfing its entire body. Law takes another breath, and burns him again, dropping his mace. Law brutishly tears off the still-flailing necromancer’s helmet, and then grasps the monstrosity by its neck. With one immense movement of force, Law beheads the necromancer, throws down the head, and crushes it under his boot. Still the abomination of life attacks, having torn off a few of Law’s scales and now doing its best to blindly get into his flesh. In Law’s finishing movements, he scrapes the necromancer across the wall and down to the floor, allowing him to pick up his mace. Law then forces his boot into the necromancer’s legs to hold it in place and smashes his weapon down into his enemy, producing the simultaneous sound of metal being trashed, flesh being squished, and bones being cracked. He throws down his mace again and again, each strike causing the ground to shake, until finally every joint in the necromancer’s body is reduced to pulpy, mangled viscera. The fire takes care of the rest, burning the creature’s soul-piece phylactery, the item that binds the necromancer to its monstrosity of objects and flesh, to nothingness, simultaneously killing the body and releasing the soul. The necromancer goes limp, and Law raises his hewn great mace out of the mortal wreckage, no worse for wear.

  “That’s a surprise,” Law says, rubbing his barely-wounded neck. He guesses the necromancer’s weapons were poisoned, as most necromancers do, but Law being part-dragon, his body will likely ignore it. Dragon blood is stronger than most, after all.

  “Damn,” Dresmond begins, pushing himself firmly against the wall in horror, “So ... it’s really dead? ... It was more metal and weapons than anything. Are they usually that ... capable?”

  “Yeah, they’re a real bitch to get rid of if they design their bodies well. We better let Order know,” Law notes as the two of them step away from the burning suit of armor and up the steps.

  Chapter Nine: Hide and Go Seek

  The sun is setting over the horizon, marking the end of the day period, passing now into one of the planet’s two twilights. Love and Lain whom, after having looked over some bodies and their obviously-magical causes of death, are led by a dwarf with a really, very wacky hat to the scene of the crime.

  “Righto’ me mates. Here we be,” the dwarf, by the name of Buzzums the Bad-Smelling, says with a presenting wave. Love and Lain look over the place.

  They stand in a clearing near one of the residential areas, the foliage and grass burnt with what seems like assault fire. Loitering nearby are a couple of very-disgruntled spirits.

  “Hmm, thank you, Buzzums,” Love says with a dreamy look in her eyes, calmly looking over the scene a bit more as she decides on what to do first.

  “Aye, missy. Best be careful though, those spirits over there were good friends of some of the victims, they likely aren’t much in the mood to see people who use that sort’o magic peepin’ around.”

  “No worries, they won’t mind us taking a look around at all,” Lain says with a surprisingly confidant glare.

  “Eh, yeah, alright mate. Can I go grab a drink now?” Buzzums asks with a tired look. Love nods.

  “We’ll be fine for now, thank you,” she says, sending the dwarf on his way to the nearby tavern.

  There’s short pause as she gently shakes out her features with such confidence to her, Lain could swear she already knows what they’re going to find. “Hmm, okie dokie, let’s take us a look-see,” Love says with a relaxed smile, stepping forward to take a better look at the burns. Lain follows along with a sharp smile, waiting for the perfect moment to come out and reveal his secret.

  Love begins looking at the various markings in the ground. She’s doing this for appearances, of course. She already knows what’s going on, as all proper Realmancers do.

  In the next moment, a trope of spirits approach, incited by their investigation of the scene.

  “By Omniverse’s Edge, you humans best get out of our sight. You caused enough trouble blackening up our friends with your depraved magic,” the front-most spirit says, giving the two an incorporeal scowl.

  “Yeah.”

  “Hell yeah!”

  “You tell ‘em!” the other spirits snap in encouragement.

  “Yeah?” Lain asks, allowing Love to continue inspecting the scene.

  “Yeah!”

  “Well how do you know it wasn’t a fairy? It’s not like magic is exclusive to humans,” Lain says, bringing up a perfectly reasonable point.

  “Ha! Nice try, human! Everyone knows that fairy kingdom law doesn’t allow the teaching of assault magic! It had to be one of those Kanvaneians!” the spirit responds.

  “Yeah!”

  “Totally! You got this!”

/>   “Humans suck! Breathing air is for looosers!” the others quickly add, sensibly contributing to the conversation by adding each their own unique and valued perspectives on the matter. Lain pauses a moment in surprise, and thinks of an effective response.

  “Proves nothing! Could have been a self-taught mage, so it still could have been a fairy!”

  “Too bad the selling of assault magic books is banned!”

  “They could have gone outside the Fairy Kingdom to learn it!”

  The spirit puts its hands to its hips with enough smarm to melt someone. “Yeah right, as if a fairy would ever go and spend time with a bunch of dumb, bootless, swarbling, bedrizzled humans!” the front-most spirit snaps, his voice echoing through Lain, though he just smirks in response.

  “Do you even know who you’re talking to? I would know how fine both humans and spirits are because of my upbringing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And how’s that?’

  ‘I’m half fairy!” Lain exclaims a brief moment before revealing his neck, showing his strange-mark, a glowing birthmark received any time a fairy bears a child with a non-fairy partner- that said, Lain is genetically fifty percent high fairy, and fifty percent human.

  There is a long pause while the spirits exchange glances, and then the front one turns back.

  “Gross, this kid’s got Algandar’s,” he spits, causing his companions to erupt into laughter. Lain’s eyes widen; the sparks of indignancy and shock rise up within.

  “W-what?! It’s an honor to be of the fairies and the humans. It’s ... it’s well rounded!”

  “Well rounded for janitor work,” the spirit says, gaining another round of laughs from the others.

  “H-how dare you! My mother-” By this point, Love stopped listening when she found a suspicious set of tracks. Thanks to her expertise in realmancy, she can locate, know and see things that no longer or shouldn’t exist. The tracks are have been covered smartly, but even the act of covering leaves a trail to her. For certain, these were made around the time of the killing. She smirks as she confirms her suspicions as to the owner of the tracks, having a small, though heavy demeanor. She nods, and turns to Lain, who is just now realizing that being half-blooded is considered incredibly lame in Liefland.

  “Mmm, Lain,” Love addresses. Lain turns his head quickly.

  “Yeah?”

  “I got a lead, you stay here and entertain the spirits for me- mmkay?”

  He squints an eye. If she says so, his hands are tied, though he’d rather stay here and justify himself anyway. “Eh, yeah, alright. As I was saying-” at that, Lain returns to his monologue and Love steps off into the dark of the forest’s edge.

  As the irritated tones of voices ring away from earshot, Love weaves through the ink-black silhouettes of the wood, following the trail that no common eyes could see. She follows the trail of her suspect through the warm, whimsical air, and comes into a small clearing. The foliage seems less healthy in a single spot, about the size of a person, and it is here where the trail ends. Love steps up to the path of dying grass, and quietly equips her bow. For certain now, she knows the true nature of the culprit, just as she read. Necromancers have a strange love for waiting underground; she must have caught it waiting for more fairies to kill, and create more fake proofs pointing to Kanvane’s involvement.

  At the same moment she creates her first arrow, the patch of dirt explodes to reveal a necromancer, another abomination of objects, flesh, and rags. This one is dressed in the robes of a standard Kanvanian magic soldier, and has designed its body to look especially human, but only from afar would one be tricked by such a weak disguise. The necromancer, quickly identifying the newcomer as more than a match, rushes away to escape.

  Love fires six bolts in rapid succession, severing the necromancer from its arms, legs, and one for the neck, tearing its makeshift head from the body. In response, the necromancer quickly spouts out new, cruder legs from its body, and begins its dash again. Love shoots those down too, her impeccable aim serving her perfectly even in deep dark. Love makes the finishing move, reaching into her dimensional sheath, a magitech device that leads to a pocket dimension for holding things of unruly size, and pulls out a door; yes, a door.

  Love slams it into the ground, turns the handle, and throws it open, the handled-side pointing towards the necromancer. As if a force from behind were pushing it open, the door swings wide, revealing an incomprehensible opening of horrifying madness. The undead is quickly assailed by grasping appendages of every imaginable variety coming out of the door way, arresting their target and pulling it inside. Love makes a smooth wave of the hand, magically closing the door-portal. Now that the door is shut, she picks it up and forces it back into her dimensional sheath. She brushes her hands, shaking off the dust, and turns around, showing the very same smile she had when the necromancer was pulled into an alternate dimension by horrific arms of any imaginable variety.

  She’s going to have to tell Order about this. If Oa is sending its forces as a distraction, she can guess that the great monstrosity of teeth and flesh is planning something, as necromancers never, ever travel alone.

  Chapter Ten: Working Hard, I see!

  Meanwhile at the castle, Order is gulping more fairy wine while she contemplates her next chess move.

  She reaches forward, grasps her knight, and checks Tylvania’s king.

  “Check,” Order says, swirling the glass of 899 Fayrland Fyre in her hand, admiring its deep emerald color.

  “Vastly, good lady; your strategy suits you well,” Tylvania says with a tone of admiration. Order nods.

  “Kind of you to say, your highness,” she responds, gesturing towards the board to invite her opponent’s next move.

  Pitch is still lazing about, reading the second book in the Oscar La’Coss series of novels, a popular bunch of books among fairies and other whimsical types, even though the main character is widely regarded to be a human. Tylvania hums in thought, and then snaps her long, graceful fingers.

  “Hmmoh ... so how fares your mind on the recent events of your land?” Tylvania asks, brashly moving the queen straight up to cover the king. Order looks down, wonders if the wine’s already getting to Tylvania, and responds.

  “The war ... how I feel about it, I suppose?” Order asks, calmly moving her black bishop to capture Tylvania’s white queen. Tylvania cringes a moment, and sighs, realizing how foolish her move was.

  “Verily, Knightess,” she says with a slight look of disappointment on her face, staring down at the spot her queen used to be.

  “Well I obviously dislike it, but I feel it was unavoidable. The East has been ripe for this for a good many years with their recent technological advances. Those fire arms are terrifying things; like spells inserted into little pieces of metal. Though I’m sure they’re more afraid of us.”

  “Have they all of these weapons?”

  “Yeah. We’ve gotten our hands on a few of them, but the problem is none of the Western Kingdoms have enough salt peter to produce a reasonable amount of gun powder. We could create it through magic, of course, but we don’t really need to.”

  “Gun powder ... these are the essence of these arms?”

  “Yeah. They apparently pour them in little metal shells, and all the actual fire arm does is hold the bullet and act as the triggering mechanism. Apparently when this mechanism hits the shell hard enough, it creates an explosion, propelling the bullet out the barrel,” Order says, moving another piece.

  “My ... such times certainly chills the fireless heart,” Tylvania says before releasing her first rook.

  Order smirks. “Sure, and the West hasn’t been particularly effective at disarming the conflict either.”

  “Oh?”

  “I think since Chaos has been in hiding for a while now, I’ve come to expect some of the younger blood in the kingdoms have been getting a bit hot.”

  “Violent youths?”

  “Yeah, Ragnivania
n mostly. Kanvane has a way of burying their children in reading, Spirakander in work, and Whihelmish in drink. There are so many Ragnivanian soldiers causing trouble now, that some people say the war is actually a good thing.”

  “The cruel realities of youth and war, I do fear.”

  “It’s gotten to be quite a problem. I’m disappointed at the root of it.”

  The fairy queen raises a shining brow. “Oh?”

  “I felt like the council could have prevented this, but the generals seem to really want it. Everyone’s going to feel the effects from this, maybe even centuries to come. Neither factions have been in a major conflict for so long, and neither side’s going to win, I’m almost certain.”

  “But your people are of a more arcane sort, it would be simple for you alone to take their capitol.”

  “To take, not to maintain. Even so, they have ten gunmen for every magician, and they have their own, though far less. Logistically it would be unfeasible to do anything but fight them off and send them home.”

  “Think ye any fashion in which the powers at hand might have clipped such cata- oh,” Tylvania stops in the middle of her question upon seeing Law rush in. Law raises a brow, seeing Order laxing unarmored in a chair with a glass of wine, and he decides that she has her own ways of dealing with things if she’s gotten this far by drinking on the job.

  “Erm, pardon the intrusion,” he says, quickly bowing his head.

  “It’s fine. What do you need?” Order asks, leaning into her chair while Tylvania moves her pawn up.

  “I come bearing serious news. The supposed soldier of Ragnivan.”

  “Yes?” Order asks, taking a sip of her wine.

  “It almost killed us. It was a necroman-” Order spits out her wine.

  “A necromancer?!”

  “That’s right. It was playing dead, presumably to kill the people sent to perform the autopsy.”

  “Then, Oa ...” Order marks under her breath.

  Law glances aside. “That’s what I’m afraid of, ma’am” he says, crossing his arms. Pitch, who has been listening in from the moment Law came in, looks up from his book.