by G R Fabacher
“Damon, do you think I’ll ever get out?” Hellaina said softly.
“Yeah, of course,” he said far too quickly.
She stared daggers at him and went back to angrily oiling her weapon. “No I won’t. They’ll never let me go. They’ve kept me here since I was thirteen. They always find a reason to give me more missions.”
Damon stopped what he was doing. It had been a question that was nagging him for quite some time. “Does anyone get out of the Lich Corps alive?” He asked her.
“Not that I’ve seen and I’ve been her almost as long as the Lieutenant.”
Both Damon and Sparky looked at Cutter, surprised that the normally quiet man even said anything.
Damon looked into his blue eyes and appraised his scarred face for signs of bullshite, and found none.
“In the past sure, but ever since this thing with the Union started over the Seat of Heaven, those powers that be have kept the thumbscrews on what was supposed to be ‘rehabilitation through the sacrifice of service to the Republic’. Now if you survive you’re more useful on more and more dangerous missions. If you die, there are no shortage of thugs, murderers, traitors, and crazies to press into service.”
Damon thought about that, he had jumped at the chance to redeem his good name, even though he had done nothing wrong… or at least nothing they’d actually charged him with. Now he had more than half a sentence atop what he’d come in with, “What about people like me? How much is enough?” he said, voice distant in thought.
“Does it really matter? Maybe we’ll all get out one day, but I stopped seeing this as a bid for freedom or absolution a long time ago, kid, and you should to. It’s more a stay of execution. None one talks about the great heroes of the Lich Corps. You know what a lich is supposed to be right, Sacreon?”
Damon shook his head, “No, not beyond the campfire stories.”
“Go look it up, it’s in the library you’re so fond of.” With that Cutter left.
Damon turned to Hellaina who was still trying to yank a bolt out with a pair of pliers. He saw her eyes were purple, deep purple.
“Want help?” He asked.
She threw the pliers down and he picked them up. He found the bolt and with no small effort managed to yank the cross-threaded component free.
“Thank you.” She said.
He looked at her and wondered what was going on in her mind.
“So are you and Shaya a thing?” She asked.
Taken aback, Damon scratched his jaw. “Not sure to be honest. Not sure how normal a relationship you can have in the corps.”
“Yeah,” she said, “Not like there are tons of decent guys coming through, guess I’m just desperate.”
“Where’s this coming from?”
She fixed him an exasperated stare, “I mean you’re old, Damon, but you’re not like old old.” She said.
“I’m twenty-six and you’re like sixteen.”
“I’m seventeen.” She snapped.
“Still!” He held up his hands.
She turned around and reached up over her shoulder with both hands yanking her prison tunic up over her back. Spread all around her underwear there were burns and the gruesome lines and ridges of other scars tracing nearly every inch of her back. Damon could tell they probably extended to her arms and legs as well.
“No one’s ever going to love this.” She said, magical energy crackling then dying around her.
“Saints and stones…” he muttered, “who did that to you?”
“There’s a reason I killed my parents…” She choked.
Damon looked at her, unsure of what to say.
“They were fundamental anti-magic people. I mean sure they used all the shite that makes our modern life so comfortable, hypocrites, but when it came to have a daughter with natural attunement. That, that was too much them. I was ten when it manifested. I was so scared, and they were so angry.”
She began to cry and Damon suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands. “They cut me, and burned me, they beat me, and all the time I never hurt them. Never lashed out. I set things on fire. I brought a chunk of roof down, but I never hurt my parents!”
Sparky shook, “They were going to kill me, Damon. They’d had enough. I was thirteen and I put a ward around myself, but I passed out and they thought they could end me there. I woke up to them talking about it, and I snapped.
“I burned the house down with them in it. I bound them with magic. They didn’t have a chance… I didn’t want them to have a chance.”
Damon reached out and touched her shoulder. “Kiddo…” he said softly. She was all a mess of nerves and shaking gawky limbs. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t holding one of the Corps’ most dangerous soldiers, but a sad teenage girl.
“I promise you, Hellaina, I’ll do everything I can to get you out of here.”
“You shouldn’t make promises you know you can’t keep…” She said, wiping her eyes on her institutional-orange sleeves.
Chapter 19
Damon walked back upstairs after seeing to his weapons, biting his lip in thought.
“Hey, Bard, look what we found!” Boudira shouted.
She was holding up a face mask, one of those old-style metal ones that slid over the crystal faceplates before modern runes made them able to resist all but the most catastrophic of blows. They had been retried because they offered marginally more protection than the crystal face plate, and it wasn’t worth the cost to put something on military armor that was more or less ornamental.
“Cool, but don’t you think it looks a little out of fashion?” He asked.
“Yeah, but that’s why we all kind of thought of you. You’ve been spending a lot of time around old books.” The dwarf replied.
“Uh, I am a modern bard, thank you, I play the crystal harmonica, at clubs. You know, modern dance music.”
“Lie to yourself all you want.” Boudira said, “Do you want it or not?”
Damon took the mask from her. The thing lines of metal were said to cast an additional ward between the gaps. What looked like wings swept back from the temples, cresting into aggressive flares. It was a highly stylized, but the visage was that of a demon.
“I don’t know guys, this a buteo war mask.” Damon rolled it over in his hands.
“Oh neat!”
Damon turned and saw Sparky running up to him and taking the mask, “Please put it on, I can paint it, and it’ll look so cool when closed over your regular lich face.
“Sure, go for it, Hellaina.” He said.
“Corpsmen!” The Lieutenant’s voice came from outside the army. “Fall out and assemble for muster or I will break my foot off so far up your collective asses you’ll be a case study for apothecaries until the end of days!”
The corpsmen fled the armory as if it were on fire and formed two lines, one line per side of the doorway. The Lieutenant strode up and entered the armory with some official army soldiers and Knight-Captain Mortens. They emerged after a few minutes of looking around.
“Passable.” Mortens said before taking the official army and heading back out to the outbuildings.
“And that’s why my parents said I should always pick a profession that I love.” Oslo Durbray said.
“Boosting vehicles?” Damon asked.
Before Oslo could answer the Lieutenant cut in, “Of course not, Sacreon, Joyride obviously means he loves the Lich Corps.”
“Siryessir!” Joyride said mimicking a salute, which was a tradition the corps never observed.
“Twenty laps, everybody together, now!” The Lieutenant said.
“Hah, we did good,” Shaya said as the knot of various beings ran around the perimeter of the inner yard.
“I know,” Damon said, “usually he gives us fifty.”
♦ ♦ ♦
After the laps, another shower, and the midday meal. Damon was walking in the late autumn cold. It was just brisk enough not to need a long-sleeved version of his under tunic. He walked
past a metal box that wasn’t there when he walked to the prison library before. It was a large as a cargo container used on ships. It almost looked like that too, but it was solid and etched in ley lines. They had to be strong wards by the faint buzz magical energy that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It had bars on each side but an impressively thick hatch on the front that looked like it swung down instead of to the sides.
Curiosity getting the better of him, Damon took a running start and scrabbled up the wall and grabbed one of the window. There was a creaking, grinding noise and suddenly he was met with a dome-shaped head and two glowing blue eyes. They went dark and then reignited, as if it were blinking.
“Ah!” Damon gasped, instinctively letting go of the bars and falling on his ass.
“Do not go…” The voice came from the cage, but it didn’t sound like it came from anywhere at all, like a soft echo with only a hint of reverberation.
Damon stood up and remounted the bars, “Sorry, you startled me. So you’re a golem?”
The eyes giant face appeared again, “Yes. I am Golemni Tu Daran Emomnu.”
“That’s way too long.” Damon said.
“Oh yes, um… most people called me Emomnu as Golemni Tu Daran denotes my race and region of birth… and I am talking too much.”
“Nah.”
“Oh good.”
“Can I call you Em?”
The golem looked to be tilting his domed head, which looked more like a ball rolling on the mouth of a cup it was too big to fit within. “I do not see why, but I also do not see why you cannot.”
“I might be wrong, but you’re kind of young for a golem, aren’t you?”
The golem’s eyes flickered again. “That is not wholly incorrect an assessment. I am just beginning to enter my iron phase: the mark of a fully mature sapience among my kind.”
“So how does a golem end up in prison? I didn’t think you guys got out much.” Damon said. “Or were ones for breaking rules.”
“That is, how you people say, a long story.” Em said. “I believe you say that when the telling would be a burden on the listener, yes?”
“Go ahead, I’ve got time.”
The Golem blinked several times as if parsing the information.
“I am from the Free Golemni State in Lesser Kondar. I was born after it was agreed by the biological races to free our kind and you would leave the reproduction of our species to the Golemni people. We have a government and are less collectivistic than our kin on Duamatt.”
Damon nodded, he had read as much in school.
“Well, my template is even more non-standard than that. I was struck with… the word is wanderlust? Yes.” The golem ducked down from sight, only his massive shoulders could be seen. “It is occurred to me that I am being rude, may I offer you refreshment?”
He held up a giant metal bowl filled with what looked like mud, crystals, and swamp water. It also smelled overpoweringly of sulfur. Damon stifled a cough and rubbed his watering eyes.
“Thank you, but I just ate. Please continue.”
“Do you mind if I eat while I regale?
“No, not at all.” Damon said, thinking that the sooner that stuff disappeared the better.
The golem began slathering the muck all over himself. Damon thought this was in fact going to be a very long story with that stuff sticking around, but as soon as the mush touch clay it was being absorbed into the golem’s frame. Even the offensive odor disappeared just as quickly.
“I decided to come to the Republic of Gloriana to learn about biological life. Your nation holds itself up as a bastion of progress and cooperation. Those feelings resonated with me in my lattice.”
The golem stopped to slather more muck on himself. “This does not taste very good. I miss my crafters’ recipe.”
Damon was dumbfounded, Emomnu was feeling homesick. He supposed that was only natural if a golem really was alive after all, which seemed to be the case.
“At first things were very nice and interesting. I came here and got a job in construction work. Machines do much of the work, but having a golem was considered very… handy according to my foreman. She is nice. I like her. She always said I was very handsome. I don’t know why, I look like many other golemni, but I took it as a compliment which are good things, yes?”
“Most of the time, yes.” Damon agreed.
“One night I was staying late to finish up stacking some bags of concrete when I saw…” more blinking, “four men and one woman, two were male half-elves. One was a human female, and the last two were orc males. They were accosting my… boss, as you say. Ms. Yasmin Colzcaro was very upset with these men and woman. She called them thugs and murderers. These are bad things, yes?”
“Umm… yes, but I’ll remind you that you’re now in the company of such people. So… be polite.”
Em blinked a few times, “Ah yes, perceptions of others. Noted. Thank you… I am sorry, I forgot to ask you your name.”
“Damon, but most people here call me Bard.”
“Do you play the lute?” Em asked.
“Crystal Harmonica.”
“Really? Interesting. Anyway, Mr. Damon.”
“Just Damon, we’re peers now, buddy.”
“Buddy?”
“Another word for friend.” Damon supplied.
“Really?” Emomnu’s eyes lit up like two little wil-o-wisps.
“Yeah,” Damon extended a closed fist through the bars.
“Oh yes,” Emomnu said. Tentatively he extended his massive fist and gave Damon’s the gentlest of taps. “Ms. Yasmin showed me that. I regrettably broke one of her fingers doing it. She is fine though. They… fixed her right up.”
“So what happened with the four guys?”
“Four guys and one lady.” Em corrected. Damon waved him on.
“Yes, well they were accosting my boss and I stepped over to see if I could help. I have trouble with organic body language and facial cues, as we golemni do not have them. The people were dreadfully surprised when I approached and they pulled out pistols. They shot approximately… twenty rounds among them. I was only slightly damaged. One of the bullets hit Ms. Yasmin in the shoulder.
“I looked at her as she bled and then to the men, and I kicked one into a girder. They kept shooting me in the chest where my iron was strongest, and I grabbed another’s gun and smashed it in my grip along with her hand. The orc tried to wrest my grip on her, I flung him into a cement mixer. The other two ran away. I picked up Ms. Yasmin and ran through the streets of Lyria to the nearest hospital. I did cause a few minor traffic accidents and destroyed… three cars. No one was hurt though, I was as careful as time allowed.”
“Was she okay.”
“Yes,” the golem’s eyes twinkled happily. “She has made a full recovery and advocates on my behalf for my release from the Lich Corps. I know she means well, but like my advocate said at my trial. I am a golem and it is much easier to send me to jail than persecute organized crime. The police do have her in witness protection though, so letters are slow.”
It ducked down and retrieved a wood box about the size of a large jewelry box, but in the golem’s hands it looked like a ring box. He opened it with more dexterity than its large fingers had any right to possess, inside was a single letter. The golem closed the box and put it away.
“So instead of being destroyed I opted for service in the Lich Corps. Completion of ten missions will make me an official Glorianan citizen and clear me of the charges.”
Damon nodded quietly.
The golem blinked several times. “Why are you here Mr.—I mean, Damon?”
They think I’m a traitor because I wanted to date a pretty girl who was apparently a Union sympathizer or we were at the wrong rich kid party, I honestly don’t know anymore.”
“Ah, yes, Gloriana does not like the Union taskmasters.”
“Well, good talk, I’m sure they’ll let you out of there after your first mission. I’ll stop by later. I prom
ise.” Damon said, his arm starting to cramp from the exertion of holding himself up.
“I would like that, Damon. I also would like to be out of this cage. It is cramped.”
Chapter 20
Damon was almost to the library when he stopped to watch Jurza as the orc headed out to the yard to exercise on his own time. Several other orcs, Urani included, were with him.
“So did you see the clay beast, crazy man?” Jurza asked. “Do you want to steal its box when they finally let it out of the cage?” The orc smiled his vicious, psychotic smile.
“Jurza, I know you’re crazy, but you’re not entirely stupid. So listen to the crazy man when he says that if you touch that box that golem’s going to crush your head like a very rotten green grape. I’d just leave it alone. You can pick on him—it… him all you want, I don’t think he understands the concept, but don’t touch that box. Trust me.”
Jurza gave him a curious look, the orc’s nostrils flared, and Damon shifted his weight to his back foot, but the orc exhaled and gave a curt nod. The group left without incident. Damon relaxed his muscles and rubbed his neck, continuing on to the library as he looked around at the desolate workout yard.
He opened the door to the library and walked in. It was a small room filled with all manner of donated and dog-eared paperbacks and few musty hardbacks with well-shattered spines. He walked past Germaine who was busy playing librarian. In addition to his doctoring duties he also seemed to enjoy the library more than anyone.
Damon gave the sawbones a nod, “Actually learning how to be a doctor?”
“Damn, you found out.” He said as he swapped two books around. “I guess it’s too much to ask a bunch of thugs and cons to know alphabetical order, huh?”
“Miracles happen, doc.” Damon said, leaving the man to his work. The bard headed to the back where the small library’s only two tables stood. They were old mess tables. All the legs were propped up in some way. Some by folded newspaper, others by old books of which the library had multiple copies.
Damon looked up in shock when he saw the Lieutenant sitting at one of the tables, fingers tracing lines in some book. An octagonal crystal bottle of his tincture at hand, this one was glowing faintly. The color was a slightly wrong shade of yellow-green. Damon stood in the archway for a long moment, looking at the Lieutenant. The man was old, easily pushing the late forties, and he didn’t have the benefit of rejuvenating tonics, but he had a timeless, venerable air about him. His dark skin held only the finest of wrinkles.