We Unhappy Few

by G R Fabacher

She picked up the deck and reshuffled it. “You look kind of handsome with a beard by the way. Maybe you should keep it.”

  Damon stroked the thick stubble that had taken root on his face doing his stay in the medical ward. He rubbed his eyes and took the cards she dealt him.

  “I’m sorry about Shaya…” she said, “I should have said something earlier.”

  Damon looked away quietly, “It’s okay…” he said.

  “No.” She said sharply. “No it’s not okay. Nothing about that day was okay. Nothing about anything was okay.”

  Damon looked at her gray eyes. “Yeah, damn that. Nothing was okay. Thanks, Sparky.”

  Hellaina sniffed, “You’re welcome.”

  “I win again though.”

  “Damnit!” She threw down her cards.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The surviving members of the Lich Corps were assembled in the fields outside the prison they called home. There were more guards with more guns than actual attendees for the quickly thrown together funeral. Several square holes of wet earth were open to the sky as plain plywood boxes were lowered in. Shaya’s was beneath a willow tree out in the field. Oslo’s was on her right, and the others to the left. Damon didn’t know who these corpsmen were. It made guilt well up from the pit of his stomach. The sky had no right being as clear and beautiful as it was.

  Damon took a handful of dirt in his shackled hands. The soil trickled out as he tossed it into the hole. He never really knew what Shaya and he were. What kind of relationship could two people have when they were a bunch of prisoners, condemned to perform illegal missions until they died? He thought of her smile, her touch, and knew that he would never really have the chance to find out. Damon had all these things he wanted to say. All his words perching just behind his lips.

  “Darashaya…” he said softly, tears in his eyes.

  After a long time he wiped his hands on the dewy grass and looked over the edge before standing up and walking to the back of the line.

  “What will you do now?” Damon asked the Lieutenant.

  The Lieutenant took a deep breath. He was shackled just like the rest of them. The knight-captain knew the old man wouldn’t try to escape, but Damon had a feeling that Hazem Zuro was standing with his corpsmen in this.

  “I don’t know, Sacreon. They’re definitely not going to get rid of us now. We’ve gone and done the worst thing possible: prove ourselves truly effective.”

  “That’s not what I was talking about.”

  The old man sighed, “I know, and I just… don’t know…”

  “What about the lich?”

  “Is now the time, Damon?”

  Damon shook his head, “I guess I just want to be thinking about anything else.”

  The Lieutenant clapped him on the shoulder. “Can’t say I blame you.” They walked back to the waiting area where everyone was gathered. Soon they would be marched back to the prison. Damon looked at Emomnu. The golem was as stoic as ever. He stood on a brand new leg. The golem’s magical nature made the mixture of iron and clay indistinguishable from his old leg. If it weren’t for Sparky’s penchant for drawing, sketching, and painting on anything and everything that could hold ink or paint, then it would look exactly the same.

  The artistic mage had stenciled in several skulls and other intimidating images on the limb, and even included some relief work of a dragon. Sparky walked back toward them, a brand new tattoo of a pair of skulls took up her right shoulder, a thin mesh covered the fresh ink to protect it. Damon looked at them noting that Urani had an eye and talent for tattoos. The precession of convicts were escorted back beyond the gates of their prison.

  “Damon,” Emomnu said, “have you ever thought about what it is like to die?”

  “A couple of times here and there, why?”

  “Golemni do not contemplate their deaths. One day from now I will simply cease to function. Maybe if I am lucky my core will be placed in one of our memory halls and I will cease to be an independent consciousness. My archived experiences will be preserved, but I as Emomnu will not. What I am trying to say is, is that like dying at all?”

  “Not sure, Em…” Damon said, “I think everyone wants that in some way. Something to leave behind. Something to be remembered for, or someone to grieve your passing from this world.”

  Em’s eyes dimmed in contemplation. “I am… sad that Shaya and Oslo are gone, even though I did not get to know them long. I will carry on their existence in my core.”

  “They’d like that, Em, they’d like that a lot.” Damon said as he passed beneath the gates to the old fort.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Damon sat in the lounge. The only reward that the corps had gotten for doing the Republic’s dirty work was an increase in the funding they received from the justice ministry. It meant that they actually got a couch and a billiards table. Even a few old pinball machines. The real prize though was the scryer in the corner, it wasn’t even a tiny cheap one. It wasn’t high end and the crystals could use a tuning, but he wasn’t going to complain. It was just nice to have a section of the mess dedicated to some genuine recreation. Not that he had much time for that. The Lieutenant had wasted no time in getting the Lich Corps back on his brutal physical training regimens

  “And now we return to Arbiter Godwyn’s address on the swift and decisive police action to preempt the Union surprise attack on the Republic’s southwestern border.” The news anchor said. She was a dwarf with a broad smile and expertly-styled hair.

  “Bullshite!” Jurza said, “We were nowhere near the southwestern border.”

  “That’s why it’s a preemptive action Jurza.” Damon said.

  “Shut up, guys, we would like to hear this?” Shakes said.

  Damon rolled his eyes and let the elf turn up the volume.

  The image changed to the arbiter in the press hall of the Arbiter’s Manse. Dozens of news agencies sat with image obscura crystals floating over their shoulders. The Arbiter of the Republic of Gloriana stood before the podium in an immaculately bespoke tunic.

  “People of the Republic.” The Arbiter began, “Almost a week ago, our brave Rangers managed to interdict a large Union force on a course through the Bleak Marshes to launch a surprise attack on the Republic through the Hinterlands.

  “The most heinous revelation of this attack is that the Union has begun to enslave the Dragonkin of Duamatt and forcing them to fight. This kind of behavior from a supposedly modern and forward-thinking nation of Terrasti is inexcusable. That is why I will be calling for an emergency summit of Terrasti’s nations to propose harsh sanctions against the Serene Union of Hyperia for these unforgivable actions.

  “However, in the present, I on the behalf of our great nation would like show our admiration, respect, and gratitude for the brave and selfless sacrifices of the noble Rangers in stopping this nefarious plot—”

  Shakes turned off the scryer and tossed the control wand on the table in disgust.

  “I told you, Shakes,” Damon said, “we were never going to get an ounce of recognition. Remember that we don’t exist.”

  “But here is no mention of the lich or the ruins at all.” Shakes said.

  “Oh yeah, new blood.” Jurza said, “I ain’t that smart and even I know that those powers that be aren’t going to give up the location of that place to any power with the ability to actually take it from the Republic.” The orc flexed his new arm, the skin paler than the rest of him, he made an unhappy grimace at its stiffness.

  Damon raised an eyebrow, “I honestly did not expect Jurza to be the voice or reason here…”

  Jurza put his feet up on the well-worn coffee table, a smug expression plastered across the murderous thug’s ugly face.

  “Anyway,” Damon said, “Yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised if ROCO and a bunch of people in white smocks are combing over that place right now.” Damon rose to his feet and bid the corpsmen farewell with a wave. He was due for some more of the Lieutenant’s physical training.

  ♦
♦ ♦

  Arbiter Godwyn entered his personal study at the Arbiter’s Manse and put the folio with his speech notes down on the desk before pouring himself a cup of kaffe from the carafe on the heating plate. He poured a heavy dose of cream into it and sat down in the plush chair. His lumbar vertebrae thanked him immensely.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Godwyn put down his cup, “Come in.”

  His spymaster stepped beyond the threshold and gestured to a seat.

  “Please,” Godwyn said, “don’t stand on my account.”

  “I have to say that the plan worked splendidly.” Horatio said, crossing his legs.

  Godwyn looked over his spectacles.

  “The Rangers would probably disagree, but yes, the ultimate outcome was in our favor.” Godwyn said, taking a sip from his cup. “Those condolence letters don’t get any easier to write with time.”

  Horatio nodded, his face betraying nothing, “More importantly the teams have finished removing the Bleak-Kin from the ruin. The ultimate analysis of the ruins is still in its nascent phases, but any big-brain with an anthropology degree is having a field day with the ruins. They’re all abuzz with the idea that this ruin might be just before the collapse of the Ahmagistratii civilization.”

  Godwyn leaned back and drummed his fingers on his desk. “That would be something, wouldn’t it? The reason why the Magi civilization collapsed, seemingly overnight at the height of their magical dominance of the two realms.”

  “We’ve been pouring over the footage pulled from the memory crystals of the Lich Corps suits and from what we’ve pieced together there was no Magi superweapon in the ruins.”

  “Just a soulless monster with unbelievable magical power.” Godwyn snorted. “Don’t think I don’t fully appreciate how spectacularly terrible that could have turned out.”

  Horatio nodded, holding up a finger, “But there was a Magi weapon in the ruins. It’s the most famous bit of footage that no-one will ever see.”

  Horatio held up memory crystal and touched the activation rune. A fuzzy image focused into the spectacular final portion of the only battle with Ulano the lich

  “What’s that kid’s name again?” Godwyn asked pointing to Damon.

  “Damon Sacreon, twenty-six. Found guilty of treason by way of collaboration with the Union. Swept up at a pro-Unionism party. Has an older sister. Mother and father have also distanced themselves because of his conviction. Not that they were happy with him for dropping out of university in the first place. Possible black market connections—party drugs, but nothing we would have ever pursued otherwise. But all that’s inconsequential. Look.”

  The image from Damon’s helmet showed him pushing the pommel stone of the ancient blade onto his purloined Union sword. “Several of our key alchemist say that there is not only an intelligence in that blade but that it probably contains a Magi soul.” Horatio pulled out a thin folio and put it on Godwyn’s desk. It was marked with the highest of levels of security runes. Set to burst into flame should anyone unauthorized to look at it even touched the cover.

  Godwyn couldn’t resist scoffing, “A soul? That’s absurd.”

  “A week ago I would agree, sir, but we have incontrovertible that the Ahmagistratii managed in some… abominable way to conquer death.”

  “There’s a long way to go from some kind of advanced reanimation to zeroth magic make-believe, Horatio. So let’s stay on topic here. What about this weapon that this bard has? Have we analyzed it?”

  “There’s the rub.” Horatio said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, “When Sacreon was under guarded recovery we gave his weapon to our best enchantment specialists. For whatever reason, whatever lies in the pommel of that blade only answers to Sacreon, or maybe those Sacreon trusts, the only other person to hold the sword is very much dead. So we thought it prudent to let Sacreon keep the sword and see what we can glean from it.”

  “I supposed you tried removing it?” Godwyn said.

  “Yes, it seems irremovable. A modern sword and the ancient enchantment on the pommel makes a potent combination that has resisted all forms of known removal; even disenchantment.”

  Godwyn stroked his chin, “It’s a good thing he’s going to remain right where we can keep an eye on him and the sword then.”

  Horatio nodded, “There is one more thing of note from the events in the Marshes.” He reached over and flipped to the last page in the folio. “To return to the topic of history one last time, this word comes up again and again in the hieroglyphics and cuneiform that the teams have already managed to decipher.”

  Godwyn followed Horatio’s finger and looked at the images clipped to the report. He held up the sheet of paper and dropped it.

  “Void demons?” Godwyn said. He ran his hands over his chin again. “I think that’s ominous enough to warrant an investigation. Is there anything else to go on?”

  “Not on Hyperia, but there are indications that Sullentina might hold the answers we seek.”

  Godwyn rubbed his temple, “It would have to be the Duraumite Empire.”

  “It is a heritage site, sir.” Horatio gave him a sympathetic smile, “We could always plot an expedition to the Lost City.”

  “You’re not nearly as charming as you think you are Horatio.” Godwyn said. “Keep me apprised, and keep this under the biggest lock and key you have.”

  Horatio nodded and rose, “Of course, also remember you have to meet with the dragon-kin in an hour.”

  Godwyn sighed and rubbed his temples, shooing the spymaster from his study with an impatient wave of his hand.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Absolom Mortens sat in his office and looking through paperwork for the Lich Corps. He hated this job, despised it. However, it did have its uses. The victory at the Bleak Marshes had done little to increase his standing or remove him from this irksome position. If anything, it was keeping him here as the successful overseer of the Lich Corps.

  “How’s the nose?”

  Mortens looked up, meeting the eyes of a tall man in black looking down at him. Reflexively touching his nose made him wince in pain. He let his hand drop.

  “What do you want, Horatio?” Mortens asked.

  “I just finished addressing the arbiter about your outfit’s latest victory.” The spymaster said.

  Mortens looked away, catching the refection in the crystal pane of his office window. Again he touched his nose, anger building at the man who broke it. Horatio smiled and walked around to look out the window.

  “Do you think that’s really a good idea? You did screw over Sacreon first.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mortens narrowed his eyes.

  “Hmm…” Horatio produced a slim folio, “I’m sure you don’t.”

  Mortens took the folio and opened it. Inside he found pictures of himself and his son, and information on a particularly trendy-looking nightclub. The knight-captain looked up and back down to the anti-Union report.

  “We have to bust someone, can’t be seen as weak; can’t have these kinds of parties being thrown with impunity. Anyone would have done the job right, anyone else but your son?” Horatio smirked, “Sacreon was just the easiest person to frame.”

  “My son’s a good kid, and Sacreon was a nothing. Just some barhopping dropout bard. A poison pusher”

  Horatio was silent.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Do you know who just found out her younger brother has spent nearly a year in the single most infamous prison in the Republic?”

  “I thought his family didn’t want to talk to him?” Mortens said sliding the folio across his desk into the trash. He flashed a cocky smile at the spymaster.

  Horatio smiled, “Who really knows what she could do given the right information? Remember what happened to the last person who held your position.”

  The spymaster walked out of the office, Morten’s eyes never leaving him. Even after the door shut, Mortens couldn’t pull hi
s eyes from the modestly varnished wood.

  Mortens reached down and pulled the folio out of the trashcan and opened it. He tried to focus on the words on the pages, but his nose was throbbing in sharp stabs of pain.

  Chapter 29

  The snow fell heavy across the prison yard, blanketing everything in a wash of white. Damon scratched the thick scruff of beard across his face. Looking into the visitation area of the prison he saw those in the corps who had people on the outside. With a huff of mist from his mouth he stood up and trudged through the snow across the yard to the single tree that was permitted to grow on the prison grounds. Damon learned that it used to be the old tree where prisoners were hanged, and the origin of the Lich Corps ritual of the same name.

  Over the years the tree had been replaced with a proper platform, and then the modern ritual of throwing armored corpsmen-to-be out of fast moving transports, usually from high altitudes. Damon looked at it, blinking snow from his eyes. The tree was barren now, is branches bare to the snow from above. Damon knew it wasn’t always so.

  “You’re going to catch your death out here.” Sparky said from behind him.

  Damon dusted off one of the large roots that thrust up from the earth, sitting down on it and facing the diminutive mage. He rested his back to it.

  “You know, I never thought about this tree before. Not a single thought. It was just a tree, a tree with a gruesome history.”

  Hellaina walked a little closer, her hands in her tunic pockets, the chain jostling across her midsection.

  “But thinking back on it. It was actually a really pretty tree. You’d always think a hangman’s tree would be this gnarled and black. But you know what? It’s just a tree that’s had this purpose thrust on it.”

  Damon dusted the snow from his hands and stuck them under his armpits. “Sorry, what can I do for you, Sparky?” He gave her a little grin.

  Sparky gave him a sad smile as she sat next to him. “How are you doing, Damon?” She said.