"Prex?" Garrett asked, feeling sick to his stomach.
Cenick nodded. "Max had stayed an extra day in Weslae to say his goodbyes before heading home. It saved his life, though he will never forgive himself for it... He found the ashes of his family scattered in the courtyard.
"He searched the house just long enough to find his father's sword and then burned the estate to the ground rather than leave it for the Chadiri. After that, he started walking north with no other intention than to kill every Chadiri that he could find. Fortunately, Uncle Tinjin was riding the road that night, and Max was too weak to fight well."
"He attacked Uncle Tinjin?" Garrett asked.
Cenick nodded. "Sometimes, you can be so full of hate that everyone looks like the enemy. Lucky for us that Tinjin is good with that staff. He shattered Max's sword with one blow, and the boy broke down, crying in the road. Uncle saw him for what he was then, and Fate picked up another bright thread to weave into her dark tapestry."
Loose stones clattered beneath the heavy hooves of Max's undead charger as he rode up beside them. "Why so glum, ye merry keepers of the dead?" he hailed them. He had his helmet on, but his visor was up, and a bit of the weariness was gone from his eyes.
"Hi, Max," Garrett said. Cenick and Chunnley nodded their greetings.
"I need every necromancer in the command tent in half an hour," Max said.
"What is it?" Cenick asked.
Max's lips thinned, and his eyes went to where Serepheni now walked, quietly talking with the boy Banden, some distance away. Max lowered his voice. "We'll be arriving back at Wythr in three days," he said, "and we may meet with... resistance. I want to be ready."
Cenick's face darkened, and he nodded.
Max looked at Chunnley. "You're senior ghoul now, with Bargas gone," he said, "You and your people may not want to be a part of this. The sisterhood, as far as we know, has made no move against the ghouls of Marrowvyn. That might change, if you took part in an assault."
Chunnley looked suddenly afraid, but, after a moment, he answered, "I don't like to speak for the ghouls in a town I've never even visited, but Bargas left me in his place, and I know him well enough now to know that he would never leave a friend in a fight alone, if he could help him... so, yeah, we're with you."
"Where will the priestess stand, if it comes to that?" Cenick asked.
Max looked troubled for a moment. "She'll be standing by me, no matter what happens," he said with a smile.
"And if she turns on us?" Cenick asked.
Max shook his head and grinned. "All lovers fight from time to time," he laughed, "Sere will be fine. We just have to handle things with a certain... diplomatic aggression."
"I'm serious, Max," Cenick said, "You need to be ready... in case."
Max reached up and snapped his visor down. The grim silver skull stared down at them. "I'm always ready," Max said, "Be certain that you are as well."
They watched him ride away, his mummified stallion bearing down on Jitlowe and a few others as they hastened to avoid his notice.
Fear fluttered in Garrett's chest. "Do you think we'll have to fight our way back into the city?" he asked.
Cenick shook his head. "I don't think they would dare to deny us reentry," he said, "but the ownership of this army is likely to be a point of contention, and Max may wish to rub the sisterhood's nose in their failure to support us... especially after they declared us all dead and seized our assets. One side is going to have to back down, and... well, you know Max."
Garrett's eyes fell.
Cenick clapped him on the back and chuckled. "Cheer up, Garrett," he said, "It is the doom of every necromancer to be murdered by a zealot. Does it really matter what color that zealot is wearing?"
Garrett frowned. "That doesn't cheer me up at all."
Chapter Seven
Long columns of dead soldiers tramped flat the dry scrub brush of the foothills beneath Mount Padras. The winter wind snatched the dried mud from the clothing and armor in which they had died, whipping up a somber gray cloud above the silent army. Above the treeless wastes, the dark city of Wythr looked down like a disapproving father upon the return of his wayward son.
Max and Serepheni rode together at the head of the army with Garrett, astride Ghausse's back, a short distance behind. Serepheni bantered with Max, her cheerful words like bright waves, lapping against the black stone of Max's gloom. Max rode with his visor up and a thin smile on his grim face. He nodded and grunted from time to time at something Serepheni would say, but Garrett could tell that his mind was already miles ahead, at the gates of the twilight city, preparing for the confrontation that might be waiting there.
Garrett wished Cenick was with them, but the tattooed necromancer was riding at the head of his own column of undead soldiers, ready to lead them into action to reclaim his home.
"Max," Serepheni said, "I told you it will be fine. I wish you would have let the boy ride with us. He shouldn't be left alone right now."
Garrett's mind snapped to attention, but then he realized that he wasn't the boy anymore. He smiled to himself with a swell of pride to realize that he was an officer in the Gloaran army now. And a Templar in training, another voice in his head reminded him, and his moment of pride sucked in a mouthful of foreboding and swiftly drowned.
"It is neither seemly nor safe to have a vagabond orphan riding at the head of the mightiest army afield," Max snapped.
"Nonsense, Max," Serepheni said, "I think you're doing a splendid job."
Max gave her a twisted smile.
"I'm worried about him," Serepheni said.
Max sighed. "He's safer than any of us right now," he said, "The ghouls will sneak him into the city, and find him a safe place to stay... no matter what happens to us."
Serepheni frowned. "Are you certain they can be trusted?" she asked.
Max scoffed. "Ghouls are simple creatures, but they are honorable to a fault... in their own way."
"What does that mean?" she asked.
"I really do have more important things to be concerned about at the moment," Max said.
"Stop worrying," Serepheni said, "It will all work out. Just try to be... courteous."
Max looked at her for a long moment then snapped his visor down. The polished silver skull grinned back at her. "I will be as courteous to them as they are to me," he said.
"Oh, Goddess, we're going to die," Serepheni groaned.
Garrett smiled, in spite of his own trepidation. His eyes rose to the great tomb-city of Wythr, rising above the dry wastes that lay between the mountain and the river. Somewhere within those walls, Caleb and Lampwicke were waiting for him to return. His stomach twisted into a knot to think what the priestesses might have done with them. Warren had assured him that zombies and fairies were far too valuable to harm, but what if they had been shipped off and sold out of the city? Would he ever see his friends again?
He looked back over his shoulder at the cloud of dust, and the shambling forms of the undead horde moving against the haze. One way or another, the sisterhood would answer to the necromancers they had betrayed.
The army reached the city's outer walls as the light of the sun, eternally obscured by the gray clouds that hung over the city, had taken on a slightly ruddy hue.
"I hope we make it home before Curfew," Max said, turning his grinning skull visor toward Garrett.
Garrett snorted.
Serepheni frowned. "That is a problem," she said, "Perhaps it would be best if we make camp here for the night and send a delegation in to meet with the Matrons at dawn."
Max stared at her for a moment then shook his head. "Momentum!" he shouted, and spurred his dead horse on toward the city gates.
"Max!" she cried, her horse cantering off in pursuit of the rogue deathlord.
Garrett, finding himself suddenly alone, patted Ghausse on the shoulder and said, "Let's go find Cenick."
Ghausse shook his black fur and stretched his legs in a dizzying burst of speed, grat
eful for the chance to run. Garrett held on tight as the dire wolf raced across the field toward the gray column of undead soldiers lead by the burly, tattooed necromancer.
"Garrett!" Cenick called out, raising his hand in greeting from the back of his shaggy mountain pony.
"Can I ride with you?" Garrett asked.
"Always," Cenick said, "Any word from our glorious leader?"
Garrett shook his head. "I think he wants to go into the city tonight, but Miss Serepheni didn't think that was a good idea."
Cenick shrugged his shoulders. "I always wanted to break a Watcher," he said, his face grim, "I wonder how those monsters would fare against someone who isn't just another terrified child who got locked out after Curfew."
Garrett laughed, remembering his own experience with the skeletal giants who guarded the city's streets after nightfall.
"What do you think Max is going to do?" Garrett asked.
"Something foolish," Cenick said.
"Shouldn't we try to stop him?" Garrett asked.
Cenick laughed. "Garrett," he said, "sometimes the only cure for folly is a bigger fool. I'd prefer Max's folly over the sisterhood's any day."
A brilliant flash of green fire drew all eyes to the city gates. A tower of verdant flame shot up from Max's hand toward the gray sky, and his voice boomed out, loud enough to be heard beyond the city walls and all the way back to the army that followed him.
"Wythr, city of a thousand tombs!" Max cried out, his voice so loud that Garrett's ribs vibrated with the sound, "Your army has returned from the land of the dead. The grave itself cannot hold that which is twice-born and will not die. We have met the sons of the red god and taken their bones in spoil!"
The green flame licked upward and faded against the darkening sky, its light flickering for a moment on the silver skull emblems of Max Zara's black armor. As the flame died, a gloom seemed to fall over every dazzled eye, and Max spoke again.
"We have returned... Victorious!"
"Now!" Cenick shouted back over his shoulder.
As one great, half-rotten, beast, the whole army of the dead opened its creaking jaws and roared out a single, inarticulate moan that echoed against the gray walls of the silent city. Cenick shouted too, and Garrett joined him, screaming like a mindless zombie, their faces lit with wild glee.
"Open wide your gates, oh great Mother of the Dead, and welcome home your children!" Max cried.
Cenick wheeled his pony and leveled his hand toward the black banner of his command, held aloft by a massive zombie in a beaten gold death mask. The banner depicted a horned skull with a broken chain clenched between its fanged teeth. He whispered a word, and the banner suddenly flared to life, the skull's hollow eyes burning with silver flame, and a lambent aura flickered around its trailing pinions.
Across the field, each necromancer spoke the words to activate the sigils woven into their own personal banners. On Cenick's right flank, Garrett recognized the jester's mask symbol of Jitlowe's unit, its banner now wreathed in purple flame. To the left burned the crimson talon of a younger necromancer who called himself Jacks.
Then all eyes turned to the city gates. Wythr's walls towered above the field, silent and unyielding.
Max raised his hand.
"Here we go, Garrett," Cenick said, "Stay close to me... no matter what happens."
Max's hand fell, his forefinger leveled at the city gate.
"Foreword!" Cenick shouted, and the army took one great, thunderous step toward the gray walls.
The reverberating blare of brass horns rang out from the city, and a brilliant golden light spilled out through the crack of the main gates. Then the gates swung wide, and people began spilling through them and out onto the field between the army and the city. Smaller gates along the wall opened up now as well, and more people, bearing all manner of lanterns and torches, poured out onto the field, crying in unison.
Garrett gasped. "Are they attacking us?" he asked.
Cenick rose up in his saddle, staring in disbelief.
A great crowd of people surged toward the two small figures of Max and Serepheni who stood their ground against the onrushing mob.
"What's happening?" Garrett said.
Cenick began to laugh. "Peace, my brothers!" he shouted to the other necromancers, "We are welcomed home!"
A great wave of people, waving lanterns and crying out with joy closed around them. Merchants and beggars and dockworkers crowded around. Hands reached up to clap Garrett on the back, and someone pressed a warm muffin to his lips. He laughed a muffled thanks, trying to control Ghausse as children stretched out their hands to stroke the big wolf's fur. The wolf grumbled but submitted to the petting with not a little insistence from his rider.
A pretty girl in an ivory-colored dress grabbed Cenick by the collar and pulled him low enough for a kiss. He pulled away with a befuddled grin on his tattooed face.
The crowd pushed past them, all the way to the front ranks of the undead army. Someone hung a flowered garland around the neck of a confused zombie in a green doublet. Little boys darted in to bang sticks on the armor of an undead soldier in Chadiri red. All around, Garrett heard cries of thank you and welcome home.
Then Garrett saw someone moving through the crowd toward him like a gray ghost. Her long, hooded cloak fluttered silently as she stepped between the jostling bodies of the city's people, drawing nearer to him with every graceful step. Her pale smile cheered his heart to the point of breaking.
"Marla!" he cried.
She was there at his side then, looking up at him, her dark, beautiful eyes brimming with happy tears. His soul trembled with warmth at the cool touch of her hand on his leg.
"May I ride with you?" she asked.
"Yes!" he nodded fiercely.
Marla swung up behind him on the wolf's back, wrapping her arms around Garrett's waist. She leaned close, her chest against his back and her chin on his shoulder, squeezing him gently.
"Lady, Veranu," Cenick hailed her, "Do we have you to thank for this?"
"The people are to thank," she laughed, "Once they learned the truth of what had happened in the North, they wished to show their gratitude."
A fresh cheer rose up from the crowd around them.
"Thanks for telling them," Garrett said.
"Oh," she said, "news from your uncle."
"Is he all right?" Garrett asked, his heart leaping.
"Yes," she laughed, "He's with my mother now, and they're safe. They'll be home within a week."
Garrett's mind reeled, all of the tension of the past few days breaking apart and melting away. "Wait," he said, "does this mean that you don't have to leave?"
Marla laughed. "We don't have to leave!"
Garrett would have hugged her, if she weren't sitting behind him. He had to settle for an exuberant cheer.
Ghausse joined in with a sort of yipping howl, and all around the crowds of city folk shouted and hailed the heroes of the Chadiri war.
Chapter Eight
For the first time in anyone's memory, Wythr passed a night without a Curfew. A citywide celebration burned the lamps through the long night, and folk of every sort mingled in the streets, fighting the chill with warm cider and the songs of many lands. Much to Cenick's disappointment, the Night Watch never appeared on the streets. In fact, there had been almost no sign of the sisterhood's authority at all. Bands of green-liveried Templars stood guard around the temple and Merchant's Quarter, but made no move to interfere with the celebrations, so long as the revelers kept their distance.
Max had relented to Serepheni's better judgment and ordered the undead to remain outside the city walls. Most of the Necromancers had dispersed into the city to try to find out what had happened to their houses and belongings, or just to enjoy the celebration of their victory.
Serepheni and Max had gone straightaway to the temple, while Cenick and Garrett proceeded to Uncle's house. Marla took her leave of them shortly after entering the city, explaining that she still had
a bit of a mess to clean up at the pet shop. Much of Garrett's joviality departed with the vampire girl, and it died altogether at the site of the large "Public Auction" sign nailed to the door of Uncle's manor house.
Cenick mumbled something uncharacteristically crude as he dismounted and walked to the front door with a stiffness in his stride. He ripped the vellum poster down and tossed it into the gutter. He tried the door, finding it locked.
"I don't have the key," Garrett said, his breath frosting the cold air.
Cenick seemed not to hear him. The big man looked up, scanning the stone facade of Uncle's house and the high, narrow windows, almost fourteen feet above the street level. He unbuckled his knife belt and draped it over the short wrought iron fence that bordered Uncle's withered front garden. He hung his skull medallion beside the belt and pulled off his tattered purple robe. He wore patched trousers and a stained undershirt with his arms bare. Black runic tattoos traced the rippling curves of his muscles as he sprang up to grab the lintel of Uncle's front door. With a painful grunt, he hauled himself up to the narrow ledge between the lintel and the stone arch above the door.
He grinned down at Garrett. "Good thing I've lost some weight," he panted, "I haven't done this since I was your age."
"Be careful," Garrett said.
Cenick crouched as best he was able in the small cove beneath the arch, then swung out, one hand holding onto the arch, the other reaching up for the iron bars of an upstairs window. His thick fingers wrapped around a black bar and he let go of the arch to hang with his boot toes scrabbling against the rough-hewn stones of the wall as he brought his other hand up.
A moment later, he had both hands on the bars of the window. The muscles of his arms corded and flexed as he pulled himself up to the narrow windowsill. He straightened his back and stood up, facing the barred window, his boots shaking as he supported his weight on the tips of his toes. Holding on with his left hand, Cenick reached back, slipping his right hand beneath the waistband at the back of his trousers. He drew out a small knife with a short, slender blade and brought it around between his body and the window.
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