by J. S. Morin
"We have no census to judge by, Grand Necromancer, but we believe there is no organized resistance remaining on this side. Any left alive are in hiding or found a way to flee," Aolyn informed him. She was first among his apprentices and the only one whose name he routinely bothered with. The rest had been introduced to him in a whirlwind of recruiting that followed his emergence as Loramar's heir.
"What of the north side?"
"They have dropped the portcullis gate and manned the walls. They are prepared for an attack," she replied.
"Not like the one we have planned," said Jinzan. The corners of his mouth twitched upward. "Losses on our side?"
"Renvik. He has already been reborn. The damage to his body was only mortal, not structural. His Source and mind seem fairly sound, and we stopped most of the bodily leakages," Aolyn replied. She stood there, arms at her sides, chin raised in an attempt at military formality. Jinzan's eyes wandered down her, remembering that when he had first met her he had found her attractive. He saw her differently now: her smooth skin just a protective hide that kept her muscles free from particulate and seepage, her breasts mere glands and ductwork, her legs a collection of sinews like the rigging of a ship. He could take her to pieces, tie a string around each part, label and catalog it.
A regiment of dead Kadrin soldiers arrived with a wagonload of fresh corpses. They pulled it by hand, since living horses were spooked by the walking corpses, and he had not gotten around to reanimating any dead ones. "Lay them out in rows," Jinzan ordered. He noticed a few stragglers dragging additional corpses by the ankles and winced at the damage being done to the bodies—especially the brains. Loramar had methods to control the dead by Source alone but Jinzan only knew how to master them by whatever was left of their minds.
"They only need to last a little while," Aolyn commented, seeing as well as he had that the rough-handled corpses would not be good for much or for long.
"Thus far I am not finding myself impressed with the brains of the dead," Jinzan muttered. Aolyn overheard him and laughed, though he had not meant it as a joke.
* * * * * * * *
"Sir, riders have been sent but it could be days before any help arrives," the soldier reported. He wore Lord Serun's orange and grey livery over his chainmail and could not have been more than twenty winters.
"I am aware of the predicament we face, soldier," Colonel Aphys snapped. "Dismissed." He stood atop the battlements on the north tower of Reaver's Crossing. He could have held the small keep against an army of ogres, even a monohorn charge ... but not against an airship of sorcerers.
When the fighting had broken out, they had sent a hundred infantry across as reinforcements, but none had reported back. The far side had gone silent, a bad sort of silent. A victorious force would have reported back; a continued struggle would have been heard across the gorge. Whatever had befallen was over, at least for now.
"Blast them to pieces for not stationing an airship here for our defense," Lord Serun said. His Circle advisor, a Third Circle named Jannan Redwind, stood by his side, looking at the southern half of the city. Colonel Aphys rather suspected his lord wanted the airship for escape, and not tactical advantage.
"If an imperial airship has gone missing, I am sure there will already be a search underway," said Sorcerer Jannan. He was a slight man with a placid look pasted across his face and his hands tucked into opposite sleeves. Aphys knew he chewed some sedative herb that he kept quiet about, but Aphys had spies all through the Crossing.
"They're coming!" came a shout from somewhere along the wall.
Colonel Aphys turned to look down the length of the bridge and saw a ragged line advancing at a run. There were scores, perhaps over a hundred. It seemed impossible that the enemy airship could have held so many. "Bows to the ready," he shouted. Something kept him from ordering the volley.
Shouts from the advancing force began to reach them, a cacophony of voices with no clear message discernible. Aphys watched as they approached. By the halfway point across the bridge he knew what was wrong: they were not soldiers.
"Stand down!" he called out.
"What are you—" Lord Serun began.
"Open the portcullis!" Aphys said, cutting him off.
"I said what are—"
"They're ours, my lord," Colonel Aphys explained. "Kadrins. Unarmed and fleeing the south side."
There was a clanking of chains and winches as the gate was opened.
* * * * * * * *
"Stupid," Jinzan said and shook his head. He watched as the Kadrin forces invited their own doom to enter their walls.
"How could they expect it?" Aolyn asked. "You planned for them not to understand, and it worked."
"Can you hear the screams now?" Jinzan asked. "The fires are from their own sorcerer, but they are frightened nonetheless. If that sorcerer had paid attention to the aether, he would have known."
Aolyn smiled at him. She raised her eyebrows. Ah, yes ... they wait for my command ...
"Advance and leave no Kadrin alive," Jinzan ordered. Three hundred or so risen Kadrin soldiers marched at the fore of a host of nearly three thousand risen peasants—all they had time to animate before deciding it was time to attack.
When the bridge had filled with his dead troops, Jinzan and his disciples fell in behind them, ready to clean up the remains of the Kadrin force, and loot the city of whatever riches they found a need for.
* * * * * * * *
There are creatures that nature sends to cleanse a battlefield: the crow, the vulture, the wolf, the worm. Nature has no place at a necromancer's feast. The dead are consumed, stolen away from worm, wolf, vulture, and crow.
Though history had yet to mark it, the Fourth Necromancer War had begun.
Chapter 23 - Beginnings of Suspicion
Though they told him thrice, it took looking at it on a map for Brannis to puzzle out the name of the city they were visiting. Kjalljhal's people were as mixed as the rest of northern Khesh. The gate guards were a comedic troupe by the standards of most cities: a large, gaunt, black-skinned skeleton of a man with a companion who came only to Soria's shoulder and was shaped like a pumpkin. The squat man's head bobbed, causing his beaded hair to rattle as he laughed and joked with Soria. Brannis could follow none of the discussion, but it seemed amiable enough that he was not worried over it. It ended with Soria handing the guards a small pile of coins and them waving Brannis, Soria, and Rakashi through the gates with their horses in tow.
"What did you tell them?" Brannis asked when they were out of earshot.
"Nothing much. I know those two. The governor's coffers pay them to keep folk like me and Rakashi out. We pay them better to let us in. They eat well working against their orders," Soria said. Their horses bracketed them as they walked, providing a bit of privacy.
"Oh, they have Juliana's job," Brannis observed, receiving a narrowed glare but no denial for the comment. "Did they say anything about Tomas and Abbiley coming through here?" Brannis glanced all about, as if the mere mention of those names might have alerted vigilant ears to their quest.
"No, but I think they're here. Chobi danced around with crooked answers, told me to find a piper by the name of Trann. The gate guards try to keep the graft to just taking bribes. Selling information would draw too much attention to them. Just getting the piper's name was a favor from old friends."
"So this Trann will know where they are," Brannis said. "But where is Trann?"
"He's a piper, so we ask around. He'll be on the streets somewhere, we just have to find where. First thing though, we need to be rid of these horses."
The steeds they had brought had been ridden hard. With rest they would be fine, but rest was a commodity that Brannis's little rescue party had in short supply. If Kjalljhal was not the end of their search, they would need fresh horses before nightfall. Rakashi found a dealer willing to take the exhausted creatures off their hands for roughly a quarter of what they had paid for them just days before.
As they wande
red the streets of Kjalljhal in search of the piper, Brannis marveled at the city around him. It was not the size of the city but the atmosphere that amazed him. As they wove their way through the twisting streets, peddlers with carts plied their trades on the move. Open fires served as cooking hearths for makeshift restaurants, with vagrant chefs doling out meats and vegetables both seared and served on wooden spits. Folks went about armed wherever Brannis looked, and not one of them appeared to be any sort of authority figure. A two-piece band consisting of a stringed instrument and a drum played a rhythmic, repetitive tune that mirrored the pace of the street markets, or perhaps set it.
"Are cities like this common in Khesh?" Brannis asked.
"What, you mean so wedge-packed full of people you wouldn’t see a seated piper if he was two paces in front of you?" Soria asked in reply. Her head swiveled about as she tried to advance through the throng at a pace faster than the flow was currently allowing.
"No, I mean so ... wild."
"This is a free city," Rakashi said. "It is ruled, but lightly. Those two guards at the gate might be the only sign of law we see until we depart, unless there is great commotion."
"Not sure where we might find that sort of trouble," Brannis replied, fixing Rakashi with his best incredulous look. The Takalish scholar gave a little shrug. "I'm just surprised there isn't blood running in the streets with so many people carrying blades."
"Folks aren't usually looking to die when they go to market, armed or not," Soria commented. "Come on, keep moving. As long as these two musicians are in earshot, this is their turf. We need to get clear of them and listen for pipe music."
The slog through the marketplace was clearly a chore to Soria and an inconvenience for Rakashi to accept and endure. Brannis found himself quite enjoying the scene despite the urgency of their mission. Until Soria or Rakashi puzzled out their next move, Brannis's only task was to keep them in sight and not hinder the search.
As they pressed through the glut of humanity clogging the streets, Brannis held one advantage over most of the crowd: height. Soria would have been considered above average height, even for a man, but Brannis could see over her and the rest of the crowd with ease. He could hear over them as well.
"Wait, I hear something off to the right," Brannis called ahead to his companions. While he was no connoisseur of music, he recognized the windy melody of pipe music carrying across the market and mixing with the nearer sounds of the string and drum performers.
Brannis slowed to keep the melody from drifting away, but neither Soria nor Rakashi seemed to have heard him. He drew breath to shout above the din of the marketplace as he watched them carried away from him in the current of pedestrians, but reconsidered. Instead, he stopped completely. Foot traffic grudgingly accepted that he was rather too large to shove out of the way, and flowed around him. He shook his head and turned to find the piper on his own. They will find me much more easily than I could find them again, anyway.
Brannis set off on his own course, using his bulk to move against the prevailing current until he got himself among a crowd heading the direction he too desired. From there he had only to listen, and to make sure that the merry, lilting melody had not faded from hearing.
When finally the market crowd parted, it revealed a pocket of space reserved for a musician. A young man sat cross-legged in the gutter, bowl in his lap, playing a set of pipes. By the contents of the bowl, it looked as if it had been a difficult day.
"Excuse me, are you Trann?" Brannis asked, leaning down so that he did not have to yell to make himself heard.
The piper played on, giving just a slight shrug as the only indication that the question had been heard at all. Brannis smiled to himself and reached into his coinpurse.
The piper looked up at Brannis then, and the melody changed briefly to something a bit livelier. Brannis had not realized just how repetitive the song was until then, but guessed that the same few bars were played over and over, flowing from end into new beginning for as long as the piper had breath.
"Are you ... Trann?" Brannis asked again, pointing with emphasis on speaking the name. He doubted the piper spoke Acardian, but hoped that at least he spoke "Trann".
The piper paused in his song between measures, and took the pipes from his lips. "Hojan," he said, and pointed to himself. "Trann," he pointed to himself again and shook his head.
Brannis nodded to the piper, and pushed his way to the edge of the crowd. He found a building to lean against and settled in to await retrieval. He looked up to the sky and wondered why the one time in Khesh when he took the initiative, he made a botch of it.
* * * * * * * *
"Ah, there you are. I am astounded how well such a large man hides," said Rakashi as he emerged from the throng. He was alone, or as alone as one might be among thousands of market-goers.
"I have not moved this past hour and more, waiting for one of you to happen by," Brannis replied. "If that counts as hiding, our quarry has nothing to fear from us."
"I hear why you might have come this way, now that I am here. Were you able to inquire about our piper friend?" Rakashi asked.
"Yeah, fifty eckles bought me the fact that he's not Trann," Brannis said. He spread his hands helplessly. "I figured: how many pipers could there be in one city?"
"The answer might surprise you. I might ask him myself, but since we must wait for Soria in any event, we should let her handle the negotiation. She is ... quite good at it."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Brannis asked, narrowing his eyes at the Takalish warrior.
"She has a reputation. Let us leave it at that for now. In the meanwhile, we have had little time to get to know one another without Soria present. She most understandably occupies much of your time when she is present."
"Even when she is not, I think," Brannis said, eyes drifting off toward the marketplace, focusing on nothing.
"I understand you have been studying notes left for you by the Acardian lord. Is Kyrus learning the spells contained therein as you read them?" Rakashi asked.
"You're just wondering whether I'm going to be able to kill Rashan, so your side doesn't have to," Brannis replied. "Suppose I can't blame you."
"Wars are not won, losses merely cease. I would rather the Kadrin Empire claim victory than press on until the last of your people faces the last of mine, and one civilization is wiped from history. The death of Rashan Solaran, I think, would end the war." Rakashi stroked his beard, pinching it between his fingers.
"Well, I have no plan to attack Rashan anytime soon, I'll tell you that much. Kyrus is learning as much as I can stuff into his head each night, but I figure the longer the wait, the better my odds of prevailing. What's another year's wisdom to a demon? To Kyrus, that's twice what he knows already. I only get one chance at him, I think. I have to make sure it counts."
"Quite understandable, of course. I only ask because it is a great many lives that hang on the far side of your hesitation. There are children and grandchildren who will never be born because their ancestors die childless in this war. Untold generations lost, never to be recovered," Rakashi said.
"What are you doing about it?" Brannis asked. "You seem pretty sure of yourself around here, and Soria told me you're a lot stronger in Veydrus. You ever consider trying to save them? What have you been doing all this time? Your kind isn't known for shying from battle."
"I could only buy moments of time for my people. I would, at best, be an amusement for him, I think; a departure from the slaughter of the helpless. I have fled before him as he retook northern Kadrin and Megrenn. These days I have been removed from the war," Rakashi said.
"Removed?" Brannis asked. His attentions pulled back from the market, and he turned to meet Rakashi's eye.
"You took Juliana from the war, and hid her away on an airship of her own. She did the same favor for me," Rakashi said. "The twinborn are with you in this endeavor of yours, on both sides of the war. You are our champion, our hope."
"I think t
his is why we don't talk much," Brannis replied. He turned his attention back to the marketplace, thankful that Rakashi did not continue speaking.
When Soria finally discovered them, they were waiting together with their arms crossed, looking away from one another. “Well, don't you two make a nice couple," she greeted them. "Was there a fight?" She seemed to find the thought amusing.
"We finished what we needed to say, between the two of us," Rakashi answered.
"I thought I had found our piper, but the two of you had gotten too far ahead. I thought maybe I could manage on my own for a bit. Figured you'd find me eventually," Brannis said.
"Well, looks like you got the last part right at least, since here we all are again. You talk to this fella back here?" Soria asked, tilting her head in the direction of the piper as he continued playing.
"His name is Hoyin, or something, not Trann," Brannis said. "I paid him and everything."
Brannis saw from the corner of his eye that Rakashi was shaking his head with his eyes closed.
"How much?" Soria asked.
"Fifty eckles, he said," Rakashi replied. Soria grinned. "I told him you would handle it when you found us. If you would not mind ..." Rakashi swept a hand in the direction of the musician.
Soria walked over and began speaking with the man in Kheshi. Immediately, the music stopped. Brannis watched. The first words the piper spoke were ones Brannis had heard a few Kheshi say when first speaking to Soria. He still had no idea their meaning—or spelling, for that matter—but they had to mean something more than "hello." The conversation was brief and ended with Soria dropping a fistful of coins into the piper's bowl.