Unified Dead

by M B Reid

  “Couldn’t I just help?” He asked.

  “The laws are clear. Only the priestesses get to read these.” The priestess gestured at the books scattered around the room.

  “What book is it then, maybe I can find a copy?”

  The priestess shook her head, her empty eye sockets seeming to suck the light from the room.

  “Not a chance. This is an old text, detailing the Gods wars. Like I said, this may well be the last copy in existence.”

  “The Gods wars?”

  “I forget how little you travellers know.” The priestesses voice had lost it’s intensity now, and adopted a more friendly tone.

  “The Gods wars happened eons ago. Before Animasto crafted the human form. The Gods fought one another for control of the world. When Animasto started to rise as the king of Gods, his enemies gave their lives to birth the titans. The book mentions them a lot, but without the missing pages I can’t tell whether the amulet was related. I may not have studied the ancient wars as rigorously as I was supposed too.”

  Azoth sighed, casting his gaze over the open pages as if he could spot something the priestess had missed. The runes meant nothing to him, he might as well have been reading Russian.

  “Well, I guess that’s a dead end then. What about the other books?”

  “I’m not sure, for that you’re just going to have to be patient.” The priestess laughed. She knew Azoth was not good at waiting, the last week had demonstrated that. This wasn’t the first early-morning visit he’d made to check on her research.

  “What are you going to do now?” She asked.

  “I’m going to find some work” Azoth replied. He really needed to do something about those boots.

  Chapter Two

  Dora’s was a bar. From the outside it looked to be the kind of bar one would visit only after they were already so drunk they couldn’t see straight. The windows were broken and boarded, the saloon style doors hung askew, and there was a general air of gloominess surrounding it. It made Azoth smile to look at it, he’d spent every night here since moving to town. It was also the only place open this early in the day.

  Unlike it’s exterior, the innards of the bar were in pristine condition. The floor was freshly swept, and the benches had all been wiped clean - though admittedly with an old cloth. The wizened bartender stood in his usual spot, polishing his mugs with the same dirty rag he’d been using since Azoth had first met him. It was probably the only rag he’d ever used.

  Azoth took his seat at the bar. Since getting his house in town Azoth had become a regular. There was only one other patron at this time of morning, a solidly built bearded man sat at the furthest booth from the door. He was flanked by his two companions from the night before. They were buxom beauties who genuinely seemed more interested in him than the enormous array of pancakes and bacon on their plates. They were good at their job.

  “A tough morning?” The bartender asked, pouring one of the house beers. It was strong on alcohol, weak on taste, and destined to be served from one of the clean mugs polished by the dirty rag. Azoth took a long gulp before replying.

  “Disappointingly. No work yet?”

  “You’ve seen the state of the town haven’t you?”

  “Hard not too. Every man and his dog points it out to me.”

  “That’s because you’re the hero. Our lord and saviour, the great Azoth!” The barkeep gave a theatrical bow, followed by a throaty laugh.

  “So the drinks are on you then?”

  “Boy, you’re well past that. The perks are gone, only the title remains.”

  “Are you sure you couldn’t get a bounty together?” Azoth all but pleaded.

  “Sorry. Ain’t nobody that's got the cash for hunting, except maybe your pal Waylan.” Geralt said. Waylan was the local blacksmith, a good man who’d risked an awful run-in with the city watch to help Azoth. During the ratkin assault Waylan’s only son had lost an arm in the fighting.

  “His kids bounced right back and taken over the odd jobs I was doing. I don’t think I’m cut out for the smithing business.” Especially since my dead muscles can’t grow, Azoth added silently. It was an unfortunate part of his undead curse. Unlike the other players in Liorel, who could gain strength through hard labour, Azoth couldn’t change his bodies composition. Sure, there were perks to being undead, but he kept finding new reasons to complain about it.

  “Good to hear the lads recovering. Dreadful thing.” The barkeep muttered. “Breakfast?”

  “Only if it’s on the house.”

  “Burned through your heroes pension already?” He laughed, but made no move for the kitchen. Obviously Azoth's goodwill as the saviour of Whiteridge had all been spent.

  “Come on man, help me out. You must have at least heard some rumours” Azoth pleaded.

  “Actually, a trader did come through last night. Not much of a trader mind, selling spices and ores and clothes, none of them any good. But he was saying there was a larger group he passed on his way here. Mysterious folk, travelling wizards he thought. They were headed this way, should be here by nightfall tonight he reckoned. Travelling wizards are the sorts of folk that’ll pay for a local guide. They’ll have all sorts of errands that they don’t want to perform for themselves, you could earn a coin or two from them.”

  Azoth looked glumly into his mug of muddy ale. A few coins were better than none, but they certainly weren’t like the impressive loot he’d got from saving the town. Of course, that had come with a serious risk of death. Azoth was bored, but not yet suicidal enough to go diving into another insane adventure.

  “Do you bottle this?” Azoth asked, finishing his drink.

  “Yes…” The barkeep asked, as if not trusting the intentions of his patron.

  “I’ll take four bottles then.” Azoth announced, sliding some gold coins across the bar. In an instant they disappeared, and four bottles of ale replaced them.

  “If you get the money for a contract -” Azoth began

  “You’ll be the first to know.”

  “Thanks” Azoth took the beers and made for the door. Until those wizards arrived, he might as well visit his friend.

  Azoth kept a nervous eye on the guards as he left through the city gate. The leader of the guard, Duncan, had made it clear that the guards were not meant to interact with Azoth in any way - unless, of course, they were arresting him. These two were alright though, giving him friendly smiles as he stepped beyond the city bounds.

  He was the hero of Whiteridge after all. And there were still those among the guard that liked him for what he’d done, despite his supposed betrayal for buying out his contract. Everyone seemed to gloss over the fact that his contract had been basically indentured servitude. It’s not like he’d ever wanted to be a member of the guard, his alternative punishment had been execution.

  He made his way across the old stone bridge and started following the path toward the forest. He hadn’t seen Logan in a few days. His last visit had been to deliver a bunch of supplies. He and Logan still didn’t see eye-to-eye about staying in the city, though Azoth was hoping he could still talk his friend around. He’d been living there without trouble, there was no reason Logan couldn’t do the same. Besides, with the city watch patrolling, it had to be safer than the dungeon.

  Azoth opened one of the beers as he walked. He had to admit, Liorel was a pretty place. The river rushed by nearby, carrying itself under the bridge and into the distance. Birds sang. All was good in the world. Except that Azoth could barely stop for a moment to enjoy the view. He needed something to do, anything to distract himself from the reality of being trapped in a video game.

  As he finished off his beer, Azoth stepped away from the path and made a beeline for a small stand of trees. These were gnarled old things, with grey bark that looked like scales. Their branches reached out like skeletal fingers, and there wasn’t a single leaf in sight. Nothing grew from the hard dirt beneath them, leaving a relatively straight path toward the dungeon entrance in t
he middle. Logan had erected some small spiked barricades between the trees, enough that Azoth had to wind backwards and forwards on his approach. It wasn’t a maze exactly, but it was certainly enough to slow anyone that might approach.

  His friend had been busy.

  Azoth banged twice on the dungeon door before opening it. Sunlight poured onto a rough staircase leading beneath the surface. Beneath the earth it was as still as the grave.

  “You home?” Azoth shouted. He didn’t bother to take a torch from beside the door, he wouldn’t be able to light it until he found another torch anyway. He descended the stairs, ears strained for a response.

  From the bottom of the stairs Azoth could see a faint glow in the next room, though the entry chamber was pitch black.

  “Yo, Logan” He shouted again. There was a scuffle of motion from somewhere in the room, and Azoth reached for his scimitar. His shield was on his back, slung up like a backpack and utterly useless. He hadn’t been expecting trouble.

  “Stand down” A voice ordered, and a shadowy figure appeared in the flickering torch light of the far doorway. Whatever was in the room with Azoth went still.

  “Jesus, that’s creepy” Azoth sighed, recognising his friends voice. He crossed the room in a dozen quick steps, and passed through the doorway into the light.

  Logan stood aside to let him in, his skeletal features hidden by his dark robes. Leather armour covered his torso, worn over top of the robes. Azoth had bought the armour for him, seeing as Logan was intent on living in this damnable cave. Now that he came to think of it, they were basically dressed identically.

  “Your sentry seems a little lazy” Azoth announced, handing Logan one of the beers. He opened another.

  Logan motioned for Azoth to lead the way through to the back room.

  “I try to keep them out of sight during the day. He alerted me when you knocked on the door.” Logan seemed a little distracted, as if Azoth's presence was an inconvenience. He didn’t open his beer.

  The two made their way through to the next room.

  “Wow, what are you working on?” Azoth asked, surveying the trap-in-progress. A log lay in the middle of the room, ropes of vines stretching away from it. It reminded Azoth of the battering rams the ewoks had used during the battle for Endor.

  “A little extra security. Actually, are you able to get me some iron pins, the sort with loops in one end?” Logan sat on his bedroll and placed the unopened beer on the ground next to him.

  “Yeah, maybe. I’m having trouble getting any money together though.” Azoth began

  “I can figure something else out then” Logan sighed.

  “Na, I can get them. How many?”

  “A dozen would be good. Six minimum.” Logan said to his feet. He seemed really out of it.

  “Yeah, okay. Hey, are we cool?” Azoth asked. He and Logan hadn’t been on the best of terms lately, but Logan hadn’t seemed this bad last time he’d been here. Logan waited for a long time before replying.

  “I could do with some help securing this place, you know?”

  Instead of arguing, Azoth nodded. He took a seat on the cold ground. His dead flesh couldn’t feel it anyway.

  “It’s getting pretty good. Another week or two and it could be locked down really well.” Logan was still talking to his feet. Azoth took a long pull from his beer, lest he rehash the argument they’d been having since they got here. He knew he wouldn’t convince Logan to move into town today.

  “Tell you what, I’ll help you out for the rest of the day, and get those pins as soon as I have some cash.” Azoth said, after finishing his beer.

  “Yeah, okay.” Logan looked up at him, and Azoth could have sworn he saw sadness in the dark shadows of the hood. Azoth hadn’t ever seen his friend in such a depressed state. Logan looked like the entire weight of the world was pressing down on him, squashing any desire to rise.

  “Where do we start?” Azoth asked.

  Azoth and Logan toiled away for several hours. The log trap had to wait until Azoth could fetch pins to mount it to the roof, and the smooth earth tunnels were too difficult to hide traps in. Instead, they set up traps amongst the trees around the dungeon - pits lined with spikes and covered with thatch. A few complex mechanical pressure plates that would cause a skewer to swing up and impale anyone who stood on them. Azoth had no idea how those ones worked, and he steered well clear of where they were placed, but he followed Logan's instructions to the letter.

  Logan, as it turned out, had quite the knack for booby-traps. Perhaps it was a consequence of a misspent youth, or maybe he’d spent a little too much time fantasising about the downfall of civilisation. Though this particular scenario wasn’t what anyone had predicted. Logan had always talked to Azoth about plans for the zombie apocalypse. Being trapped in the fantasy world of a video-game had never once crossed either man's mind.

  By the time they finished placing their traps, the duo were working in an amicable silence. It was as if they could read each other's minds, always anticipating what the other needed, and when. Logan had come out of his shell somewhat, and they talked like they had before the game had become their prison. The arguments about their living arrangements had not left any lasting damage on their friendship, though both were careful not to let their conversation veer in that direction. Not today.

  They stopped when the sun drew low in the sky, getting ready for its nightly embrace of the mountains. Azoth followed Logan down into the dungeon, and they opened the two remaining beers. They sat like that for a long time, sharing mindless chit chat. Down under ground, Logan's mood seemed to be souring again. Azoth wasn’t sure if he secretly hated the dungeon, or if it was because Azoth was preparing to leave for the night.

  “Anyway, I’d better head back” Azoth said as he finished his beer.

  “You’ll bring the pins tomorrow?”

  “I’ll talk to the blacksmith. Dunno if he’ll have any made up, but I’ll get the ball rolling.” Azoth stood up, stretching the kinks out of his cold dead flesh. It was a decidedly human gesture, and not at all necessary. One excellent perk of being undead was that muscle cramps were a thing of the past.

  “Hey, thanks for your help today” Logan said, then he pressed his jaws together, as if he was debating whether he should say something more. The facial cues of a skull aren’t exactly subtle. Azoth waited for a long moment before deciding his friend had finished.

  “No problem man, I’ll be back as soon as the pins are ready. Do you need anything else?”

  “Na, I’m good.” Logan replied, a little too quickly. Azoth wasn’t sure what he was trying to hide, and didn’t want to press the matter. This was the first time in weeks that he would be leaving without an argument. That was progress.

  “Cool, I’ll catch you soon” Azoth said as he turned to leave. There was a scuffling in the dark room before the stairs as Azoth left, sending a shiver down his spine. Yeah, he was undead, but at least he had free will. Logans minion, wherever it was in that dark room, was damn creepy. Azoth was rather glad Logan kept the others on patrol in the tunnels, he didn't want to see the undead creatures skittering around.

  Back on the surface, Azoth wound his way through the traps they’d lain. They concerned him a little, but he wanted Logan to feel safe. He could only hope that none of the Whiteridge children would come out to the forest on a lark, these were serious traps. The kill-you-dead sort. As he made his way back onto the track leading down river, Azoth began to whistle tunelessly to himself. The mountains in the distance were painting long shadows on the plains around him, and the sky had taken a warming red tinge.

  Azoth broke off his whistling as he saw what was ahead of him. Arrayed in the grass on his side of the river bridge, almost directly opposite the gates to Whiteridge, a number of tents had been erected. They were tall black things, large enough to house a half dozen people. There were three of them in total, sticking up like giant warts. Shadowy figures were moving amongst them. Azoth couldn’t decide whether tha
t was a description of their personalities, or merely an artifact of the approaching night. Something about them set his teeth on edge, not the least of which was because he had to walk past them to cross the bridge.

  Azoth could make out the guards at the gate, there were no more than usual, but they stood to attention tonight. They were putting on a proper show of being a military force. That meant the guard didn’t much like these strangers, though the gates remained open. Azoth's curiosity got the better of him.

  He was going to go and talk to them.

  Chapter Three

  Voria woke late. The sun was already high in the sky and bright shafts of light were piercing the gloom of her bedroom. A bedroom in the guest house of the mayors manor, surrounded by all the luxuries that afforded. She lay in a four-poster bed, wrapped in silk sheets, and settled under a soft down duvet. Today was a good day, of that she was certain.

  With some effort she freed herself of the tangled sheets and climbed out of bed. The stone floor was warm underfoot - some miracle of steam-engineering - as she padded across the room. A full height mirror was mounted on the wall, designed to catch the light from the curtained windows directly behind her.

  She smiled at her reflection. Her virtual avatar had utterly flawless ivory skin, the kind of perfection movie stars and tabloids had pushed on the masses. It was nothing like her real body. It was the kind of perfection no one could achieve in reality. She combed her fingers through her hair and marvelled at how the red locks were perfectly styled despite having just got out of bed. It set impossible standards for reality to try and match, and yet she’d quickly become accustomed to it. Her life here was better than it had ever been in the real world.

  She couldn’t risk those disgusting undead monsters ruining that.

  Voria shimmied into a tight fitting black dress. She arranged her thoughts, forcing herself to picture the girl next door, the kind of woman you’d do anything for. She needed to wield her powers of manipulation today. The game assisted to some degree, and the dress gave her a bonus to persuasion against the opposite sex, but she needed to be in the right mindset. That was far more important than any bonus she could get from equipment.