Unified Dead

by M B Reid

  “Planning on staying a while then?”

  “A few nights. We shan’t cause any problems, of course. Who did you say you were again?”

  Azoth paused a moment, trying to think of an appropriate lie.

  “Just a curious citizen, looking for work.” He said, settling on the truth. A more resourceful man might have thought to act in an ‘official’ capacity and demand a camping tax or something. That thought occurred to Azoth far too late.

  “Actually, we could do with some local help.” The tall man motioned toward the nearest campfire. “Would you care to stay for dinner?”

  “Sorry, I’ve already got plans for tonight, but I’m sure I can help”

  “We heard there was a bit of a - how shall I say this - an infestation of ratkin?”

  “There was, yes. It’s been handled.” Azoth said cagily.

  “Of course. Though, we were hoping to talk to some of the prisoners.”

  “I don’t think they’ll be buying much” Azoth laughed.

  “No, no I don’t suppose they will. But I’m writing this book, see, and I would very much like to talk to some non-human races. Ratkin in particular, some of their customs are truly fascinating.”

  “In that case, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news. There weren’t any prisoners. There might be a few that escaped into the wilds somewhere, but I doubt they’d want to talk” Azoth said. The old man seemed to stiffen at the mention of Ratkin in the wilds.

  “I suppose not. Still, if you happen to encounter some ratkin I would very much like to talk to them. There’s good coin in it for you.” The tall man took a half step toward the campfire. When Azoth didn’t follow he sighed, his shoulders slouching somewhat.

  “Look, it's been a very long day. I’d like my dinner now, you’re more than welcome to join me.” He offered again.

  “Sorry, I won’t keep you. I’ll see if I can find a survivor tomorrow, how about that? I’ll bring him to your camp, for one hundred gold.” Azoth suggested.

  “Deal.” The tall man extended a hand, quick as a whip. Azoth realised he could have asked for at least double. He swore silently, and shook the taller mans hand.

  “I do hope I see you tomorrow.” The old man said as the two parted ways.

  Azoth made for the gate, already trying to plan out the next day. He hadn’t seen any ratkin since the fight with the rat king, though he’d scarcely been out of the city except to visit Logan. He hadn’t even heard any rumours of ratkin. There was only one person Azoth could think of that might lead him in the right direction, but he wasn’t going to go marching all the way out there tonight.

  “Alright Azoth?” A gate guard asked, interrupting Azoth’s train of thought.

  “Yeah, not bad. How are you?” Azoth looked at the guard who’d addressed him for the first time. He recognised the man. He’d been in the rat kings chambers when Azoth had killed the abomination, and there was still a twinkle of awe in the guards blue eyes. This was a man who would never follow Duncan’s orders to ignore Azoth.

  “Can’t complain. Can’t complain. What are they here for?” The guard pointed his round chin toward the strangers camp. Azoth was astounded by how young he looked, his round face seemed like it was wreathed in baby fat.

  “Traders apparently. Has Duncan not talked to them?”

  “He doesn’t share stuff like that with the likes of us, does he lads?” The guard looked at his compatriots. They steadfastly avoided Azoth’s eyes. It seemed they were taking Duncan’s instructions to heart.

  “I’m not going to get you in trouble am I?” Azoth asked, glancing between the guards.

  “Pah, what’s the worst he can do? Put me on night duty at the river gate?” The guard laughed at his current job, though his companions didn’t join in.

  “No, I guess you’re right. Hey, do me a favour and keep a close eye on those guys, alright?” Azoth leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper.

  “There’s something going on there, I guarantee it.”

  The guard nodded, standing up a little straighter, as if Azoth’s request were an official order. Azoth wondered what would have happened if he’d stayed in the guard. Would he be leading these men, or standing here with them? Knowing how much Duncan hated him, Azoth would have put money on the latter.

  “You guys have a good night” Azoth said to the trio, finally making his way through the gate.

  Walking slowly, Azoth made his way through the streets of Whiteridge. He found himself standing outside Dora’s, even though he’d been meaning to walk home.

  Ah well, one drink wouldn’t hurt anyone.

  The bar was unusually quiet when Azoth stepped through the door. It didn’t take long to work out why. Sat at the counter were three mysterious figures. Two were hooded, sitting in inanimate silence. The third had long shaggy dark hair and a mug of pale amber liquid held to his lips. They were obviously from the camp outside the river gate, and the locals were steering clear. Azoth could hardly blame them, there was something off about the strangers. As if they were all glaring at everyone in the room through the backs of their heads.

  Azoth made his way to the bar, taking the empty stool between the strangers and the bravest local, who just so happened to be his landlord, the baker. The baker ignored him, which suited Azoth just fine.

  “Evening Geralt”

  “Azoth” The bartender nodded to him, already filling a mug with ale. He slid it across the bar, making a scratching noise that seemed to echo through the muted room. Azoth could feel everyone’s eyes boring into his back. The sensation carried the weight of their expectations. He was the saviour of Whiteridge after all, who else would address these strangers?

  “So, where are you lads from?” Azoth asked, looking at the one stranger who was drinking. The silence that followed was deafening. After a long moment the stranger turned to look at Azoth. The mans face was covered in thick black tattoos, swirling in a tribal pattern. A wave of fear rippled down Azoth’s spine. This stranger looked ready to rip him in half.

  “Dawncreek last. Blaviken a few weeks before, got ourselves some of that famous pork from the butcher up there.” The stranger laughed, his face creasing with genuine smiles. Azoth seemed to have missed the joke, as did the rest of the patrons.

  “Sticking around long?” Azoth asked, voicing the question on everyone's mind. He hoped their answer would match with the camp leader he’d asked earlier.

  “Couple’a days most like.” The man replied. Then, in a louder voice he addressed the room.

  “Won’t be here no longer than a week.” He took a long drink from his mug, emptying it.

  Azoth gulped down some of his own ale, and tried desperately to think of a question. The silence was settling like an awkward blanket over the four of them. The whispers in the rest of the room had risen to murmurs, and were tentatively growing louder. The strangers promise of no more than a week seemed to have worked its magic on the locals.

  “Another, please” The stranger said, sliding his empty mug to the bartender. His companions watched impassively, their faces obscured by their hoods. Something about their stillness was wrong, and Azoth got the impression no one would be nearly so worried if the tattooed man was here alone.

  “You a big shot around here are you?” The stranger asked Azoth in a friendly tone. Azoth wasn’t sure whether it was genuine.

  “Na, I’m just a guy.” Azoth said, as much to his mug as to the stranger. He swallowed another mouthful.

  “You’ve gotta be more than that. The way these folks were looking at you. At us.”

  “Here you go” Geralt butted in, sliding the refilled mug to the stranger. The old bartender looked completely at ease.

  “You having the usual?” He asked Azoth.

  Azoth’s stomach grumbled in agreement, against his best wishes. Geralt gave him a smile and a nod, then made his way through to the kitchen. Pots and pans began to clatter. Despite his undead condition, and the fact he didn’t actually need any food, Azoth’s min
d still craved regular meals. Even if he could barely taste them.

  “What brings you to Whiteridge?” Azoth asked, mostly to break the silence.

  “Thought we could sell a few things. Heard rumours about some ratkin as well, the boss wanted to check that out.” The stranger seemed to be watching for a reaction of some sort. Azoth took a calm sip of his drink.

  “He a tall old guy, your boss? I was talking to him earlier.”

  “That’d be him, yeah. Writing a book.” The stranger said, a little taken aback by how much Azoth seemed to know.

  “He offered me a job actually. Is he good for it?”

  “What’d he want you to do?”

  “Bring him some ratkin”

  “Alive?”

  Azoth paused a moment before responding. Something was niggling at him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

  “Yeah. Not much good to interview if they’re dead, I guess”

  The stranger gave a hearty laugh at that, and the tension seemed to fade from the air. His pals joined in, chuckling in unison. It was unnerving.

  “So he’s good for it?”

  “The bosses word is good, yeah. He’s got the coin to back it up, that’s for sure.”

  “You’ve been travelling with him a while then?”

  “Na, we’re the odd ones out. Only joined a few weeks back. I guess you could say we’re all part of the same organisation. Tagged along when he was travelling through, thought we’d make a bit more coin on the road, you know?” The stranger finished his drink, slamming the empty mug down on the bar. Geralt appeared a moment later, carrying Azoth's dinner.

  “Geralt, put this mans next beer on my tab would you?” Azoth asked as the plate slid in front of him. This stranger was getting talkative, and more alcohol seemed like a surefire way for Azoth to learn a little more. Geralt gave Azoth a hard stare for a moment, as if trying to work out whether Azoth's tab would ever be paid in full. Then he nodded, plastered a big grin on his face, and took the strangers empty mug. It was refilled in an instant.

  “Mighty kind of you” The stranger said. He took a sip from his mug and then asked, “You don’t look like you’re from around here yourself, what’s your story?”

  “No, I’m not from around here. From an incredibly long way away, actually.” Azoth said, his mind dwelling momentarily on the real world he’d left behind. If this stranger had offered him a chance to return right now, no strings attached, he’d take it in an instant. Even if it meant leaving Logan here by himself, Azoth realised he’d probably take the deal. He felt a pang of guilt at that discovery.

  “I’ve been here about a week or so, it's been busy. Hard to keep track.” Azoth said, to distract himself from his thoughts.

  “I understand that, too right. You were here for the scuffle then?” The stranger leaned in closer as he asked, and his voice dropped a few decibels.

  “Fought in it, yeah.” Azoth said, leaving things vague. He shovelled some eggs into his mouth, using the food as an excuse to keep his silence. As per his normal request, Geralt had added a mountain of salt. It amplified what little flavour there was into something palatable.

  “I hear there was something big down there. Something incredible.”

  “Disgusting” Azoth managed, with a mouthful of food. The stranger gave him a long hard look. Damn those warrior-tattoos were intimidating.

  “Abnormal.” He agreed as Azoth finished his mouthful.

  “You’re going to look into it then?”

  “If the boss says so we will. Writing a book you know, the boss.”

  “Yeah, he said. You’ll want to talk to the guard before you go poking around” Azoth warned, though it wasn’t really his place. He didn’t think Duncan would have much to say on the matter that would be worth hearing, either.

  “Of course, of course. Wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of them now would we?” The stranger winked. Azoth got the distinct impression he knew a lot more about Whiteridge than he was letting on. A comfortable silence fell between them as Azoth finished his meal. Once he was done, Azoth got to his feet.

  “I’ll see you guys around.” He announced, then made for the door before Geralt could badger him about his tab. He wasn’t entirely sure if what he’d said would be interpreted as friendly, or if they’d take it as a threat. Truthfully, he wasn’t entirely sure which way he’d meant it. There was something they weren’t telling anyone, and Azoth was going to find out what it was.

  After he got paid for finding a ratkin of course, he desperately needed that money.

  Chapter Five

  For such a large town it was poorly guarded.

  A wall encircled the city, and a river restricted access on one side. The Bearer thought that it should have been simple to defend such a place. Instead, he found that the gates were kept open through the night. The river gate seemed well attended - there were tents beyond the river, and the guards were watching them intently. The second gate might as well have been unsecured. The three men guarding it were clustered close together, chatting amicably. None of them noticed as the Bearer crept up to the gate, then slipped through with the shadows.

  It had been too easy. He’d wanted to be in the city, and here he was. Nothing could stop the Bearer when he set his mind to something. Right now the Bearer wanted to share the water. He crept through the empty streets, keeping close to dark buildings. He wore the shadows like a second skin. There was no magic to it. Anyone paying enough attention would undoubtedly see him. But no one was around to watch.

  The Bearer found the place he’d been looking for after about half an hour. He’d been walking off instinct. He knew where he was meant to go, where he would find someone with which to share the water. But he couldn’t remember how he knew them. Had it been the whispers hissing their sweet thoughts into his mind? Or was this somewhere he’d always wanted to come, even before the voices had chosen him? Through the windows he could see nothing but darkness. He made his way to the rear of the house, where a trapdoor led to a cellar.

  Yes, there was something familiar about this place. He desperately wanted to go down into that cellar. He could share the water down there, no doubt about it. The Bearer grabbed the heavy door and pulled.

  It swung open gracefully, people rarely locked their cellars in this part of the city. He knew that, though he couldn’t say how. The inky darkness pooled on the steps, beckoning him down. He’d be blind down there, but it could be no worse than the tunnel. He was used to the dark.

  The Bearer closed the door behind himself, and descended the stairs.

  He scuffed his way through the room in the dark. He could smell the faint aroma of cured meats, kept cool beneath the house. He walked slowly, his hands extended in front of him. All that time in the dark beneath the ground had failed to give him any supernatural dark-vision. He bumped into some things, bounced away from others, and slowly developed a mental map of his surroundings. It didn’t matter how long it took, he had all the time in the world. This place would suit him nicely when the sun came back. He could spend the day here, hiding from that bright light.

  After an hour or so of bumping around in the basement the Bearer began to bang loudly. Intentionally. He thumped the floorboards above his head. He knocked over the stack of ceramic pots in a corner, giggling maniacally as they shattered. He scampered backwards and forwards. First thumping the floorboards in this corner, then thumping that one. After a while his actions bore fruit - someone started padding around on the floor above him. The Bearer was giddy with excitement now. He patted the flask in his pocket, reassuring himself it was still there, and scratched his arm again. He could hear muffled conversation now. Two people, a man and his wife.

  The Bearer thumped the floor again, louder this time. He made his way into his favourite corner. He wasn’t sure why it was his favourite, but he would swear up and down that it was the best corner in the entire house - not just the cellar. He hunched down on the heels of his feet and waited. Sure enough, the vo
ices circled around the building. They spoke in hushed whispers so as not to wake the neighbours. No, we’d best not wake the neighbours, the Bearer thought. That would be very bad.

  The cellar door creaked open, throwing in the flickering light from a flaming torch. The bearer had been expecting that, and had clenched his eyes tightly closed. The light danced across his eyelids like fireflies. Slowly, so as not to stare directly at the light, the Bearer opened his eyes. The duo were standing at the top of the staircase, as if unsure whether to descend.

  “After you” The woman said, giving her husband a gentle push. He grumbled in a happy way, as if he were only complaining to make a show of it, and carried the torch down into the cellar. The light flooded the room, illuminating everything. Everything except for the corner the Bearer crouched in. He watched as the man walked further into the room, holding the torch high. His wife followed close behind, as if she were afraid to be out of reach. That was her mistake. If only she were a little more independent, the Bearer thought.

  When the husband reached the middle of the room, he started to turn in a slow circle. His eyes were red and bleary when they saw the Bearer. They didn’t identify him at first, didn’t pick him out of the surrounding sacks of grain and rice. By the time his brain processed what he was seeing the Bearer was rushing toward him. They collided a moment later, and The Bearer slashed at his throat with a wicked curved dagger. The husband crumpled to the ground, clutching at the wound. He coughed a spurt of blood as the Bearer grabbed the woman, clamping his free hand over her mouth. He didn’t want to hurt her, couldn’t bear to kill her. She was his chosen one, she was the one with whom he would share the water.

  She fought like a banshee, kicking and scratching, trying to bite the hand that held her.

  The Bearer forced her to the floor.

  He wasn’t powerful but she was frail. Elderly. An easy victim. The Bearer twisted her neck as they struggled, forcing her to look at her husband as he coughed and sputtered. His eyes were bulging now, he couldn’t get any air to his lungs. The Bearer shook his head, pinning the woman to the ground.