Unconventional Heroes 2 - Two Necromancers, an Army of Golems, and a Demon Lord

by L. G. Estrella

  Timmy, meanwhile, had dyed his dark hair blonde and given his eyes a green tint while Avraniel and Katie had dyed their blonde hair brunette. Their eyes were more difficult, particularly Avraniel’s, which refused to budge from their unearthly amber colour until Katie threw together a new formula and gleefully poured a bucket of it onto the elf’s face under the pretext that it was necessary for their mission. Now, they were a shade of dark blue that was more common amongst elves. To Timmy’s surprise, Rembrandt looked rather distinguished with grey fur, and the other rats had likewise changed their colouring. Still, the rodents had all been told to keep out of sight.

  Their final conundrum had been how to deal with the way that Avraniel moved. Despite her penchant for cursing and her decidedly violent nature, there was no ignoring her grace and agility. She was clearly an elf. Avraniel proposed a solution that was surprisingly close to the truth: she was going to play the part of an elf in exile.

  “What can I say?” Avraniel grinned. “I’m a genius. Of course, I could always play a drunken elf who was banished for getting into drunken brawls all the time –”

  “No!” Timmy grimaced. He never – ever – wanted to see what Avraniel was like drunk. Most mages had problems controlling their magic when they were drunk – but most mages couldn’t level entire swathes of countryside with their power. Hmmm… he’d have to get the rats to keep tabs on the alcohol when they got back to the castle.

  They made their way through the mountains on horseback. For the sake of appearances, Timmy had also sent all of his zombies back to his castle. Even without his guidance, they knew how to get back. He’d imbedded that particular order in them when making them. He also took the time to tell Katie and the others about the legends surrounding the mountains. His master, crazy, old man that he’d been, had told him all about those legends when they’d journeyed this way during Timmy’s younger days. Naturally, Timmy had been forced to carry everything as part of his training. His master had never been one to miss out on an opportunity to torment him.

  On the upside, their current trip had already yielded some interesting wildlife. They’d already bludgeoned to death two hydras and a basilisk, which had been stored away with Gerald’s ever-handy magic. Once this whole thing was done, he might have to come back. It would be so much easier to pick up his specimens from here rather than importing. He might even be able to snag enough for a breeding population. Yes, he’d like that – a steady supply of his own monsters.

  “My master spent years researching these mountains,” Timmy said as Avraniel leaned across Gerald, pushing him out of the way as she readied an arrow and shot the hydra that had been charging down the mountainside at them. Her arrow hit the hydra in one of its heads and exploded, immolating the beast and sending it to what Timmy assumed was a fiery death on the lower slopes of the mountain. Gerald breathed a sigh of relief and cast a surreptitious glance over the side of the road to see if the hydra was twitching. It was not. “In fact, he always thought it would have been better if Black Tower Castle had been built here.”

  “Oh?” Katie’s brows furrowed. The hydra had started twitching again. She used her shadows to push a boulder down the mountain onto it. It stopped twitching. “Why? Besides, your master built the castle, didn’t he?”

  “Actually, he didn’t. My master couldn’t build an outhouse to save his life, and there wasn’t a builder in Everton that would have worked for him if he wasn’t so quick and handy with a sword.” Timmy made a disgusted sound. “I ended up being the one who dealt with all the tradesmen. Otherwise, the castle would have crumbled to bits. Let that be a lesson, Katie, always treat tradesmen well unless you want to repair everything yourself.”

  Timmy had, unfortunately, learned a lot about masonry, carpentry, and many other things due to his master’s ornery and stingy nature. But once his master had finally kicked the bucket, he’d been able to hire as many tradespeople as he wanted. They might not have liked working at the castle, but he paid them very well and made sure that the worst they got was a scare or two from some of the castle’s resident ghosts and wraiths.

  “You won’t find out who built the castle from any book, but my master inherited it from his master who inherited it from his master who inherited it from his master who took it from some guy who tried to end the world who won it from some noble in a game of cards. Anyway, my master was interested in the flow of magic in this area.”

  Katie reached out with her senses. “There is a lot of it here, more than I expected.”

  “There is?” Gerald tilted his head to one side and trembled. “I don’t feel much. But what I feel, I don’t like.”

  Timmy shrugged. “It’s about practice. Most mages don’t draw off the magic around them – most mages can’t. You usually need special rituals for that, which necromancers happen to make wide use of. Besides, the magic here has some similarities with the magic around my castle. Katie grew up there, as did I, so we’re used to feeling it.”

  “I don’t feel much either.” Avraniel snapped her fingers and charred the hydra, which had begun to move again. Timmy had a feeling that it would stay dead this time.

  “You’ve got too much magic to feel anything. It’s like asking the sun if it notices a little candle,” Timmy said. “The legend is that these mountains were once the site of a tremendous battle between the Lord of the Blessed Dawn and several powerful demon lords. You can imagine how that went.”

  Avraniel snorted. “He probably blew the crap out of the mountains and rained holy fire and cleansing light on everything.” She paused. “You know, he doesn’t sound half bad. I could worship a god who rains death upon his enemies. Sure, he doesn’t use as much fire as I’d like, but, hey, nobody is perfect.”

  “That is roughly what happened. But they say that when the demon lords died, their essences corrupted the land, permanently imbuing it with demonic energy and weakening the barrier between this world and the darkness between worlds. That’s why Lord Taylor’s father chose to appear in this area. It is also likely the reason that Lord Taylor seized control of this place. The castle he’s taken for himself was built on a magical nexus, not unlike my castle. It’s an even more defensible location too, which is another reason my master wanted it. Of course, it wouldn’t have saved my master. He wasn’t killed by one of our enemies. He got eaten by his own zombie python-goat.” Timmy snickered. “It was rather amusing.”

  “Really?” Avraniel tossed her head back and laughed. “That’s pathetic.”

  “In his defence, he made it out of a very, very big python and a very, very vicious goat. He may also have been somewhat drunk.” Timmy paused. “Okay, he was extremely drunk, and I didn’t feel like helping him.” He smiled at Katie. “And that teaches us another important lesson: never mix alcohol and necromancy. It’s one of the greatest risk-factors in zombie-related fatalities – right up there with failing to have a weapon within reach to kill rebellious zombies and working in a room without an emergency escape route.”

  “I guess.” Katie was already thinking about how to make her own zombie python-goat. Hers would be much better, and she certainly wouldn’t be eaten by it.

  “There is something wrong with these mountains. It’ll become clearer as we move on. Things never grow quite as well as they should here, nor do they ever turn out the way they should. The sunlight is a strange colour too, and the wind has evil voices on it.” Timmy rolled his eyes at Gerald. “Calm down. Nothing is going to happen to you while you’re with us. On the off chance that we run into something I can’t handle, I’m pretty sure that Avraniel can burn whatever manages to get past me. Remember, she gets paid extra if you come back in one piece – Vicky was smart enough to put that in the contract.”

  The elf draped one arm around Gerald and gave the bureaucrat a sunny smile. “I get an extra thirty-five per cent if you come back without any major injuries.”

  “Uh… yay?”

  “Exactly.” Avraniel patted him on the back. “So, you don’t have
to worry about a thing. If you think you’re going to get killed or mangled, just hide behind me.”

  They met their contact a few days later in a clearing off a winding mountain pass. They’d just dispatched a pack of wolves – everything around here seemed like it wanted to kill them – when he signalled his approach. His caravan wasn’t much to look at: two wagons hitched together and filled with an assortment of plants that Timmy vaguely recognised as being exotic varieties from lands far to the east. Their contact himself wasn’t much to look at either, at least, not at first glance. There was something distinctly ordinary about him, a slight twist to Gerald’s talent for being utterly forgettable.”

  Their contact was an old man. He looked to be in his seventies, or perhaps a little older. He had the almond skin of someone from the far east who’d spent most of his life outdoors, and his dark eyes were filled with the kind of whimsical amusement that Timmy had only ever seen in the very old and in the very young – the people who understood that life was never as simple, or as complicated, as it seemed. He wore a wide-brimmed hat of old, fraying straw, and there was a warm smile on his face that seemed to fit just perfectly on his weathered features.

  The old man waved them over, content to remain seated at the front of the first wagon, a dog-eared book on his lap. It was a treatise on Everton’s plant life. Timmy recognised it because Avraniel had swiped his copy from his library.

  “Hello, my friends,” the old man said. He had a strange accent, one that Timmy couldn’t quite place. There was something oddly endearing about it. “You must be the ones the Council sent. I’m Old Man.”

  “Yeah, we can see that.” Avraniel snickered. “Really old.”

  His weathered features broke out into a broad grin as he slipped a tattered bookmark into his book and closed it. “You’re right about that, but it’s also my name. At least, it’s what people have taken to calling me – I just decided to go with it. I’m Old Man now.”

  “Oh.” Gerald flipped through a notebook he summoned with his magic. “Ah, it does say that our contact would be someone called Old Man. I had assumed that was simply a description, but it does have Old Man listed where your name should be. My apologies.”

  “There is no need to apologise.” Old Man chuckled and got his wagons moving again, gesturing for them to follow. “It is an easy mistake to make. Now, come along, we’d best get going. We have a long way to go, and you know what they say. A rolling stone gathers no moss.”

  Timmy’s lips twitched. “I’m not sure that’s the best proverb for this situation.”

  Old Man chuckled again. “You’re a sharp one. What about this? He who hesitates is lost. Besides, you’ve probably noticed by now that unpleasant things come out at night here. I know of a good place to rest tonight if we set a decent pace.”

  Timmy nodded. “Lead on.”

  It was strange, but Timmy couldn’t get a read on Old Man. He seemed friendly enough, trundling along with his wagons, the oxen pulling them moving with a sort of beleaguered slowness that suggested he’d been on the road for a long, long time. The road was wider here, so they rode alongside him. Katie looked into the wagons and peered curiously at all the plants inside.

  “So, how is this going to work, Old Man? It won’t be long now before we enter Lord Taylor’s territory. I want to get our stories straight before that happens.” Timmy studied the older man out of the corner of his eye. His tunic was heavily worn but well cared for. It had probably been white once, but it had faded to grey from years on the road. It had also been patched in at least half a dozen different places. Rather than shoes, Old Man wore sandals, and his hands were rough and callused. “James also mentioned that you’d travelled here before.”

  “Ah, yes.” Old Man smiled. His teeth were white and straight, and his eyes twinkled. He must have found something Timmy said amusing, but he wasn’t inclined to share the joke. He took off his hat and reached back for a smaller one as the wind kicked up. “I’ve always been fiddle footed. I’m happy to see something new each day.” He glanced past Katie to where one of the ninja rats had snuck into the wagon to examine the plants inside. “It seems we have company. Is he yours, Little Miss?” Old Man smiled again. “I thought I saw one with you before, a different one, but when I looked again, he was gone.” He chuckled. “It was almost as though he turned invisible.”

  Katie glanced at Timmy. He nodded. It was better to tell Old Man about the rats now. That way, he wouldn’t be surprised if the rats had to show themselves. She reached into her pocket. Rembrandt appeared in her hands. “This is the one you saw earlier. He’s a friend of mine. His name is Rembrandt.” She pursed her lips. “And my name is Katie, not Little Miss, although I guess you should call me something else when we’re around other people. How about Amy?”

  “I’ll remember to do that.” Old Man’s eyes twinkled. “Little Miss.” Katie scowled, and he chuckled good-naturedly. It was something he seemed to do quite often. “Still, Rembrandt is an interesting name for a rat, and he is a most interesting rat. Not many of his kind can handle a sword.” He scratched the back of his head as the other rats revealed themselves and began to rummage through his wagons. “You’ve brought quite a few of them. Well, I don’t mind. I’ve run into a few of their kind before, in my younger days. But it might be best if they kept out of sight once we enter Lord Taylor’s territory.” He looked back at Timmy. “Yes, I’ve been here several times. I sell rare plants, you see, and there are people here who pay a very generous sum for them. I’ve even sold some to Lord Taylor. He prefers bonsai trees.”

  “Bonsai trees?” Avraniel drew level with them and rolled her eyes at the rat that had started to fiddle with Old Man’s straw hat. “That’s too big for you, rat. What are bonsai trees, Old Man?”

  Old Man raised one eyebrow. “You’re an elf, and you don’t know what a bonsai tree is?”

  “I’m not like most elves.” That, Timmy thought, was the understatement of the year – perhaps even the century.

  “Then allow me to educate you, young lady.” Timmy sniggered. Avraniel was older than all of them combined. “A bonsai tree is a very rare plant that only grows under specific conditions.” He pointed at one of his plants. “They only grow to a certain size, and they require diligent care for decades to reach maturity. My bonsai trees are some of the best in the world.”

  “So… what do they do?” Avraniel asked. “Because looking at them, they look small and crappy. They can’t eat people, can they?”

  “They most certainly cannot.” Old Man grinned. “Whatever they do, they’re doing most of it now.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “That’s pretty damn lame.”

  Timmy sighed. He had a feeling that this trip would involve a lot of sighing. “Old Man, can we get back to the mission? What can you tell us about what we’re walking into? You can’t be naïve if you’ve spent years on the road. Are things as bad as we’ve heard? We need to discuss our cover stories too.”

  Old Man listened patiently as Timmy told him about what they’d heard and outlined their cover stories. “Those are fine ideas, but I have a few thoughts of my own.” He pointed at Gerald. “Anyone with eyes can see that you are a bureaucrat. You carry yourself like one, and you speak like one. So let us say that you are here to study the region’s wildlife. There are bureaucrats who do that, and you have the look of a man who is comfortable doing research.” He nodded at Timmy and Katie. “You two can be a father and daughter travelling north to evade your debts to the tax collectors.” He inclined his head. “My apologies, but you two do act very much like father and daughter, and you, Timmy, come across as a man who would evade his taxes if he could – and you would hardly be the first to run from the Everton Tax Enforcement Agency.”

  Katie snickered. “He’s right about that, master. If you weren’t convinced they’d repossess the castle somehow, you’d never pay your taxes.”

  “As for her…” Old Man pursed his lips and
stared at Avraniel. “Yes, I have just the thing. You are undeniably an elf, and Lord Taylor has always been fond of bards and minstrels – he usually gives them a few chances to impress him before executing them. Tell me, can you sing? If so, that would definitely help us get a meeting with him.”

  “Yes, can you sing?” Timmy asked. Elves were, for the most part, naturally gifted singers. He’d yet to meet one who couldn’t put most humans to shame. Then again, as she was so fond of saying, Avraniel wasn’t like most other elves. “It’s not unusual for exiled elves to make a living through performing.”

  “I am not singing.” Avraniel’s voice was flat and uncompromising, and her glare promised horrible death to anyone who disagreed. “I refuse to sing.”

  “Oh?” Katie giggled. “Maybe you can’t sing.”

  “That is not it.” Avraniel’s eyes narrowed. The temperature around them began to rise. “I can sing perfectly well. I simply choose not to. Twerp.”

  “I’m sure that’s it.” Katie leaned down to whisper to Rembrandt. “Yep, she’s lying. I bet she can’t sing at all.”

  “Twerp…”

  “She probably sounds absolutely horrible.” Katie and Rembrandt both snickered. “She might even be worse at singing than Sam, and he doesn’t even have vocal chords.”

  It was an absolutely transparent ploy. But if Timmy had learned anything about Avraniel, it was that the elf was every bit as proud as she was destructive. She wouldn’t be able to let Katie get away with saying things like that. She would have to do something.

  And she did.

  Avraniel’s eye twitched until Timmy was sure she was in the middle of a stroke – and then she burst into song. The song was bawdy and utterly indelicate, an old favourite of dodgy taverns and houses of ill repute, which concerned several extremely talented prostitutes and the anatomically impossible configurations they enjoyed that resulted in injuries to several of their prominent customers. But what was truly surprising was how fantastic Avraniel sounded. Her voice had depth, range, and a wonderful, enchanting roughness to it that no cultured elf would ever have allowed to develop.