Reign of Immortals

by Marin Landis

  Inside, the one holding Janesca threw her to the ground and she dashed over to the stairs and stood looking over, wide-eyed and breathing heavily. “Kill the fat bastards!” she shouted. "Quickly!"

  Some of the things she said amazed him. She had the mouth of a soldier.

  The two death fetishists advanced on him swinging their scimitars. Undoubtedly used to victims being too scared to fight back, they took no care and adopted no strategy. To Melvekior, however, these were little more than training dummies. Big men normally relied on their size to bully others and rarely made the time to train themselves in the arts of combat. Melvekior, while quite substantial in size himself, had spent hours daily honing his skills since childhood. Combat was second nature to him and the prospect of this melee excited him. This was the first time he'd been in open combat for real. The bandits on the Caravanway were easily dispatched and the goblins a mere nuisance. These two might be an actual challenge and no matter what, he'd take nothing for granted. That was the best way to end up with three feet of steel in your guts.

  He stepped quickly and unexpectedly towards the two hulking figures, inside the arc of their hasty, reactive swings, bringing his mace crashing down into the knee of the leftmost baldy. His proximity interrupted their plan to slice him to pieces and the unharmed man tried to move backwards to get a swipe in. Poorly trained they were and it was child’s play to shoulder charge him off his feet. He took a weapon butt to the back but he shrugged it off and jumped backwards to avoid a wild scimitar swipe. The one with the ruined knee lay on this back and howled bestially. That would have hurt a lot.

  Melvekior delivered a brutal, metal-booted kick to the hip of the one he’d just bowled over. It didn’t stop him and he attempted to rise. Melvekior lifted a foot and brought it down hard on the arm carrying the weapon, it flailing at him ineffectually as the fetishist tried to lever himself up with his other arm. His wrist, not being made to support the stomping of mailed boots, shattered into uselessness and the scimitar dropped to the floor. With a great swing, Melvekior brought his weapon round to the side of the head of the supine combatant. The bald man’s eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped lifelessly to the floor.

  The mace-wielding knight turned rapidly and delivered an overhead blow to the other man, smashing his skull into pieces, jellied brains oozing from the instantly fatal wound.

  In a fury of berserk rage, Melvekior stomped over and kicked the front doors open. Galtian was nowhere to be seen.

  Breathing heavily he sought out Janesca. She was sitting on the stairs watching him. Her emotionless face still. Still as only the unbreathing can be. “Well fought boy, but don’t let yer guard down yet.”

  Melvekior was too full of adrenaline to again register the odd way she was speaking and grunted.

  “I’m going to find one of these bloody Necromancers and kill the bastard if he can’t help us.” He was shaking and stuttering, trying to calm down but wanting to keep hold of the heightened state of awareness that combat brings. “Follow at a distance and don’t get in the way.”

  He raced up the stairs and onto a landing. The bay windows were covered with dark, thick curtains. There was nobody to be seen. He ran down the right hallway, kicking doors open as he went. Bedrooms, all devoid of life. He entered the other hallway, to the left of the staircase and immediately saw a light under the door at the end of the passageway. He ran as fast as he could and slammed into the door with his shoulder. One of the double doors flew off its hinges before his fury. It was a reading room. Two people sat at a table with a game board between them. Both dressed in dark robes with red patterning, one had a shaved head, the other a woman with red hair. A black substance accentuated both of their eyes, presumably to make them look dead. The man didn't even look up, but the woman did. With a terrible fire in her gaze.

  “That was your last mistake, fool!” she said impossibly quietly and yet completely audibly. Melvekior’s world turned upside down. The woman's head grew impossibly large and fire rushed from her mouth, forming into a tendril and binding the angry young man in chains of illusory flame, slamming him into the wall. Illusory or not, he found himself unable to move, the grotesquerie of her giant, twisted, face assailing his senses as he thrashed against the non-corporeal bonds that secured him to the wall.

  The woman’s head shrunk back to normal size, she turned away and moved a piece on the board.

  Melvekior opened his mouth to shout some abuse but the instant he did the overbearing heat, that he was sure wasn’t real, burned away the words and all the moisture in his mouth and tore the breath from his lungs. He panted wildly, panicking. Turning his head he saw Janesca standing unaccosted watching him open-mouthed.

  Both figures turned to face him now, their game perhaps concluded and Melvekior noticed how pale they both were.

  “You were sold to us for a reasonable fee and now I find you to be disruptive enough to slay two of our servants and cause a fuss in our home.” She shook her head. “What shall we do with him Accus?”

  The other responded in precisely the same soft voice. “Kill him, he is of no interest to us.” He turned to Janesca and his eyes widened. “But this one is. Woman, come here and kneel.”

  Janesca, as though ensorcelled, stumbled over and dropped to her knees. “Ya fuckin’ damnable dogs, I’m gonna slit yer scrawny throats and use yer skulls for chamber pots. Leave me be!”

  Melvekior, in his delirium, fancied he heard his father’s voice coming from Janesca's mouth. Obviously another part of the illusion. He tried to force himself to stop retching and his head to stop spinning. He was unsuccessful.

  “Finulia, it’s the pendant, it’s… something.” The male Necromancer reached out and ripped Mikael’s necklace from Janesca's neck where she'd worn it since their encounter with the Goblins. That was Melvekior's most precious belonging and he struggled wildly against the fiery chains that held him. He could feel the burning but there was no damage to his flesh so his initial thought that it was some kind of awful illusion made sense. Pain he could handle, so he struggled all the more and all the time that he doubted the existence of the fiery ropes, the weaker they became.

  “Accus, what do you mean? Let me see!” She snatched it from the other’s hand. Looking at it closely, they both neglected to notice that Melvekior’s right hand was loose and he was yanking at the not-hot-anymore ropes of flame.

  “Woman, where did you get this?” the man demanded. Janesca spat in his face. He didn’t seem to care. “Do you have any idea what this is and who will be looking for it? I thought it merely a legend, but with this Finulia, we can rule a kingdom. We will bring Ain-Ordra’s blessing to the masses and raise ourselves up as her prime stewards.” He laughed crazily.

  Finulia still didn’t look like she understood. Nor did Melvekior, but that was the least of his concerns.

  He had finally managed to free both arms and a leg and was working on the other leg, frantically clawing at the loops of fire.

  “Finulia, do you not see it? The light of our Lady, in this paltry gewgaw. It is contained within; the sacred seed of the Mother.” He glanced up with a look of insane fervor which changed rapidly to horror as he noticed the knight free and about to lay hands upon his fellow Death worshiper. “Finulia! Behind you.” He shouted, and then screamed in agony as Janesca clamped her teeth on his calf muscle like it was a turkey leg.

  Finulia began to turn but then found herself rushing headlong into the far wall, propelled by the righteous fury of a pissed-off Knight of the Brotherhood of the Hammer. Her face hit the wall at a great velocity and she felt the crunching of bone, the breaking of teeth and then nothing.

  Accus was punching at Janesca rather ineffectually. He was extraordinarily weak for a grown man and his blows were that of a sulky child. She still had her teeth on his leg and wasn’t going to let go voluntarily. It was enough of a distraction that the necromancer didn’t see Melvekior’s mailed fist come crashing down on the back of his neck, knocking him brutall
y to the floor. He looked up in panic to see a leather and steel boot heading towards his face.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Surprise

  “I wanted to tear down the entire house with my bare hands, but I became distracted.” - Melvekior on meeting Accus.

  “Accus, Accus, wake up.” A voice, without kindness, heard from far away. Accus shook the water from his face. Who in Ain-Ordra’s name? Then it all came flooding back. That damned noble brat! Galtian had said he might be dangerous but who would have thought he would so easily best two fetish golems. On top of that, somehow he broke Finulia’s binding and smashed her face in.

  Melvekior stood over the Necromancer peering down at him threateningly. The dead woman with Ain-Odra’s seed around her neck, stood next to him, a decanter in her hand. His face hurt and he reached up and gingerly touched his nose. Ouch! That was a mistake, clearly broken.

  The knight reached down and slapped his hand away. “Keep your hands down, dog, or I’ll break them. One finger at a time.”

  Accus was used to inflicting pain, not being the victim, so this was very new. And very scary.

  He looked around. Still in the library. He could see Finulia’s body lying some ten feet away. Still. She looked dead, but he couldn’t see clearly enough to say with certainty. That just couldn’t be, who would he look to for guidance, who would maintain the house. He didn’t want that role. He was a follower and happy with that.

  “Now listen, you black hearted bastard. I have some questions and if I hear any hesitation in answering them I’m going to smash your hands with this mace at my belt. Can you see it?” The bald Mage nodded. “Good. It would be excruciatingly painful to have your hands broken in this fashion and do you know what’s even worse than that?” He shook his head. “I’ll tell you. Knowing that you’re going to die and all you’ve got to look forward to is more of the most unbelievably painful, err, agony that you’ve ever experienced. Nobody wants to die like that. Even you fellows who worship death. Would you agree.” Accus nodded rapidly. He loved death, but he wasn’t quite ready to meet it in such a manner. He considered using magic but even if he could gather the will to craft anything in the state he was in, he feared that the knight would recognize it and pulverize his hand.

  “I’ll tell you whatever you want.” He noted in an extremely affable way. He’d never been so polite.

  Melvekior nodded. “I’m appeased. For now. First things first then. What is happening to my friend here?”

  Accus panicked. That’s an open-ended question and Accus had been trained to be very literal indeed. He knew that most people were not. “You mean her condition don’t you? She is undead. Her body has met its end but a spirit is inhabiting her body and animates her.”

  “What do you mean, a spirit?” Melvekior barked, making Accus start.

  “Another soul, it could be a Mage, a demon, who knows, but it’s unlikely to be her soul in control of the body. In my experience the undead generally are made, by those who know how, to be servants or used for carnal purposes.” He was starting to ever so slightly enjoy being the expert in the room. His peers knew all this already and one didn’t often have the chance to discuss necromancy with the general public.

  “No! This is the same woman she was when she was alive. She died and then came back to life somehow. Isn’t that right, Janesca?” He turned to her and she didn’t answer, looking anywhere but not at him. “What? Mithras’s body and balls! Are you serious? This is outrageous. I saved you, thinking you were a damsel in distress and now I find out that you’re some sort of Necromantic pervert. I ought to…” He gripped onto his mace tightly.

  “Melvekior, you are mistaken. I might not be the rightful owner of this body, but my intentions were, are, good. I just wanted to see you again, my son.”

  The young knight reeled and looked as though he might fall faint. It made sense now. A very small amount of sense. The way he was constantly reminded of his father. She sounded like his father. But this was impossible. How could his father’s spirit be in the body of some peasant woman he found so coincidentally.

  “Are you going to tell him shade, or shall I?” Accus was enjoying this even more.

  “You shut yer damned trap, ye filthy corpse fucker.” She lunged towards him but was pulled back by a mailed glove.

  “Enough!” Melvekior pulled a chair over and sat down. “Everyone shut up for a minute.”

  His father’s death, and the surrounding mystery of his mother, had been the main prompt for this journey. Now there was a claim that he wasn’t dead at all, or not dead as they all knew it.

  He stood. “All right, what were the last words you spoke to me?” He’d never mentioned them to anyone.

  “I told you to protect Aeldryn’s folk, boy. And I put this in yer hand.” He pulled at the necklace around his neck, now retrieved from the limp hand of the unconscious or dead woman.

  It was like a crushing blow. He actually felt as though he’d been hit in the chest by something heavy. His father. Alive. In a manner of speaking.

  “What is it you’re not telling me? What is it that this bald moron knows that I don’t?” he glanced down at the Necromancer who was looking smug. He resisted the urge to kick him into unconsciousness again.

  “Ye know of course, son, that I’ve been a guest of King Alpre many times. He and I grew up at the same time, we spent many a night carousing and drinking and shared more than just drinks if ye get my meaning.” He grinned, which just looked grotesque when it was him grinning through the face of a dead woman.

  “Get on with it, please, just get on with it.” Melvekior sighed, still in shock and feeling numb but also tired and irritated.

  “Well, I always thought that Cal was clever beyond his years and wise and world weary and even jaded, but I just put it down to being from the richest family in the land. Anyway, I also noticed that he always wore a necklace, a stone carving of a phoenix rising from the flames, a potent symbol of rebirth. I started to ponder and think and have done through the years. The phoenix pendant defies death, Melvekior and I was covetous of its gift.”

  “So the King has one similar to the one you took from Sunar?”

  “Exactly like this one,” he fingered the pendant. Janesca’s voice was rapidly starting to sound a lot like his father’s. The same inflections, speech patterns and of course his father was the only person he knew who felt safe insulting him at will. “When last Sunar ‘graced’ us with his presence, I noticed that he too had a necklace that matched completely the one that Calra wore. I commented on it, knowing full well that he wouldn’t live up to his self-proclaimed reputation as a generous man and offer it to me. Instead, he just mumbled something and made his excuses. Plying him with strong drink and sending Serdce to his bed with an even stronger concoction, we managed to make an exact replica of the amulet and switch it with his during the night without him noticing. I expect he still hasn’t noticed.” He laughed at this stage, a queer sound emanating as it did from the throat of a dead woman.

  He paused here. In many ways Melvekior was fascinated with this tale, but in others he was loathe to hear Mikael’s description of the afterlife. He nodded at his father-Draugr.

  “Expecting to find myself in a paradise fitting my earthly virtue,” more laughter, more grating this time, “I was surprised to find myself in a gray land. Devoid of color, the landscape was bleak and unwelcoming. The others I met were purposeless wanderers, offering no solution to the question “where am I?” Of course I knew where I was, Purgatory. I hadn’t been noble enough for the Halls or evil enough to suffer the final death, so I was stuck awaiting the end of days. I became desperate and even a little insane, but then I felt the pull. An unusual sensation that felt a little like death, but so much more enticing.”

  “Imagine my total surprise when I “awoke” to find myself surrounded by goblins. And then being rescued by you. When I discovered that I was inhabiting this form I panicked and decided to play along until I could find a way to ext
ricate myself, alive, from this shell and carry on my life.”

  “Father! This story is too fantastic for words, but it must be true. As you live and breathe, it must be you.” Melvekior faced the Necromancer. “Necromancer, can it be as my father described? Is the transfer of spirits possible?”

  The black robed Mage straightened up, “It is possible, Knight, although we term it transmogrification of the soul. It’s rare. So rare as to be almost unheard of. Almost. That’s what is funny about this whole thing.” He cracked a wry smile.

  Melvekior did his best loom and brought his fist forward, stifling the grin. “Nothing’s funny about any of this!”

  “Not funny like that, I assure you, I am not laughing at anyone. May I?” He helped himself to his feet with one hand. He stood straight and brushed down his robes with his hands, dusting himself down. Melvekior watching him like a hawk.

  “Enough suspense! I am losing patience, out with it!”

  “It was the necklace, don’t you see. The Mother’s seed is in the pendant. Not mere stone, but a sliver of the soul of the Goddess resides within. When you die holding it you will enter the body of the next person to die in its proximity. Or so the legend says, for it was thought to be merely a rumor, an unobtainable quest. For us, who revere Ain-Ordra, who believe that death is the ultimate expression of life, it is our perfect quest, our highest ideal. Our order would kill for it, but I believe that we are the last of your problems.”

  “What do you mean?” Melvekior was feeling slightly confused.

  “He means…” started Janesca’s body

  “I mean,” Accus declared almost triumphantly, “that its rightful owner will move Heaven and Purgatory to get this back. Prince Sunar will figure out what has happened sooner or later and then he’ll come looking for it.”