“You're mistaken,” Myra replied. “It's all a matter of creative negotiation.”
“Well even if you're right,” the ogress said, “we're not going to negotiate. We're going to kill the undead wherever we find them. Present company excluded, of course.”
“You're the one who's insane, Alena!” Myra replied shaking her head. “So you can turn a handful of undead a couple of times a day. Big deal! If killing fifteen or twenty zombies daily was enough to get rid of the undead they'd have been overthrown a long time ago. You're trying to fight an entire war with a single sword. It's not going to work!”
“Well we still have to try,” Sarrac replied.
“Alright,” the lich said throwing her hands up. “You have to do it your way, but I hope it doesn't get you killed! Either way, I'll be doing what I can to push forward the harvesting reforms. Maybe together we'll be able to make the world a better place, even if we're going at if from two very different directions.”
“You know, Myra,” Nyssa said, flying up near her head. “You are by far the oddest lich I've ever heard of.”
“That's a fact,” Alena nodded. “After we tell our tale, her name is going down in history, no question.”
“Thank you,” the lich replied. “But be careful what you say. I don't want to have to explain too much to my father.”
“Don't worry about it,” the ogress smiled. “We'll describe you in broad generalizations.”
“I would appreciate that.”
With this brief conversation concluded, the party saved its strength for flight. They were able to descend the mountain more quickly than they had made their way up and just over an hour after they set out they reached its foot. The horse was safe and sound just where they had left it, which came as something of a relief considering the number of undead that had recently covered the mountain.
The band didn't pause for rest, but immediately set out across the plain hugging the very edge of the mountain. It was their intention to get as far as possible while the light held out, and their hope that leaving the dark lands by a different route would throw their enemies off the scent. Myra believed there was a pass that led through the mountains if they could only reach it before their pursuers overtook them.
This hope was dashed, however, by the sight of several falauk souring above them. Within minutes one of them turned, flying quickly back toward the ruined city.
“Well, they're hot on our trail now,” Alena asserted.
“You can be sure of that,” Myra sighed.
“Any chance we can reach the pass before they reach us?” Sarrac asked.
“Barring a miracle, no,” the lich replied.
“Then let's pray for a miracle,” Paul said, increasing his pace.
“You do it,” she suggested. “You seem to have the knack.”
The party pressed on with all its energy in the slim hope that they could outrun their pursuers. In less than an hour, however, a distant cloud rising from the plain told them that a number of riders were in pursuit.
“This is pointless,” Alena pointed out. “They're obviously mounted. We may as well rest here and fight them when they show up.”
“No,” Myra replied. “If we stop before nightfall they'll just wait to attack us until dark. We need to make them believe we're doing our best to escape even if we're not.”
“That's a fair point,” Alena conceded. “How many do you think there are?”
“It depends,” she replied. “If the falauk thought it was just four people snooping around out here, then there are probably only ten or fifteen. And if that's the case we've got nothing to worry about.”
“No,” Sarrac chuckled. “I agree.”
“However,” she continued. “If my father knows I've been captured then it could be as many as a hundred.”
“Okay,” Sarrac replied without a hint of a chuckle. “That will be a problem.”
“I agree,” the lich nodded.
“Still, even at that it's not hopeless,” Nyssa said cheerfully. “Between the three of us, Paul having Telseir and being able to turn, and Myra being able to control them we have a real chance.”
“Oh I couldn't,” the lich replied shaking her head. “I couldn't directly oppose my father's forces.”
“Would you rather us die?” Alena asked.
“I told you several times already!” Myra exclaimed. “I don't want you to die!”
“That's not what I asked,” the ogress pointed out. “I asked if you'd rather we died. Because it may be fight alongside us or watch as we're...”
“Alright!” the lich snapped. “You don't have to paint me a picture! I understand the situation!”
“And?”
“And yes!” she barked. “Alright? Yes! I'll help you.”
“Thank you!” Alena smiled. “I know it can't be an easy decision for you.”
“No,” she replied. “It isn't.”
The other members of the band also thanked the lich as they pressed ever onward. An hour later they could clearly make out the riders pursuing them. Fortune had smiled on the band; they only had to stand against thirty mounted undead.
“Alright,” Myra said, glancing back over her shoulder. “We have several things going for us. First, they're not going to be expecting me to be helping you. So, we'll have the element of surprise. Second, you can be sure father's sent them to bring you back alive so he can interrogate you. That means they won't be trying to kill us until they realize how dangerous we are. Third, Paul is a secret weapon they're certainly not going to be prepared for.”
“I agree,” Alena said. “And he should be on the horse. If things go badly he can run for it. He has to survive, but the rest of us are expendable.”
“There ya go,” Paul laughed. “You haven't tried to throw anyone's life away in days. I was beginning to worry about you. And, no, you take the horse.”
“But...”
“No,” he interrupted. “For one thing I can't fight on horseback. I can ride alright, but I'm not ready for that.”
“Well...”
“No,” the young man interrupted again. “I have spoken! Now obey the mighty it!”
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he laughed. “I've just been looking for an excuse to say that for days. I figured I better do it while we were all still alive.”
“I can see that I guess,” she smiled. “And if you really want me to I'll ride.”
“Perfect,” he nodded.
Minutes later the undead pack overtook them, surrounding the party as they approached.
“Should I turn?” Paul whispered to Sarrac.
“Wait for the opportune moment,” the ogre replied quietly.
“Captain Sallic,” Myra said, glaring at the foremost rider. “I can't tell you how relieved I am to see that my father sent his most cruel and hateful commander to fetch me.”
“I'm so very glad you're pleased,” the ghast replied condescendingly. “Although I never felt there was any love lost between us, my dear. As I've made plain since the day your parents brought you home as a screaming bundle of rags, I think it would have been best to have drowned you in a bucket. As I've always said: you can't trust the living.”
“No,” she smiled. “As it turns out you can't. Lieutenant Reccas, kill him.”
Instantly, and involuntarily the lieutenant lashed out at his commander. This threw the entire pack of undead into a frenzy, each taking one side or the other and attacking accordingly.
“Now!” Sarrac cried.
“Turn!” the young man yelled over the din.
This action did nothing more than attract the attention of every single undead eye that surrounded them. By contrast, the young man's eyes were locked on his non-functioning holy symbol, a look of confusion on his face. During the brief pause that ensued one of the undead riders began digging frantically through a small leather pouch hanging from his side.
“Oh yeah!” Paul exclaimed, as the searching undead drew a small
gray stone from his bag and hurled it at the young man. “Drop dead!”
Instantly a golden flash surrounded the young man just before the tiny projectile hit him. The moment it did a flash of blue light engulfed him. He found himself both blinded and disoriented and reached out instinctively to where Sarrac had been standing.
“Hello, my friend,” said an unfamiliar, but warm voice. “Welcome to purgatory!”
“Where I am?” Paul asked, his eyes adjusting the fact that he wasn't blind, but simply no longer in the light of day.
“I thought I just explained that.”
“So I'm dead,” Paul replied, lowering himself to the cold stone floor, his head spinning as nausea hit him in waves.
“Well now,” the man said thoughtfully, “I suppose there are two schools of thought on that.”
“And those are?” the young man asked, dropping his head and breathing deeply in an attempt not to throw up.
“The first would say no you're not dead,” he explained. “That would be what one might consider the scientific or technical conclusion. It's based on the fact that your heart's still beating, you're still breathing, and your mind's intact enough for us to have this conversation.”
“And the second?”
“The second is, of course, yes,” the man replied. “That's the metaphoric or philosophical answer, based on the fact that you're currently held in Lord Telraen's dungeon and no one gets out of there alive. Plus, guessing from the way you just kind of popped into the room, I can only suppose that you were brought here with a capture stone. And those aren't easy to make. And that means you must matter for some reason. And that being the case, you're even more dead than I am.”
“I see,” Paul said, gazing around the chamber now that he could, in fact, see.
The young man found himself in a relatively roomy, dimly lit cell of stone. The chamber was sealed by a single iron door and at its center sat a large wooden table surrounded by a number of chairs. At one of these sat a young man perhaps a few years older than himself whose dark brown hair was rather disheveled and who needed a shave. It was then that the smell hit him.
It certainly wasn't what he expected find drifting on the air in the dungeon of a vampire lord. It was the smell of roasted meat and cooked vegetables and it was rising from the center of the table. He then came to the realization that there were a number of steaming dishes just sitting there alongside what appeared to be a bottle of wine. Paul was almost stunned to find that there was even a stack of clean plates along with eating utensils.
“You got here just in time,” the stranger smiled. “Feeding time, that is!”
“Why would they feed prisoners like this?” the young man asked, taking a step nearer the table. “I'm Paul, by the way. Paul Stevens.”
“I don't usually bother to learn the names of my fellow prisoners, but as you brought it up, I'm Darek Farren,” the man said, rising to shake Paul's hand. “I'd say it was nice to meet you, but we both know that would be a lie. Either way, they feed us like this because it makes us tastier apparently.”
“Well that's rather sickening.”
“Maybe,” Darek agreed. “But the food's great either way. I've never eaten this well in my life.”
“You don't seem too worked up about our impending demise,” the young man observed, taking a seat.
“Everybody dies,” he replied. “Not everybody gets a good meal before they do.”
“I guess I can actually see that,” Paul nodded, before beginning to fix himself a plate. “And is that wine?”
“Yep. And it's pretty good too.”
“So how long before they kill us?”
“It's hard to say,” Darek replied. “I've been here for weeks, which is really unusual. I think one of the vampiresses has a crush on me. Either that or she wants to eat me and thinks I'm not juicy enough yet. It's hard to tell with them.”
“I got ya,” Paul nodded. “Any way out?”
“None. We're down deep and the guards are well armed. It's not the kind of place you can fight your way out of with a steak knife.”
“Well I have...” Paul began glancing down at his side to find nothing there.
“Had,” Darek replied. “You may have had any number of weapons on you. However, you don't now. The capture stone made sure of that.”
“How?”
“Magic.”
The young man grabbed his neck to find that the holy symbol was also missing.
“Once one of those stones hits you you're dead,” Darek explained. “Still, it's not so bad. Like I said, the food's great. Eat up!”
Seeing little point in going hungry, the young man did just as Darek suggested. His companion had been quite correct; the food was truly excellent. It made Paul wonder if the undead actually cooked it themselves or if they had the living do it for them. He didn't like the idea of some zombie standing over a hot stove cooking away with bits falling off of him. As a result he avoided the soup. He just couldn't get over the idea that he might be enjoying it only to find an eye or something floating around in it.
“So what are you in for?” Darek asked, before taking a sip of wine. “Oh that is good! You can say what you want about vampires, they have excellent taste.”
“I'm the it,” Paul replied, cutting a thick slice of what almost looked like beef, but couldn't be, what with the lack of cows in Zanoth and all.
“Don't say that,” his companion replied. “Not even in jest, my friend. Keep in mind that our undead overlords like a bit of torture now and then and saying things like that could be considered asking for it, as it were.”
“Sure, sure,” the young man nodded. “Let's just say I'm a political prisoner. And you?”
“The same,” Darek replied. “I'm a dissident, rebel, trouble maker, murderer, take your pick.”
“Murderer?”
“I killed a ghoul. He had a real mouth on him. I tried to explain that he had it coming, but justice can be swift, and not particularly just, as I'm sure you know.”
“I do,” Paul replied. “I mean, I'm still kind of new around here, but you pick that up pretty quick.”
“Well I recon it's pretty much the same all over Zanoth,” his fellow prisoner replied. “So, I'm sure you know the ropes.”
“Actually I'm from Earth.”
“You want to be tortured, don't you?”
“Oh right,” Paul nodded. “I'm from... The south I guess... Would the south be a good place to be from?”
“Sure, why not.”
“So, have you even tried getting out?”
“Nope. No point.”
“So, you've just completely given up hope? You don't have any kind of plan at all?”
“Actually I do,” Darek replied, taking another drink of wine.
“Alright, let's hear it.”
“I plan to ask them to feed me to one of the female vampires. I think I'll be able enjoy that, to a certain extent as least.”
“That's your plan?” Paul chuckled.
“It is,” he nodded. “And it has a few things going for it. First off, it's practical and within the realm of things I can actually do. Second, if it works I'll die right in the middle of success. Third, if it doesn't I'll only be disappointed for a few minutes.”
“Right...” the young man replied. “Well, that's not quite my style. I prefer plans that end with and that's how we get out alive.”
“People don't get out of here alive. When they leave they're always either dead or undead.”
“Is undead actually an option?”
“It can be,” Darek said. “Like I said, I'm pretty sure one of the vampiresses has a crush on me. But I ain't going that route, even though she is extremely attractive. No, for me it's life or death. None of this in-between crap. Besides, I like the sun.”
“I respect your position,” Paul replied. “But I'm not ready to give up hope yet. I believe in answered prayers.”
“Good for you!” his companion smiled. “I wish I could... Eit
her way, just try not to get too disappointed by failure and you should be fine. I don't want to spend either of our last days trying to comfort a crying man.”
“No worries. If they come to eat me I'll do my best to take it like a man.”
“That's the spirit!”
The conversation during the remainder of the meal was rather lighthearted, all things considered. Paul and Darek shared stories about their experiences leading up to their captures, Paul tweaking them to be somewhat less itish where necessary. Being eaten alive was one thing, being tortured to death and then eaten dead was quite another. As such he decided to put a good bit of distance between himself and his it persona for the time being.
After they'd eaten, Darek stretched out for a bit of a nap to aid his digestion, while Paul took one of the knives and tried forcing it between every single stone in the walls and floor of the chamber. Having failed to find a single weakness in those areas of the cell he turned his attention to the door. It was solid iron, very sturdy, and probably incredibly thick. The young man found himself wishing he had learned to pick locks at some point in his life. As well as wishing he wore hairpins for some reason.
“Give it a rest for the night,” Darek suggested with a smile. “You've done a good day's wasting your time already. You need to get some sleep so you can resume your task of futility in the morning.”
“You're a great encouragement,” the young man said. “You know that right?”
“I'm just teasing,” he companion laughed. “Trying to find a way out is a lot more interesting than just sitting here staring the walls.”
“Well then help me.”
“Alright, I will,” Darek nodded. “Tomorrow, right after breakfast. But for the moment let's get some rest. I'm sleepy, man, aren't you?”
“I am,” the young man admitted.
“Well then, let's call it a night. It'll take a miracle to get us out of here and a miracle can wait twelve hours.”
“Twelve hours?”
“I like to sleep late. There's no point in waking up at the crack of dawn to get eaten by undead nice and early. Besides, if they want to eat us they can just wake us up.”
The Tower of Daelfaun (The Tales of Zanoth Book 1) Page 14