Dirge for a Necromancer

by Ash Stinson

  “Our father wouldn’t tell us,” said Dohrleht sourly. “He thinks he’s protecting us by lying and saying that it’s all going to be okay. When I asked him whether the Tahlehsons might get through the doors, he just said that Kaebha is the strongest fort in all of Zylekkha. I don’t even know if that’s true.”

  “Ask Daeblau, then,” Raettonus said. “He’s the second in command here, isn’t he? Maybe he’d know, and maybe he wouldn’t lie to you.”

  “But he might,” Dohrleht said. “He wouldn’t want us to be scared either.”

  “You wouldn’t lie to us, though—right, Raettonus?” asked Maeleht.

  “Probably not,” Raettonus said with a shrug. “But as I told you before, I don’t know anything about it. Now let’s get down to our lessons. What’s this herb called?”

  “Larkspur,” said Maeleht.

  “Good,” Raettonus said. “What’s it used for?”

  Maeleht frowned uncertainly. “To see ghosts?” he asked.

  Dohrleht punched him in the arm. “No, stupid—that’s Elf Leaf,” he said. “Larkspur keeps ghosts away.”

  “Dohrleht’s right,” Raettonus said. “Larkspur keeps ghosts away, and Elf Leaf is for seeing them. Now, if you’d care to point out which of these is Elf Leaf, Dohrleht?”

  Dohrleht looked around at the selection of herbs and bit his lower lip. “Um…I guess it’s…this one?”

  “That’s Sorcerer’s Violet,” Maeleht said.

  “Indeed it is,” said Raettonus with a nod. “Maeleht, hit your brother for getting it wrong.”

  With a grin, Maeleht punched Dohrleht in the arm. “Hey—ouch,” said Dohrleht, rubbing the spot where he had been struck.

  * * *

  After their lessons were done for the day, Raettonus called on Deggho dek’Kariss, who was very relieved by the visit. Deggho rambled on about how lonely he had been, leading Raettonus by the arm to his art room to continue painting him. Raettonus settled into his seat on the couch as Deggho took his place behind the canvas and began mixing up his paints. “So,” said Raettonus as the goblin began to work. “We’re under siege.”

  “Siege? From who? Is it the Kariss?” asked Deggho hopefully.

  “The Tahlehson army,” Raettonus answered, shaking his head.

  Deggho’s large, jagged ears lowered. “Oh, I see,” he said. He rubbed his brush in some paint. “That’s…unfortunate. Is it a big host?”

  “Fairly large,” Raettonus said. “Only a portion of them stayed here. The rest sailed on to God knows where.”

  “I suppose they’d have gone north, toward Bribarrah,” Deggho suggested. “If they’re smart though, I suspect they won’t attack Bribarrah. Its wall is said to be the strongest in the entire realm. It’d be a waste of time.”

  Raettonus nodded. “I suppose that in their place,” he said after a moment, “I would probably land on the western coast and march inland. Sae Noklu has most of the farmland, and there’s no wall around any of it. Razing it would cripple Bribarrah and all the fortresses on the southern coast.”

  “If they manage to break into Kaebha, do you think they’ll keep me as a hostage?” Deggho wondered. “The Kariss hate the Zylekkhan centaurs, but we don’t have a reason to hate the Tahlehsons. Maybe they’ll release me in hopes of gaining an alliance.”

  “I somehow doubt it,” said Raettonus. “After all, what could the Kariss possibly offer them? They’re an extensive, trained army. The Kariss weren’t able to take down Kaebha, where—if that comes to pass—the Tahlehson were.”

  Deggho frowned. “You say that like the Kariss are completely useless,” he said. “My people are powerful warriors. We kill dragons.”

  “How awe inspiring,” said Raettonus dryly. “Honestly though, that’s not enough to make the Kariss an ally of any interest to actual soldiers.”

  Deggho mumbled something to himself in his native tongue, but dropped the argument. They sat in a silence broken only by the softly crackling torches on the walls and the faint sound of Deggho’s brush on the canvas. After a while, the goblin leaned back in his chair. “I’m finished,” he announced, a look of pride swelling on his face. “If I may say, I think this might be one of the best portraits I’ve ever done.”

  He turned the easel so Raettonus could see the picture. There was no denying it was a handsome image, nearly flawless in its likeness of the magician. It showed him from head to chest, gazing at something far distant with half-closed eyes and a tight expression of disgust. Behind him, embers swirled in the darkness, and stray strands of his hair blew in the same strange wind. All in all, it was a very masterfully done piece of art, and Raettonus found it rather impressive, to say the least.

  Deggho looked eagerly at Raettonus while he studied the painting, plainly waiting on his approval. How much would it crush him, Raettonus wondered, if I were to tell him I hated it?

  “Oh,” said Raettonus blandly. “It’s… Well, thank you anyway.”

  One of Deggho’s eyes twitched as he gripped tightly to the easel. “What?” he asked frantically. “What’s wrong? You don’t like it? What did I do wrong?”

  “No, nothing,” said Raettonus with a shrug. “Certainly I like it.”

  “You don’t sound like you do,” mumbled Deggho. “If you don’t like it, please, tell me how I can—”

  “No, no,” said Raettonus, barely containing a smirk at the goblin’s dismay. “I do like it. It’s…nice. No, really. It’s very…nice.”

  The goblin seemed close to tears. “Oh,” he said. “I…I could repaint it, if you want.”

  “No, no, it’s all right,” Raettonus said, waving his hand dismissively. “I should be going, then.”

  “Wait, don’t go,” said Deggho, grabbing Raettonus’ hand and squeezing it tightly. His flesh was clammy and unpleasant. “You only just got down here. I…I don’t want to be left alone.”

  “I have other places to be,” Raettonus said coldly, pulling himself out of Deggho dek’Kariss’ grip.

  “But—you’ll be back tomorrow, right?” asked Deggho. He was beginning to grow somewhat panicked. “Please—you’ve got to come back tomorrow. If you don’t, I won’t know what to do with myself. I hate it down here, Raettonus. There’s a room filled with weapons in this wing, and sometimes I go into there and I sit and I look at all those old swords and I think ‘what would it be like, if I just jammed this into my stomach?’ I don’t know that I’d have enough strength to do it, but every day I spend down here, I start believing a little more that yes, I might. If you don’t come back, I’m afraid, Raettonus—I’m afraid I’m going to hurt myself.” Raettonus didn’t answer. For a long while, Deggho stared at him pleadingly.

  “We’ll see,” said Raettonus, untouched.

  “Please come back,” Deggho said in a tiny, scared voice. “When I’m all alone, I start to wonder if I even exist at all. It’s a nightmare, Raettonus. I start to wonder if I exist, and I start to wonder if it’d be better to die, that way I’ll know for sure if I was ever even alive. You’ll come back, won’t you?”

  “We’ll see,” Raettonus said again, and he left the goblin behind to retire to his chamber.

  * * *

  All night, the citadel rang with the sound of sword practice in the courtyard and of soldiers tramping through the halls. Somewhere in the hall outside Raettonus’ room a clock ticked solemnly on. Between the constant sounds and his strange nightmares, Raettonus couldn’t manage to get any quality sleep. When he groggily awoke the next morning, the sounds were still going strong as Kaebha Citadel buzzed with war.

  Raettonus had dreamed a strange dream. He could only remember it in pieces—just the barest bones of what had occurred—and for a long time he lay still on his bed trying to pull the fragmented images into something coherent.

  It had been gray. Everything had been desolate and cold and gray. There had been rocks—it had been outside somewhere—but there were no trees, no sun, no moon, no wind, no sky. Just a rocky void, all in gray. Gray save for a s
ingle figure clad in white, crossing the expanse all alone.

  Rocks. There had been enormous, massive, monstrous rocks. Gray stone monoliths that towered tens of feet above the ground. They jutted up from the earth like arrows jutting out of cooling flesh.

  Something was important about these rocks. Raettonus closed his eyes and tried very hard to remember…

  There were men. There were men chained to the rocks. Chained like Prometheus, arms stretched wide. They screamed. They wouldn’t stop screaming. The figure in white paid them no mind. They weren’t the ones he wanted. The dozens of Prometheuses screamed and screamed and were ignored.

  Was there more to it? He felt as though he was missing something, but hard as he tried, he couldn’t dredge up any more of the dream. With a frustrated sigh, Raettonus opened his eyes and scowled at the ceiling.

  Getting out of bed, he stepped on something cold and hard. With a hiss, he withdrew his foot and looked down to find the carved unicorn lying on the floor. He picked it up, figuring it must’ve slipped out of Kimohr Raulinn’s robe when he’d undressed. “Just as well,” murmured Raettonus, setting it on his desk. “I can give it back to Rhodes when we return to Ti Tunfa. Maybe as a lark, I’ll show it to him and then smash it into a thousand pieces. That’d be a good way to liven up a slow afternoon.”

  He smirked to himself and got dressed.

  * * *

  For months afterward, tension filled the citadel. Day and night, the soldiers practiced and walked the walls. The Tahlehson host huddled at a safe distance, shielded by the natural curves of the mountain, as they painstakingly worked to harvest timber in order to prepare a covered ram and some catapults. It was a tedious, long process, however, since the only trees were miles away and had to be hauled along the treacherous roads to their campsite.

  Raettonus went on teaching his lessons as though nothing were happening. Indeed, to him it was just as though nothing were. By the time a year had passed, his students had gotten measurably better at summoning elements. Maeleht had his best luck summoning stone, while Dohrleht’s talent seemed to be in wind. Neither one was a natural at magic, to Raettonus’ disappointment; that meant he had to work that much harder with them. Being a natural at pyromancy, it was difficult for him to deal with the problems they had most times. However, they were getting better, even if Raettonus often found them frustrating to teach. Dohrleht was becoming particularly skilled, while Maeleht was still so troubled by his coughing fits and fainting spells that it was impossible for him to get any decent amount of practice in all at once.

  It was a cold winter afternoon when Raettonus decided to teach them more about necromancy.

  “Now, it’s important to understand,” he said to them very seriously. “This is going to open up a gate for you that cannot be shut. Once you learn to see ghosts, you cannot un-see them. They will be everywhere. They will look at you and try to beg you to help them, and there will be nothing you can do for them. Every single day for the rest of your lives, you will know where people have died painful, soul-splitting deaths. If you don’t want to learn this, I won’t teach it to you, and we’ll skip straight to the quick resurrections. You don’t have to see ghosts for quick resurrections.”

  “What do ghosts look like?” Maeleht asked, leaning forward over the table. Though a year had passed, he had barely grown at all; he was still a pale wisp of a child.

  Raettonus shrugged. “Nothing exciting. They just look like people,” he said. “Except they’re translucent, as though all the color were taken out of them. They’ve got a sort of look to their face, as well—a look of complete and utter despondence.”

  Maeleht bit his lower lip contemplatively. “Can ghosts hurt you?” he asked. “I mean, I remember you saying before that if you’re holding them they can. But if you don’t do that, don’t grab them with your energy…”

  “No, they can’t. Not if you don’t make contact with them first,” Raettonus said. “But there are other, mostly-ethereal things that can.”

  “Like the specters in the Center of Souls?” Dohrleht asked. Unlike Maeleht, Dohrleht had done a fair amount of growing in the time Raettonus had been tutoring them. His gimp leg, however, had seemed to shrivel down a bit.

  “Yes, like them,” Raettonus said with a nod. “But as far as specters go, they’re scared off by powerful magic. That’s why shamans and mages can walk alone through the Center of Souls and come out the other side unharmed.”

  “Unless they meet Guardian Bregdan there,” said Maeleht. “He doesn’t like trespassers. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway. He gores trespassers on his horn, and then he eats them.”

  “Raettonus, have you ever met Guardian Bregdan?” asked Dohrleht.

  “Yes, I have,” Raettonus answered. “He’s a sour beast, Bregdan. I traveled with him for a while.”

  “Really?” asked Maeleht. “You traveled with a guardian? What was it like?”

  “Unpleasant. Can we get back to the business at hand, boys?” he responded dryly. “Would you like to be taught to see ghosts?”

  A silence pressed down on them as the brothers mulled it over. Raettonus was certain that Dohrleht would give the first answer, and was surprised when Maeleht spoke instead. “Teach me,” said the younger brother. “I want to see them.”

  “Me, too,” Dohrleht said, sounding hesitant, as though he were only asking to be taught so that he wouldn’t seem afraid to his brother.

  “Well, then,” Raettonus said, rising. “Let’s go find some ghosts. Is there some kind of tomb around here?”

  “The first general who served at this citadel is interred on one of the lower floors,” said Dohrleht. “I’m not really sure quite where though.”

  “Well, we’ll figure it out,” said Raettonus. “Come on, then. On your feet, both of you.”

  Dohrleht got up with the usual amount of trouble his bad leg gave him, while Ebha helped Maeleht to stand. They left the room, with Raettonus walking beside Maeleht and Ebha walking with Dohrleht as he limped along, aided by a crutch. The group made its way downward, down flights of stairs and through long corridors. They stopped often so the centaurs could rest. On one stairwell Maeleht fainted, and Raettonus and Dohrleht had to catch him. He came around fairly quickly and profusely apologized for the trouble he had caused.

  At length, they reached the lowest level of the citadel—a dusty, disused floor filled with spider webs and the faint sounds of what Raettonus was certain were rats, though he tried very hard to dissuade himself of that idea. The air down there was cool but stale, and it seemed the level was mostly used for storage. Livestock were kept on the floor above, but after they were butchered, the meat that wasn’t cooked was preserved down on that lowest subterranean floor. There were barrels of alcohol and crates full of vegetables down there too, along with a small armory mostly full of chain mail suits and simple helms with a nose guard and closed-in cheeks.

  “No one uses this armory anymore,” Dohrleht said as they walked through it. “The ones upstairs are better stocked, and we don’t have nearly enough soldiers here anyway to make it necessary.”

  Tarnished brass relief sculptures were set into most of the walls, almost all of them depicting Harkkan, the goblin god of war, and Kurok, the elven god of warriors. A few showed Kaeriaht, the centaur fire god, or Cykkus, the black-winged death god. Most of the sconces in the walls were without torches, and some had fallen down. Raettonus lit their way with a flame he summoned in one outstretched palm.

  They came upon an ornate vault door Dohrleht thought might’ve been the tomb. Raettonus tried the door only to find it locked. “I don’t suppose either of you have a key?” he asked. The boys shook their heads. “Well, I guess I’m going to have to break the lock then. Hm.”

  “I can open it,” Ebha said quietly. Raettonus looked her way, and she quickly turned her gaze down.

  Raettonus stepped back from the door. “Be my guest,” he said.

  She stepped up to the vault door, fishing a pin out of her bodic
e. Hunching over the lock, she stuck the pin in and maneuvered it around a little. With a hideous creak, the door swung lethargically inward, and Ebha stepped back away from it. “I suppose I should probably ask where you learned to pick locks?” Raettonus said to her, smirking a little. “I should think this is the sort of thing the general might want to know, hm?”

  “My previous master taught me, Magician,” Ebha replied in barely a whisper.

  Raettonus shoved open the door the rest of the way, and it protested with the rusty screeching of its hinges. A burst of hot, rancid air rushed to meet them, sending Maeleht into a minor coughing fit. Once his attack had been soothed, the party plunged into the dark chamber beyond.

  It was a square room of no great size. At the far end, a sarcophagus sat beside the wall. On either side of the sarcophagus, corridors led into another room whose details were obscured by the intense darkness beyond the light of Raettonus’ flame. By the sarcophagus, something was moving back and forth, muttering to itself. It was hard to see the ghost in the flickering firelight, but as they drew closer, Raettonus could see that it was an enormous, broad-chested centaur, with arrows sticking out of his neck and back. “Gods protect us! Someone bring me my sword!” the ghost shouted, noticing them. “My sword! The goblins are all around us! Gods, be quick about it and bring me my sword!”

  Maeleht watched Raettonus stare into what must have been only empty air for him before leaning forward. “Raettonus?” he asked timidly. “Is there a ghost here?”

  Raettonus nodded. “Indeed there is,” he said.

  “Gods, why are you just standing there?” yelled the ghost, rearing up. “The goblins will be on us at any moment! My sword! Bring me my sword! Bring me any sword! Gods above—why won’t anyone bring me a sword?”

  “This is probably going to take a while,” Raettonus said. “You should probably sit, the both of you.”

  Maeleht and Dohrleht sat on the ground uncertainly, and Raettonus sat cross-legged between them, facing the sarcophagus. The ghost watched them fearfully and begged for a sword but, seeing they wouldn’t answer him, finally gave it up for lost and began to pace back and forth, murmuring about goblins and asking where his sword could be. Ebha stood behind them in the doorway, watching without interest. Raettonus set his hands in his lap, cradling there the flame that was their only light.