Dirge for a Necromancer

by Ash Stinson

Maeleht’s lower lip trembled, and he slid along the wall into a sitting position. “I really hoped I was wrong,” he said as Raettonus took a seat beside him. “I—Dohrleht loved our father just as much as I did. For the past few months though, he’s been spending practically all his time with Daeblau… Do… Raettonus, do you think Daeblau might’ve put him up to it? Poisoning Dad?”

  “I couldn’t say,” said Raettonus with a shrug. Though, he was certain Daeblau had at least put him up to stabbing Tykkleht while everyone else was distracted with the invasion. That wasn’t something Maeleht needed to know about, however.

  “I never liked him, Daeblau,” Maeleht confided. “He’s nice to everyone, but he scares me a little. It’s…something about the way he’s never really happy, even when he’s smiling.”

  “So,” said Raettonus, looking up toward the sky. Above them there were hundreds of thousands of stars strewn about in the unfathomable darkness, giving warmth and light to places he’d never see. “What are you going to do now?”

  “Nothing, I guess,” said Maeleht glumly. “What can I do, anyway? It’s not as if I have any proof, and even if I did… Well, Dohrleht’s my brother. No matter what, he’s my brother.”

  They were quiet for a bit, listening to the nearby priest leading the soldiers in a slow, mournful song in Kaerikyna whose words Raettonus didn’t understand, but whose tune he vaguely recognized as “Carry Him from the Battlefield.” As they sang the dirge, they stomped their hooves, creating a solemn beat beneath the singing. After the song had ended and the mourning soldiers began a new one, Raettonus turned to Maeleht. “I want to teach you something,” he said. “Reach your hands out, palms up—no, together, like this. There. Now, close your eyes.”

  Maeleht closed his eyes, leaning his head back slightly. “What are we going to do?” asked the child.

  “Summon a rock for me. A large rock, big enough to fill both your hands—can you do that?” asked Raettonus.

  “I’ll try,” said Maeleht, squeezing his eyes tight as he concentrated. “But you’ve already taught me this…”

  “This is something different,” Raettonus assured him. “Think to yourself about something. Some object—doesn’t matter what it is, just an object. Picture it in your mind’s eye. Picture all its curves and angles. Try to summon up a stone while imagining you’re running your fingers across every surface of that object.”

  Maeleht’s fingers twitched slightly. “What should I think of?”

  “It doesn’t matter; anything you like,” said Raettonus. “Something familiar to you. Something so familiar that you can see it from every side and angle.”

  The boy bit his lip and scrunched up his nose. Dust began to appear above his cupped palms, suspended in the air. The dust swirled and stuck together, forming pebbles, which clung together to form rocks. Slowly, the rocks began to form into the likeness of a butterfly. It was a rough likeness, with lots of cracks and uneven areas, but it was recognizable. “Good,” said Raettonus. “Open your eyes.”

  Maeleht inhaled sharply when he saw the stone butterfly floating over his hands. He looked at Raettonus with wide-eyed wonder. “I did that?” he asked.

  “You did,” confirmed Raettonus with a nod. “It’s a little rough, but… You did well.”

  “I did?” asked Maeleht again. He looked down at the stone butterfly, and it fell into his hands. A smile spread across his freckled face. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I did, didn’t I?”

  “With a little work, you can make it perfect,” said Raettonus.

  Maeleht smiled and cradled the stone butterfly close to his chest, admiring his work. “Thank you for teaching me this, Raettonus,” he said quietly.

  Raettonus shrugged one shoulder and mumbled, “You’re welcome.”

  The soldiers and the priest had begun to sing “Carry Him from the Battlefield” again, this time in common Zylekkhan. Raettonus didn’t know the words to it, but beside him, Maeleht joined in quietly.

  “From fire we come,

  To fire returned.

  Carry him from the battlefield.

  His heart is broken,

  His face is burned.

  Carry him from the battlefield.

  His sword is shattered,

  His fight is lost.

  Carry him from the battlefield.

  His brothers fight on,

  No matter the cost.

  Carry him from the battlefield.

  Place him on wood,

  Give him a light.

  Carry him from the battlefield.

  Our good soldier

  Dines with gods tonight.

  Carry him from the battlefield.”

  Through the fire, Tykkleht’s body was barely visible. When the flames were finished, all that would remain would be his armor. Perhaps they’d hang up his breastplate somewhere, in his memory. Or maybe they’d send it to his wife in Sae Noklu, on the plains. Raettonus couldn’t shake the feeling, however, that it’d simply be thrown out or put away and forgotten. In his experience, the dead were usually put away and forgotten.

  * * *

  Even with the sizable Tahlehson army serving beneath General Diahsis occupying the fort, the Kaebha Citadel was still quite empty. Most of the soldiers were stationed on the lower levels, guarding the loyalist Zylekkhans. For his part, Diahsis had taken control of one of the uppermost floors, posting guards at all the stairwells. Raettonus wasn’t certain what the young general needed with an entire floor, but he heard from Dohrleht—who often attended Diahsis with Daeblau—that the whole floor had been redecorated to suit his tastes, which were a lot more elegant than the Zylekkhan commanders who had previously had run of that level.

  Those soldiers who weren’t put to work guarding the loyalists or keeping Diahsis’ level secure were mostly employed in rebuilding the wall their undermining had unsteadied. It was backbreaking work, and Raettonus did not envy them, but they were centaurs, and centaurs were strong, with powerful horse bodies to pull and powerful human hands to lift. Raettonus watched them working from the battlements as he sat up there with Brecan. The unicorn was skulking about the roof, catching sparrows and bringing them to Raettonus.

  “Do you think they’ll be done with that any time soon?” asked Brecan after he had brought Raettonus another dead sparrow.

  “They only just started,” Raettonus responded, tying the bird’s feet together and stringing it up with the others Brecan had caught for him. He hadn’t been counting, but was certain he had at least a dozen birds now. “I’m not sure they’ll fix the wall for at least a year.”

  “There’s so many of them working on it though,” Brecan said, flattening his ears. “I think it’ll be done soon.”

  “You can think that, but you’re still wrong.”

  Brecan twitched his tail and sat back on his lion-like haunches. “I’m not wrong, am I?” he mumbled. After a moment, he stopped sulking. “Hey, Raet—is that enough sparrows or do you need more? Can I eat one?”

  “You can eat one when I’m done with them,” said Raettonus, holding the sparrows up by the string and counting them. “I could use two more. This won’t be enough feathers.”

  “Two more?” said Brecan, a little dismayed. He glanced around and, spotting a bird perched at the other side of the roof, bounded off after it, nearly bowling over a patrolling Tahlehson soldier who got in his way.

  Raettonus turned away to watch the soldiers down below pulling blocks around and calling to one another in Tahlkyna, the soft-sounding language of their homeland. After a while, a shadow fell over Raettonus. Assuming it to be Brecan with another sparrow, he lazily put one hand out to receive it. “They’re not going to finish any time soon,” Raettonus said, still watching the construction. “Too many blocks broke. They’re going to have to carve more of them.”

  “Yes, Magician, they will,” said the gruff voice of a soldier. Raettonus looked up and saw an older centaur standing over him. He had the accent of a Tahlehson. “General Diahsis has requested your presence.” />
  Raettonus pursed his lips and stood, slinging the dead sparrows over one of his shoulders. Brushing the dust off the back of his tunic, he said, “Fine. Lead the way, sir.”

  The soldier nodded and took him down the stairs a couple flights to Diahsis’ floor. A number of tapestries had been hung on the walls, along with paintings Raettonus recognized as Deggho’s handiwork. The soldier led Raettonus to the general’s room, which was large and spacious with cushioned chairs and proper windows overlooking the ocean. Diahsis was lounging on a divan beneath a window as Raettonus entered. Dismissing the soldier, the general motioned for Raettonus to take a seat, which he did.

  “It’s come to my attention,” said Diahsis, smoothing out the wrinkles in his lavish clothes, “that the goblin I executed was a friend of yours. You have my apologies.”

  “That’s not necessary,” said Raettonus. “We weren’t friends.”

  “He had a lot of paintings of you,” said Diahsis. He gave the birds slung over Raettonus’ shoulder a look of distaste as they leaked blood onto the divan Raettonus had seated himself on, but didn’t comment on them. “Surely he thought you were friends?”

  “I don’t see that it matters what he thought—you killed him,” Raettonus said dryly. “He’s dead now, so let’s not discuss it, hm?”

  “If you’d rather we didn’t talk about him, I won’t press the subject,” said Diahsis. He smiled again. “You know, Magician, I’ve been thinking quite a bit…”

  “What about?” asked Raettonus, though he certainly knew.

  “About you, Magician,” said Diahsis. “Why didn’t you defend the citadel if you were in General Tykkleht’s employ here? You’re certainly capable of it, if the stories are true. Has everything I’ve been told about you been a lie?”

  “That’s not what I was employed for. I had no reason to defend it,” Raettonus said. “This is not my fortress, and it wasn’t my fight.”

  “Awfully selfish of you.”

  “That’s the wrong word. You want ‘self-interested,’” Raettonus said. “I acted out of self-interest.”

  “Ah. My mistake,” said Diahsis, nodding. “This is not my first language, forgive me.” He cleared his throat and crossed his legs. “So, then, it was…self-interest that made you watch as we stormed the walls?”

  “I have no personal stake in who controls this fort,” Raettonus said as he shrugged his shoulders. “Like I told you before, I’m only here to teach Dohrleht and Maeleht.”

  “I wonder—what would it cost to get you to join our cause?” asked Diahsis.

  “This isn’t my war,” Raettonus said. “I don’t plan to take part.”

  “What price will make it your war?”

  “None,” Raettonus answered.

  “None? Magician, you disappoint me,” said Diahsis. “I was under the impression you’d do anything if the price was right for you. If it’s a matter of you not believing I have the gold to back it up—”

  “I don’t doubt you do,” said Raettonus. “Unfortunately, there’s only so much gold one can have before it’s no longer of interest. I’ve reached that threshold. No amount of gold can pay the cost, since being a soldier is of no interest to me. It’d be unwelcome tedium.”

  “Something else, then,” said Diahsis. “Land? A title? A woman? A man? Just say the word and it’s yours. Hell, all of them, if you want. I can deliver.”

  “I’m not interested in any of those things,” Raettonus said evenly.

  “You could have your own army, serving beneath you.”

  “I don’t want my own army.”

  “How about your own kingdom, then?” Diahsis offered. “Once Zylekkha belongs to King Saemohr, he’ll need to install a puppet government here to run it. You could be Zylekkha’s new king.”

  “King Puppet? I think I’ll pass,” said Raettonus, arching one eyebrow. “Besides, you seem to believe very badly that you need my help to conquer Zylekkha. You do, as a matter of fact, because even if you’ve got a big army at your back, so do the Zylekkhans. And they know the lay of the land. See, if I wanted Zylekkha, I wouldn’t need your army to get it. I could take it all on my own. But I don’t want it. You can have it.”

  “Help us get it,” said Diahsis, leaning forward. “Please, Magician. I can get you anything your heart desires, if you’ll only help us take Zylekkha.”

  Raettonus smirked. “Are you begging, General?” he asked.

  The general straightened up, smoothing his wolf skin cape. “I would never beg,” he said sternly.

  “Too bad,” Raettonus said. “I’m partial to men of power groveling at my feet.”

  “Would that be your price?” asked Diahsis as he furrowed his brow.

  “Would you do it if it were?”

  The Tahlehson general hesitated. “Of course,” he said finally.

  “You lie,” Raettonus said. “And not very well.” He leaned back in his cushioned seat and looked out the window over Diahsis’ shoulder. Over the mountaintops he could see the ocean where it met the coastline and disappeared into the horizon. “I get the distinct impression you’ve got more of a stake in my joining you than just your duty.”

  “How’s that?” asked Diahsis.

  “You must believe that recruiting a famous magician such as myself to your cause will win you points with your king,” Raettonus said. “I think you’re hoping to be put in charge of Zylekkha if you manage to defeat it.”

  Diahsis smiled, an expression that sat handsomely on his face. “Guilty,” he said. “Magician, understand—I am but a humble elf. We need to take our advantages where we can find them, because no one hands us anything in a place like Tahlehsohr. Do you think I got to be the sole elf in an army of hundreds of thousands—leading that army, no less—by merely being a good strategist? Hardly. I clawed my way to the top through blood and fire, and I have to keep clawing to stay on top. I intend to sit the throne of Zylekkha in the name of my king, even if it means I have to sit a throne of skulls first. Every misstep sets me back five steps, Raettonus. It’s a horrible struggle for an elf, trying to keep up with centaurs. I cannot be soft, as a general—not like your Tykkleht was.”

  “He was not mine,” Raettonus said. “I am not Zylekkhan.”

  “Forgive me. Not yours,” said Diahsis. “All the same, centaurian generals are permitted to be soft and occasionally lose battles once they’ve become generals. Do you know what would happen if I lost a battle? I’d be hanged. Just like that, everything I ever did would be forgotten, and I would be hanged. They probably wouldn’t even bother to build a gallows for me—just string me up from the nearest tree. I’m not as strong or fast as a centaur, so I have to be ten times as crafty and a thousand times more ruthless. But when I sit my own throne… Well. That’s not something I should speak of.”

  “You sound very proud,” Raettonus noted.

  “Proud?” said Diahsis. “Yes. You could say I’m proud. I’m proud of where I’ve gotten and the work I’ve put in to get there.”

  “Too proud to beg?”

  There was an urgent knock at the door behind them. Diahsis looked to the door with an annoyed expression. “Come in!”

  A soldier entered, his equine lower body foamy with sweat. His face was pale and his pupils were enormous, lending his eyes and face a crazed look. “General,” he said breathlessly. “I went to bring the goblin’s body, as you ordered, to the Kariss—”

  “Were you attacked?” asked Diahsis cutting him short. “I’ll send three dozen swords immediately to make them rue that action.”

  “No, General, not attacked,” said the soldier, faltering. He wrung his hands, as though he weren’t sure what he should say. “In fact, we, um, we never even reached the Kariss.”

  “Well, what then?” Diahsis asked, visibly agitated. “Why’d you come back? Could you not find them?”

  “N-no, sir,” the soldier said. “I mean—well, no, we didn’t find them. But, I don’t mean to say we couldn’t. We—we had intelligence as to where th
ey were camped, we just hadn’t made it there—”

  “What happened?” asked Diahsis. “Spit it out, soldier!”

  The soldier swallowed hard and opened his mouth before closing it uncertainly. He was trembling, and he looked as though he might faint at any moment. Finally, he seemed to gather up his thoughts—or maybe his courage—and he began to fumble about with the words.

  “The—the goblin’s body… That is to say, the goblin, he… He came back to life, General.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Kurok protect us,” said Diahsis, when Deggho dek’Kariss was shown in. “I think I’m about to be ill.”

  The goblin carried his severed head cradled in his arms. There was a stench about him too—the smell of organs beginning to break down mingled with stale blood. However, aside from those things, he seemed perfectly alive. He didn’t move with the shuffling, uncoordinated steps of the reanimated, Raettonus noted, and his facial expressions were just as vivid as they had been when he was alive. “It was awfully mean of you to kill me without even giving me a head’s up about it,” said Deggho sullenly.

  “A head’s up, huh?” remarked Raettonus with a smirk.

  “I didn’t mean to make a pun,” said the goblin, pointing his head toward Raettonus. “Do you think I’m in the mood for joking, Raettonus? I’m holding my head. I’m holding my head and it’s not attached to anything.”

  “Could you vivisect it?” Diahsis asked Raettonus, waving one hand vaguely in Deggho’s direction.

  “Certainly, though I’m not sure what good it’d do.”

  “I was beheaded and now you want to vivisect me?” asked Deggho, eyes widening. “Gods above, this really has been the worst sort of day! …er, two days, I guess. Or was it three? What day is it now?”

  Raettonus stood up. “Come on, Deggho,” he said. “It may not hurt.”

  “It is going to hurt though, isn’t it?” said the goblin with a sigh that came out of the neck hole his head once sat upon. He turned his eyes toward one of the paintings on the wall. “Hey—that’s mine! I did that! I did that in the hopes I wouldn’t be killed. I—oh… Oh, well…the best laid plans, and all that…”