by Ash Stinson
“Master, really,” Raettonus said, voice carefully measured. “I’m not angry with you. I’m really not. What you said… You were honestly right to say it. What I did to Rhodes was horrible. Reprehensible. You were in the right. You really don’t need to be forgiven by me.”
“But I’d like to be,” said Slade.
Raettonus looked up at Slade, face carefully blank. Sir Slade had a way of making Raettonus always feel like a little child. Maybe it was the sheer size of him—he was a couple inches over six feet, with a chest like a barrel and arms like tree limbs. Or perhaps it was the way he always looked at Raettonus, as if he were looking at something small and helpless. “Of course I forgive you, then,” he said. “I’m perfectly willing to just forget the whole thing, if you want me to, Master.”
Slade forced a smile onto his face and pushed away from the wall. “That’s good,” he said. “I’m glad. I was worried that… Well, never mind. If you’ve forgiven me, it’s all fine. Let’s not dwell on it, shall we?”
They entered the main entrance hall of the citadel. The doors at the end of the hall were open wide, and outside soldiers were standing around or else pulling blocks into place to help reconstruct the wall. They were working extra hard to make up for the lost time the storm had caused them. “If you don’t mind my asking,” said Raettonus tentatively, “what was it your father said to you that made you hate him?”
Slade stared down at the grimy floor. “That’s a very painful memory for me, and I’d rather not linger on it,” he answered. “Suffice to say he did not approve of my necromancy.”
Raettonus frowned. “Something I’ve always sort of wondered—how did you get found out as a necromancer?” asked Raettonus. “You’ve never told me.”
With a weak shrug, Slade said, “It’s pretty much the same as you getting found out as a pyromancer, just that I was much, much older. You know how hard it is to control a magic you’re really in tune with when you’re feeling emotional, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Right, well, just because there need to be corpses around for my necromancy to do anything, I was able to hide it a lot longer than you could hide your pyromancy,” Slade said. “I was pretty lucky, early on. I never got caught before I had any control over my necromancy. But some years after Lord Brigham had taught me to control it, my brother died. He and I were very close, and I was pretty distraught over it. Too distraught, in fact. When I showed up at his funeral, he began to twitch and rise up from under his shroud. Mary, it was awful…”
There was shouting outside, and the pair turned their attention to the open doors where a gryphon was landing with Deggho and Diahsis on it. The goblin shouted for help as Diahsis wobbled and fell off the gryphon’s back. Slade and Raettonus exchanged a look and started quickly toward the doors, where groups of soldiers were already gathering. Raettonus shouldered his way through the crowding centaurs.
“What happened?” he asked Deggho, as the goblin knelt next to a delirious, barely conscious Diahsis. Blood was running thickly out of Diahsis’ thigh where his chain mail had been crunched open and was hanging in tatters.
Deggho pointed his head up toward Raettonus. “Magician! Gods, I’m glad to see you,” he said quickly. “We were attacked by these…these creatures with steel teeth and… Gods protect us, they killed everyone else. We tried to fight them off and they killed everyone. One of them bit Diahsis. Can—can you help him?”
Raettonus knelt down next to him. “Let me have a look at the wound,” he said and turned to Slade. “Master, could you help me clean the blood away so I can get a look at the area.”
Slade nodded and created a sphere of water between his hands. Down beside Raettonus, he knelt and brought the water to Diahsis’ thigh, rubbing the coagulating blood away from it. When he was finished, Raettonus pulled the cloth and twisted metal rings back from the wound and saw what he’d feared he’d see. Veins of dark blue surrounded the bite. “This is the bite of an abassy,” Raettonus said. “Help me get him inside. If he’s not healed quickly, he’s going to die.”
Two centaurian soldiers moved quickly to aid him, picking up the general and carrying him where Raettonus directed.
When Diahsis was placed on a clean bed in an empty room, Raettonus bid everyone leave him. Slade wanted to stay and help, but Raettonus assured him it wouldn’t be necessary and sent him on his way. Raettonus stripped Diahsis down and checked him for other wounds but there were none—only the horrible, dark-veined bite on his thigh. It was one of the places Kimohr Raulinn had been bitten as well, and Raettonus assumed it was because of the artery that ran through the area that the abassy would aim for the thigh specifically. With a bowl of water and a clean cloth, Raettonus set about cleaning the wound.
He wet Diahsis’ discolored thigh and conjured up a fire on his fingertips. “Healing flame,” he mumbled to himself, concentrating on the idea. He touched the fire to the wound, and a sharp pain shot up Raettonus’ arm like lightning. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, his resolve weakening. Diahsis cried out groggily as the flames burned him, and Raettonus quickly withdrew his hand to survey the damage. The flesh was reddened and the hairs around the area were singed, but no real injury had been done.
Raettonus ran the cloth over the wound again, wetting it. Gathering his concentration, he put the fire to the wound. He could feel the poison inside Diahsis’ leg. It stung him as he burned it away. For several minutes, Raettonus held his healing flame to Diahsis’ thigh, but the wound would not leave. Perhaps because it was fresher than the wounds Kimohr Raulinn had had, or perhaps because Raettonus’ magic still had not fully recovered—whatever the case, this wound was proving a lot more resistant than the ones he had healed on the god.
The flames on Raettonus’ fingertips burned hot as he held them to the injury. It was like he’d stuck his hand into a raging inferno or a volcano. The abassy bite was resolute, however, and no matter how much energy Raettonus put into his healing flame it refused to mend. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. With his eyes closed, he could sense the poison of the abassy’s bite; it was like a strong, malevolent presence waiting within the general’s artery. It was waiting there, mocking Raettonus’ attempts to destroy it.
Half an hour went by, and Raettonus began to feel fatigued. A vague fear surfaced in his mind that the wound wouldn’t heal, that since Diahsis was mortal there was no way to heal the abassy’s bite.
Frowning, Raettonus pushed the thought out of his mind and concentrated on keeping the fire on his fingers a healing flame as he pressed them against Diahsis’ thigh. He reached toward the general’s chest with his free hand and placed his palm flat over Diahsis’ heart. He could feel the pulse deep beneath his fingers, running through the thick muscles of his chest and his dark red lungs as the half-elven general’s heart beat feverishly faint. Focusing hard, he reached into Diahsis’ chest with his energy—into his heart, into his blood—forcing the magician’s magical essence to flow through all of Diahsis’ body and then back out again into Raettonus’ other hand. Raettonus took a deep breath as he felt the magical taint of Diahsis’ injury interacting with his own magical energy. It was painful, but it was also somewhat like stretching a sore muscle—a pain that felt necessary. He imagined fire burning inside of Diahsis’ blood, destroying the abassy’s poison without damaging the general’s veins and tissues.
He imagined a tiny fire, so small it could not be seen, moving like a snake through Diahsis’ veins. A little stream of fire twisting and turning and never touching the walls of the blood vessels. He focused hard on the thought of it. Imagined a microscopic fire that burned nothing but the black poison of the abassy bite. This tiny flame was a healing flame, destroying nothing that belonged to the body it was temporarily inhabiting.
Beneath his fingers, Raettonus could feel the flesh of Diahsis’ thigh repairing itself. It went slowly. Kimohr Raulinn’s wounds had been far more numerous, but took less time and energy for Raettonus to heal. Bu
t Diahsis didn’t have the benefit of Kimohr Raulinn’s magic residing in every inch of his body. He was only a mortal—a weak construct of flesh, completely devoid of any magic beyond his werewolf blood-right.
The wound was turning hard. When Raettonus pulled his hand away, it was a patch of scar tissue with an indentation where the skin had been torn and mangled by the steel fangs of the abassy. The flesh around it was slightly burned from Raettonus’ earlier slip in concentration, but the dark veins from the poison were gone, and the scar covering the injury—though fresh—looked solid.
He felt Diahsis’ forehead and found him still feverish. Raettonus dipped the washcloth he’d used to clean Diahsis’ wound in his bowl of water and folded it up, setting it across Diahsis’ forehead to cool him.
Raettonus was beginning to feel faint from exertion. Setting down the bowl beside the bed, he headed for the door. Outside, Deggho and a number of soldiers were milling about nervously.
“How is he? Is he all right?” asked Deggho.
“He’s asleep,” said Raettonus. “I need to go lie down. When he gets up, send for me. I’d like to talk to the both of you about the attack. I want to know what happened.”
“I could tell you,” said Deggho.
“Not now,” said Raettonus. “I need to sleep. Later. When Diahsis wakes up.”
“Okay,” the goblin said. He frowned and, readjusting his head, entered the room as Raettonus tiredly made his way past the soldiers still milling around, murmuring amongst themselves.
As Raettonus was making his way down the hall Slade came to meet him. “What happened?” asked Slade. “Is he going to be all right? What was that wound from?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to ask when he comes to,” lied Raettonus. “He’s still got a fever but he should be fine. Could—could you give me your arm, Master? I’m feeling unsteady.”
Slade obligingly helped Raettonus back to his room. As soon as Raettonus was in his bed, he was asleep. He dreamed of dark, colorless places and fire—no memories or conversations. No peaceful temples on broken plains.
* * *
It was midmorning when he awoke, groggy and covered in stale sweat. For a moment, he felt confused and light-headed. As his thoughts ordered themselves, he realized he’d been awoken by a hard-faced Zylekkhan soldier who was standing patiently over his bed watching him. “What’s that?” asked Raettonus, sitting up. He swayed and lay back down.
“General Diahsis woke up. I was told to fetch you,” said the soldier.
“Right, right,” groaned Raettonus, trying again to sit up. He waved the soldier closer and grabbed his arm for support. “Think you’re going to need to carry me, actually. Couldn’t Diahsis come here? Why do I have to go to him?”
The soldier helped him up, and he tried to walk, but found himself growing dizzy. After a little bit of urging, the centaur let Raettonus ride on his back and carried him down to the room where he had left Diahsis the afternoon before. Diahsis was lying in his bed, propped up against the headboard, waiting for Raettonus when he arrived. Deggho, Daeblau, and two soldiers Raettonus had either never seen before or couldn’t remember, were with him. “Magician!” said Diahsis warmly as he entered. “I want to thank you for the bang-up job you did on my leg. You saved my life.”
“Yeah, well,” said Raettonus. “I was just doing what I always do. Which is to say, being amazing.”
“Well, good job,” said the general agreeably. He motioned to the two strangers. “This is Captain Lorum and Captain Uhkeht, by the way.”
Raettonus nodded casually in their direction and leaned against the wall. “Tell me,” he said to Diahsis. “What was the attack like? How many creatures were there? What did they look like?”
“There were seven of them,” said Diahsis. “Horrible creatures with teeth made of iron and these soulless, black eyes…”
Deggho was sitting on the foot of the bed. “They came out of nowhere,” he told Raettonus. “We had twelve soldiers with us, but as soon as those things showed up they didn’t have a chance. We barely made it away…”
“Do you have any idea what they might have been?” Diahsis asked.
Raettonus nodded. “Abassy,” he said. “I’ve seen their bite before. It’s unmistakable.”
“Abassy?” asked Uhkeht. He was an older centaur with long, gray hair and a crooked nose that looked like it had been broken in several places at some point. “Aren’t those the servants of Cykkus?”
Lorum, a much younger centaur with wide brown eyes and a child-like face, asked, “What would make abassy attack us? I mean, is that even possible?”
“Obviously it’s possible,” Raettonus said. “It happened.”
Lorum crossed his arms and muttered something Raettonus couldn’t hear. Deggho’s ears twitched, and he turned his head toward Raettonus. “Wait—you’ve treated abassy bites before? Where? On whom?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. It doesn’t matter, anyhow.”
“I’m going to have to respectfully disagree, Magician,” said Diahsis. He leaned forward in his bed and gave Raettonus a stern look with his light blue eyes. Eyes like Slade’s, back before he died. “I get the feeling you know more about the abassy than you’re saying.”
Raettonus shrugged. Uhkeht took a step toward him. “Whatever it is you know,” he said, “you must tell us. We need to understand, so we can prepare. Where did they come from? Why?”
For a moment, Raettonus was silent as the four men watched him pleadingly. “Yeah, I guess I do have an idea about why they’re here,” he said finally. “And I certainly know where they came from and how they got here.”
“Tell us,” said Diahsis. He pursed his lips and crossed his hands over his lap, his soft blue eyes studying Raettonus’ face hard as he waited for an answer.
“Kimohr Raulinn broke down the walls of Hell,” Raettonus said.
“Why would he do that?” asked Uhkeht. Raettonus shrugged and turned his face away.
“They’re coming to take me to Hell, aren’t they?” asked Deggho, tears beginning to well up in the corners of his eyes. “They know I got out somehow and they’ve come for me, haven’t they?”
“I don’t think so,” said Diahsis. He didn’t take his gaze off Raettonus. “No, I think they’ve come for the Magician’s friend—the man with the glowing eyes.”
Raettonus sighed and looked at the general. “Fine. You’ve got me,” he said. “Sir Slade was brought out of Hell by Kimohr Raulinn. The abassy are here because of it. Hell, that’s probably why Deggho’s here and not rotting in a Kariss grave right now.”
“This isn’t good,” said Uhkeht. “We can’t possibly hold off the forces of a god. We haven’t even finished rebuilding the walls. We’ll be slaughtered in a day when his men arrive here. Certainly they were headed this way when they attacked you and the men, General. They know. If they didn’t before, they must know now.”
“We’re going to have to give up this Sir Slade,” put in Lorum. “We have to hope it’ll be enough to placate Lord Cykkus. It’s the only way to prevent a war we can’t win.”
“You will not be giving Sir Slade up to anyone,” Raettonus snapped. He pushed himself away from the wall and stood as tall as he could manage with his severe height disadvantage.
“You expect us to fight Death for your friend’s sake?” said Lorum. “Gods above, man—I will not die to protect your friend. My first concern is the well-being of my men, and they will not die in this hopeless war.”
Raettonus glowered at him. “Well, then, how’s this for your men? If you try to give up Sir Slade, or tell him anything about this, I will kill you and every single one of your soldiers myself,” he said, placing his hand on the hilt of his rapier. “I’m sure you’re aware I have the power to do so. I could burn this entire fortress to the ground. If you doubt I would, well…” He motioned with his free hand to his pale red eyes. “I didn’t lose my soul by being a good person.”
A pensive silence fell across the group. Fi
nally, Lorum lowered his face and took a step back. Diahsis slid himself out of his bed, standing as steadily as he could. “All right, we’ve got no time to lose then,” he said. “Uhkeht, get that wall up. Lorum, you’re in charge of preparing external defenses. I want a deep chasm around this fort—really deep. And fill it with something painful.”
“Yes, General,” said the two captains, and they started off to their tasks.
When the centaurs were gone, Diahsis turned his attention to Raettonus once again. “I’d tell you the deaths of my men will be on your shoulders,” he said. “But I get the feeling it wouldn’t move you at all.”
“You’re right. It wouldn’t.”
“You’re dismissed, Magician,” said the general. “When Cykkus and his abassy are at our gates, however, I expect to find you on the front lines defending Kaebha. After all, this is your battle. None of us have a stake in it.”
“I have a stake in it,” put in Deggho timidly.
“I will defend Sir Slade to my last breath,” said Raettonus. “If you dare try to give him up, or tell him about this—”
“You need not fear that, Magician,” said Diahsis. “I think this is ill-advised, but I understand. I’ve been in love before, and I know what it is to have someone you love die. If all the people I’ve loved who I’ve lost could come back to me, I’d rather face down Cykkus, as well, than let them die again.” He lifted his wolf skin cape from where it had been folded on the floor and laid its paws over his shoulders. “I think, though, if I can be frank, a man your age shouldn’t have such crippling issues with death. You need to learn to let go, Raettonus.”
Easy enough for you to talk about, Raettonus might have said. Some day, you’ll see the people you’ve lost again, when you die. I don’t have that luxury.