Dirge for a Necromancer

by Ash Stinson

  Instead he bid the general a curt farewell, and left the room. Four soldiers were loitering in the hall, talking to each other in hushed voices. As they noticed him, they broke off their conversation. “Good morning, Magician,” one of them ventured timidly. Raettonus nodded to him and wordlessly went on his way.

  He thought of going to his lessons with Maeleht and Dohrleht but decided against it. Instead he went back to his room and laid his sore, tired body down on the bed and slept for a long while.

  * * *

  Most of the soldiers in Kaebha were employed pulling huge stone blocks to the citadel and helping maneuver them into place. Another large portion of the soldiers were busy digging an enormous trench to separate the citadel from the rest of the mountain. When Raettonus asked about it, Diahsis expressed his intention for the trench to be dug so wide and deep that nothing would ever be able to cross it. Raettonus thought that idea impractical and told the general as such, only to be met with a light-hearted laugh. They spoke no further about it to one another.

  “The soldiers seem very busy,” Slade remarked to Raettonus, a week or so later. “What are they preparing for?”

  “I’m not sure, Master,” Raettonus said.

  Slade frowned. “I see you talking to the general an awful lot,” he said. “He didn’t tell you what was going on in a single conversation?”

  “He hasn’t told me anything, no,” said Raettonus. Slade gave him a hard look, but dropped the issue.

  At night, from the citadel’s roof, Raettonus could see a pulsing light far off in the distance, obscured by the mountain tops and cliffs. The gently shifting light was blue and bright, and it made the mountains appear as if they were breathing in and out in slow, rhythmic patterns. Brecan sat with Raettonus, staring at it.

  “What do you suppose that is?” the unicorn asked.

  “Hell, I think,” answered Raettonus.

  Brecan cocked his head this way, then that. “It’s pretty,” he said. “Raet… Something bad’s about to happen, isn’t it?”

  “Something bad’s always about to happen,” Raettonus said.

  “Worse than usual, I mean,” said Brecan. He turned his face from the distant light, toward Raettonus, and looked at him with one pale blue eye. “You told me before that it’s impossible to bring someone back from the dead, and even though Sir Slade’s been brought back… It’s still impossible, isn’t it? He doesn’t belong here, and bad things are about to happen because of it.” He waited for Raettonus to respond, but was met only with silence. Looking back toward the light, Brecan went on, “I’m afraid, Raet. How can we fight Death himself? I don’t think we can. I think when everything’s said and done, we’re gonna be in a bad way.”

  “You think I should give Master Slade up without a fight,” Raettonus said, his voice dangerously low.

  The unicorn readjusted his leathery white wings. “No, I don’t think that at all,” he said. “I just think… Well, I just think that, in the end, things’ll turn out bad. I was thinking that maybe you didn’t realize that, but… No, that was stupid of me. You know it…don’t you?”

  Raettonus nodded mutely.

  “I just…I wanted to make sure you knew,” said Brecan.

  “Don’t tell Slade about any of this,” said Raettonus.

  Brecan flattened his ears. “I wasn’t going to,” he said. “I mean, yeah, I think you should tell him what’s going on, and that it’s kinda mean of you to keep it from him, but if you don’t want me to tell him, Raet, I won’t.”

  “If he knew that this is happening because of him, he’d try to stop it,” Raettonus said. “I can’t let him do that. How could I just let him do that?”

  “In your place I wouldn’t either, I guess,” said Brecan. “I won’t tell him anything about it, Raet.”

  Absently, Raettonus reached up and stroked Brecan’s neck. Brecan laid his head in Raettonus’ lap, and they watched the night for a while longer. In the distant blue-lit valleys they began to see things moving along the paths in tight, orderly rows. The black shapes marched closer and closer. It wouldn’t be long before they were at Kaebha’s doors. Raettonus suspected noon would see them making their way up the mountainside. And after that…

  The wall still wasn’t completely fixed—not by a long shot. The trench was coming along, but not nearly well enough to be finished by the next day. An infirmary was being set up for the battle to come, but it wasn’t going to be big enough or well staffed enough to help anyone. Raettonus had his pyromancy, but it’d only been a week since he’d healed Diahsis, and that meant he didn’t have as much power as he might’ve had.

  “I’m going to need you when the battle starts up,” Raettonus said to Brecan. He could feel the unicorn tense as he slowly rubbed his neck.

  “Okay, Raet,” Brecan said, trying to push the fear out his voice. “I know I let you down a lot before, but this time I’m not going to.”

  Raettonus slid himself out from under Brecan’s head and stood. “Good night,” he said, starting for the stairs.

  “Good night, Raet,” Brecan called after him.

  The halls were dark within the citadel, with all the torches having been put out hours before. The only exception was Diahsis’ floor, which Raettonus noticed was brightly lit and full of conversation, with the sweet notes of a flute floating gently out of one of the rooms. Raettonus shook his head as he passed. Irresponsible, he thought. Revelry on a night like this.

  He made his way deeper, half lost in thought. As he passed through a shady hall full of solemn paintings he heard soft, uneven hoofbeats near at hand and paused a moment. The sound was coming from a narrow corridor off to his right. Only half-curious, he peered around the corner and saw Dohrleht slowly pacing in the gloom about twenty yards away.

  “You’re up late,” Raettonus remarked, entering the corridor.

  Dohrleht jumped slightly and turned, wide-eyed, toward Raettonus before relaxing a little. “Uh, y-yeah, guess I am,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder at a staircase before turning his attention back to Raettonus. “I heard some of the soldiers talking. We’re going to be in a battle tomorrow, aren’t we?”

  “We are.”

  He bit his lip. “Will I be fighting?” he asked. “I can, you know. My leg’s all broken, but you taught me magic, and—”

  “You don’t know nearly enough magic to be useful in a fight,” said Raettonus dismissively. “You and your brother should help in the infirmary. You’ll be with Master Slade there.”

  The young centaur screwed up his face. “I’m not useless,” he said. “I can fight. I want to fight.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have shattered your leg into a thousand unhealable pieces then,” Raettonus said. “This isn’t some jousting game that no one will let you play anymore. This is an actual battle—with the forces of Hell, no less. Your job is in the infirmary, where you can actually do something and won’t just get in the way.”

  “But I won’t get in the way on the front lines,” objected Dohrleht.

  “Yes, you will,” said Raettonus. “Either your leg’s going to get you in the other men’s way, or you’re going to end up dead and just clutter the battlefield. I’ve been in wars. Trust me on this.”

  Dohrleht seemed about to argue, but the sound of hooves on the stairs behind him caught his attention. He turned around and said down the stairs, “Daeblau—I was just talking with Raettonus.”

  The hoofbeats stopped. Raettonus peered around Dohrleht into the stairwell, but couldn’t see anything through the shadows. After a long moment, the hoofbeats began again and Daeblau appeared on the stairs, wreathed in darkness. “Good night, Magician,” he said with a thin smile. “I’m surprised to see you still up.”

  “I could say the same.” Raettonus nodded toward the stairs. “Have some business down in the basement levels?” he asked.

  “I was checking supplies,” Daeblau said, his smile plastered in place. He came to stand beside Dohrleht, taking one of the young centaur’s ha
nds in his own.

  “I’ll bet,” said Raettonus. There was a thin, fresh cut on Daeblau’s forearm, alongside a number of red scratches that hadn’t broken the skin. “Looks like the supplies fought back, huh?”

  Daeblau followed Raettonus’ gaze to his arm and turned it away. “I tripped,” he said. “It’s rather embarrassing. I suppose I’m just tired and clumsy. I think I’ll head to bed now.” He kissed Dohrleht and turned back down the stairs.

  Dohrleht stood awkwardly at the top of the stairs, watching Raettonus after Daeblau disappeared back into the gloom. Raettonus cocked one eyebrow. “You’re not going with him?” he asked.

  “Oh, no,” said Dohrleht. “I was planning on staying here a bit longer and, um, looking at the paintings in the hall.”

  “In the dark?”

  “I’ve got very good night vision,” insisted the centaur.

  “Well, then, good luck with that. Try to get some sleep soon though,” said Raettonus.

  “I will.”

  “Good night,” said Raettonus, and he withdrew from the corridor and continued on his way back to his chambers.

  * * *

  In his room, Raettonus laid with his face half buried in his pillow and drifted into a fitful sleep. He dreamed of famine and plague and war. He dreamed he was a child again, and Slade was leaving him behind for a place Raettonus couldn’t fathom. He begged and begged not to be left, but Slade couldn’t hear him. He grabbed hold of Slade’s sleeve, and the man turned and looked at him. Smiling kindly, Slade pushed him harshly away. He cried out for Slade to wait, but still he went unheard. Slade was getting farther and farther away, and Raettonus found it impossible to follow him. He tried to call for him again, but he had no voice. Still soundlessly crying out, he watched Slade meet up with a woman dressed all in black. Slade took the woman by the arm, and she laughed at something Raettonus couldn’t hear Slade say, and they walked together into the distance.

  “Don’t go with her!” Raettonus tried to tell him, but nothing would come out of his mouth. A wind began to howl as Slade and the woman disappeared on the horizon. It seemed to carry Raettonus away from that place, and he found himself at a feast.

  The hall was dark, lit by a single red candle in front of him. A heavy stench hung in the air—the smell of rot. He could hear a great number of flies buzzing around himself and the other guests, and one landed on his cheek. He swatted it away irritably and turned to see who was seated beside him, but the shadows were so heavy he couldn’t see the faces of the guests to his left and right. He could barely make out their outlines in the darkness as they slowly ate, silent but for the sounds of their utensils clattering against their plates. Raettonus turned his face toward his own plate and found it cracked and empty. His wine glass had a tiny hole in it, and red wine was dribbling slowly out of it, staining the tablecloth at its base.

  He turned his eyes up and looked beyond the candle to the other side of the table, only to find it—predictably—obscured by gloom. A pair of glowing yellow eyes appeared in the dimness and gazed at him. “Kimohr Raulinn,” he said, recognizing them immediately.

  “Hello, Raettonus,” purred Kimohr Raulinn, his eyes half closing. If Raettonus concentrated hard, he could just make out the god’s outline, but the only thing that came close to actually being visible were his glowing eyes.

  “Where am I?” asked Raettonus. It didn’t feel like Kimohr Raulinn’s temple, which had always been lit inside and had never smelled so bad. There was none of the familiar scent of flower oils, which had been the main aroma in the temple. Instead, the pungent scent of decay of this place was beginning to sting Raettonus’ eyes.

  “In a dream.”

  Raettonus could feel Kimohr Raulinn’s smile through the blackness even if he couldn’t see it. His tone seemed to smile. Raettonus looked again to either side, where people continued to slowly and silently eat. It was strange; they’d always been alone before. “Who are they?” asked Raettonus.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” asked Kimohr Raulinn, brushing off his question. “Your plate is empty. Your wine glass is leaking.”

  A plate of meat was lying near him on the table and he wondered how he hadn’t noticed it before now. Flies were swarming about it in heavy clouds, and the rancid smell seemed to be coming chiefly from it. “It’s spoilt,” Raettonus said. He reached out and took up his wineglass in his hand and brought it to his lips only to find the smell of it was all wrong. “This isn’t wine.”

  “Sure it is. Drink it.”

  “This is blood.”

  “Does that bother you?” asked Kimohr Raulinn. “Go on. Drink it.”

  And Raettonus did.

  The smell of decay was getting heavier and heavier. Between it and the taste of warm blood in his mouth and running down his throat, Raettonus was beginning to gag. A fly landed on him and he swatted it away. “Where are we?” he asked again.

  “In a dream.” The eyes bobbed in the darkness as Kimohr Raulinn leaned forward. The light from the candle reached toward him, but it couldn’t quite close the gap. Instead, it just barely showed his mask, outlined against an abyss of blackness.

  Raettonus glanced again toward the person beside him. If the stranger noticed, he gave no sign. “Why is no one speaking?” asked Raettonus.

  “You already know the answer to that,” said Kimohr Raulinn.

  “Why’s it so dark?”

  “You have a candle,” said Kimohr Raulinn. He turned his gaze on the flickering flame. “You could make it brighter.”

  “I could,” said Raettonus. The thought hadn’t occurred to him, but it seemed like a solid idea. He reached out toward the dancing fire only to find there were now two candles before him. He reached out toward the second candle, only to find a third lit a little way away from it. As he turned his attention toward this new candle, another one down the table lit, and then another; spontaneously, candles all along the table burst into flame.

  By their light, he could see the food on the table, all covered with flies and teeming with maggots. Everything was green and rotting, and all the pitchers were cracked and leaking blood. The tablecloth was stained red and green and gray. Swarms of mice chewed at the festering carcasses laid upon the tarnished dishes. Farther down, Raettonus caught sight of some rats, and his stomach rolled over and filled with dread. Near him—near enough he could brush it with his fingertips if only he reached out his hand—a tray of something sat quivering as if it were alive. The putrid food on the tray burst open, and maggots surged out of it by the thousands and began to march across the tablecloth, a disgusting, ravenous army of devourers.

  And there in the seats all around him, corpses with their skin sloughing off in great, wet chunks were silently staring down at empty plates, pantomiming eating or drinking. To either side of Raettonus, the corpses were dried and eyeless, with thin, greasy hair and bare, yellow teeth. He looked across the table at Kimohr Raulinn and found that beneath his mask he too, was a corpse with pale, blue-tinged skin that looked as though he’d been a long time under water. His drowned flesh made Raettonus’ bowels turn over in revulsion.

  “What is this?” demanded Raettonus, unable to keep the alarm out of his voice.

  “A dream,” said Kimohr Raulinn. When he spoke, his lips moved stiffly and unnaturally. Raettonus felt his stomach clench and turn. “But, happily for you, it’s not that kind of dream.”

  A horn was blowing hard somewhere beyond the feast hall. “What’s that?” Raettonus asked, peering upward into the still-thick shade all around them.

  “A death sentence,” Kimohr Raulinn told him. “But not yours. Stay awhile longer. You haven’t eaten.”

  “I don’t want to eat,” Raettonus said. The horn blew again, and he stood up. “They’re calling me.”

  “Stay,” said Kimohr Raulinn, grabbing Raettonus’ hand. His flesh was cold and clammy—not at all as Raettonus had known it. “Everyone’s here. We’ve been waiting for you, Raettonus. Everyone’s been waiting for you. We’ve be
en waiting so very long…”

  “Let me go,” said Raettonus, tugging away, but Kimohr Raulinn held tight. The magician reached up with his free hand to shoot a fireball at the god, but nothing came. “Let go!”

  Kimohr Raulinn’s cracked blue lips, once so soft and warm, pulled back into a sneer. “We’ve been waiting for you,” he said.

  The horn blew again, louder.

  Raettonus’ eyes shot open, and he found himself in his bed, all in darkness aside from the soft glowing of his own flesh. His pillow was wet with sweat, and his cropped blonde hair was matted and sticking to his forehead. His heart thumped so wildly his chest hurt. The details of his dream became hazy as he thought about them, but he didn’t particularly care. Now he was awake, however, he was certain he had dreamed a normal dream—nothing more.

  Outside his door hooves were pounding on stone—hundreds of hooves, beating like hearts against the cold stone passages of the citadel. Beyond the sound of that he could have sworn he heard the faint, dying clicks of a lonely clock.

  The horn blew again somewhere above him.

  War was upon them.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dawn was breaking by the time Raettonus got onto the battlements. Centaurs in plate and scale mail were bustling about, maneuvering the catapults and ballistae into place. Diahsis was up on the roof, directing the action and looking very much like he hadn’t slept at all the night before. When he spotted Raettonus, he came jogging over. “Thank the gods you’re here,” he said.

  “Thank them? The gods got us into this mess,” Raettonus said.

  “There are a lot more of them than we thought,” continued Diahsis without pause. “They’ve got trebuchets, and they keep—”

  He was cut off as a large rock slammed into the metal cage atop the citadel, causing the roof to quake and the iron spikes to reverberate as the rock rolled down off it. “Christ,” said Raettonus, covering his ears from the sound.

  “Yes, that,” said Diahsis. “Could you get rid of those for us? Those iron rods extend quite a way into the wall, so they’re not in danger of giving out, I think, but it’s making it really hard to concentrate.”