by Jim Galford
The entire building shook and the faint conversation in the main part of the outside room turned to shouts of alert between the archers. A crackling of wood downstairs reverberated through the whole library as the building shook again.
“I thought I’d have more time to regret not killing you both,” sighed Greth, shoving aside the sliding wall. “Let’s go meet our fates. I missed my parents anyway.”
Ilarra ran out past Greth and looked for her father. He was standing near a pair of archers, who were firing endlessly out the front windows, toward the library’s entrance.
“Get everyone who can’t fight into the cellar,” her father called over his shoulder. “The doors won’t hold. Something is out there helping the undead. The zombies are throwing themselves into our arrows to keep it safe.”
With the two wildlings close behind her, Ilarra rushed to the steps and down into the main library room where the villagers were backing rapidly away from the doors. Even as Ilarra came down, the doors shook as they were struck again, this time letting in a wave of smoke and dust. The crackling of the wood mingled with the sound of fire outside.
Near the doors, all of the remaining hunters and warriors waited with raised weapons for the undead to break through. They would not have to wait long, judging by the look of the doors.
Ilarra went to the gathered villagers and began herding them toward the cellar. It took very little prodding to get the frightened people to head down the stairs. By the time the doors rumbled again, nearly every person was crowded into the large cellar, though many remained on the stairs for lack of room.
The next impact on the doors made Ilarra look back as she closed the door to the cellar, cutting off the villagers from those who were trained to fight and Ilarra herself. Trained or not, she intended to remain with Raeln until the end. Her fate was tied to his either way, so she would far rather die fighting to protect him than die alone and cowering in the basement.
Flames licked at the entry doors when Ilarra looked back toward them, seeping through large cracks that had been battered into them. The entirety of the boards creaked and bent inwards as the warriors, including Raeln and Greth, braced themselves for whatever was trying to get through. No one said anything, standing perfect still and holding their weapons ready for what came at them next.
A final crash against the doors blew them inwards in a rush of flame and smoke, forcing everyone back several steps as they covered their faces.
The wave of heat that hit Ilarra burned her eyes and lungs, making her choke as she fell back with the others. She half-expected to open her eyes and see the horde of zombies charging into the library, intent on killing everyone, but she blinked away the smoke and saw the broken and bloodied corpses standing peacefully at the entrance. The undead closest to where the doors had been were burned, some to the point that they had little meat left on them.
Standing at the center of the creatures stood a single human man in a simple black robe, who meekly clasped his hands together and smiled at everyone inside as he took his first step into the library. His slight frame was made frightening by the faint red glow that came from the depths of his hood, as though his face were aflame somewhere under there.
“Open doors make good neighbors,” the man said, giggling slightly to himself. “Put down your weapons. I did not come here to kill everyone. Maybe a few, but not all. I have other reasons for coming. We should talk.”
The half-circle of warriors closed in on the man, blocking his advancement into the room. Swords and spears pressed against his chest, but he smiled. Weathered features of an old man belied his calm in the face of so many deadly warriors. Ilarra could not imagine even a magister being comfortable without room between themselves and a soldier’s weapon, yet this strange fellow smiled absently.
“Bring down all your wizards and healers and whatnot. I saw a few through the windows upstairs. I would speak with them before I leave. Hurry along…be good little soldiers and fetch. My master has a proposition for them.”
To Ilarra everyone looked to be nervous and she could understand completely. The man had to be a necromancer, a master of the dead. If he came alone, that was a testament to his power, as Altis would never have sent a single necromancer with so many troops if they did not think he could complete the job, whatever that was. The calm of the man was what made him so frightening.
It was Greth that unnerved Ilarra more than the necromancer. For all the man’s stubborn drive to that point, the moment the human had entered, something had snapped in him. He looked around frantically, his fur standing on end. When he was not searching for an escape route, he stared with wide eyes at the human’s face as though he knew or suspected something about him.
“Greth!” Ilarra whispered as two warriors ran to get her father and the other wizards. The necromancer’s attention was on them, giving her a brief moment where she might be able to talk.
Backing slowly toward her, nearly tripping over Raeln, Greth never took his eyes off the human.
“What do you know about him?” she asked softly. “You’ve seen him before?”
Shaking his head, Greth whispered back, “No. I know what he is or can guess. No tattoos, but only one type of person dresses like that and travels with the armies of the dead. Turessians. They keep popping up every time the undead do. The red eyes are what my pack’s healer told me to watch for.”
“I have no idea what that is. A tribesman?”
“Nothing so easy to kill. One of these murdered my father and an ancient druid from our pack. The two of them I believed could take down armies if they wanted…one of these men killed both and walked away unhurt.”
Ilarra did not need to look over at Raeln to feel his nervousness grow. The large man practically radiated the feel of worry.
“Can he be killed?” she asked a second later as her father appeared at the stairs. “Is there a way?”
Greth shook his head. “We blew that war golem apart trying to stop the army and a few of these guys. From what your city’s guards told me when they were torturing me, every Turessian in the quarry got out. If a war golem can’t kill them, no one here stands a chance.”
Ilarra’s father came down the remaining steps, followed by his apprentices and Asha. He glanced briefly at Ilarra, and then Asha motioned for Ilarra to stay back. A second gesture by Asha—her hands mostly hidden by the robed men near her—was likely for Raeln, given that she made it in the very precise language of hand-movements the bonded wildlings had used for years: “Run away.”
Deep down, Ilarra wished she had no idea what those furtive hand motions meant, but she felt Raeln step close to her. He would drag her from the room if he had to once he saw a chance. There was no chance of him disobeying his mother’s orders, when she was clearly this concerned.
“You called for all the wizards,” said Ilarra’s father, loud enough that the room could hear. Ilarra saw him step between the necromancer and Asha, apparently trying to hide her gestures. “I and my apprentices are here. What is it you want and what would it take for you to leave this village?”
The black-robed man smiled and gave a deep bow toward Ilarra’s father, replying as he rose. “Thank you for coming down. I wanted to see if there were those among you strong enough to do what I need…I believe we are both in luck. I wanted to trade the shell you see in for something better. He has served his purpose and is weakening too quickly for me to continue using him.”
“I will not serve Altis or lead my people to do so,” Ilarra’s father snapped. “Do not even ask.”
“I would not dream of it. Please, hear me out before you have your soldiers attack me. I’ve done nothing to harm anyone here…not directly anyway…so I ask that you give me the chance to explain. There is only so much I can do to hold this army of undead at bay when they really want to eat your people.”
“You have one minute,” replied Ilarra’s father firmly, sounding for all the world like he was in some semblance of control over the situation.
“At the end of that minute, you will leave or my people will strike you down.”
The Turessian smiled broadly, his face wrinkling deeply. “Contrary to what you might think,” the man began, folding his hands again, “my master does not serve Altis, nor do I. This particular shell came from farther north in the mountains, where the oracles of Urishaan reign…as a hint to any of you thinking to go to them, they cannot see the future, so do not ask me to try. Their culture uses tricks and lies to give that impression. I know I was disappointed.”
Ilarra’s father never took his eyes off the man, but Asha was watching Raeln and Ilarra. While the man spoke, she gave her order to Raeln again, and this time, he nodded subtly to acknowledge her.
“In truth, I came here to see the results of a project of mine,” the man went on, lowering his hood. He appeared as nothing more than an old human man until one looked at his eyes. Even in the well-lit library, the man’s eyes glowed with a fiery red light. “I believe I perfected my formula back in Altis, but I did not have to worry so much about wildlings there. Given their numbers in this village, I had to see what would come of my work. Perhaps you could offer me a cup of water?”
Ilarra’s father appeared very nearly as confused as she felt. “I understand almost none of what you are saying,” Ilarra’s father finally told the man.
The man smiled, adding, “I’ve spent weeks poisoning all of you. You should feel the effects soon enough. If my calculations are correct, your youngest and oldest residents should have trouble breathing already and in a few more hours…”
Acting swiftly, Greth grabbed a sword from one of the warriors’ hands, driving it hard into the Turessian man’s chest.
The man wavered slightly and frowned at Greth, his eyes flaring more brightly. “Move aside, wildling,” he warned darkly, shoving Greth hard enough that he tumbled into a pile of chairs that had been pushed to one side of the room. “Your barbaric methods will do little to harm this body. Now is not the time to give this one false hope. I only just broke him.”
The other warriors standing around the man backed up almost in unison.
To Ilarra’s right, the apprentices fanned out, staying just behind the warriors to give themselves time to form spells as Ilarra’s father had taught them. She mimicked them, changing her position so that Raeln could defend her if the undead charged while she attempted to fight.
Nearer Ilarra’s father, Asha waited with a feigned demure look that she sometimes used when strangers were around, attempting to make them believe she was a servant and not a warrior in her own right. If fighting broke out, she would be in the front lines, tearing into the enemy with whatever weapons she could grab or resorting to fangs and claws if that was insufficient. Ilarra fully expected Asha to be the only one to rival Raeln for the bloodshed she would leave in her wake if things went that far.
The Turessian slowly pulled the sword from his chest and dropped it to the floor. He smiled absently at the weapon while rubbing at his chest. When he lowered his hand, the gash in his robe remained, but the pale skin beneath was whole once more. The glow in the man’s eyes faded until Ilarra could barely tell it was there.
“I have lived hundreds of years,” the man explained, pausing to slowly push aside the tip of a spear held by one of the village’s warriors with his finger, grinning as he did so. “I doubt any among you have the power to do more than bother me. If I wanted to kill you, I would have already done so. Eighteen cities have bowed to me already. Your village will not stop my efforts.”
“Why tell us any of this?” demanded Ilarra’s father, though he had begun to look genuinely afraid. “If you did poison us, you could have left us to die, ignorant of what you’d done.”
“To be honest, this is done to show the shell I wear how hopeless things have gotten. Once he is done being broken, he will be far more useful. Those with morals take the most work to train, and this one prided himself as being above simple necromancy. I will explain it all to you later. For now, know that none of this was personal…you’re simply on my land and in the way.”
“My grandfather’s father held these lands against the first tribesmen on the region,” Ilarra’s father countered, making a point of brushing his hair back with his fingertips to expose his pointed ear in case the human had not noticed. “No human has ever ruled these lands other than Lantonne’s king and you are not him.”
The Turessian giggled again, as though the whole situation were a complete farce. “You are all nothing but children who play with their father’s things while he is away. That time is coming to an end, slave.”
Raeln checked over his shoulder, his eyes tracing a path from Ilarra to a window nearby. He was readying himself to run, even if he had to carry her.
“What is stopping us from trying to kill you?” her father asked, giving a slight flick of his fingers at his side, warning the apprentices to ready themselves. Asha’s muscles tensed ever so slightly under her fur. “We are not so helpless as you seem to think. It may take time, but your creatures outside will fall to us.”
“If I did not expect you to try to harm me, I would not have come inside,” the man answered, grinning madly. “As for my children…they are nothing more than an escort. Destroy them if you wish, I could not care in the slightest.”
The apprentices launched into motion before the man finished talking, each with a different task. One threw his arms out and the remaining corpses at the door were thrown back, clearing the threshold. The other swept his arms across the room and a pair of tables flew overhead, slamming into the doorway to create a new barrier between the undead and those inside. The first then wove intricate magic that Ilarra was unfamiliar with that bent the broken hinges from the original doors around the lip of the tables, locking them in place.
Ilarra’s father was no less swift, flinging his hands toward the Turessian, palms-first. The man slid backwards as though struck, dropping to his hands and knees to keep from being knocked over onto his back. The spell had scorched his chest and tendrils of smoke rose around his face as he sneered and steadied himself. He shook off the pain and disorientation, raising a hand to either cast a spell or throw something.
Seeing the sudden movement by the man, Ilarra shoved past Raeln and let her own readied spell fly. The magic intended to knock his arm aside flew wide and a leg of one of the tables propped over the doorway exploded into fragments, making the man look up in surprise. Though it had hardly been her intent, the result was much the same, as his spell was forgotten.
“I knew I’d missed one of you,” the man said, looking back at Ilarra and winking at her. “Perhaps I don’t need this old man anymore. The four of you for this one is a fair trade. He could barely contain me anyway.”
Without anyone casting another spell, the man collapsed, his eyes glazing abruptly. The warriors rushed toward him, but by the time the first reached his side, the man’s skin had begun cracking and falling apart. In seconds, little more than his robe and a pile of dust remained.
A hush fell over those in the room, staring in confusion at the remains of their attacker. Then, the apprentice that had cast the first spell began coughing and collapsed, falling down the steps. The other apprentice reached for him, then gagged and fell as well, landing beside his friend.
Those who had any training in tending to the injured ran for the men, then stopped and looked around in confusion as Ilarra’s father leaned against the wall and fell into a seated position. He held his stomach and stared at the floor in dazed confusion.
“Raeln, go see if…” began Ilarra, then dizziness washed over her.
The next thing Ilarra knew, she was lying face-down on the floor, gasping for breath. She could hear people running around and calling out orders, but she could make out none of it.
Closing her eyes, she felt like she was going to be sicker than she had ever been in her life.
Chapter Ten
“Facing the Past”
All shall be welcome into the tribes should the
y be worthy of learning. The ignorant and those who choose not to learn will be cast out or find their station lessened. We will rise as the wisest of nations, embracing the knowledge of the world, not just our own heritage.
Knowledge rewards the seeker and might will always destroy the wielder. We will take knowledge and give it freely to those who come to us. This shall be our law and our mission, and none shall challenge it.
- Fourth law of Turess, lost original phrasing
All of humankind shall be welcome into the tribes should they be deemed worthy of learning. The ignorant, the foreign, the inhuman, and those who choose not to learn will be cast out or be relegated to slavery for their own lifetime and the lifetime of their children. We will rise as the wisest of nations, embracing our heritage and knowledge.
Knowledge rewards the worthy seeker and might can show the unworthy our place in the world. We will take knowledge by force if it is denied us. This shall be our law and our mission, and none shall stand before us.
- Fourth law of Turess, modern Turessian teaching
Entering his room, Therec closed and barred the door behind him. He turned and slowly looked over the chamber, searching for any magic or the tingle of another living being within the walls. Nothing felt out of place, and he relaxed just a little as he looked out at the open window and the heavy snowfall outside the tower.
Kneeling at the center of the large bedroom, Therec flared out his robes around him. He calmed his mind and began seeking the very specific magics that he had intended to use for weeks. He had been ordered not to use magic of this sort while outside of Turessi, but he had little choice. Information was what he needed most, and this was the only way he would get it without enlisting the aid of half the city to seek it out. There was no one else he could ask.