Threadbare Volume 2

by Andrew Seiple

  “What are soulstones really used for?”

  “Sorry?”

  “I know enough about necromancy to know most of it isn’t very nice. They’ve got to have other uses.”

  He sighed. “They do. In a pinch, if there’s a corpse or remains but no spirit hanging around, I could use a soulstoned spirit to power it instead. That would use up the spirit, put it in the undead.”

  “Would it be me in there? If that happened?”

  “If it were a wight or a mummy, maybe, but I’m only twelfth level. You’d be stuck in a lesser undead’s body, unable to control it or do anything.” He blinked. “If I did that. Which I wouldn’t.”

  His eyes flicked to the side as he said that.

  “Did you tell the others about that part of it?” Cecelia asked, staring into his eyes, leaning in closer. “Or did that little bit get left out?”

  Graves blinked. “They... they didn’t ask. Look, if you don’t want to, okay—”

  “How many accepted?”

  “Half the squad.”

  “Go tell them.”

  “I... what?”

  “Go tell them about this part of it. See if they’re still okay with it then.”

  “What? Why? I wouldn’t use them as zombie fodder, that’s just... you don’t...”

  “Tell them. I’ll go with you.”

  He hesitated, and sweat rolled down his face, a drop at a time.

  “We tell them now, or I tell the Sergeant,” She guessed, fishing for a reaction.

  She got one. The man blanched. “Fine.” Graves said, his smile long gone. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

  Lana blanched, then thought it over. “Sure, okay. Just promise me it won’t come to that.“ Graves did.

  Morris shrugged and laughed. “If you zombify me just put me outta my misery quick, okay old man? Dead’s dead.”

  Renick just smiled, and patted Graves’ shoulder. “It’s fine. I trust you.”

  That had almost floored the older man. He simply nodded, and his mouth worked a bit, before he thanked Renick.

  As Graves walked away, Cecelia walked with him. “I didn’t expect that,” Graves finally managed.

  “Yeah. And my answer’s yes.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, you can soulstone me.”

  He stared at her. “I thought you wouldn’t... why did you...”

  “You’re used to not being trusted, I get that. It’s why you left out some of the details that would make your suggestion sound sinister. I know you’re not going to torment us or do something stupid like that. I trust you. But I wanted to make sure you trusted the others enough to give them the full story. This doesn’t work if we don’t all trust each other, if we don’t have each other’s backs, Sir Graves. And now they know you have theirs, and more importantly, you know they’ve got yours.”

  Besides, the cynical part of her added, If you stick me in a zombie my father will fumping kill you.

  But that part she didn’t share with him. Graves smiled, and thumped his chest with a clang that made the nearest drovers jump. “You’re going to be a hell of a queen someday. I look forward to serving you, milady.”

  And that drove it in.

  She WOULD be Queen someday, if she didn’t die first.

  All this, all these people, all this land... she’d have to worry about it. Rule it.

  Her father had unlocked Ruler for her, recognized her as his heir, but asked her to refrain from taking the job just yet. And she had obeyed, as she’d sworn to. She’d thought it was because he didn’t trust her with it yet. Because he thought she couldn’t handle the responsibility.

  But what if it was because he was sparing her from the full weight of it? What if he was giving her what time he could? What if it was his version of mercy?

  Her thoughts a whirl, she gave Grave’s pauldron a light punch, smiled, and headed back to watch the perimeter while they settled in to secure the camp for the night.

  *****

  She woke in the back of the wagon, feeling like she’d just hibernated through winter. The aftermath of Wakeful Wandering was always like that.

  In the distance she heard Tane’s voice rising through the rain. Stretching out the kinks, feeling like she’d been tumbled down a hill, she slid down from the wagon and waddled her way through the mud. The Sergeant nodded at her as she joined the rest of the squad, and saluted. The others didn’t spare her a glance, which told her right away it was serious.

  “To sum up for our late riser, we’ve got five days of travel and one day of food left. We’re out in the middle of nowhere and we can’t risk foraging. The Rangers haven’t hit us since the last run, but the Captain’s assessment is that they won’t pass up a chance to pick off more personnel if split up and try to hunt. Which leaves requisitioning food from the local villages. The rangers don’t involve civilians in their treason or put them at risk, so that should be safe. It’ll delay us, but there’s no help for that. Dame Ragandor, are you rested well enough to lead a three-man task force?”

  That surprised her. Then her stomach growled. Loudly. Morris fought to keep from laughing, and Zara failed completely, snickering through her visor. “Yes sir. I ah, could use a ration beforehand. If we can spare one.”

  “Very good. You’ve got the northern road then.” Tane’s face was stonier than usual. Was he trying to keep from laughing? “I’ll take the other three south—”

  South, the parchment had said. “Actually, sir, do you mind if I take the southern route?”

  Tane raised an eyebrow. “The hell difference does it make?”

  “I think I might know someone down that way. If we’re where I think we are.”

  “And where do you think we are, Dame?” Tane’s voice gave warning. He hadn’t liked being interrupted.

  So she gambled. “If we’re north of Pads village, then we’re where I think we are.”

  That surprised him. “Who the hell do you know— nevermind. Yes, you’ve got south then. I’ll be taking Renick and Lana and Zara. The rest of you are under your acting commander. Go saddle up.”

  The Knight’s horses had been battle trained, and spared the worst of the stampede. Cecelia, who didn’t have one, got the loan of one of the more steady draft horses, a stout loaf of bread baked with dried meat and vegetables, a waterskin, and a couple of minutes to eat her ration bar before they departed. She used the rain to soften the tough comestible, and chased it down with slugs of water. The stuff was horrible, but eventually the hungry condition evaporated from her status screen, and that was all she asked of it.

  “Horsemanship,” she muttered, as she vaulted up into the draft horse’s saddle. It stamped and trotted uneasily, unused to being directly mounted. She soothed it as she could, as it bucked and turned, trying to convince her to get back down. “Oh stop that. Here... Favored Mount.” It felt weird to be saying that when she wasn’t riding Reason, but it did the trick well enough, and the horse settled as her buff rolled over it.

  No skill up this time, which was a pity. She really needed more practice with this one. It was a level fifteen skill and she’d only been that level for a few months.

  Once she was sure of the horse, she dismounted and led it over to the other knights, already kneeling in a circle, the old ritual, the familiar custom. Without saying a word she knelt, until Tane nodded. Eight blades hissed free from sheathes, and eight helms pressed against the hilts as they held the swords out, points down before them.

  “Our Code to mind, our foes to fall,” Tane said, as the rain slicked down his armor.

  “To Gods, King, and Crown, we owe our all,” the rest of the Knights chorused in unison.

  “Obey royal decrees of the land, against the loyal raise no hand,” Tane spoke, as thunder rolled in the distance.

  “Obey the King, shield the weak. Let no treason our lips speak.” The rest finished, Cecelia joining in happily.

  This was truly what separated them from other warrior jobs... the Knight’
s skill, Code of Chivalry. Other jobs could fight, sure, but knights always fought for something. And whatever code they chose when they began their career, the longer they kept to it, the more it gave them.

  In Cecelia’s case, what it gave her was a nice round buff of thirty to all her defenses. Most of the other trainees had more, thanks to higher levels in the class. But all it took was one slip, and the skill reset back down to one, and her buff fell to nothing.

  Graves and Kayin and Morris fell in behind her as she left the camp, riding down the swampy, well-used road south.

  “So who the hell do you know in Pads?” Kayin said, finally. “That’s the sticks, the middle of nowhere.”

  “I’d rather not say,” Cecelia said. “It’s possible they’re not there anymore. And uh, they might not be... on the right side of things. We might have to fight them.”

  If this was Mordecai trying to get back in contact with her, then he definitely wasn’t on the right side. But she didn’t want him captured and tortured again. This was... complicated.

  She couldn’t let the opportunity pass by, though. Someone had risked a lot to deliver that message to her. What did they want her to see?

  The rain slackened as they rode, but the sky remained soggy gray, wet wool gray, and the road twisted, taking them past stockaded farmsteads.

  “So how does this work?” Kayin asked, after they passed the third steading. “Should we be going up and knocking on doors?”

  “No,” Cecelia shook her head. “Per the Articles of the Cylvanian accord, any order of military requisition must be presented to the local lord. This place will have a Baron, or something. We’ll talk to him.”

  “Really?” Morris said, sneering as they passed a field full of serfs digging in loose rows, muddy faces brown and open mouths pink as they stared at the passing knights. “And how will we know which one’s the Baron?”

  “He’ll be the one who isn’t totally covered in shit,” Graves said, and the Knights laughed. Celia didn’t.

  The fields were big, and looked well-kept. But everyone in that field was scrawny and thin. Most of them were moving slowly, and a few looked far, far too old to be out there.

  Sure, it was Spring and they’d just gotten through a long winter, but... a farm that size should be able to provide for everyone there.

  Something was off.

  Three hours down the muddy road, they finally came to Pads. It was little more than a collection of a few dozen huts, on the edge of a forest. Smoke billowed up from smokeholes, all save for five chimneys, all on the same house. It squatted on the highest hill, the only building in the village made of stone, sprawling and painted, with high walls around a grove of carefully-kept trees.

  “There’s the noble,” Cecelia said. “Has to be.”

  “Those are peach trees,” Kayin said, frowning. “Weird choice.”

  “Why’s that?” Morris asked.

  “They don’t grow well in this part of the valley. They must take a wicked amount of care to get that big.”

  “Eh, maybe they’ve got a Kossite cleric running the show or something,” Morris shrugged. “More for us to take back for the convoy, then, if that’s the case. Come on, let’s get this over with.”

  *****

  “I’m sorry, it’s simply out of the question,” Baron Colm Comfort said. “We have no reserves left after the winter. We simply cannot spare enough to make a difference.”

  “I see.” Cecelia turned from the portly man to look over the sitting room, adorned with a random assortment of fine goods. Mismatched candlesticks of gold and silver clashed next to chairs and couches of all makes, each of them made with the finest cloth and craftsmanship. Paintings of everything from flowers to landscapes to people adorned the walls.

  It didn’t match, and Cecelia thought she knew why. “Why don’t you tell us how much you can spare, and we’ll decide if it’s enough to make a difference.”

  The Baron rubbed his face, sending his three chins wobbling. “Well, I, er, I’d have to consult my ledger. Check the storehouse. That would take some time, and I don’t know if I’d want to delay you so long—”

  “Oh, it’s no trouble,” Cecelia said. “The convoy’s not going anywhere without food. But they can last a day or two without us. I trust you have no problem with us staying the night while you check.”

  Oh, he didn’t like that at all. But nonetheless, he offered a smile that showed rotten teeth. “I’ll see what I can do. Yes, certainly.”

  “We’ll go hunting while you do that, see if we can scrape up something so you don’t have to stretch as far. I trust you’ve a spare room or something we can store our armor in? It’s hard to sneak up on game in full plate, after all.”

  Kayin inhaled sharply, next to her. She heard Morris shift, felt the intensity of his gaze on her.

  The Baron’s mouth closed, and the older man stared at her, gears turning behind his eyes. “Of course. Would you like me to send my huntsman along with you?”

  “Absolutely. Just give us some privacy to shuck out of our armor, and we’ll be happy to follow your man into the woods.”

  “Of course, of course. Right this way!”

  The Baron’s basement was full of kegs and racks full of wine and ale.

  “Cecelia?” Morris asked. “Do you know what you’re doing here?”

  “Mostly.” Cecelia frowned. “Did you ever see that much gold in your life?”

  “No way he’s come by that honestly,” Kayin said, “but is it any business of ours?”

  “He was trying to get us out of here pretty quickly,” Graves rubbed his goatee. “Why?”

  “Hiding food, obviously,” Morris snickered. “Probably in his gut.”

  “That’s part of it. I need to see his ledger.” Cecelia nodded. “And I want to give him a chance to try to kill us.”

  Silence fell over the basement.

  “Wait, what?” Morris asked.

  Kayin grinned. “I like it.”

  “How loud are we going, here?” Graves asked.

  “Depends on how he plays it,” Cecelia decided.

  Morris looked between the other three knights, confused. “Did I miss something?”

  Cecelia grinned. “Not really. Here’s the plan...”

  *****

  Baron Colm Comfort hadn’t gotten to the age he was by taking chances. But this one... this one was less of a chance, and more of a free meal.

  They’d come right to him. And then they’d even taken off their armor...

  Pity about the horses, but he couldn’t risk anyone checking after them, now could he? He’d wait until nightfall and send four of the lads south into the woods, wearing their armor and riding their horses. The mouth-breathing serfs wouldn’t know any different. Then the lads could come back with the armor, and the horses would be set free to roam.

  Armor could be disenchanted and sold. Horses couldn’t.

  He stretched out a hand to touch the white suit with the horn... and drew his digits back. It was a little too neat. He had to be sure.

  Up to the top of the house then, peering through the spyglass he’d gotten, watching the woods. He wasn’t lying when he told them his huntsman Jacob was the best at his job. They just hadn’t asked what Jacob’s job was. Not that Colm would have told them it anyway. Bandit was a much-maligned profession.

  Twelve minutes later, he saw glass wink against the sun, from one of the tallest trees in the eastern forest. He smiled, fanning himself with a fine silken fan, before closing it with a “Snap.” Knights out of armor versus two dozen well-trained bandits, striking from ambush. It had ended in the only way possible.

  Hells, the best of his bandits were up to level seven. Against four unarmored young knights? No chance at all.

  Then he started in surprise. There were forms moving out of the forest. Figures stepping from the shadows of the trees, heading toward the hill, toward the manor. “What the devils?” Colm said, bringing the spyglass around and focusing in on the oncoming gr
oup.

  And his heart fluttered, as he recognized them.

  Those were Jacob’s band. Only they were moving slowly, drunkenly...

  ...and, as the Baron watched blood ooze down from one’s face, to fall down slack lips, he realized that they were pretty beaten up. In fact, given their visible injuries, they looked, well, dead.

  Realization struck him, and he bolted to his feet, hurried downstairs, wheezing all the way. A trap! It had been bait, and he’d fallen for it! They had backup out of town, somewhere, and the ambush had been ambushed!

  He got down to the basement, locking the door behind him, and went to the wine rack, pulling a bottle out of a certain spot, and hearing the mechanism groan and shudder, before the wall opened up. Beyond lay the darkness of his escape route, and the choicest of his treasures.

  But, then... he could get some small measure of vengeance before he went, and get a few more reagents and crystals for his trip, now couldn’t he?

  He turned back to the suits of armor piled in the corner, smiling—

  —and found them standing, swords leveled at him.

  “What? What is this?” He bellowed, stepping backwards toward the tunnel.

  A mouth formed on one of the helms. “Before I was a knight, I was an animator,” Cecelia spoke. “I animated these before we left the basement. Then it was Dollseye to let me see through my animi and Magic Mouth to tell you exactly how screwed you are.”

  “I see! You’ve animated all four of them. And one of you’s a necromancer too, to raise my men!”

  “It was obvious, really. You’ve been working with the local bandits, preying on the trade routes,” Cecelia’s voice filled the room, as the armor advanced in unison, slowly. The fat Baron backed up, step by step as they came. “What sort of man does that? Not one that pays his honest taxes, or looks after his serfs. You’ve been stealing, stealing from the crown, and stealing from your own people.”

  “I did what I had to!” The Baron roared. “The Crown? Don’t make me laugh! The Crown takes its taxes and leaves us to our own devices! Everything goes to the war effort now, and nobody guards the roads or the settlements! They don’t care if monsters attack us, or if bandits prey on us. There is no help for the weak! The only way to survive is to be strong ourselves, and everything this village has, every day it survives it owes to me and to my friends... who you just slaughtered.” Colm sneered. “But you won’t take me! I know animi. Animi can fight, but they’re not great at it.” He stopped walking, sneering now, feeling his confidence return. “I can get to them, and all it’ll take is one touch to disenchant each one. I’ll survive and they’ll be dust. What of your precious armor then, hm?”