A Whisper of Death

by Paul Barrett

  “Maybe, but I don’t think being disrespectful to them helps.”

  Elissia nodded. “Probably not, and I’m sorry. I was trying to shock Corby out of his asinine way of thinking. Do you think it worked?”

  “The shock part certainly did.”

  Elissia smiled. “You’re easily shocked. I suspect the gods have tougher skin. And if not, then they’ll probably strike me down sometime soon.”

  “Don’t say that,” Erick said. “Not even joking.” He hugged her. “I just found you. I don’t want to lose you.”

  Elissia hugged him back. She glanced at Fathen’s tent, closed and quiet. Something about his attitude disturbed her. She could speak her mind, but for a priest so entrenched in his faith to agree struck her as beyond odd. He would bear close watching. “I’m not going anywhere,” she told Erick. “Gods or not, I’ll always be here for you.”

  By the time the others reappeared, Erick had chewed both thumbs to the quick and his stomach wound in knots. He had no idea why it concerned him so much until he realized that, despite their differences and the brief time he had known them, he already accepted Marcus and Gabrielle as companions, and it upset him to consider them disliking each other.

  They came around the corner. Marcus and Corby were smiling and, although Gabrielle’s face held no grin, her steps seemed lighter and she wasn’t glaring at Corby as if she wanted to strangle him. As she returned to finish her interrupted food preparations, Marcus and Corby joined Erick and Elissia.

  “What happened?” Erick asked.

  “We took care of it,” Marcus said. “Gabrielle’s fine, we’re fine, and things are great. Now if we had a town and four walls around us, things would be outstanding.”

  “That’s it,” Elissia said. “You took care of it? Nothing else?”

  “That’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

  “I guess,” Elissia said, shrugging.

  Erick wanted to know more but knew better than to ask. He studied Gabrielle as she fixed their meal. Perhaps things had been resolved, but he couldn’t help but wonder if such matters could be so easily fixed.

  Two days later, almost two weeks out of Firstlast, Erick had another dream. It appeared to him faint and scattered: a beautiful auburn-haired woman studied herself in a mirror. Her lips moved as she uttered words he could not hear. She turned to something behind her, but the mirror image, instead of turning away, stared over the woman’s shoulder. This was no looking glass but two women, identical down to the clothing and jewelry they wore. Someone out of Erick’s vision spoke to them, and they answered. The image grew dark, then light, and then dark again before returning once more to light; still, the women spoke to their unseen visitor. As they talked, they changed. Subtly at first, their clothing transformed to a darker color, their hair grew more unkempt. Then almost at once, they converted completely, their dresses stained to mottled black, hair matted and greasy, faces still beautiful but eyes cruel, dancing with red and black light in gray pupils.

  Metamorphosis complete, they searched the room, as if seeking for something they had lost. Their gaze roamed for several minutes, becoming more frantic as they hunted in vain, until suddenly both their heads snapped up and they scowled at Erick.

  He started awake with a small gasp as drops of rain hit the outside of his tent. His necklace pulsed with warmth, but it faded quickly, and he thought it might be a residual feeling from the dream. Did you see that? He asked Blink, who sat outside on watch.

  Yes, but I have no idea what it was.

  Marcus flipped open the tent flaps; Erick jumped, startling the boy. Corby rolled over and muttered, but remained asleep. “Oh, you’re awake. Time for your watch. Elissia’s already up.”

  Erick left his bedroll confused and uneasy. The vision of Draymed, horrific as it had been, at least made sense. This dream seemed far too cryptic. Erick fretted at its meaning, and what the consequences might be if he couldn’t decipher it.

  He discussed it with Blink as they sat beside Elissia, huddled in cloaks and hats against the steadily falling water, but the homunculus had no enlightened wisdom. Erick stayed in camp. The chill rain and a sense of dread made him want to remain close to Elissia.

  As the rain tapered away the next morning, leaving them with overcast skies, a renewed sense of urgency infused Erick. Something about the vision told him time had become precious. He ached to reach Twr Krinnik, to be among others like him and learn what he needed to know. They pushed on, stopping less frequently; Erick’s anxiousness affected them all.

  The next day they caught their first glimpses of Broken Mountain, peeking through the Ruins when they crested a high point in their path. Erick didn’t find it nearly as impressive as he expected until Corby reminded him they were still at least six days away from the base.

  Slowly the mountain drew closer, and Erick discovered the understatement of calling it; it was huge, even though the top had been destroyed in the battle with Eligos over a millennium ago. Erick couldn’t even begin to imagine the mountain’s massive size when it had been intact.

  They all shared his awe at the immense base, which extended farther than they could see. Soon, the mountain dominated their view, blocking out the horizon.

  “How large is that gods-damned thing?” Marcus asked.

  “Don’t blaspheme,” Fathen said.

  “The base is almost fifty leagues from east to west and thirty-five north to south,” Corby said. “It extended five miles into the sky before the war between the Inconnu and the Necromancers, now it stands just over a mile.”

  Marcus whistled. “You could make a hell of a warren out of that,” he said.

  “I think they have,” Corby said. “Except they call it a mine.”

  As they drew closer, they began to spot birds floating above the top of the base, spying down on the small figures that moved through the fragmented boulders and granite spires that made up the mountain’s crown.

  “Prospectors,” Corby told them. “Seeking precious metals, rocks and the few herbs that grow there.”

  Erick found it hard to believe they were people. They moved across the vastness of the Twr, tiny as insects. It struck him that never in all his reading had he come close to imagining something this colossal. To read about Broken Mountain’s was one thing, but to see it in its glory truly astonished him; it made it worth all the pain he had suffered getting here.

  Midway through the twenty-second day after leaving Firstlast, they came to the end of the Ruins. As they walked down the gentle slope of the last foothill, Twr Krinnik filled their world, the top barely visible from where they stood. A mile ahead they spotted buildings, specks almost invisible against the base of the mammoth mountain. The road lay on their left.

  “There it is ahead of us,” Corby said. “Broken Mountain and Prospector’s Camp.”

  Erick stared, dumbfounded. Instead of the cluster of weatherworn tents and wooden lean-tos he expected, there stood a town that, even from this distance, showed signs of a sizable and prosperous population. Numerous structures, most at least two floors high, ran along rows of level streets. Buildings and boulevards both were made from dull orange rock, but at least half the structures had mosaics of colored stones decorating the front and sides in simple geometric patterns. Several had the red hammer and globe symbol of Krinnik, and one the golden sunburst of Caros. Though no threat to Kalador, the town spanned easily three times the size of Draymed. None of his reading had even mentioned its existence.

  “How long has that been there?” Erick asked

  “Not certain,” Corby answered. “At least two hundred years.”

  “Who cares?” Marcus said. “Let’s get down there.”

  “Hold on,” Erick said. “I’m not sure we should.”

  Marcus stared at Erick as if horns had sprouted from his head. “What in the Festering Hells are you talking about? We’ve been outside of a decent city for almost a month. Of course we should go in.”

  “Inconnu are searching every
where, and they know where I’m heading, which means they’re probably scouring the town for us.”

  “No,” Marcus disagreed. “They’re scouring the town for you, not us.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Corby said. “They may know each of us by now.”

  “How?” Marcus asked. “Nobody who’s encountered us and attacked has escaped alive.”

  “What about anybody we didn’t see?” Corby asked. “What about the people who witnessed the fiasco in Kalador? What about Firstlast? You’re the cautious one, aren’t you?”

  “Cautious doesn’t mean paranoid. So far all I’ve seen are some half-assed attempts to kill us by a bunch of amateurs. Whoever these people are, I don’t think they’re organized.”

  “Their attempt on me in Draymed wasn’t half-assed,” Erick told him.

  “You’re still alive, so it couldn’t have been too well thought out.”

  “Children,” Fathen said, stepping between them and raising his voice. “You could argue all day and be no closer to an agreement. As much as I disapprove of his profession and his language,” he gave Marcus a reproachful stare, “I agree with the thief.”

  “My name is Marcus. And I’m a Procurer.”

  “Why?” Erick asked Fathen.

  “You’ve reached the mountain. What are you supposed to do now?”

  “Meet the other Necromancers.”

  “Where?” Fathen asked.

  Erick blinked, startled by the question. “Somewhere inside the mountain.”

  “It’s a large mountain.”

  Erick stared at Twr Krinnik. He had no idea. He had spent so much energy reaching the destination he never gave thought to his course of action once he arrived. He had unknowingly assumed answers would be provided. Stupid, since no one had presented any easy answers before.

  “So,” Fathen continued, “at the least, we need to go into town for provisions while you figure out what to do. The Inconnu may be here, but it’s possible our delay has confused them and made them lax about hunting us.”

  “It’s also possible the Inconnu aren’t even searching for us anymore,” Elissia offered. “Any Inconnu who showed up in Kalador would get to see a dead body that resembles Erick.”

  “I guess they forgot to pass that on to the people who attacked us outside Firstlast,” Corby said.

  “They were probably set in advance in case Erick bypassed Kalador,” Elissia said. “They didn’t act like professional soldiers. I don’t know what to expect here, but we need supplies.”

  “We can split up,” Marcus said. “I and two others can go into town, and the rest of you can go up the mountain. We’ll meet you there in a couple of days.”

  “No,” Erick countered. “We’re going to stick together. Either way we go, it’s better if we travel as a group.” He ran his hand over his head; the inch-long stubble that had grown in the past month tickled his palm. What do you think?

  How should I know? Blink answered. I’m just a familiar. I vote for going straight to the mountain and hoping there’s something to show us the way, but that’s because I know if you go to town I’ll be left out here twiddling my talons.

  Erick considered while the others waited for his answer. It baffled him that they turned to him for decisions. He certainly never thought of himself as a leader, and the circumstances that put him in charge of other lives mystified him. Certainly Corby or--Gods forbid--even Fathen had more wisdom for such things.

  At last, the need for provisions decided him. Without guidance, they could trek across the mountain for months before he found what he sought. Erick pushed back his anxiety, trusting that Caros or Denech would show him the way before it came to aimless wandering. Elissia may not have faith in the Gods, but he did. Regardless, they needed supplies, and Erick found himself also desperately wanting to get clean. Sorry Blink, he thought. “We’ll go into town, but we need to be cautious.”

  “I guess I’ll sit here and twiddle my talons, then,” Blink said.

  They walked toward the town, descending from the mountains. Erick could only imagine what the townspeople would think when his company, dirty, bedraggled, and foul-smelling, arrived. He had a rat’s nest of fine brown fuzz on his cheeks and chin, and brush bristles on his scalp. Fathen had almost three weeks growth of unkempt beard, greasy hair, and a bedraggled robe, once yellow, that had turned almost brown, the blood stains closer to black. Corby’s scholarly haircut had lost all definition, the crown matted and the hair beneath having grown out. Marcus was still free of facial hair, but grime coated his clothes and face; grease and dirt glazed his black hair, now not as short as when Erick had met him.

  Even Elissia, whom Erick thought could never be less than attractive, was covered with dirt and sweat, her clothes torn and travel-worn.

  Gabrielle, surprisingly, appeared the least rumpled of all. The blemishes had disappeared from her clean face, and her skin had grown darker in the constant sun. Her eyes shone, and her gray robe, although dirty, showed little sign of actual wear. He wondered how she managed it, and decided to ask her when they were all sitting in a tavern room. The thought of a tavern made him realize he would really like a mug or two of ale.

  As they drew closer, he noticed a lack of life on the streets. Earlier, Erick had seen people from a distance, but now the area appeared deserted. Buildings were closed, shutters were drawn, and the inhabitants had gone missing. A butter churn sat outside one building and a child’s rocking horse, turned on its side, outside another. A lone dog came upon them and ran, whining with its tail between its legs

  “Something’s wrong,” Marcus muttered, his eyes darting toward every corner. Elissia also scanned the area.

  “Everyone must be working inside,” Gabrielle said.

  They were a hundred feet into the town proper, with still no signs of life, when Marcus said, “I think we should leave now.”

  “What are you talking about?” Erick asked. “You were the one who wanted to come in the first place.”

  “And now I want to leave.”

  “It’s a good idea,” Elissia said. “Something’s amiss. This feels like an am-”

  A whistle blew from inside a building. From both sides of the street there came the clatter of wood as shutters and doors swung open. Townsmen poured out from the buildings, brandishing swords and pickaxes. In the windows above, soldiers wearing the taupe and gray tunic of the Zakerin army leaned out and pointed crossbows down on the party. Within seconds, the tiny group found themselves surrounded by a mob of armed citizens and warriors.

  The companions pressed tight together and drew their weapons. Erick did his best to stand in front of Elissia, knowing it would do precious little good if they were rushed. But the crowd simply surrounded them and kept their distance.

  What should I do? Blink asked.

  Stay put for now, Erick told him. Hopefully, they don’t know about you.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Fathen thundered, his voice booming over Erick’s head. “Who dares to assault a priest of Caros and his companions?”

  A section of the crowd parted as a squad of soldiers with pikes stepped forward. An exceptionally stocky man with close-cropped brown hair and a weather-worn face walked ahead of the squad. The gold epaulets and silver triple rose pin on his tunic marked him as a captain. He scanned the group, and his dark eyes settled on Erick. “Which of you is Erick Darvaul of Draymed?”

  Stunned the man would know both his appearance and his full name, Erick said, “I am.”

  The officer favored him with a frown of disgust. “I am Captain Cerin of her Majesty’s Army. You have been charged with the crime of Necromancy. Therefore, I am placing you and your companions under arrest. You will accompany me to the prison, where you will remain until tomorrow morning, when you will be put to death.”

  31

  I will honor Krinnik, for he provides the home that grows me

  I will honor Talan, for he provides the tears that nourish me

  I will honor
Caros, for he provides the light that strengthens me

  I will honor, and they will provide, and I shall heal in their name.

  -Healer’s Oath

  Fear struck Erick at the captain’s proclamation, but it flared into anger. He had stepped back into Draymed, and nothing had changed. The faces and names were different, but the hatred and fear emanating from the people surrounding him wasn’t.

  He had not traveled this far through fire, blood, and pain, only to be thwarted by a throng of ignorant townspeople unaware he had come to save their miserable lives. Necromancy was not a crime, and these people were going to learn that. His hands tensed.

  Elissia reached out and grabbed his hand. “This is not Draymed. They’re afraid, but if you say the wrong thing, they’ll kill you.”

  They’re going to kill us anyway, he thought, but Elissia’s touch and voice curbed his fury. They might be able to figure a way out, given time. They needed to speak to someone who would listen to their story, someone they could make see reason.

  If it came to the worst, Erick had a way to escape. He relaxed his posture. “May we know our accuser?” he asked the captain.

  “The others are not accused,” Captain Cerin told him. “Only you and your winged demon, whom I expect to show up here within one minute or I will kill you. The rest are free to leave tomorrow after your execution. As for your accuser, you will find out soon enough.”

  “If you kill him, you might as well kill me,” Elissia snarled. “Because I’ll put a knife in your ugly face the minute you let me go.”

  Captain Cerin smiled at her. “Very well. I’ll mention it to the Magistrate, and we’ll make sure you hang, too.”

  “Those bastards in Firstlast must have ratsnaked us,” Marcus said as a squad of guards formed around them.

  “No talking,” the Captain said. “Stay quiet and place your weapons and equipment on the ground. And your creature has thirty seconds.”