He laid back, letting the feather filled pillow wrap around the sides of his head as he stared up at the marble ceiling. After a few moments, he finally sat up and stepped out of the bed, determined to take on the day. The room was warm but his bare feet fell on cold stone. He slipped on his clothing and stashed his blades. When he opened the door, he found a guard waiting in the hall outside his room. “What do you want?”
“Master Jerrie, I am to escort you wherever you decide to go,” the guard responded.
Jerrie smiled. “And what if I leapt out of my bedroom window. Would you and your armor follow me to the palace grounds below?”
The guard fumbled, trying to figure out how to answer.
Jerrie turned and sprinted back into his room. The guard followed until he leapt out of the window. He kicked off the side of the window as he passed through, redirecting himself and allowing him to catch the bottom of the balcony outside his room.
The guard stuck his head out the window, scanning the ground below. Finally, he turned and looked toward Jerrie, who was dangling a few paces away from the bottom of the balcony. The guard disappeared back inside the window and, a moment later, Jerrie heard the door open above the balcony. He swung his body out and as his legs came back in under the balcony he let go and caught hold of the gold-plated bar hanging underneath on the other side. He let his momentum carry him, and he spun up and landed on the balcony behind the guard, who was leaning over the edge, trying to spot him. Before the guard could turn around, Jerrie was able to close the two paces between them and pull the guard’s own sword from his scabbard. The guard turned around and stepped back until his back was against the polished gold-plated balcony railing. Jerrie turned the sword over, holding the blade and letting the soldier take the pommel.
The guard reached out and took the sword and slid it back in the scabbard.
Jerrie smiled. “I just wanted you to know I don’t need you to take care of me. Give me a minute, and I’ll be ready to go.”
The guard looked at him and then over the edge of the balcony.
“If I was going to go, I would have gone already,” Jerrie assured him.
“Just so you know, if you leave without me, I’ll be held responsible,” the guard said, glancing back over his shoulder once before walking back into the hall and closing the door behind him.
Jerrie went back in the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. He had hid it from the guard, but exerting himself like that had exhausted him. He sat there for a moment until he was sure that he wouldn’t fall when he stood. When he opened the door, Grundel and Rundo were coming down the hall.
“How you feeling?” Grundel asked.
“He seems to be feeling all right, Your Highness,” the guard said.
Rundo and Grundel both looked from the guard to Jerrie, who attempted and failed to look innocent.
Rundo couldn’t help but laugh. “What did you do to him?”
“I didn’t do anything to him, not really.”
Grundel just shook his head and turned toward the guard. “We’re sorry for whatever he did. Jerrie, are you good enough to travel? We talked with the necromancer. He’s going to Tiefes Loch with us. There is a cart in the courtyard, and Crissy is waiting for you.”
Jerrie gave them a questioning look, but Rundo cut him off before he could say anything. “Hey! She is the one who led us to the necromancer, and she flat out refuses to let you go anywhere without her. She says that you are still recovering, and she has to make sure you don’t overdo it. Honestly, I think she likes you. Well, that and I think she just wants to see what it’s like outside of the city.”
“Two kings, a prince, and a druid couldn’t stop a local healer from tagging along on a dangerous trip with a necromancer to try and stop the vengeful phantom of a dwarf king?” Jerrie asked incredulously.
“She’s persuasive,” Grundel said nonchalantly.
“So are we leaving?” Jerrie asked.
Jerrie started toward the stairs, and Grundel and Rundo followed him out into the courtyard, where Grizzle was waiting next to the cart. Crissy was sitting on the bench. Twelve dwarves stood in front of the two horses.
“You’re in the back,” Crissy said from the cart.
Jerrie heard Grundel and Rundo snickering behind him. He climbed into the back of the cart, shaking his head. He wasn’t going to argue with Crissy, because he knew the others were all going to back her up. He also knew that anything he said would just give Grundel and Rundo another chance to take a stab at him.
He didn’t mind arguing with her, the back and forth was light-hearted and flirtatious. He didn’t even mind her telling him what to do, but when it she did it in front of the others, he was embarrassed. He plopped down on the bench in the back of the cart. He would have plenty of opportunities to frustrate her. He had made a fuss about her going, but he really was happy to have more time to get to know her. He couldn’t help but think that she wouldn’t be coming along if she didn’t feel something too.
Rundo climbed up into the cart and sat across from him. Grundel followed behind it. Jerrie looked around for Evelyn. When Rundo noticed him searching, he nodded his head up. High in the sky and barely noticeable, two birds flew overhead. He would have never even seen Messah if it weren’t for the much larger form of Evelyn in her hawk form.
Everyone was here. King Grizzle nodded his head to the soldier on the bench next to Crissy and the cart pulled forward with a jerk as the horses started walking.
As they rode through the city, they were followed by the cheers of its citizens. The people had been beaten down for a long time. Now there was a new king to replace the greedy violent one, and one of the city’s most violent criminals had been killed. The people saw them as the heroes as much as they did their new king. It didn’t take long for a crowd to form and soon the cart was barely moving, as they had to push their way through. It would have been easy for them to get caught up in the excitement but they all knew better. They were vulnerable, and after removing one of the front-runners of the city’s criminal organizations, someone would be looking to take his place. There was no better way to do that than to kill those who killed him.
Jerrie scanned the rooftops. Rundo had that blank look on his face, which meant he was looking through Messah’s eyes. It made Jerrie feel better that he was in a group that was as capable and alert as he was. They were actually more capable than he was in a lot of things. He could tell that Crissy had noticed that they were all hyper alert. He did his best to give her a comforting smile. It didn’t work. She began nervously scanning the area herself. He had to admit that he was glad. Most people would have been too caught up in the cheering and the atmosphere created by the crowd to notice that everyone else was on edge. She had picked up on it and seemed to understand why. He smiled to himself and began scanning windows and rooftops again.
As they approached the grounds of the necromancer’s eerie mansion, the crowd began to fall away. By the time they stopped in front of the gate of the estate, there were only a handful of people watching them from the end of the street.
The gate squeaked open as they approached, and the cart followed the dwarves inside. Jerrie looked toward the mansion just as a man exited through the open front door. Jerrie had been raised to fight wizards and assassains. He was faster then anyone he had ever fought and his honed skills helped him now as he leaped forward, his feet barely touching the back of the bench before he was flying over the horses. Spinning in a flip, he came down in the midst of the dwarves, who all drew their weapons.
“Jerrie, don’t!”
He risked a glance back and saw Crissy was standing on the bench of the cart shouting at him. “It’s not him.”
Jerrie turned back to the man he had seen, who was now standing next to the stairs. After looking more carefully, he realized the man didn’t look right. This wasn’t one of the men who had nearly killed him. That man had been strong, alert, and capable. This was the same body, but the eyes were blank, no li
fe in them, and the skin was beginning to hang from the bones. It dawned on him that Crissy had taken the men to the necromancer. The necromancer had somehow reanimated that body. Crissy nodded a confirmation.
A moment later, a spindly man in a dark brown robe came out of the door and made his way toward them. Jerrie couldn’t help but notice that this man fit the stereotype of a necromancer perfectly. He had known wizards like Anwar, who was as capable of fighting as anyone, and he was huge, his muscles so large they threatened to tear through his skin. He had met druids like Rundo and Evelyn, who cared greatly for animals and plants but weren’t opposed to human interaction and understood the sacrifice made by the plants and animals in order for others to survive. This man though, was a necromancer straight out of a story. His skin was pale and loose on his bones. He didn’t look like he could even lift a sword, much less wield one. The only thing missing was a—nope there it is, the chronic cough. Jerrie let his lips turn up into a smile as the necromancer bent over coughing violently into the sleeve of his robe.
“You must be King Stoneheart,” the necromancer said when he had finished, bringing his fist to his chest in a dwarven salute.
Grizzle brought his own fist to his chest. “I am. Master Phelim, I would like to thank you for your help dealing with this issue. I promise that you will be well compensated for your efforts.”
“Thank you, King Stoneheart. I have no desire for riches. If you can provide the containers that I asked for, that will be payment enough. I will be ready to go once my things are loaded,” he said, motioning to the two animated corpses loading his things onto the cart.
Grizzle couldn’t miss the discomfort that the others showed around the necromancer’s creations. “Will your minions be traveling with us?”
“No, they will remain here. I do not leave my manor often. Most of the people wouldn’t dare come onto the grounds out of fear, but for those who do, the ghost and undead will be enough to deter them from venturing too far into the grounds. Besides, I couldn’t imagine how discomforting it would be for Master Jerrie to be traveling alongside a man who had nearly killed him, never mind one he had killed.”
At that statement, everyone turned toward Jerrie, who stood a half dozen paves away from the cart, watching the undead man as though he were a poised viper. Jerrie was naturally distrustful, and he would be expected to be even more so after everything that had happened recently, but now that the necromancer had drawn attention to it, Jerrie looked more wary than usual. He looked almost scared.
The undead finished pushing the last chest up onto the cart and then turned and made his way back inside the mansion.
“I am ready when you are, King Stoneheart,” the necromancer announced as he climbed up onto the bench.
Jerrie and Rundo climbed back up into the back of the cart. Jerrie gave the necromancer’s chests a suspicious glance before turning his attention back toward the mansion. The necromancer waved a hand and the piles of bones outside the entrance began assembling themselves. By the time everyone was reorganized, there were six skeletons standing guard in front of the entryway.
“They’re more for looks than anything else,” the necromancer assured Jerrie. “Once the tissue rots off, they really aren’t very effective physically.”
Jerrie didn’t try to hide his disgust. He just shook his head and turned away from the necromancer. He noticed a smile cross Crissy’s face. She was enjoying this. He was sure this wouldn’t be the last time he would hear about his distaste for the undead. Finally the dwarves made their way toward the gate. The cart pulled forward, and they were finally on their way out of the city.
Chapter Sixteen
Tiefes Loch
Fuhrung woke to the sound of the stone door of his room sliding slowly open. He laid flat on the stone slab he used as a bed. Back in Shinestone, he had a thin pad over the stone, but that was not a commodity Tiefes Loch dwarves used. Apparently, King Bergmann had refused the dwarves any luxuries or comforts.
He laid silently on the stone slab, focused on the breathing and footfalls of the dwarf approaching him. The dwarf was nearly on him when he leapt up and grabbed hold of him. The dwarf had a sword raised, but Fuhrung had gotten inside of his range. He grabbed ahold of the other dwarf’s sword arm and smashed his forehead into the dwarf’s face. The other dwarf fell back a step, and Fuhrung held firmly to his wrist, stepping under his arm. He pulled up on the other dwarf’s wrist as he came up beside him. He felt the bone snap before the sword dropped.
“Who are you?” Fuhrung shouted as he picked up the dwarf’s weapon. The dwarf leaped forward, ignoring his own safety as he drew the knife from his belt. Fuhrung buried the sword into his chest. Anyone else would have completely missed because they were attempting to avoid the fatal sword thrust. This dwarf accepted the sword in the chest as he brought his dagger down. Fuhrung stepped back as the dagger cut into his shoulder. The other dwarf fell to the ground in front of him as blood poured from his chest, gasping before falling forward, driving the sword deeper in his chest.
Fuhrung had no doubt that this was Bergmann coming after him. He had defeated him once and the phantom of the dwarf king couldn’t let anyone defeat him. He would keep coming after him until he finished the job.
Fuhrung hadn’t realized how quickly he would return however.
The next dwarf came charging in before Fuhrung could even grab his swords. He was barely able to spin out of the way of the hammer that came through the doorway ahead of the dwarf. Fuhrung leapt across the room and pulled the sword out of the body of the dwarf on the ground. The hammer came down again, and Fuhrung rolled to the side. He heard the sickening crunch of the hammer crushing the bones of the fallen dwarf. He kicked out, and the other dwarf’s knee buckled. Even if the phantom of Bergmann could ignore the pain felt of the dwarf he possessed, that kick had completely buckled that knee. There was no way it would hold his weight any longer.
His plan worked, and the dwarf fell forward as he tried to close the distance between them. Fuhrung knew this dwarf’s body was taken, and he would try his best to keep him alive. The dwarf regained his footing as Fuhrung got to his feet.
“You will never be king of my kingdom,” the dwarf shouted.
“You will never be king of any kingdom,” Fuhrung said, trying to force the phantom to act out of anger. It worked, and the dwarf leaped forward, swinging the hammer wildly. Fuhrung stepped to the side, batting the attack away easily. The leg didn’t hold, and the off-balance dwarf fell face first into the ground. Fuhrung grabbed the hammer and tossed it to the other side of the room. He leaped on top of the dwarf, trying to grab hold of his arms. If he could trap the dwarf, he might just be able to trap the Phantom of Bergmann inside.
When he grabbed hold of the other dwarf, however, he was only able to get a secure hold on one arm. The other went for the knife that had been used to open the wound on Fuhrung’s shoulder. This time, Fuhrung avoided the blade, but it was never really aimed at him in the first place. Bergmann knew Fuhrung had him trapped, and the blade came across the dwarf’s own neck before Fuhrung could stop him. The second dwarf bled to death in front of him as the Phantom of Bergmann escaped for a second time in a matter of minutes.
Now that his adrenaline was slowing down, Fuhrung felt the wound in his shoulder. He could barely make a fist with his left hand. Blood was running down his arm and off of his fingertips. It felt like someone had started a fire, using the skin and bone of his left shoulder as kindling. With everything that had been happening, he had chosen to sleep with his pants on. Now he was glad that he had. He picked up the dagger that had opened his shoulder and slid it into his belt. He went to the end of his bed and picked up one of his swords. He didn’t bother collecting the other one. He wouldn’t be able to grip a sword in his left hand. With the sword hanging from his left hip and the knife slid in the back of his belt, he made his way out of the room. The hallway looked abandoned at first, but as he strode up the passage, he noticed the form laying up against t
he wall just at the edge of the light provided by one of the torches lining the wall.
He bent down to examine the fallen dwarf. He had been stabbed by a dagger in the back. The dagger had been perfectly placed to puncture the heart. This was likely one of two dwarves who were walking to their post. Bergmann would have taken the body of the first and killed this one before he knew anything was wrong. Bergmann then came straight to Fuhrung’s room and attacked him.
He balled his fist as his anger built, and he was instantly reminded of the wound in his shoulder by a sharp pain that surged through his whole left side. He looked down to see that the blood was still flowing pretty steadily out of the wound. He had intended to go get the wound stitched up, but now he just needed to stop the bleeding. He pulled the dagger out of his belt and went to the nearest torch hanging on the wall. He held the tip of the blade in the fire until it started to turn red. This was not something he would have done with any of his own weapons if he could avoid it. The careless heating of the steel would weaken the tip of the blade, but this wasn’t his blade. He pressed the red-hot tip against his skin. The hissing sound of the blood and skin melting was followed quickly by the unmistakable smell of seared flesh.
He pushed the pain to the back of his mind and continued through the halls of Tiefes Loch. He needed to get to Queen Gemcutter and let her know of the latest attack. There hadn’t been any attacks since he had arrived three days ago. The others believed that whenever Bergmann’s Phantom was forced out of someone’s body, he was weakened and it took time for him to be strong enough to try to take control of another body. It was the one sliver of hope they had. It showed that he did have a weakness; hopefully the necromancer would know a way to exploit the phantom’s weakness. For now, Fuhrung needed to inform Queen Gemcutter and get these bodies cleaned up.
The dwarves here were unnaturally comfortable with the death of their own kin. Living under the rule of the Bergmanns for the last few centuries of reformation had made them nearly numb to the losses they had experienced quite regularly. Somehow, they had still grown the population of this kingdom quite rapidly during that time. Most of the population, however, was very young. The average age of Tiefes Loch was around seventy to eighty years, where the other three kingdoms held an average age in the second century of life.
The Phantom Dwarf Page 8
