Omnibus Volume 1

by C. M. Carney

  “Because he doesn’t know he’s dead. Don‘t think he‘d react too well to the news.”

  To punctuate that warning Sir Humperdinck tossed the now headless corpse at several of the other zombies with such force it just didn’t knock them from their feet, it knocked their feet off of them.

  “Brahk never want talk to big shiny man.”

  “Probably for the best,” Verreth agreed. “In life, he was the most fearsome slayer of the living dead ever seen in this realm or any other. He nearly wiped out every undead creature on Korynn, but the Arch Lich Negvaar cursed him and he became a spectre bonded to his own amulet.”

  “That crappy bit of tin has contained that monster all this time?” Gerryt asked.

  “Yes. It was a symbol of his order. They were a humble folk uninterested in wealth or fame. They donated every bit of gold, silver, and copper to charity. All they had left was tin.”

  “They be a bunch of dumbasses,” Brahk said, before ducking behind the outcropping as Sir Humperdinck tore another zombie in half with his bare hands.

  “His zealotry is our gain,” Verreth said with a smile.

  “Wait, why did he come out now? Those poor schmucks aren’t undead, just horrible actors,” Serraia said.

  The rogues hiding behind the bluff searched for signs of guilt on Verreth’s face. He simply stared back at them. “Would you feel better if I pretended to be upset about it?” He paused, but nobody spoke. “As expected.“ He took a deep breath and looked at Brahk. “Remember the remains of the skeleton I had you collect?”

  “One haunting crypt in Erram?” the barbarian orc asked. “Yup, Brahk remember.”

  “Well like all undead those bones give off a low-grade field of death magic. Our mountainous pal there can sense that energy, and when he does he pops out of the amulet and goes on a killing spree.”

  Blood-curdling screams of terror rose in the glade and then suddenly ended as Sir Humperdinck swung a zombie actor by his ankle into his last compatriot again and again. Both bodies pulped under the force and soon the spectral knight stood alone in the glade.

  “You gave each one of them one of those bones, didn’t you?” Serraia said in shock.

  “Sure did, told them it was part of the costume. Help make it more authentic and such. Once enough of them got close enough to ol’ Bahldreck, it was only a matter of time before he turned into Sir Humperdinck.”

  “You killed them,” Serraia said.

  “No, I didn’t. He did.” Verreth pointed at Sir Humperdinck.

  “And here I thought I was an amoral prick,” Gerryt said.

  “I said I felt bad about it.”

  “No you didn’t,” Serraia said.

  “No?” Verreth watched as each one of his companions shook his head no. “Huh, thought I did.” With a shrug, Verreth stood, raised his hands above his head and walked towards Sir Herman Heinrich Humperdinck. After a pause Gerryt followed, keeping Verreth between him and the giant knight.

  “I will be damned to the Abyss,” Serraia muttered to herself and stood as well. She looked back at Brahk who was still cowering behind the outcropping of rock. “Brahk, come on,” she said. He shook his head no, and she waved her hand vigorously. After a moment, the half-orc reluctantly got to his feet and followed.

  *****

  Sir Humperdinck’s shoulders moved up and down as he calmed from his blood rage. He looked down at the remains of the zombie in his hand, a part of his mind wondering why so much fresh blood dripped from the leg of the corpse. Before he could dwell too deeply on the matter a voice called out to him.

  “Hello, my brave and worthy knight, I beseech thee to let we humble pilgrims aid you in thine quest.”

  Sir Humperdinck turned to see a gentleman smiling up at him. Behind him walked a thin man dressed in the dark green of a hunter, a charming looking sea elf maiden and a brutish half-orc whose wide eyes showed admiration, or mayhap it was fear.

  “Well met pilgrims,” Sir Humperdinck said as he wiped the blade of his sword on one of the zombie’s cloaks. “I am Sir Herman Heinrich Humperdinck, Seneschal of the Order of the Blazing Fist, hunter of the undead and slayer of necromancers. Perchance could you tell me where I am? In my holy rage, I seem to have forgotten.”

  “My name is Verreth, and these are my compatriots. We are near the hamlet of Erram, fine Sir, close to the dread Barrow, the lair of the evil lich known as the Barrow King.”

  “A lich you say?” Sir Humperdinck spat eyes wide in anger. “They are the foulest of the lords of undeath. Where is this Barrow?”

  “Well, Sir Knight, as chance would have it we were en route to that oubliette of horrors. Like you, we are slayers of the undead. We would be glad to guide you if you would deign to spend time in our ignoble company.”

  Sir Humperdinck eyed the pilgrims, whose garb suggested neither holiness nor humbleness, but he had spent a lot of time in strange and foreign lands and learned that appearances could be deceiving. He stepped forward and shook the man Verreth’s hand.

  A tickle of doubt built in the back of his mind as his boot sunk into a patch of blood-sodden grass. He looked down at the closest zombie corpse, noting the eyes staring back up at him held the last vestiges of fear. They seemed so fresh and lifelike, apart from the being dead part.

  Have the death priests created a new type of zombie? He wondered to himself and began to kneel.

  The man named Verreth grabbed him by the forearm, turning Sir Humperdinck’s eyes down to him. “Do not worry yourself over the foul remains. My people will tend to them.”

  “They know the proper cleansing rituals to perform so they will not rise again?”

  “Yes, of course,” Verreth said and motioned to the half-orc. “Brahk here is an expert on … cleansing. He knows to pour the blessed water he stores in his wineskin upon the corpses.”

  The half-orc looked from Verreth to Sir Humperdinck to his wineskin and back at Verreth before his eyes widened in understanding and he poured the blessed water onto the corpses. It was redder than Sir Humperdinck remembered, but then Verreth spoke again drawing the knight’s attention from the curiosity.

  “Serraia will burn the corpses if you would like to discuss our plans for assaulting the Barrow.”

  “Burning the undead is no job for such a fine and comely maiden,” Sir Humperdinck said affronted.

  “You are right of course. I will have Gerryt tend to the task.”

  “Yes, that sounds much more proper,” Sir Humperdinck said, not seeing the scowl Gerryt gave to Verreth over his shoulder.

  “And perhaps you would enjoy Serraia’s company. A small chat or a neck massage.”

  The huge knight flushed as the sea elf walked up to him and took him by the arm. He was so charmed by her he missed the angry glare she cast at Verreth.

  “While that would be lovely, our time would be better spent journeying to this Barrow. Lichs are ancient and highly intelligent. They are masters of foul magics and though they are despicably evil their long, unnatural lives have gifted them with a perverted wisdom. This master of the Barrow will be cunning. We will need to be more cunning still if we hope to slay it.”

  5

  Deep in the Barrow, the master sat on his throne. His flowing robes of black smoke seemed almost alive in their movements. A spectral hand moved up and formed a fist. The skull that was the only physical component of this new Barrow King plopped onto the fist with an exaggerated annoyance only a teenager could muster. The silver light flickering in the empty eye sockets grew more agitated.

  “I am soooooo bored,” Simon whined and tossed part of a leg bone at the nearest dread knight, the one he’d ordered to stand on one leg and hop up and down. His aim was true but the desiccated corpse didn’t even notice as the bone bounced off its face.

  He held out his free hand and the reanimated corpse of the man named Dirge handed him another bone. “We could engage in some witty repartee, master.”

  Simon tossed the bone at another dread knight. This on
e was rubbing its stomach in a circular motion with its right hand while patting the top of its head in time with its left. Again Simon’s aim was true, and the bone smacked the undead warrior in the eye, causing it to dangle from its socket. Like his brethren, the dimwitted undead didn’t seem to notice.

  “No, last time we did that you used a bunch of words I didn’t know and it made me feel bad. I want to feel good and do something fun. Maybe I should bury you up to your neck again in the Wyrmynn’s latrine.”

  “I’d rather you not, all things considered,” Dirge responded in his silky, almost seductive, voice.

  “You’re boring too,” Simon said and tossed another bone at a third dread knight. This one‘s arms were splayed wide and had been spinning in circles for the better part of an hour without getting dizzy. The bone’s jagged end pierced the corpse’s side and stuck. Despite the small victory, Simon refused the next proffered bone.

  “Are you still upset the Dark Dryad canceled your date?”

  “No,” Simon whined. “And she didn’t cancel it, she was sick. Some kinda fungal infection. Probably got it from one of those walking blobs of spores she uses as minions.”

  “Yes, that is a convincing possibility,” Dirge said.

  Simon’s sockets snapped over to Dirge. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, nothing, just some idle chatter,” Dirge said, his voice rising in pitch.

  Simon stared at the man. Sometimes he regretted reanimating the Aegyptian assassin. The dude was as unbearable in undeath as he had been in life. I could just kill him again and reanimate someone else.

  Sadly he didn’t have many better options. The Barrow wasn’t seeing a great influx of new corpses. Truth be told, he hadn’t thought he’d be able to bring Dirge back since the dude’s soul had been consumed by a nasty poison. Still living Dirge had tried to use it on Gryph’s pal Ovyrm, before the xydai had turned the assassin’s own weapon against him.

  Dirge had suggested his current charming personality was a biological echo left in his brain after his soul perished. The theory was bolstered by his dispassion concerning the loss of said soul.

  Maybe you need to have a soul to miss having a soul? Simon thought before the paradox made his head hurt. And how can my head hurt? It’s just a damn skull.

  “You think she’s cheating on me?” Simon asked in a voice tinged with notes of anger and desperation.

  “No, no, no, of course not,” Dirge said, casually waving his hand to dismiss the idea. “Who could she be seeing? It isn’t like this place is rife with eligible bachelors.”

  “True,” Simon said, unconvinced. He was silent for a moment. “Maybe it’s the black ooze.”

  “Maybe what’s the black ooze?”

  “Ya know, her other fella.”

  “What? No. First off, the black ooze ain’t a fella. It’s an acidic entity made from the cast-off remnants of consumed souls. Second … no.”

  “Yeah,” Simon said frumpily. “That Wyrmynn leader Scarface then?”

  “She’s not seeing anyone else.”

  “How can you be sure?” Simon asked, his voice cracking and betraying him again.

  “Because there is no one else to see,” Dirge answered in exaggerated exasperation. “If you’re so concerned about it why don’t you have the Barrow keep an eye on her?”

  “I would never spy on her,” Simon said affronted.

  “Oh, I see, the Barrow still slumbers.”

  “Yes,” he said testily, then realized what he’d just admitted to. The Barrow was in fact slumbering. The whole dungeon was some kinda living energy entity. To survive it bonded with a sentient being in a mutually beneficial symbiotic relationship. But, the Barrow’s last host had been a real dick knocker named Ouzeriuo. Instead of sharing resources, Ouzeriuo had cut the Barrow out, becoming more parasite that host. This had left the Barrow weak and withdrawn. Simon had promised to change all that when he agreed to bond with the Barrow, but without a steady influx of adventurers, the Barrow had precious little life energy to feed upon. The bodies left behind by Gryph had saved the Barrow from going dormant, but it needed more and was unwilling to ‘waste it spying on an entity that poses no threat.’

  “You could talk to her. Girls like that kinda thing,” Dirge said.

  “And say what? Back when I was alive I talked to a girl once, and that ended with my britches pulled down and my underclothes pulled over my head courtesy of her older brother. I learned my lesson that day. Girls don’t like talking.”

  “Not sure that‘s what you should have taken from that.”

  But Simon was already not listening. “What she needs is a grand romantic gesture from me.”

  “Not a bad idea. Women like grand romantic gestures. What do you have in mind?”

  “Hmmm, I could kill her other boyfriend in some kinda duel. Ya know like guns blazing at high noon. But I’d need a white hat.”

  “First, there is no other boyfriend. Second, what the hell are you talking about?”

  “It’s from a movie I think.”

  “What’s a movie?” Dirge asked.

  Simon cocked his skull to the side. He wasn‘t sure what a movie was but felt he should. From time to time he got flashes of memories that were not his own. Movies, proms, letterman jackets, cold mountains in Korea. He remembered things he’d never seen and places he’d never been.

  The Barrow had suggested that they were bits of Gryph’s memories, or maybe Wick’s. After all, Simon had shared time with both men inside Ouzeriuo’s weird soul realm. Who knew what kinda cross contamination their minds had experienced. While that made sense, Simon didn’t like it and didn’t like Dirge questioning him.

  “You can shut up now.”

  “That isn’t very friendly,” Dirge said, but a blank stare from Simon’s skull shut him up.

  Simon sighed, an ability he still didn’t understand considering he had no actual body. “I’m bored. This place is boring.”

  “You said that already.”

  “Shut up you.” The words were barely out of Simon’s mouth when an odd tickle at the back of his mind told him the Barrow had awoken.

  We have company.

  Simon leaned forward in his throne. “Really? Who is it?”

  Five adventurers. Four are slightly above average in powers and capabilities. Nothing too threatening. The fifth, however, is teeming with a range of magical energies. He is very dangerous.

  “Generate a dread knight in the first chamber. I want to talk to these newcomers.”

  I cannot. After repurchasing the ability to create new dread knights, I am low on energy reserves. I cannot generate a new dread knight at this time.

  Simon stroked his chin, annoyed that the Barrow sounded like a legal disclaimer, whatever that was, then stood and walked to Dirge. The reanimated assassin had only a moment to panic before Simon’s hands snapped out, grabbed his neck and wrenched his head from his body. The headless corpse slumped to the ground, and the head stared Simon in the face.

  “Well that was unfriendly,” Dirge said and a moment later the light behind his dead eyes dimmed and his tongue lolled out of his mouth.

  Simon dropped the head on top of the corpse. “That should be enough.”

  Indeed, the Barrow thought. The head and body decomposed into a viscous jelly and soaked into the hard-packed dirt of the floor. The Barrow fed on the life energy Simon had used to reanimate Dirge. I am ready.

  Simon closed his eyes, which for him meant dimming the lights illuminating his eye sockets. The shrouded robes dissipated and the skull that Simon now called home clattered to the seat of the throne.

  The dread knights continued their belly rubbing, hopping and spinning, paying no heed to their master’s departure.

  6

  Verreth crested the hill and pointed down into a shadowy crevasse sunk deep into the base of the mountain pass. “There. The entrance to the Barrow.”

  The others squinted into the unnatural shade of the fissure that resemb
led a wound that had exploded from inside the earth. Poking from the heart of the gash was the tip of a ragged black tower. The entrance was the stuff of nightmares, a doorway built into the center of a gaping, skeletal maw.

  “Well, that’s over the top,” Serraia said.

  “The fell undead use fear as a weapon,” Sir Humperdinck said. “Do not let this petty warning scare you.”

  On cue a rancid wind picked up, moaning upwards from the depths of the fissure and flowing over the adventurers.

  “It seem good warning to Brahk. Maybe we should go home.” The half-orc had already turned around when the massive hand of Sir Humperdinck stayed his departure.

  “Fear not friend, no paltry undead can pierce my armor or stay my blade.” To prove the mightiness of both, Sir Humperdinck drew his sword and smashed the flat of the blade against his breastplate.

  “Yeah, but you’re the only one with those two things,” Gerryt said.

  Sir Humperdinck paid the hunter no heed and raised his sword above his head and roared before rushing towards the fanged mouth of the entranceway.

  “Just stay behind him and let him do the heavy lifting and the riches of the Barrow will be ours,” Verreth said, clapping Brahk on the back and following the giant knight. The others glanced at each other before joining.

  Sir Humperdinck ducked under the stalactites hanging like fangs and passed through the threshold. He failed to notice the precipitous drop in temperature, nor the slight change in air pressure. Ahead of him was an obsidian door carved with frescoes of skeletal beings dragging the living to the feet of a throne made of bone. A shadowed figure sat upon the throne, one desiccated hand reaching out to claim its victims.

  There was no door handle or other obvious methods of opening the door, so Sir Humperdinck resorted to the age-old method of banging on the door with his mailed fist. The others passed through the field and stood behind them.

  “Anyone else cold?” Serraia asked as an unholy chill sunk into her bones.

  “Yup, I’m out of here,” Gerryt responded, spun around and walked back up the incline. He got a few feet before smashing into an unseen barrier. “What in blazes?” he asked a hand snapping to his nose. It came away bloody.