The Sangrook Saga

by Steve Thomas

  The necropolis was a barren pocket of wasteland in a world brimming with life. The forest could never take it back.

  “This place feels wrong,” said Caeva

  Grellok pushed through the drapery of willow branches and continued north, toward the center of the city. “That’s why it’s the best place for us to hide.”

  Caeva followed. “I don’t want to hide. I want answers. I need to know what my sister did.”

  “It’s just for a few days, until they give up the search.”

  “And what makes you think they won’t look here?”

  “Because anyone with any sense would stay out.”

  They pushed through the forest. The path was narrow, surrounded on all sides by trees and brambles. He had been here many years before, and had found a trail near this same mausoleum that led into the necropolis, but now this place seemed so unfamiliar to Grellok. When the path became impassable, he doubled back and tried another route. They wandered deep into the forest over and over, only to be forced to turn around and wander back. There should have been a large wide trail leading to the necropolis, but as Grellok tested one direction after another, he only succeeded in disorienting himself.

  Caeva’s voice came from behind. “Is this the path?”

  Path? Grellok circled around. Caeva stood between two maples before a walkway paved with bone. It was blighted just as the mausoleum had been, perfectly devoid of grass and weeds. He knew he had scanned those trees before. How could he have missed it? “Yes.” He remembered it now. “This road will take us to the city proper,” said Grellok.

  Caeva tilted her head. “How do you know all this?” There was suspicion in her eyes, both when she stared at the ivory road and when she glanced up at him.

  “I found it as a child. I used to play in these woods. I never told anyone.” That was a lie, but a lie that would save him some effort. He had told his grandmother, who forbade him to ever return, regaling him with stories of ghosts and ghouls and demons wandering the darkest corners of the woods where the ancients had buried their dead. But Caeva didn’t need to hear all that. Horror stories wouldn’t get her to safety any faster.

  “So anyone could know about it?” asked Caeva, skepticism still darkening her eyes.

  Grellok didn’t want to argue. They had left the castle near midnight and had been moving ever since. There were only a few hours of daylight left, and he wanted to be deep inside the necropolis before giving fatigue a chance to set in.

  “Just trust me,” he said. He tried to step onto the path, but something stopped him, a shock of dread that hung heavy in his stomach. His foot hovered over the remains of some dishonored dead, perhaps a slave who had died building tombs for his rulers. A moment passed, and he heard a huff, followed by Caeva’s footsteps on the path of bones. She marched ahead. His trepidation lifted, and Grellok followed.

  The path took them past mausoleum after mausoleum, growing closer together, each an ornate testament to the distant past, a time of science and wonders before the gods tore the world apart and the Sangrooks burned the rubble. Some were drab blocks of mortar. Others were sweeping wonders of stained glass and buttresses. Busts and statues lined the walkway, joined by tablets marked with a worn, inscrutable script. As they pressed further still, the statues were replaced with corpses posed as if they were living out their lives, seated at tables together, working the ground, standing guard, and so on as if this were a living city bustling with workers, each a twisted tableau untouched by the withering hand of time.

  At long last, they came to the heart of the necropolis. A hot wind carried the stench of decay as the forest stopped abruptly, the trees forming a perfect circle like a city wall. A staggering ziggurat loomed in the center of the grove, surrounded by charred earth and ash, all strewn with bones, pillars, and grand sculptures of priests and kings. The mausoleums were arranged in an orderly grid around it, clustered so close together that a man could walk across dozens of roofs without ever touching the ground. Here, surrounded by the blighted grove where not even flies would dare land, they could stop and rest.

  Grellok picked a tomb that opened into an alley, guarded by two dead soldiers clad in green bronze armor locked in a frozen game of cards. He pushed open the gray wooden door. Inside, the walls were lined with stacked beds, and every mattress was occupied. The room was small, but the walls were solid and there was only one door. They’d have space to sleep and a sense of security. “This will do,” he said.

  Caeva slid in and shut the door behind herself, leaving the room lit only by the red glow of sunset through its small barred windows. “I’ll sleep against the door,” said Grellok. “Take one of the beds for yourself.”

  Her eyes ran across the slumbering dead, lingering on each face. “No. They…don’t want to be disturbed. We should tread lightly here.”

  How could she know what the dead wanted? She was no necromancer. She was no Sangrook. Again, Grellok held his tongue. She was delirious from grief and fatigue. It was better not to challenge her. He wished he could help her, but what words of comfort could he offer, with her father gone mad and her sister dead? What more could he give beyond his protection?

  “Suit yourself. We should focus on preparing ourselves for another long walk tomorrow. Let’s eat, sleep, and start sorting this out in the morning.”

  Caeva dropped the bag of food at his feet without taking any for herself. Grellok reached in for a loaf of bread, tore it in half, and held one end up to her. “I know you don’t feel hungry, but you need to eat.”

  She wavered, but her eyes betrayed that she didn’t want to fight any more than Grellok. “You know what my father’s capable of, but you defied him. If you had cooperated, he might have let you go free. Why are you helping me?”

  Because he loved her. “You know why.”

  She whispered with the slightest touch of shame, “I would have saved myself.”

  “My queen, I am sworn to protect you.”

  Cruelty flashed in her dark eyes, a glimmer Grellok was all too familiar with. She was born to a life of war and politics, surrounded by death, dominated by her father, and groomed to be a pleasing wife to whomever Valmi needed to control. She had been kept isolated and virginal, and even denied a soulbinding so that she would remain appealing to a foreign barbarian outside the Convergence. That old resentment had a habit of slipping out around her bodyguard. “Maybe father found out about us and you tried to steal me away to save your own hide. Or maybe this is a trap. How do I know father didn’t order you to do this so he can kill me without the spectacle of another trial?”

  Grellok’s stomach turned at the accusation. “I murdered a man to get you out of that castle. A boy!” Caeva’s posture softened and her mouth snapped shut. “I’m not the one who killed your sister. Remember that. Remember that I stayed loyal while the rest of the world wants you dead.” He threw his chunk of bread across the room and toppled against the door, then closed his eyes and tried to push all the emotions of the day out of his mind.

  When he awoke, Caeva was asleep with her head resting across his lap. His leg was damp with her tears.

  Careful not to rouse the sleeping woman, Grellok slipped out from under her, grabbed a handful of jerky, and crept out into the alley, sliding the door shut behind him. The sun was past its zenith already; they had slept through the night and most of the next day. He’d have to decide between staying another night to recuperate or traveling under the cover of darkness. Windmire was just a few days away, and in open rebellion against the Convergence. They might find asylum there. He could also scout any villages near the forest. They were closer, but carried more risk.

  Grellok stretched and scanned the necropolis for any sign that Convergence forces might be nearby. His gaze drifted from the clear sky free of any signs of campfires, past the empty card table by the door, to the shining peak of the ziggurat, to the undisturbed perimeter of the grove…

  The card table was empty. The dead guardsmen were gone. Grellok’
s right hand snapped to the weapon hanging from his belt as he pressed his back against the tomb’s door. He held still and listened. Something was tromping about, snarling and snorting. He trained his ears on the sound. It was coming closer. Grellok waited, huddled in the door frame, his mace at the ready, his eyes darting from one end of the alley to the other.

  A shadow slunk along the cross-road. He hoped that it was one of Melkon or Valmi’s men, but that was a false hope. No, they would not have found this place so soon. And they wouldn’t have moved the tomb’s sentinels.

  A guardsman stepped into view. His helmet and breastplate were corroded bronze, the only shock of green in this house of death. He stood with a hunched back, arms hanging at his knees. He held no weapons, but his fingers ended in claws and his fangs hung over his thin black lips. His eyes were dark red orbs glowing through closed lids.

  Grellok’s grandmother’s warnings were more than stories, then. The dead were not alone in this city, for ghouls walked among them.

  The ghoul took a position at the end of the alley and stopped. Another joined him. They glared at Grellok with their eldritch eyes and marched forward, side by side. Grellok raised his mace, waiting for them to step into range.

  He heard heavy breathing and shuffling feet from the opposite end of the alley. A quick glance confirmed that two more were coming for him. He was boxed in, surrounded, and outnumbered, but he would hold this door as long as he had the strength. He would keep them away from Caeva.

  The ghouls advanced, teeth and claws ready to tear Grellok apart. He rushed forward and slammed his mace into the nearest enemy, then spun around just in time to dodge a swipe of a claw from behind. He ducked through one pair of ghouls, positioning himself between all four of his attackers and the tomb that held Caeva.

  Grellok clashed against the monsters. His iron mace had no trouble cracking bones even through their bronze armor. But for every heavy blow he landed on an enemy, he earned a fresh cut on his bare arm. They were relentless, still standing despite blow after blow that would have earned a normal man a bed in this city. They pushed him back with tooth and claw until a kick to the gut brought Grellok to his knees.

  “Leave him alone!” Grellok could feel Caeva’s breath on the back of his neck as she shouted the words. Why had she left the safety of the tomb? If she had stayed inside, they might have killed Grellok and moved on, giving her a chance to escape. And yet the ghouls ceased their attack, freezing in place even as Grellok struck one last blow to the nearest knee. A moment later, they scattered. But why?

  Caeva extended a hand to help him up. “I thought you said we’d be safe here.”

  Grellok groaned. “We have to leave.”

  “Who were those men?” she asked.

  “They weren’t men,” he said. “This place is infested with ghouls and probably worse. Stay on guard and tell me if you see anything moving.”

  They rushed through the roads and corridors of the necropolis, heading north again and using the ziggurat as a landmark. Grellok withdrew himself into his senses, watching and listening for any sign of danger.

  It wasn’t long before he heard a voice, a faint muttering. Grellok gestured for Caeva to wait and peered around a corner.

  A man sat at a wooden table. He was clad in a contemporary style, a black knee-length robe accented by a white lace cravat. Graying hair hung to his shoulders beneath a ragged wide-brimmed hat. He was joined by two of the dead. One was posed reclining in his chair cupping an empty wine glass.

  The man was addressing the other one. “Now, your friend is a gentleman, but you? You’re not so refined.” He pressed a bottle into the lifeless hand. The body showed neither the rigor mortis of the freshly deceased nor the limp fragility of a decomposing cadaver. As the man manipulated the body, it held its position like a wire framed doll, even as he curled each finger around the bottle. Grellok watched in morbid fascination. Soon, the body was leaning back in its chair, head tipped back, as if taking a long swill directly from the bottle.

  Only then did the man seem to notice the lady and her bodyguard. He patted the drinking corpse and said, “Excuse me for a moment.” He stood and doffed his hat to Caeva, his gaze unfocused and wild. “I didn’t realize we had visitors. Orlume, at your service.”

  Grellok stood tall between Orlume and Caeva. This man was clearly insane. The only question was what to do with him. Killing him was the obvious choice. Grellok would ensure that there were no witnesses to Caeva’s passage through the necropolis, and the world wouldn’t miss a man who used corpses as dolls. He resolved to strike quickly and resume their flight.

  Caeva stepped forward and gestured for Grellok to stand down. Where Grellok valued safety above all else, Caeva’s upbringing had taught her that most people had something to offer. She took the fourth seat at the table, across from Orlume. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  Orlume folded his hands on the table. “They get uncomfortable, sitting around in the same position for centuries. Someone has to help them move about.”

  “And why do they stay where you put them?”

  “Oh, they’re happy to obey if you know how to ask.”

  Caeva hesitated. She had marked this man as useful, but he was speaking of dark magic, the sort that brought only ruin, be it of body, soul, or in Orlume’s case, mind. Grellok couldn’t have Caeva prying into such things, especially after her display against the ghouls. “Why are you living here?” asked Grellok in a bid to change the subject.

  Orlume startled, as if he had forgotten Grellok was still there. He hazarded a quick glance at the soldier, then locked his gaze on Caeva. “Nowhere else to go. I found some old journals in an old mansion and suddenly my old village wouldn’t let me go home. But the dead… The dead don’t mind me at all. But what about you? Why are you here?”

  “We’re just passing through,” said Grellok.

  “Ah, but there is no passing through the afterlife. This is a city of the dead, a place where souls linger and bodies rot.” He waved a hand at his two companions sitting beside him, “Or carry on, in their own way. But this is no place for the living, unless the dead welcome them here.”

  Caeva said, “My sister was murdered, and her murderer is looking for me as well. I don’t know what she did or why she died. We came here for shelter.”

  Orlume slammed his hands on the table and jumped to his feet. “A-ha! Some truth at last. You’ve come to commune with the dead, to learn your late sister’s secrets.”

  “No,” said Grellok. “We only wanted a safe place to sleep.”

  “Let him speak,” said Caeva, leaning forward. “Orlume, can you help me find out what happened to my sister?”

  Orlume chuckled. “I’d love to, but as you can see, I’m very busy. My friends have already had too much to drink, but they insist on draining the bottle. I could not, in good conscience, leave them alone in such a state.”

  Grellok gritted his teeth and reached for Caeva’s arm to pull her out of her chair. “We’re done here. Let’s go.” Caeva slapped his hand away. She leaned over the table and rested her face in her hands, then took a deep breath. She lifted her head with a face full of resolve. She turned to the corpse holding the upturned bottle. In a cold, forceful voice, she commanded the dead drunk, “Set the bottle down.”

  For a moment, nothing happened beyond a fleeting worry on Orlume’s face. Then the dead reveler slowly and delicately set the bottle on the table, let go, and folded his arms across his chest. He turned his head to Caeva and gave her slight nod.

  All three of the living froze, too shocked to react. Caeva sat blank-faced at the table. She had just bent a dead body to her will and yet there was neither regret nor pride in her eyes. What was she thinking? How could she not be horrified of what she had just done?

  In that instant, Grellok wished with the entirety of his heart that he had followed his instincts and killed Orlume before Caeva had a chance to speak with him. He could still remedy that mistake, but he knew that she woul
d never forgive him now. This insane man who dwelled with the dead, this deranged artist who arranged them into tableaus, this exiled necromancer was Caeva’s only hope of learning the truth about Delvae’s death. She would turn on her bodyguard before she listened to reason.

  It was Orlume who broke the silence. “Incredible. Do you have any idea how long I had to study before I could do that? You have the blood, Caeva. You will become a great necromancer. Come with me, and I’ll help you find your answers.”

  “And what about the ghouls?” asked Grellok. “This place is crawling with them.”

  “Oh, they won’t bother you again,” said Orlume. “Besides, they’ll obey Caeva.” He winked. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  Grellok growled. “I knew it. He sent them! Caeva—”

  “Enough, Grellok. You are my bodyguard, not my adviser. Orlume, can you help me speak with my sister?”

  Orlume shook his head. “I’d need her remains. But there are other things I can teach you.”

  “Then we begin tonight.”

  Grellok bit his tongue and kept his distance as Orlume led Caeva into a chamber at the base of the ziggurat. Grellok did not enter, but from the threshold he saw walls lined with mummies, pillars covered in worn pictographs, and statues of demons and chimeras. He watched as Caeva stepped inside, and he watched as Orlume swung closed the great stone door. He did not sleep that night, but kept vigil over the necropolis with only the roaming ghouls for company.

  When morning broke, Caeva had not yet returned. Grellok pounded on the stone door, but the only response was a hiss from the nearby ghouls. He pushed at it and sought out any hidden triggers, all to no avail. Caeva was locked inside a necromancer’s den. But Grellok couldn’t leave her. He would wait until she returned.