Songreaver

by Andrew Hunter

  Caleb did not seem to notice.

  Garrett and Marla walked back to where Caleb was standing and peered into the deep shadows of the narrow alleyway. They saw nothing but the empty cobblestone lane and a few trash bins belonging to the shops on either side.

  Garrett tugged at Caleb’s sleeve. “Let’s go, Caleb,” he said.

  Caleb ignored him, pulling his sleeve from Garrett’s fingers as he staggered into the mouth of the alley.

  A chill ran through Garrett’s body. It wasn’t like Caleb to disobey an order. Had the sisterhood done something to him? Was he damaged in some way? Would Uncle be able to fix him if he was?

  “Caleb?” Garrett called after him as the zombie disappeared into the shadows between the buildings. Garrett looked at Marla.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Garrett said. He pulled his essence flask from his bag and held it out in front of him, letting its green glow light his steps as he followed Caleb into the darkness.

  About twelve feet into the alleyway, Caleb stood, looking down at a dark stain on the greenish cobblestones at his feet.

  Garrett stared at the discolored stones. The gray mortar between the smooth stones had a faintly brownish hue in a large patch against the wall. The stones of the wall as well bore a faint trace of something darker than the shadows of approaching night.

  Garrett felt a sudden sense of dreadful clarity. He looked up at Caleb, and the zombie lifted his dead white eyes to meet his gaze.

  “This is where you died, wasn’t it?” Garrett asked.

  Caleb stared back, unblinking. Then his eyes narrowed slightly, and he turned his head toward the far end of the alley. Caleb moaned softly and stumbled onward into the shadows.

  “We should really be going,” Marla said, “It’s almost Curfew.”

  “Yeah,” Garrett said, “Let’s get him out of here.”

  They moved further down the alley to find Caleb on his knees in the shadows.

  “Caleb!” Garrett cried, “Are you all right?”

  The zombie did not look up. He was clawing at a small drain grate in the center of the alleyway, trying to force his pale white fingers through the narrow openings in the grate. He let out a whining moan as he jabbed again and again at the tiny grate, unable to push his hand through.

  Garrett’s heart sank at the pitiful sight. What if visiting the scene of his own murder had driven Caleb mad? “What are you doing, Caleb?” Garrett asked, “What’s down there?”

  Caleb ignored him, trying to grab hold of the grate with both hands and tear it from the ground to no avail.

  “Caleb!” Garrett shouted, “I…”

  The first, mournful bells of Evenchime rang out, silencing him.

  “Garrett!” Marla said.

  “I know,” he answered, then turned to Caleb again. “Caleb!” he shouted, “You will listen to me and do as I say!”

  Caleb’s head lifted suddenly, his lips curled back over his teeth in rage.

  Garrett staggered back a step before mastering his fear of his friend… his creation.

  “Caleb!” Garrett cried, “Look at me!”

  Caleb’s breath hissed out between clenched teeth, his face the image of a vengeful ghost.

  “It’s me, Caleb!” Garrett said, lifting his hands, “It’s me… your friend. Don’t…” Garrett’s voice caught in his throat, “don’t be broken… please.”

  Caleb’s expression softened. He looked down at the grate between his knees then lifted his dead white hands, studying them a long time. At last, he whimpered softly and shut his eyes.

  “It’s all right, Caleb,” Garrett said. He walked over and put his hands on Caleb’s trembling shoulders. “I’ll take you home."

  Chapter Ten

  "...and then the High Priestess almost had Shelbie excommunicated for seizing our assets," Max said, pausing to take another sip of his wine, "It seems the Matron took it upon herself to act without consulting the HP."

  "Hmn," Cenick said, his fingers forming a cage around his mostly untouched cup on Max's dining room table.

  Garrett sat at the head of the table, at Max's insistence, stuffing another forkful of egg noodles and beef into his mouth. A trio of undead servants stood, at the ready, with more noodles and beverages. All three of the zombies wore black tablecloths, draped like shrouds over their heads, since Max had been unable to recover their original robes.

  Max finished his drink and waved for another. "The HP is really quite a charming woman, once you get to know her," Max said.

  "They call her the HP?" Garrett asked between bites.

  "Well, no," Max admitted, "but they should. That place could definitely use a bit less formality."

  "Were you able to learn any more about their process?" Cenick asked.

  "For raising skeletons?" Max said, "Not a thing."

  Cenick grimaced. "You've been at the temple for the past three days! What have you been doing?"

  "Diplomacy!" Max said as he set down his cup and leaned back in his chair, one of Jitlowe's garishly carved, high-backed chairs with plush purple upholstery. Jitlowe had given it to him, since Max had only been able to recover three of his four-piece set. Jitlowe had already given away or sold most of his recovered furniture, complaining that it felt used.

  Cenick shook his head and took a drink.

  "Look," Max said, "I've tried. You know me. It's just that... well, it's a very closely guarded secret, how to animate a skeleton. Only the priestesses are let in on the trick... and certain Templars." Max's eyes drifted toward Garrett who sat, staring back with a long loop of noodles dangling from his mouth.

  "No, Max!" Cenick said.

  "Never before, Cenick," Max said, raising a finger, "Never before, in the history of our order, has there been an opportunity like this!"

  "No!" Cenick said, pounding his fist on the table.

  One of Max's zombies took this to mean that he wanted more wine and stepped in to fill the cup to overflowing.

  Cenick took no notice. "You can't ask him to do your spying for you! It's too dangerous!"

  "It's not spying," Max said, "It would just be taking advantage of a great learning opportunity, and keeping his eyes open... perhaps asking a few questions. And, anyway, everything we do in this business is dangerous. Garrett's not a child!"

  "If Uncle Tinjin found out that we'd let him get involved in this..." Cenick said, shaking his head.

  "Uncle Tinjin?" Max scoffed, "We can't spend the rest of our lives seeking Uncle's approval for everything."

  Cenick flinched and looked away.

  "Listen, Garrett," Max said, turning to him, "If you don't want to do this, you don't have to. It's just that..."

  "He doesn't want to do it!" Cenick said.

  Max glared at his friend. "The civilized people are talking right now, Mister Witchdoctor, please wait your turn."

  Cenick rolled his eyes and fell silent.

  "Garrett," Max said, "it really is a great opportunity, but everyone would understand if you said no."

  Garrett looked at Cenick then back to Max. "What would I have to do?" he asked.

  Cenick put his face in his hands.

  Max grinned. "All you would have to do is go to a few classes and learn their rituals and marches or whatever it is they do... boring stuff. I've already talked to Serepheni about this. You wouldn't be expected to do any real work. You'd be more like an honorary Templar."

  "Honorary?" Garrett asked.

  Max shrugged. "You'd have the title, but none of the responsibilities," he said, "Why, you probably wouldn't have to club a single peasant!"

  "Garrett," Cenick said, "You know how much Max likes to oversimplify things. This is a big decision, and, whether Max will admit it or not, there is some danger. The sisterhood guards its secrets well... and with deadly force."

  The noodles in Garrett's belly seemed suddenly a bit restless as he struggled with the decision. The idea of going alone into the temple, studying under the ver
y guardsmen who had beaten him half to death... studying to be one of them... The prospect terrified him.

  Max looked at him, smiling hopefully, and Garrett felt deeply ashamed. He had followed Max into battle and seen the world's greatest military shattered at the man's feet. Max believed in him. Max needed his help. To admit his fears aloud might destroy Max's confidence in him. He wanted to be who Max thought he was.

  "I'll do it," Garrett said.

  Max laughed and sat back in his chair again. "Well, done, Garrett!" he said, "You are truly the finest of our sorry lot!"

  Garrett looked at Cenick and saw the man's eyes fall in defeat. "I'm sorry," Garrett said.

  Cenick shook his head and smiled. "Don't apologize Garrett," he said, "Sometimes a man must make hard decisions... and stand by them."

  Garrett's belly gurgled as he realized what he had just done.

  "Well, then," Max said, "I'll speak with Sere, and we'll work out a schedule for your indoctrination into the cult. I'm sure there will be some sort of human sacrifice involved, and we'll have to find a proper victim for it."

  Garrett stared at him in horror.

  Cenick glared.

  "Just a little joke," Max chuckled, "Don't worry about it, Garrett. Serepheni will be your sponsor in the church, and you can go to her with any problems. She'll sort it out. Meanwhile, the rest of us should start packing."

  "For what?" Cenick asked.

  "Securing our border, of course," Max said, "Fresh troops, better supplies, we're in charge right from the start on this one."

  "You think the Chadiri will renew their advance?" Cenick asked.

  "You're leaving without me?" Garrett blurted out.

  The two older necromancers turned to look at him.

  "We have our own work to do, Garrett," Max said.

  "It looks like we've all become loyal servitors of the worm goddess," Cenick sighed.

  Garrett said nothing more, picking at his noodles with his silver fork and regretting his decision already.

  "Have we had any word of Chadiri advance?" Cenick continued.

  Max shook his head. "We've lost the bat riders," he said, "Apparently, our little war no longer interests the vampires."

  "Gaunts," Garrett corrected him.

  "Hmm?" Max said.

  "Nevermind," Garrett muttered.

  "And with half our ghouls off on a rescue mission," Max said, "we're a bit blind in the North."

  "We have to assume they will attack again," Cenick said.

  "Doesn't matter," Max said, leaning back to prop one leg over the arm of his chair, "I'm taking the fight to them."

  "What?" Cenick asked.

  Max smiled. "I sense some discord among their leadership," he said, "They've overreached themselves this time and hoped that no one would notice. I have, and I intend to make them pay for their mistake."

  Cenick looked at him as if he'd gone mad. "You plan an assault up the escarpment with undead troops?"

  "Who said anything about the escarpment?" Max said.

  "Then how..." Cenick began to ask, then his eyes went wide.

  Max's smile stretched into an evil grin.

  "What?" Garrett asked.

  "He's going around," Cenick said, his voice barely audible, "He's going through Astorra."

  Max drained his cup and held it out for the zombie to refill.

  A cold tingling feeling crawled over Garrett's skin. "I want to help," he said, "You promised me, Max."

  Cenick stared at Garrett, a sick look on his face.

  Max nodded. "You'll be there when we take Braedshal," he said, "and Cabre will kneel at your feet and beg forgiveness."

  Cenick's chair scraped loudly as he got up from the table. He did not look at either one of them.

  "Going somewhere?" Max asked.

  "I have to pack," he said, "for a very long war."

  "It will be good for you, Cenick," Max sighed, "The city makes you fat."

  Cenick jabbed a finger at Max. "Listen, Max," he hissed, "You need to think very seriously about what you are about to do. This won't be about killing legions of war-mad blood priests. You will be marching through people's homes! We will be the invaders, not the Chadiri! Innocent people will get hurt. There's no way to prevent that, if we go that route."

  Max toppled his chair to the floor with a bang as he shoved himself to his feet. "Think about it?" he yelled, "Think about it seriously? That's all I've done since the day the Chadiri murdered my family!"

  "This isn't about vengeance, Max!" Cenick shouted, "You have no right to spill your misery across the lives of countless..."

  "Vengeance?" Max shouted him down, "Oh, no... this is Justice, old friend." Max flung out the contents of his wine cup, spattering the closest zombie with red droplets. "This is the wheel of history turning to crush out the cruelest empire the world has ever known, and we get the pleasure of watching it happen."

  "You're not talking about watching it happen," Cenick said, "You're talking about becoming the thing we hate."

  "No!" Max said, "We're not going into Astorra to conquer and enslave and burn! We're going in to liberate them from the madness of their own false king who sold their children's souls to the red god!"

  Cenick bared his teeth, raising his hands like claws. "You think they will see us as liberators?" he demanded, "The undead horde lays siege to their castle and demands the head of their beloved prince. Do you honestly think that every Astorran boy strong enough to hold a shield won't be on that battlement, ready to live out some ridiculous tale of storybook valor? No, Max, stop pretending that this isn't about vengeance!"

  Max hurled his wine cup at the wall, chipping the wood paneling where it struck. He turned his back to Cenick and breathed deeply, struggling to regain his composure.

  "Garrett," Cenick said, "please don't let your hate make you do something that you will always... always regret."

  Garrett stood up and backed away from the table, looking from Cenick to Max.

  "Max... I," Cenick said.

  Max hung his head and laughed.

  Cenick stared at him, his face hard.

  "Cenick?" Max said.

  "Yes, Max?"

  Max shook his head and turned to face him, a wry look on his face. "You always know how to ruin my best parties," he said, "I guess that's what I deserve for inviting a savage to supper."

  Cenick said nothing.

  Max walked around the table and hugged his friend.

  The tension in Cenick's shoulders relaxed at last, and he returned Max's hug.

  "You're right," Max said, stepping away, "I sometimes... rarely, let my emotions get the better of me."

  "Rarely?" Cenick said with a smirk.

  "You're right. Our business with the pretender prince will have to wait a bit longer," Max said, "but our business with the red god cannot." He reached out and laid his hand on Cenick's broad shoulder. "It just means that you will be charged with keeping all those idealistic little Astorrans off my damned flank while I march my army up the middle and cut the heart out of the Empire."

  Cenick sighed. "You're going back to Weslae, aren't you?"

  Max laughed. "I'm thinking of starting a library there," he said, "and, anyway, I've been away from home too long."

  "It won't be home anymore... you know that."

  "No," Max said, "perhaps not... but at least it will be free."

  ****

  "Thanks for letting us stay the night," Garrett said, ducking his head beneath the leather strap of his satchel as he shouldered it on, "I just didn't think we were gonna make it home before Curfew last night."

  "Any time, Garrett," Max said, yawning and blinking against the cold morning light. He tugged the purple satin house robe, another of Jitlowe's castoffs, a bit tighter against the wind that blew through his open front door.

  "I hope Marla made it home all right," Garrett said.

  "I wish..." Max paused to yawn again, "wish she'd stayed too, but don't worry, there's nothing on the streets after Cur
few but Watchers, and those clumsy piles of bone could never catch a vampire."

  "Yeah," Garrett said, looking at Caleb who stood motionless beside him in his gray woolen suit. Caleb looked straight ahead, as glassy-eyed and emotionless as any other zombie. Nothing of the desperate rage that he had shown in the alleyway remained in his demeanor.

  "I'll let you know what Serepheni says about your Templar training," Max said, "but I really appreciate your doing this."

  "Yeah," Garrett said, "it shouldn't be too hard, right?"

  Max smiled. "Well," he said, "I've got to go redraw all my battle plans now... put in a few more puppy dogs and rainbows for the benefit of our tattooed nanny."

  Garrett grinned.

  Max's smile faded. "Cenick is a good friend," he said, "and a good man."

  "Yeah," Garrett said.

  "Just remember," Max said, "not all men are good, and sometimes we have to set aside our own goodness if we're to have any hope of keeping those men from taking everything away from us."

  Garrett forced a little smile. "Yeah," he said, a bit of last night's indigestion stirring within him.

  "I'll see you later, Garrett," Max said, stepping back into his entryway with his hand on the door.

  "Oh, Max?" Garrett said.

  "Yes?"

  "Have you ever heard of a zombie... going crazy?" Garrett asked.

  "Going crazy?" Max laughed, "Garrett, you have to have a mind to go crazy. Zombies don't have that kind of functionality. I wish they did, it might make my job a bit easier."

  Garrett looked at Caleb. "But... what if the zombie was different? Like we did something different, and he's smarter than usual... like he remembers things?"

  Max's eyes narrowed as he looked at Caleb. The door swung open a little wider. "Garrett," he said, "what exactly did you and Uncle do differently when you made this one?"

  Garrett hesitated. He had always assumed that Uncle Tinjin would have told the other necromancers, at least Cenick and Max, about the shimmerfleece. "Uncle used a different ritual on Caleb," Garrett said, "Something he was experimenting with."

  "And you say it made him smarter?" Max asked.

  Garrett nodded. "And he has a really good sense of balance," Garrett said, "Even the tailor noticed it."

  Max gave him a confused look then shook it off. "This is very interesting," Max said, "I definitely want to talk with you about it later, but I have to get some things written down before I lose track of my thoughts."