by Wade Adrian
Murray sighed. “Good work, boss.”
Cecil took the crown off. It pinched the sides of his head a little. Uncomfortable.
His eyes swept around the room, taking in the windows and the roof. “All of this… was in the cave?”
“This is the cave, boss. More or less. Some dirt and stone was still here from my… reign as Dark Lord. I was unaware there was so much below us, but I did know this was a stone chamber that had caved in.” He pointed at a rather significant hole in the roof. “Thinking I was there, and your well was over that hole. It’s…” He pointed vaguely off to the side. “Somewhere down there now. Along with a ridiculous house that was up there. Man, watching that thing collapse was a hoot.”
“But… the hill has always been here.”
“Guess not. Your hill was hollow. You might even say this is its… skeleton.” His jaw hung open as he pointed at Cecil with both hands.
Cecil tilted his head. “I guess?”
Murray sighed. “No, the hill wasn’t always here. Then again, you’re young. You probably think your house has always been there. It hasn’t. Even our great kingdom of Aralone hasn’t existed forever.”
“Kingdom of what?”
“Aralone.” He pointed out the window. “The kingdom? Duh?”
Cecil shook his head. “I’m about ninety percent sure that’s not where we are. This is Hearthshire. At least, I think it is.”
Murray sighed. “Of course this is Aralone. Or it was. The tower didn’t move. The kingdom did. Or it simply stopped existing. Ugh. Man.” He shook his… skull. “In retrospect, being immortal sucks. Bet the music these days is just atrocious.”
Cecil wandered back over to the window. The morning light outside painted the world in soft colors from so far up. It was pretty in a way.
He could see all sorts of buildings in the distance. Tiny specs moved about in the world below. Little clouds of dust behind them. People? Horses? Wagons? He could barely make them out, and yet…
He blinked. “Oh. Umm. I don’t think this place will go unnoticed for long.”
“Ha!” Murray laughed. “Probably not, no.” The skeleton appeared beside him. “In fact, I think that’s someone coming to have a look now.” He pointed a bony finger.
Two dust trails where headed right for the tower.
Was it Reginald? This was undoubtedly a violation of the contract. There was no farm left at Dire Hill to produce even a single a potato.
So much for getting Erwin’s farm… he’d be lucky if Reginald didn’t throw him in jail for vandalism or something.
Calder would have a field day with all of this. He’d told him to be careful what he said and did. Of course, he had never mentioned falling into wells, raising the dead, or unearthing ancient towers. So he didn’t know everything, did he?
“Oh I’m going to get into so much trouble. I’ll never hear the end of this…”
Murray chuckled. “You’re funny, boss.”
Cecil glared at the skeleton. Anything frightening about him had worn off with the morning light. He just looked… skinny. And he was irritating. “And why is that?”
“You’re the Dark Lord, man. Short of the world mobilizing against you, what can anyone do to you?”
Cecil rolled that around in his head. “I don’t see how that helps me get Erwin’s farm. And there’s a hierarchy to things. I can’t just ignore that. It’s… rude.”
“Rude.” Murray tapped a finger against his jaw. “I guess. And yet, those men down there sure do shine in the morning light, don’t they?”
Cecil could just make out a tiny sparkle at the head of the approaching dust clouds. “So?”
“So they’re not coming for tea. They’re dressed in their fight day best, boss. They’re coming here expecting danger. A threat to them and their kingdom. They’re not giving you the benefit of the doubt. Rude, wouldn’t you say?”
“Well… they don’t know any better. I’ll go down there and talk to them. Explain all of this. Turn myself in.”
“You are just the worst Dark Lord, you know that?”
“And you have no idea how much that pleases me.” Cecil dropped the crown onto the floor and spun in place. “Alright, where are the stairs?”
Murray pointed. “Over there. Tell you what, though. Since I’m compelled to be of assistance, even though that goes against my better judgment, why don’t I go first and talk to them? It’s going to take you a while to get down there. I’ll announce you. Don’t want them leaving. And if they attack, then they’ll attack me and I can take it. You can’t.”
Cecil shrugged a bit. “I suppose that sounds reasonable. But given how long it will take me to get down, I don’t see how you’re going to make it any fast…”
Cecil’s voice trailed off as Murray jumped from the top of the tower.
“Huh.” He blinked at the window where Murray had been standing. “Fair enough.”
The doorway Murray had indicated had long since lost its door, leaving it just a stone archway. A set of stone stairs waited on the other side.
Murray fell from the top of the tower. He sprawled out his arms and legs to slow himself, for all the good that did.
He could see a pair of horses below stop twenty or so yards from the tower.
Good, good. That was about right.
There wasn’t much time to get a good look at them as he careened into the ground.
It sounded like someone had dropped a bamboo wind chime.
He tired to move his arms, but while they responded, they were a few feet away.
“Ugh.”
It took some shimmying like a worm to get around as he orchestrated his various bits moving back his way. A few moments later he was on his feet again.
“I think I’ll take the stairs next time.” He wiggled his head back and forth. His jaw felt loose.
Two riders dressed in blue with some bits of armor were waiting several paces away. One was watching him with wide eyes, the other’s jaw was nearly resting on his saddle.
“Hi!” Murray waved… or tried to. He glanced over to see his right arm was still missing. He could feel it though, it must not be too far. He waved his left hand. “Morning. You guys see an arm like this one? Never mind, I’ll find it. What can I do for you?”
Wide eyes drew a sword from his side, leveling it at Murray. “Monster!”
Murray turned to look behind him. “Where?” He waved his left hand and chuckled. “Nah, I’m just messing with ya. For the record, a sword is just about the worst thing you could hit me with. Does nothing.” A tap against his foot caught his attention. “Oh, neat.” He picked up his right arm and reattached it. “That’s better. Feel like I might have left some chips lying around though…”
Murray’s head jerked to the side, accompanied by a metallic “pang” sound.
The horse didn’t seem too concerned with any of this, but the rider was staring at the sword in his hand with disbelief.
“What did I just tell you? Yeesh.”
The other rider hadn’t moved an inch, his jaw still hanging open.
Murray pointed at him. “Can I talk to you? You seem more reasonable. And I like your hat.”
The man’s eyes turned up, looking at the pot looking helmet on his head.
“Is that strictly to keep the sun off your newborn complexion? Or do you cook your supper in that thing?”
“Vile fiend!” The violent rider had apparently found his voice. “Whence has thou come?”
“Oh, goody.” Murray cleared his throat… well, he mimed it and made the noise. “Verily, goodly sir, I am… whence… on behalf of the Dark Lord Cecil, he who commands the legions unnumbered. So stop being an olde prick, unless this is an audition.”
The sword was pointed straight at Murray’s heart. Or its cavity, anyway. The man glared at him. Fear replaced with anger when civility had gone missing. Typical. “Then present your lord that I might slay him.”
“Well that’s rude. You don’t even know him. He
’s an alright guy, in a dimwit sort of way.”
“Enough twisted words, beast!”
The sword dinged off Murray’s skull again.
“Okay… I feel like you’re not quite grasping the situation here.” Murray pointed at himself. “I’m dead. You can’t kill me. You can piss me off, though, and you’re doing a hell of a job. I’m trying to be civil here and you’re not making that easy.”
The horse charged ahead, the sword swinging again.
Enough of this crap.
Murray grabbed hold of the sword’s blade and yanked it free of the man’s grasp. Not like it was going to cut anything. It clattered to the ground behind him as he tossed it aside with all the care it deserved as the horse kept on moving by. He turned his glowing red eyes to the other guy.
The second man screamed, ruining his new quiet game record. He turned his horse about and bolted away.
The disarmed man looked down at his open hand as if it had betrayed him. He was clearly too dense to be scared.
His horse wasn’t. It carried the man away without needing any more reason to do so. It followed the first horse due to herd mentality, and that one wasn’t likely to stop.
Cecil huffed out heavy breaths as he leaned against the wall of the stairwell. Who had they built this silly place for? Well, maybe for the skeletons. They weren’t going to run out of breath…
The tower wasn’t exactly free of the hill. He’d gone one story too far down on the stairs only to end up in the dark surrounded by aimless skeletons. Hadn’t taken him long to find his way back up, though that image might haunt his nightmares for awhile.
Twisting halls made it a bit of a challenge, but he followed the sound of hooves to a window. He flung the shutters open to find Murray standing outside, watching a pair of shining horsemen ride away.
He carefully climbed out onto the ground, his chest burning from all the stairs. “What did they say?” He tripped getting his second foot out and landed face first in the dirt. Fortunately the bottom of the window was even with the ground.
“Nothing good. So impolite.” Murray shook his skull as he turned and helped Cecil up. “Look, I get you’re not going for the typical Dark Lord administration of just mowing down the opposition with numbers, and I can sort of respect that, but I have a sneaking suspicion those guys are going to come back with a lot more friends and probably some siege equipment. I doubt you can talk them out of leveling the place with you in it, and they won’t be the last ones riding up looking for a fight, I can guarantee you that. So either we can start raising more skeletons and working on defenses, or you can write a letter to any politician friends you’ve got lying around. Which I find kind of doubtful for a farmer, no offense. Either way, we’re going to need help.”
Cecil rubbed at his chin. “Well, there’s this one…”
“Are you serious? Because I was joking.”
8
It took the better part of the day to walk to the town of Hearthshire. It wasn’t really all that far, but when you have to avoid travelers and spend most of your time trudging through the countryside it takes longer. The place hadn’t changed much since Cecil was there the day before. The only big difference was his aching feet… and the skull in the bag at his side.
“This place smells like potatoes. Wait… it may be the sack.”
“Shh!” Cecil tried to avoid getting too close to anyone. “You’re supposed to be helping me look. Now look.”
“Well, I see a potato sack.”
“This was your idea. ‘Two heads are better than one, boss.’ ”
“I thought I would be able to see through the sack.”
Murray’s body was hiding outside the town along with the smallest group of skeletons Cecil could talk him into. Murray was certain people were hunting for Cecil already. He might be paranoid, but on the off chance he was right, better to have some help. And he probably knew what he was talking about, given the near instantaneous end to his own reign as Dark Lord.
Cecil had tried to figure all this out on the way over. The soldiers hadn’t seen him, but they were aware of an army of skeletons and a tower that appeared out of nowhere. That was bound to get attention. Unfortunately the location of that tower was known to formerly be Dire Hill, which Cecil’s name was now tied to so people would come looking for him for an explanation… or with a noose.
Murray was right. He needed to get out ahead of this thing and for that he was going to need someone who understood armies, states, land titles, and all that nonsense.
“If I was a noble, where would I be?” Cecil turned this way and that as he looked over the town.
“Some place big and gaudy, generally. Look for shiny things. Rich people love shiny things. And colorful. Drab won’t do.”
“You can’t just generalize people like that.” Cecil’s voice trailed off and his eyebrows crept up when he spotted a fancy inn made of dark wood. It had shining pillars and a silver statue of a dancing woman out front. The windows held maroon drapes and a red carpet extended out the door, which looked to be carved oak ironically featuring a large tree. “Huh.”
“You found some place shiny, didn't you?”
“Shut up.”
The potato sack chuckled.
The sun had nearly set, the world around him lit only by the last shreds of sun and the various lanterns and street lights being coaxed to life.
This had to be the place. Three floors lined with windows. How could he figure out which room was the right one? He probably wouldn’t have long.
He wandered closer, his feet moving on their own while his mind wandered the unseen halls.
“Ahem.”
He stopped.
A short man with a skinny head and a long pointed nose hovering over a mustache that looked like it had been drawn onto his face was glaring at Cecil. “Are you lost?” The man wore maroon livery with silver trim.
“A bit.” Cecil nodded. “Is this were Lord Thorn is staying?”
The man scoffed. “In this town? But of course. And yet, I have a sneaking suspicion you are not expected.”
“I’m not, no.” Destination confirmed. Good. At least it was the right inn. Unfortunately this guy wasn’t going to be helpful. Cecil gave the man his best smile. “Just tell him he’s doing a great job and we all appreciate him. Thanks.” He waved and wandered back the way he had come without waiting for a reply.
“Pfft. Peasants.”
The potato sack moved. “Want I should kill him, boss?”
“What are you going to do, bite him?”
“I could, yes. Throw me at his face.”
“We got what we needed. This is the place. Now we need to get in without being seen.”
“I hate to admit it, but we may be a tad conspicuous in the kinds of places nobles frequent, boss. You don’t exactly dress highbrow, if you’ll pardon my frankness. Kinda look like a farmer, oddly enough. Honest working type. Very out of place.”
Cecil tilted his head. “I do, don’t I?”
“Is that… good?”
“Depends. Think they need potatoes?”
The kitchens had their own door around back. It was far less glamorous. No oak, no tree murals, nothing shiny. Just a door in the alley out back. But it was a given since they certainly didn’t want people walking barrels of garlic or fish through the lobby.
Cecil tried to look bored and annoyed as he walked, sack on his back. He assumed no one was thrilled to be delivering potatoes.
He rounded the corner walking like he was supposed to be there, only to stop and backpedal back around the corner when he noticed someone seated outside.
“Whats the holdup?”
“Shh. Someone’s there.”
“Want I should kill them, boss?”
Cecil sighed. “That’s going to be a rare order from me.”
“Pity. We’re not good for much else.”
“Certainly not for conversation.”
“Excellent retort, sir. I find I am quite scathed.�
�
Cecil ignored him.
The young woman outside was dressed like she worked in the kitchens. Long maroon dress, apron, hair tied up in a hat… thing. Bonnet? Maybe that. Her sleeves were rolled up and she had bits of flower on her face. She looked… glum as she sat on a bench kicking her feet.
“Time’s a wastin’, boss.”
“I doubt we can sneak by.”
“Ugh. Who is it?”
“Kitchen staff.”
“Fine. Offer them a job.”
“A job? What?”
“You need to eat, boss. Dark Lord can’t be seen cooking his own meals, and believe you me, you don’t want us doing it.”
“I suppose… but job sort of implies pay.”
“You could threaten them. That whole, ‘Do as I say and you live’ shtick. Or you could, you know, pay them from the treasury. If you’re a wuss.”
“Treasury? What treasury?”
“The one in the Dark Citadel. We found all sorts of stuff. Untouched for ages. I mean, it might be tricky to spend a coin that’s a few thousand years old, but gold is gold.”
“I thought it was a tower, what’s this about a citadel? And why am I only hearing about this now?”
“Because it’s only relevant now. What good would it be before? Tell the guys outside you’ve got a treasury and they’ll not only raise an army to kill you, but to pillage your corpse. And a citadel is essentially a city surrounding a castle. Most of it is still buried, boss.”
“You’re weird.”
“Well I am a skeleton. And a former Dark Lord.”
“And you actually wanted to be.” Cecil shook his head.
“Oh, so now it’s bad to have ambition? No wonder you’re just a farmer.”
Cecil smacked the sack. “Quiet.”
He steadied himself and started around the corner again, his glum expression resumed as he made his way to the door. His mind raced with answers to possible questions.
If she asked where the stuff came from, he would say North Umbria. He’d heard of that once. If she asked who sent him, he’d say… he’d say… Mr. Norwel. Yeah. That sounded good. If she commented on the weather, he’d reply, “Isn’t it just?” and chuckle a bit. Personable, but not too personable. And if she asked about…
