Her stomach grumbled, and she wandered down to the kitchens. Neither Timmy nor Katie were likely to be up yet – she’d heard them cackling away all night – which meant that a normal breakfast was off the table. Luckily, she’d made sure to get along well with all of the cooks, so there were always a few of her favourite sandwiches waiting for her. It was a good thing too – burning things took a lot of energy. But when she got to the kitchens, throwing a greeting or two at the cooks, there was already someone there eating her sandwiches, someone who wasn’t her.
“Hey, you, rats! Put down those sandwiches!” Avraniel glared at the rodents enjoying her sandwiches. She wasn’t surprised to find that little bastard Rembrandt leading them. That sword-waving jerk was always looking to pick a fight before running back to the twerp for protection. It didn’t help that he seemed to share her taste in sandwiches. “Put those down, right now!”
Rembrandt turned, smirked, and then went right back to eating one of her sandwiches. The three other rats with him did the same. The only thing that pissed her off more than watching them eat her food was the knowledge that they actually liked how it tasted. They weren’t doing it just to spite her.
“All right.” She lifted one hand, and flame roared to life around her fist. The cooks yelped and made a hasty exit. “You asked for it…”
The elf trailed off as another dozen rats appeared around her, all of them wielding weapons of some kind although she wasn’t sure what to make of the rodent brandishing a soupspoon. She snorted. The bastard could probably kill someone with it. Her eyes narrowed, and she shoved past Rembrandt to grab the rest of her sandwiches.
“You’re lucky I live here now, rat, or I’d burn this place down with all of you in it.” She stomped off and shot a glare over her shoulder. “You’d better watch out. You won’t always have your little friends with you, and you won’t always have Katie to bail you out.”
Rembrandt met her gaze evenly and tapped his eye patch.
“Keep pushing me, rat, and you’ll be needing two of those.”
Avraniel was on her way back to her part of the castle with her sandwiches when she felt, as much as heard, a massive explosion come from the fields outside the castle. Never one to miss out on a good fight or a big explosion, she decided to see what all the commotion was, eating her sandwiches along the way while plotting all the horrible things she could do to get back at Rembrandt and his friends. She was not going to let a bunch of damn rats – ninjas or not – get the better of her.
Getting to the fields would have taken most people a while, given that the castle was built on a massive outcrop of rock and the fields were on flat ground some distance away. But Avraniel was not only an elf but also an incredibly fast and strong one. It was amazing what several centuries of fighting off law enforcement could do for someone’s constitution. Making her way down hundreds of feet of almost vertical rock was child’s play with her physical abilities and her magic. She even had enough time to enjoy the view and burn an offensive message onto one of Timmy’s zombie hydras when it tried to eat her.
The field in question was large and completely covered with craters, trenches, and other holes. Smoke rose from a newly formed crater not far away. A grin tugged at her lips. She knew what these were. They’d been caused by explosions. But that was odd. Neither Timmy nor Katie worked with explosives very much. She had a hunch that Timmy could throw a decent bomb together if he had to – he seemed to know a little bit about everything – but he preferred to let his shovel and his zombies do the talking. She doubted that this had anything to do with Gerald. The bureaucrat would be running from an explosion, not making one.
But she didn’t have to wait long for those responsible to appear. A group of ninja rats crept out of one of the trenches to survey the damage. All of them were wearing thick vests, helmets, and goggles – and all of them were carrying what appeared to be small explosives. The rats screeched to a halt when they noticed her. A few even broke out into a sweat while trying, not very successfully, to turn invisible and flee.
Avraniel sniggered and then burst out laughing. This was too good. “So… you guys make explosives? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It would explain where that tiny idiot with the exploding arrows get his from.” She pointed at their attire. “But safety goggles? Do you really think those are going to help?”
The rat closest to her made a series of squeaking sounds that Avraniel was somehow able to understand. She shrugged. It must be part of their magic.
“You’re saying that your safety goggles are unbreakable?” Avraniel grinned and wandered over to inspect the closest crater. The ground there was still hot to the touch. “Where did you get them from?”
The rat grinned back and squeaked some more.
“One of your previous employers made them, so you could test his explosives for him? Where is he now? What happened to him?”
The rat squeaked again and bared its teeth.
Avraniel laughed again. “He blew himself up? But his safety goggles, which are made of the same stuff as yours, made it through? Well, that’s one way of testing them.” She pointed at the explosive the rat was carrying. “Show me what that does.”
The rats conferred amongst themselves for a moment before one of them hurled its explosive. The explosion that followed was loud, fiery, and reasonably impressive. It would have reduced a werewolf to a scorched, bloody smear.
Avraniel put her hands on her hips and cackled. Maybe not all of the rats were bad. “What else have you got?”
The rats cackled back. They had a lot more where that came from…
* * *
Timmy was awakened from a rather pleasant dream about leading a horde of zombies on a war of conquest across the continent by a titanic explosion. He tumbled out of bed as the whole castle shook and then rushed to the window. He stopped and stared.
A towering pillar of flame had risen from one of the fields outside the castle. It was a few miles away, but the sheer size and strength of the blast was enough to send a wave of heat washing over him. He scowled.
Those damn rats.
There was a reason that Rembrandt and some of the other leading rats had suggested – at sword point – that their explosive-loving kin conduct their experiments outside the castle. It was one thing to work with explosives that could blow a hole in a wall. It was quite another to work with explosives that could blow up the entire castle.
But how had they created such a large explosion? The last time he’d checked their progress – something he did regularly because he understood how valuable a large-scale explosive could be – they hadn’t been able to get their plans to work. They needed an unbelievably strong source of heat to initiate the required reaction, and they’d never been able to find one…
No.
No way.
His mind ground to a halt. He could think of an unbelievably strong source of heat that had recently moved into the castle. The castle’s resident fire-obsessed elf must finally have met the explosive-obsessed rats. He shook his head. That was it. They were all going to die. Vicky was going to drop by one day and find nothing more than a huge, smoking crater where the castle used to be.
Oh well.
He sighed and climbed back into bed. He was too tired to deal with this. He’d handle it after lunch.
* * *
At last, after what felt like weeks of preparation, they were ready to depart. The Council was finally reasonably certain about the golem’s location, so they needed to move quickly. Timmy sat astride his noble steed – a distinctly ornery living one – and watched with no small amount of glee as rank after rank of his zombie army marched past in thunderous lockstep. Ah, this was the life. Nothing could match the sight of a good zombie horde, all of them awaiting his command.
He was sure that he cut a dashing figure too since he’d chosen to wear black robes for a change. The robes weren’t very practical, but he’d have time to remove them once they actually got closer to their target. Besid
es, there were times when a necromancer had to dress up, and this was one of them. And if something were strong enough to get through all of his zombies and kill him before he got his robes off, well, it was probably strong enough to kill him even without his robes getting in the way.
Of course, Katie had taken things a step further. Timmy normally encouraged some of her more ostentatious habits since a necromancer had to know how to make an impression. He’d won quite a few of his battles by simply looking stronger than he actually was. But he couldn’t support this latest atrocity. Oh, there was nothing wrong with having a battle standard. Timmy had one himself. It wasn’t as ominous as his master’s – a black sword set upon a white field with splashes of red everywhere – but a grey shovel embedded in a white skull did have a certain aesthetic appeal, in his opinion. It was also one of the few things he could draw with any degree of accuracy.
Then again, his master had also crafted his battle standard out of human skin and bone for added menace. Timmy preferred silk for the banner and metal for the frame. It was much easier to clean. One of his favourite zombies, a zombie ogre that Katie had named Bob, had the honour of carrying it. Naturally, Bob was heavily armoured. There was nothing more embarrassing than losing a battle standard in the middle of a battle, not that his zombies could get demoralised. Still, it was the spirit of the thing, and making a new one was such a hassle.
Katie’s battle standard was something else, and he blamed the rats for it. He also blamed himself for letting her design it without supervision. It made his eyes bleed. It featured a black-cloaked figure on a hideously bright pink field with a purple rat on each shoulder. Even the frame of the thing offended him. It was made of metal but painted a noxious, garish shade of pink.
“Katie.” Timmy pointed at her battle standard. “What is that abomination?”
The girl looked at him and then reached up to adjust her glasses. On her shoulder, Rembrandt made a face and patted his sword. The implication was clear: criticise the battle standard and die. Timmy rolled his eyes. He could handle one rat. It was the small army of rats that had come to see them off that worried him, especially the giggling one with a ball and chain. That was plain creepy.
“That’s my battle standard.”
“Yes, I can see that. Why is it so…” Timmy had to force himself to say the word. “Pink?”
Katie’s expression turned completely serious. “It’s a tactical decision, master.”
“Really?” Timmy raised one eyebrow and tried to ignore Avraniel’s hysterical laughter. He was a grand necromancer, one of the most feared and respected of his kind – and his apprentice was walking around with a bright pink battle standard. “Explain. Now.”
“Of course. You see, master, the enemy will surely be expecting us. There’s no way that our army will be able to sneak up on them. By using a pink battle standard, I will lull them into a false sense of security, ensuring that they underestimate us and allowing us to triumph with a minimum of difficulty.” She nodded sagely. “It’s the perfect plan.”
Timmy sighed and poked her cheek. She tried to stab him with a shadow. “Just admit it. You like pink, don’t you?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.” She scowled. “Is there a problem with that?”
“Fine. It’s your battle standard. Just keep it away from me. I don’t want anyone to think that it’s mine.” He pointed at his battle standard. “And for the record, mine is much better than yours.”
“Master, your battle standard is someone getting their head bashed in with a shovel. That’s not better than mine. It’s boring, and it doesn’t have nearly enough colour.” Katie gazed at her battle standard in utter adoration. “Mine catches the eye.”
“Yes, shortly before making the eye explode due to an overdose of pink.” He glanced at the rats. “What are they doing now?”
The rats had formed a loose semicircle around an ancient rodent dressed in ornate white robes, which were a stark contrast to the purple and pink that many of the others sported, courtesy of Katie. The old rat’s fur had gone completely white with age, and he hunched over as he walked. He even had a little walking stick. As Timmy watched, the rat made a series of rhythmic squeaks and gestures that the others responded to.
“What are those pipsqueak bastards doing?” Avraniel asked.
Timmy struggled not to cover his eyes. The elf was dressed in what Timmy could only describe as a rebellion against her heritage: vivid oranges, bright yellows, and deep reds rather than the more sombre greens, blues, and greys that her people favoured. It was a testament to Avraniel’s good looks and her ability to radiate menace that she made the outfit work. It might also have had something to do with the daggers she wore on each hip and the bow on her back – and the fact that her cloak was shimmering in the sunlight as though it were made of fire. His brows furrowed. He’d have to ask her about that cloak since he had a fairly good idea where she’d gotten the material. A certain someone had swiped the phoenix feathers he’d ordered.
“Well, twerp, what are those damn rats doing?”
Katie growled. “Stop calling me twerp! My name is Katie.” She shook one fist at the elf. “And if you must know, they’re holding a religious service to wish us good luck and a safe and speedy return.”
“They have their own religion now?” Avraniel shook her head. “Clever little blighters, aren’t they?”
Timmy agreed. He’d never heard of rats having their own religion before, but then again, he’d never heard of ninja rats that could turn invisible until a clan of them had turned up at his castle. Still, the scowl on Katie’s face suggested that it would be better to keep his thoughts to himself. And the rats did make their own weapons, explosives, and parachutes – having their own religion wasn’t that surprising, all things considered.
What did surprise him was the magic rolling off the old rat priest. It felt similar to Vicky’s although nowhere near as powerful. The rat made several gestures, and Timmy blinked as a glowing portal made of blinding light appeared in the sky above them. There was a whoosh, and something raced down from the portal, only narrowly missing Avraniel.
The elf’s lips curled. “Not bad. Whoever they pray to must be listening.”
Nearby, Gerald was busily taking notes. He’d always wanted to know more about the rats, and they seemed to like him well enough. Indeed, he’d taken to having at least one of them on his shoulder or in his pocket since they’d saved him from Mr Sparkles. None of the elf’s carnivorous plants had given him any further trouble, but it couldn’t hurt to be careful.
As the portal above them closed, Timmy turned to the small crater of molten rock beside Avraniel. Inside it was a little sword, just the right size for one of the ninja rats. It was still sheathed, but it emanated enough holy magic to give him pause. Rembrandt leapt over the crater and grabbed the sword on his way past. The rat strapped it onto his back and then returned to his customary place on Katie’s shoulder. The elderly rat hobbled over to Gerald and tapped the bureaucrat on the foot with his walking stick. Gerald almost dropped his notes but recovered in time to store them with his magic before bending down to pick up the old rat.
“Are you coming too?” Gerald asked. The old rat nodded, and Gerald put him on his shoulder.
“That’s Cezanne,” Katie explained, pointing at the rat priest. “He’s consulted with their gods, and they say he needs to come with us. We’ll need his help, apparently. They sent Rembrandt that holy sword too.”
“Okay…” Timmy shrugged. Who was he to argue with that? If the rats wanted to come along, they could. At the very least, he already knew that Rembrandt was useful. “I’ll take the zombies on this side, Katie, you take the ones on that side. Try to keep up.”
“Don’t worry, master, I will.”
And then they were off. Timmy rode in the middle of the zombie army with the others close by. With any luck this mission would end in less of a debacle than their previous one.
He should have known better.
*
* *
It was the simple things in life that made it worth living – like marching through the countryside with the biggest damn army of zombies in all of Everton without having to worry about a thing. Sure, Timmy had marched armies of zombies around before. There was always something that needed looting and/or razing, but he’d always had to worry about the Council or Everton’s army going after him. Not this time.
Now, he had free reign to do as he pleased as they headed east toward the mountains where golems had been sighted. If the reports Gerald had received were anything to go by, they’d have quite the welcoming committee. The highlight of that first week of marching came when the militia of one of the larger towns rode out to meet them, waving their weapons in the air and yelling the usual threats condemning him to an eternity of suffering and torment in the fiery pits of hell after they’d burnt him at the stake.
Timmy smiled, Katie cackled, and their army of zombies surrounded the militia – thousands upon thousands of zombies staring down a paltry force of several hundred moderately trained soldiers. And just when the militia were about to pass out from sheer, mind-numbing terror, Timmy nodded at Gerald.
“Gerald, show them our paperwork.”
Much to Timmy’s delight, the militia had not only been forced to back off they had also been forced to provide supplies and scouts to guide them east. It was wonderful. It made him wonder why he hadn’t thought of working for the Council earlier. Avraniel, of course, wanted to set a few of the militia members on fire to ensure their cooperation, but he managed to persuade her to leave them alone. The poor fellows had looked at him like he was some kind of legendary hero sent by the Council to save them from crazy elves. In a way, they were right.
Unconventional Heroes 2 - Two Necromancers, an Army of Golems, and a Demon Lord Page 7
