“Yes he did, but that was no big deal.”
Gwen’s pale lips twitched into an amused grin. “I would have destroyed him a long time ago. You are truly merciful little brother.”
“Please don’t insult me.”
“I am only being truthful,” Gwen croaked.
In Alteroth and within the Corpselover family, mercy was not a virtue but a weakness.
“I just don’t hate him,” Waldo confessed. “I know I should. The Dark Powers know he was never fair to me even when he was alive, but I just feel sorry for him now. He was the heir and a Dark Mage. Now what is he?”
“You have a kind heart.”
“If you’re going to keep insulting me I’m leaving.”
Gwen gave a slow rasping laugh. “I truly love you little brother, even though you are strange.”
Waldo sighed. “I love you too.”
In this world love was also seen as a weakness, but it was at least an accepted weakness. It was only natural for human beings to feel love, even if they were necromancers. In Alteroth parents still loved their children, children loved their parents, husbands and wives (sometimes) loved each other, and people could love their friends and companions. Love alone though was never an excuse for being soft or indulgent. Seeking power had to come before all else.
“If Walter is not the cause, what has you so glum?”
“It’s the usual I suppose,” Waldo admitted. “I tried to summon a homunculus and wound up with a bird instead.”
“What did you do with it?” Gwen asked curiously.
“I sent it back.”
Gwen rasped out a laugh. “Anyone else would have killed it you know.”
“I know,” Waldo said miserably. “I just don’t like killing. There’s something terribly wrong with me isn’t there?”
“Yes, but it’s all right; I like you as you are. You have your own strengths and your own way. Don’t worry so much. In the end you will be the head of the family.”
Waldo felt his stomach turn. She had told him that before, years ago, and made him promise not to tell anyone. Those who were spirits could look into both the past and future. When Gwen made a prediction it always happened.
“There’s no way that someone like me could ever be head of the family.” Waldo muttered. “Even if it can’t be Walter there are other branches to the family line. Mother will find someone else, it would never be me.”
Gwen smiled at him. Her eyes sparkled as if seeing something for the first time. She spoke in a slow melodic tone as if reciting the words to a poem.
“When mother, sister, and brother are gone, you shall receive that which all others covet, and the cost will be that which you treasure most. They shall kneel down and acknowledge you, and your crown shall be made from ashes and blood.”
He felt a cold shiver go down his spine. “Is… is that a prophesy sister?”
“Remember that there is more than one path to get to wherever it is you want to go, and sometimes the long way is best. Find your own road, and don’t worry about how others would make the journey.”
“Gwen, what you said before, was that a prophesy?”
His sister was grinning at him. “Little brother, did you know that when a girl falls in love with someone she will do anything for him? If she gets a little possessive sometimes try to endure it; it’s a sign of love."
“Huh? What are you talking about?” He had no interest at all in girls. His life was difficult enough as it was.
Gwen rasped out another laugh as her form began to blur and grow indistinct. “Don’t be late to dinner little brother, mother has important news for you.”
“What news? And what did you mean before?”
“You’ll see.” She winked and said nothing more. Soon she was gone completely and the mirror was once again empty.
“That’s just great! I have a zombie brother who just wants to kill me and a ghost sister who just likes to confuse me. I don’t know which of you is more annoying!”
No reply came from the mirror.
Sighing in frustration Waldo left the alcove.
XXX
Having had two run ins already, Walter had decided not to show up for dinner. Waldo did not mind. Watching a zombie rip apart a pig carcass had never done anything for his appetite. He wondered if his brother would take out his frustration on one of the slaves.
There was a long ornate dining table with forty seats down in the grand hall. This was where the family always took its meals. On occasion members of the extended family or members of one of the other Great Families would be invited. It didn’t happen often. Waldo had grown up in relative isolation. He’d known his mother and siblings, his teachers, and the slaves. Outsiders were not welcome. There were people the family did business with and others they ruled over. There were no friends. For the Corpselover family the people of the world were divided into three categories; those with less power, those with similar power, and those with greater power. Those with less power were treated as slaves or servants. Those with similar power were treated with wary respect and never trusted. Those with greater power were feared and obeyed. (The family did not currently acknowledge anyone to be in this third class.)
To Waldo friendship was an alien concept. He understood liking certain people better than others, he preferred certain slaves and teachers. Within the family there was a strict hierarchy, and how you were treated depended on just where you ranked within it. Some family members could be more gentle (Gwen) some more harsh (Walter) but it was always understood who was more important and who was less.
For almost his entire life Waldo had been at the very bottom. He had been the youngest, and as a child had had no power. When he was thirteen he was allowed to wear the black robes as an apprentice, but was still the weakest. At each meal mother sat at the head of the table and the children sat in order of who was strongest. The stronger you were the closer you sat to mother, with the one sitting to her right being the heir.
The order was not set, and he could remember it changing many times. His older brothers and sisters competed and fought with each other to prove themselves. Mother would reward or punish them by changing their seat at the table. It was not love or favoritism that decided the order; it was just a reflection of who was the strongest.
Waldo was always the one seated furthest away and he was always seated on the left side of the table. He was never really angry about that. He accepted that he was the weakest, and it was enough that there was a place for him. Growing up all that he wanted was to be worthy of his family.
Then one by one they began to die.
Dark Mages were expected to go out into the world and take. The strong took from the weak; that was the way things worked. Every member of the ruling family was expected to add to its wealth and fearsome reputation. A Dark Mage’s worth was reflected in the amount of gold and slaves you could acquire, and by how many enemies you could kill. These were the true measures of a Dark Mage’s power, and each of his brothers and sisters were determined to prove themselves the strongest. That meant facing constant danger, and the usual consequences.
There were never any funerals.
If a body could be recovered it was given a pyre as the family bore witness, but there were no prayers, no ceremony. If the body could not be recovered mother would just make an announcement. ‘Karl is dead.’ That was all. There were no prolonged mourning periods. Mother would be sad but she would never say much. There would be one less place at the dinner table; one less competitor for the title of heir. No one would ask how they died or want to remember them. Bit by bit they were simply forgotten.
There were the living and the dead and the mostly dead. Going from one to the other was just accepted. If you were strong enough you would survive no matter the dangers. If you were not it didn’t matter what became of you.
When Gwen died Waldo had cried for her at the table. His mother had gotten up and slapped him. “If you have to do that then at least do it where no one can
see you!”
It was just one of the many hard lessons he had been forced to learn.
As a child Waldo had moved up the table, as one brother or sister after another disappeared. By the time he put on the robes there was only Walter left ahead of him. The two of them were seated next to mother, with him on her left. When Walter died they switched places. Waldo found himself on mother’s right; in the seat reserved for the heir.
“The dead cannot rule the living,” his mother had said after raising Walter. “The heir must provide children and must be able to make contracts and work the greater magics. You are heir now Waldo.”
That was how he had come to his current position, he hadn’t done anything to earn it; he was just the last one breathing.
As he approached the head of the table mother silently watched him. She looked tired, she’d had her robes on when she had suddenly left but wasn’t wearing them anymore. She had a comfortable loose fitting brown shift on and some slippers. Though she was at home, Waldo noted her wand was still tucked into a large pocket.
His mother’s long black hair was tangled and messy. The occasional strands of grey were getting more numerous and noticeable, as were the lines radiating from the corner of her eyes. His mother was still a beautiful woman and more powerful than she had ever been, but there was no denying that she was getting older. (Not that Waldo would ever say so out loud. He wasn’t suicidal.)
“Did everything go well mother?” Waldo asked as he took his seat.
“No it did not, but we’ll discuss that after dinner.”
Waldo felt a sudden nervousness. Growing up in this family he’d learned to be wary of any change in routine. His mother had never discussed meetings with the Council with him before.
“Did something special happen?”
Lilith turned to face her son and spoke a simple reminder, "I dislike repeating myself. Must I?"
"No, Mother. Please, forgive me." He apologized quietly.
She nodded and then glanced to her left at the empty seat. Zombies didn’t have very good table manners and preferred to devour their food raw, and preferably still alive. When Walter joined them he usually just had half of a pig carcass placed on a large silver tray. “Your brother did not want to dine with us today. Did anything happen between you two?”
Waldo shrugged. “Nothing unusual, he just tried to attack me twice.”
His mother nodded slightly, that was rather routine. “Why haven’t you destroyed him?”
“Do you want me too?”
“No, but that was not my question. He has tried to kill you many times, he is your enemy.”
Never spare an enemy. Never show mercy. Those were rules that had been drilled into him since childhood. He hesitated and answered carefully, his mother had regularly tested his other siblings. She had never really tested him before but it was certainly possible. “He is no real threat to me, and… and I know you would not be happy if I destroyed him.”
A slight grin touched her lips, but it only made her appear sadder. “You have always been a thoughtful child.”
Just what does that mean?
She gestured to one of the waiting slaves and trays of food were brought out of the kitchen.
“Let’s just have a nice meal together.”
“Yes mother.”
The slaves brought out a small feast for just the two of them. They both picked at their food in near silence. Freshly baked bread, roast pork, beef, chicken and other delicacies went untouched and Waldo guessed the slaves would get to enjoy them.
Something very strange was going on.
Everything had been normal this morning before she had set out for the council meeting. It did not take a genius to see that something had happened there. His mother ran the family affairs completely on her own. Whatever occurred must have been of great importance if she felt the need to discuss it with him.
Once the dishes had been cleared away, and the slaves had departed, she told him what was going on.
“It’s time Waldo. You will be leaving on your First Quest tomorrow.”
Waldo blinked. “Oh.”
His mother lifted a single eyebrow and looked slightly amused. “Is that all you have to say? ‘Oh?’”
“Well, I am sixteen, and it’s not like I didn’t know this day was coming. I… I would have liked a little more warning I suppose.”
“This is how it has always been done. You have been preparing for this since the day of your birth. You should not need any more time.”
“You’re right mother, of course I am ready.” Inside Waldo was anything but sure of that. “I will come back with servants and piles of treasure. I will definitely make you proud.”
“Servants and piles of treasure,” his mother echoed quietly. “Will you also bring back the heads of the enemies you have killed?”
“I… I will try to.” Waldo answered hesitantly. “I will do my best.”
“Is that what you’ll say when you’re facing a charging knight or a hill giant?” His mother slowly shook her head. “This will be your first time facing real danger. Oh I know Walter has tried to kill you, and that some of the others might have if you had put the robes on sooner. But those were all threats you were familiar with, ones you knew to watch for. When you leave this castle, and then leave Alteroth, you will be alone and surrounded by enemies. This is the rite of passage every Dark Mage of a ruling house must endure. You must prove you are worthy, not just by surviving, but by shedding blood and returning home with treasure. Do you expect to come back empty handed and just say, ‘I did my best’?” She gave a rude snort. “That would be fine if you were a Poisondagger.”
Waldo’s face reddened. “I’m not a coward mother.”
“My son if I’d ever thought you were I would have killed you myself. I know your worth. That is not what concerns me.”
“Then what is it?”
“You don’t remember your brother Roland do you?”
Waldo shook his head.
“Well I’m not surprised; you were only three at the time he died. He was my first born, his father was Martin Wormwood. Martin was very skilled at fire magics. He would definitely have become the head of his family if the Poisondaggers hadn’t murdered him.”
Lilith Corpselover had never married. Had she, her husband would have become the family head. Instead she had enjoyed a long series of lovers; each of her seven children had had a different father. The men came and went, and none of them were allowed to have any part of her children’s lives. Among the Great Families there was no stigma in being born out of wedlock, so long as there was one parent with elite blood and the child had the ability to use magic.
“Roland was just like his father; a powerful and ruthless fire user. I taught him everything I knew and he never disappointed me. When he was just fourteen, I took him with me on a trip to the Barren Mounts. I wanted some new goblins and I thought it would be a good experience for him. Would you believe we ran into a giant? Twenty feet tall at the very least, and a tree for a club in his hands. Roland was closer to him than I was, and I called for him to get clear so I could deal with the brute. Calmly, as if it were just practice, he lifted his wand and poured enough fire on that stupid beast to roast him in less than a minute. I was fifty yards away and I felt as though I were starting to bake.” She sighed wistfully. “We ate his flesh for the rest of our trip.”
“He killed a great monster at fourteen?” Waldo was impressed. Killing a Great Monster was quite a feat for anyone who was not a master. “Why did I never hear about that before?”
Lilith shrugged. “Because he is dead, so what does it matter now? The point is he was everything I could hope for in an heir. When he set off on his First Quest I was certain he would come home with an army of slaves, piles of gold, and the heads of at least a dozen knights. I really was sure he would be fine.”
Her eyes drifted, no doubt recalling his long forgotten brother.
“He died,” his mother said simply. “He went t
o the Kingdom of Lothas and never came back. A knight defeated him and left his head on a pike. As strong as he was he ended up as rotting flesh somewhere far from home.”
“I’ve always known the First Quest is dangerous mother.”
“Three of my children have died on their First Quests,” his mother said. “All of them were as well prepared as I could make them, and all of them had learned how to kill by the time they set out. Yet they still died. Do you truly understand? No one cares about doing your best, the point is to survive. That means doing what you need to, not what you want to.”
“I know that mother. It’s not like I fail on purpose.” He answered quietly.
The (sort of) Dark Mage (Waldo Rabbit) Page 3
