Death's Favorite Warlock

by Charles Dean

  Everyone has a tail; it’s natural. They wear them like belts or let them wag behind as they walk, but I am the loner here: no ears, no tail, no tuft of fur upon my chest. How can I explain that? Lars thought as he did his best not to show his concern while the gears turned in his head to find a solution.

  Ugh. Always with the talking. The talking! Why? Why are you trying to be friendly with them? Just kill them. They’re nothing but annoying. Get yourself some more Qi before you go inside. You’re only 16 points away from having enough to instantly boost yourself to Level 3.

  “No, this . . . Like I said before, it is a long story,” Lars said. “Anyway, if you’ll excuse me, I’m rather worn out from the journey and need to focus on what I’m going to do next.”

  “Don’t be daft!” Mishil said, her eyes studying Lars with more curiosity than concern. “Just look at you! Your master will be worried sick.”

  “Mishil, that’s not necessary,” the dog-eared man said as he put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure he has somewhere to stay in this town . . .”

  “Matthew, my villa is big enough to house a few extra,” she began with an ear-to-ear smile. “He can stay with me. And when this . . . mysterious master of his comes, she won’t be disappointed to learn that I, a proud member of the house of Se-silla, turned my back on her apprentice in need.”

  Lars immediately knew what she was trying to say. So you want to try to milk my imaginary master for a favor when she shows up to collect me . . .

  Hey! I am not imaginary! You’ve already recognized me as your master, so try to be a filial disciple and not talk bad about me. Calling me imaginary like that . . . For shame!

  Well, Lars mused wryly, you kind of are imaginary as far as they are concerned. It’s not like you can appear before them. For all intents and purposes, as far as I can prove to anyone else, you’re still a figment of my imagination . . .

  Careful. I will cut you off from this infinite reservoir of knowledge, and you’ll have to find a hell of a lot of delicious foods and physical pleasures to get me to pay any attention to you again.

  Sorry. I won’t think like that again, Lars replied, quickly capitulating and even going so far as to mentally note that he needed to buy her off with treats as soon as he found a dessert shop in town.

  “No argument?” Mishil seemed to take Lars’s quiet conversation with his master as a sign of consent.

  “Wait, there is an objection. I won’t have you put yourself out like this,” Matthew hastily interjected, moving his hand from her shoulder to her back. “I will take the burden upon myself. We at the house of Neukdaegalbi are no poorer than you, and it would be my honor to take care of him in your place.”

  The only thing Lars heard and saw based on his tone was “I’m not letting a man stay in the same house as you.”

  Oh my Clockmaker! Haha! Neukdaegalbi? HAHAHAHAH! That is the best name ever! Hahahahaha . . . He probably doesn’t even know what it means anymore . . . so priceless.

  Lars was confused as to why the voice in his head was laughing so hard.

  Turning to Matthew, Mishil tried to protest. “That’s really not—”

  “Mishil, don’t let your kindness trick you into doing something that might hurt your reputation in the city,” Matthew warned, his eyes narrowing.

  “Fine,” Mishil relented. “You have made your point, Matthew, and taken the fun out of this chance meeting.”

  “Next,” the guard called out, interrupting their conversation before Lars could even get a say in which house he would prefer, much less whether or not he’d even agree to stay with one of them.

  “That’d be us,” Lars said, ushering Desdemona forward with him.

  The gate was guarded by at least six cultivators, all dressed in immaculate white robes with red and gold offsets, but only two of them were handling people. Lars wasn’t sure how powerful they were, but the way they stood straight as a tree and held onto their halberds made them look quite powerful.

  “Are . . . you sure you’re in the right place?” the guard asked. He looked at Lars quizzically, but then, much like Matthew had earlier, he noticed that Desdemona was wearing a slave choker.

  “I must confess that I don’t know where I am,” Lars replied. He chose to admit this, not wanting to try and bluff the guard on this point and be pressed for more information. “I only found this town by chance after my carriage was attacked by bandits, and I was forced to flee through the woods for several days.”

  “Your carriage was robbed? So you don’t have identification? Do you even have any money?” The guard sighed, shaking his head. “There is a refugee center on the other side of the town. It will process you and get you on your way.”

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but I need to enter this town. I’m not looking to have my master’s honor stained by allowing myself to be treated like a poor refugee,” Lars insisted. He didn’t know if it would work, but after his brief conversation with Matthew and Mishil, he had a sense of the entitlement and arrogance he should act with if he wanted to be properly treated as someone who wasn’t just a commoner.

  “Your master’s honor?” The guard grimaced, looking clearly annoyed. “Do you have any proof that you are anything more than just a regular refugee with . . . whatever she is for?” he asked.

  As peeved as the guard appeared to be, Lars was even more frustrated. And now I have to come up with proof? Don’t I look like I’ve just gone through hell? Ugh! Lars wanted to scream in frustration, but he didn’t have to do anything.

  Thankfully, Desdemona quickly spoke for him. “The young lord can easily prove his identity with his literacy and herbal competency,” she said. “He can read, write, and mix potions as taught to him personally and diligently by his most esteemed and powerful master.”

  Lars wanted to smack Desdemona. He didn’t believe for a second that the fact he could read and write or that he knew some herbology would be valid proof.

  Before he could react, however, the guard replied, “Alright, let’s test him then.” The guard nodded toward one of the guards behind him as a signal. “You still have the orders on you, Orlik?”

  “Right here,” the guard answered as he pulled two documents out of his robes and handed them to the guard talking to Lars.

  “Can you read this?” the guard asked, presenting one of the documents.

  Lars looked at it and had to stop himself from frowning or showing judgment on his face as he stared at what was no better than chicken scratch. He was so used to seeing the perfectly straight white lines, the uniform lettering, and the clean spacing that always came with any message that his master gave to him that he just couldn’t process how bad handwriting could be.

  “What? You can’t?” the guard asked. The man’s tone was becoming aggressive.

  “I can. Don’t question me. It says, ‘The barracks are short ninety-two recruits and need at least four new Stage 5 Qi-Gathering Cultivators or higher to be promoted to squad leader by the end of the month.’ It also says that many of your current recruits need to practice better hygiene and that you should punish those who don’t wash their underwear regula—”

  “I think you’ve proven yourself well enough,” the guard snapped, quickly snatching the paper back before Lars could continue.

  If you want to read any further, you can always ask me. Watch this picture-in-picture majesty!

  With that, a square three times larger than the normal notifications appeared right in Lars’s vision, giving him an exact picture of the message he had just been reading.

  “Are you sure?” Lars asked the guard. “There was more in the letter. It also noted that many of the men in the barracks were showing early signs of a rash on their privates and that you need to contact an alchemist to produce a cure for it.” Lars smiled wryly. “I could recommend my master when she arrives.”

  At first, the guard had only looked embarrassed as Lars began to air the barracks’ dirty laundry in public, making Lars question whether he actually c
ould read and knew what was on the notice, but the moment Lars said the word “she” after “master,” the guard’s eyes and mouth widened—and not only his but also the guards’ behind him. Even Matthew and Mishil looked stunned.

  “Your master is a female alchemist?” the guard asked.

  Lars feigned indignation. “Of course, is there something that says a female can’t be an alchemist or have a male apprentice?” While the question was phrased as if he thought the guard was an idiot for questioning him, he was actually curious. He didn't know whether or not there really was such a rule—perhaps one established by an alchemist guild he had never heard of.

  “No, it’s just . . .” The guard looked around as if seeking back up. “There is only one female alchemist to have ever passed the Swan qualification stage and been granted the privilege of taking on disciples, Hsein Ku. Since you said ‘she’ . . . well, it means you must be the new disciple she took after her last one died in—”

  “Quiet! Are you trying to get us killed?” One of the guards that had been silent the whole time quickly smacked the back of the talking one’s head. Then, turning to Lars, this guard gave a slight bow. “We’re sorry to have held you up. Please, go right on ahead. We wouldn’t want to keep you any longer.”

  “Sorry about the inconvenience. I’ll be sure to let your master know that you’re at . . .” He looked over at Matthew, who was pointing to himself and making some signal to the guard. “You’re at house Neukdaegalbi. I’m sure she’ll be very pleased to know you’re safe.”

  “Thank you,” Lars said as he walked past the guards and into the town.

  “You lucky bastard, earning a favor from Hsein Ku,” Lars heard Mishil muttering angrily at Matthew.

  Matthew seemed to ignore her, as a smile, for once seeming actually genuine, stretched across his face. “Come on, I’ll show you to where you and your bed slave will be staying.”

  Oh, don’t make that face. Someone will notice. Not to mention, is it really so wrong to be lecherous? What’s wrong with feeling good? Do you know how much I’ve longed to taste carnal pleasures? But your little “Oh, she might not like me” or “Oh no, what if it ruins our friendship?” or “But that would make her feel uncomfortable,” or “I’m just a helpless, Qi-less human, so who could like me? I have to focus on cringe-level attempts at cultivating and improving myself and have never asked a girl out.” And look how much it mattered? Every girl you would have asked out is dead now. It’s not like your embarrassment would have lasted forever. Try to be more like Matthew. That weak and good-for-nothing twit at least knows how to live. He probably didn’t spend his first few years of puberty pining in the woods so no one noticed him.

  Why do you have to cut so deep?

  Because I can, and we’ve been together since the moment you were born.

  Heeding her advice, Lars didn’t let his feelings show on his face, but it was hard. He could feel his cheeks turning slightly red as he tried to control his embarrassment from how much his master’s words dug into him. It had only been about two days since he had left the village, but the person he was those two days ago seemed like an entirely different person to him. That was a person who was always worried that he would be stepping on someone’s toes, or that he would shame himself, or that he would hurt someone’s feelings. Now, the only thing he cared about was surviving. There was now a little voice in his head—not his master’s—that kept asking, “Will this improve my chances of survival?” over and over again. It was on repeat. It was measuring out and weighing every decision with that one goal in mind: to live.

  I’m just looking out for you. Trust me when I say that your joys are my joys. Your pains are my pains.

  Right . . . Lars thought. She repeated it a bunch, but it was the one constant she made sure to remind him of: every sense of his was also hers. They shared all tangible boons or punishments. It was the reason she constantly made him seek out desserts and pleasures and would talk him into nagging his mother for shoulder or back rubs when he was a kid.

  “I really appreciate you looking out for me,” Lars said as he followed Matthew.

  “Don’t worry about it. Just tell your master how well I take care of you, and we’ll call it even,” he added

  Wow, no subtlety at all, Lars thought, feeling a little stunned by how forward Matthew was being about what he wanted.

  Don’t worry about it. All you need to do is be stronger than his clan before they realize you are using them.

  Right, Lars thought as he did his best to snake a cordial smile across his face. “That won’t be a problem at all,” Lars said, answering both his master and Matthew at the same time. “I’m sure my master will be delighted to hear how well you’re treating me.”

  Mishil made a sharp tch noise and looked rather displeased. “And the only reason he is even extending that hand of courtesy is because he doesn’t want a guy near me, and I extended mine first. Don’t forget that,” she insisted before storming off.

  “She doesn’t look too happy . . .” Lars commented.

  “Well, not all women are as agreeable or as easy to manage as bed slaves,” Matthew sighed as they began walking toward his clan house. “But, she’s still the one I must have.”

  “Must?” Lars found the word odd. When he had thought of Dawn, she hadn’t been the one he “must” have. She had been the one he “wanted” to have. The one he had loved. There was no “must” or obligation in it.

  “Yes, I must have,” Matthew replied. “Though it’s not a concern to someone of your status, to those of my status, marriage is the only way to secure survival. If House Se-Silla and House Neukdaegalbi form an alliance, then our houses’ status will soar. After all, while House Neukdaegalbi has a strong mercenary company under its command, we lack the caravan trading power and established routes of Se-Silla. If we combine both of those, then we can vastly improve our position within the city.”

  “You two seemed pretty close earlier. I had thought you already were joined at the hip. Is it just not official yet?” Lars asked, wondering why they were walking together if the alliance was only theoretical.

  “Not official? She can’t stand me. The only reason we were together was because I insisted on escorting her out of the city, and her father agreed.” Matthew frowned. “But, it does not matter. Time, persistence, listening, effort, and dedication are the foundations of a good marriage. Even if she doesn’t like me now, in five years, I will be her husband and her master.”

  “I don’t think ‘master’ is the word I would use to describe a spouse,” Lars replied. He laughed without thinking as the words left his mouth, just before remembering that he was supposed to be showing tact and grace.

  “No? Is it wrong for a man to wish to be the master of his dominion? Whether my house, my clan, or the district where my clan resides, I shall be nothing less than the master of all of them,” he said with such conviction that Lars wasn’t sure if he was crazy, confident, or could actually do it.

  Lars had been in a sort of master-servant relationship for a long time. He had been raised in one, so he couldn’t help himself as he tried to correct the idiot next to him. “That goal may not be wrong—control isn’t a bad thing—but without the power to subdue everyone completely, master or not, every transaction will be a bartering one where you must bring something to the table to get them to move the way you want them to. You might find it more of a hassle than it’s worth,” he said, remembering how many times he had to bribe the voice in his head just to get her to be quiet for a few hours.

  Lars expected Matthew to snap at him, to accuse him of being wrong as most bullies were known to do from his experience when confronted with any contrary opinion, but it didn’t happen. Instead, he stayed quiet for a long portion of the walk, occasionally scratching his chin, glancing over at Lars, and then going back to scratching his chin.

  When they had finally reached the last part of their journey, as Lars could tell by the fact that there was a massive courtyard ahead
of them with a story-high wall topped by white-and gold-painted clay shingles, Matthew stopped Lars. “Wait,” he said, putting a hand on Lars’s shoulder.

  “What?” Lars asked, not sure what to expect.

  “If I can’t do either, what do I do?” he asked, looking at Lars as if Lars were some sage fountain of wisdom and not just a never-gotten-a-girl idiot covered in dirt, dried blood, and ripped clothes.

  “Oh . . .” Lars frowned. “What do you mean if you can’t do either?”

  “I cultivate every day, but I am still weaker than she is. In terms of wealth, I am the fourth male heir of my family. I am not likely to inherit more than she, the eldest daughter and jewel of her father’s eyes,” Matthew explained. “How am I to bend her to my will? What can I trade her so we can be the perfect husband and wife?”

  Did we stay with the wrong family? Should we have stayed with hers?

  No, she has nothing to gain from us . . . Look at those eyes, Lars thought back. He knew them. They were the same eyes he had made at every cultivator that he thought might give him a chance and teach him how to become stronger when he was still living a peaceful life.

  “Well . . .” Lars began, not sure exactly how to answer. “My mother used to say that there are more ways to a woman’s heart than material things and strength.”

  “Did she often lie?” Matthew replied with no hesitation.

  Lars shrugged. “Maybe you should try talking to Mishil. Maybe if you ask correctly, she’ll tell you what she wants.”

  “Right! The next time we’re talking, I’ll just ask her, ‘What is it that you want from me, and what will you give me for it?!’ We’re both the heirs of businessmen. She’ll respect that level of forwardness,” he said with a proud, puffed-out chest.

  Holy divine dump, is he really this dense? I believed he was sly, Lars thought.