Two Necromancers, a Dwarf Kingdom, and a Sky City

by L. G. Estrella

  “That’s the spirit.” Timmy laughed and ruffled Katie’s hair again. Interesting. She hadn’t combed it back into place yet. At this rate, she might end up looking more like a blonde cactus than a girl. “Bandits are at the bottom of the criminal food chain, but they can still be dangerous. They’re kind of like a rusty dagger. Sure, it doesn’t look like much, but it can still kill you if you’re not careful.”

  Not me. Spot wagged his tail as Katie found a ticklish spot on his belly. I’m a dragon.

  “Don’t get too confident, Spot. A dagger to the eye would still hurt you although I’m not sure it would kill you.” He paused. One of the zombie squirrels he’d deployed to scout ahead of them had spotted something. They might not be much good in a fight, but they were great at keeping an eye on things. Nobody ever noticed a squirrel – which was why he’d created zombie squirrel-cobras. Some fangs and cobra venom were all he needed to turn a relatively harmless animal into a furry harbinger of venomous death. “And speaking of the bandits, they’ll be showing up any second now.” He waved Katie forward. “Come here and sit beside me. Try to look terrified. Stay back there, Spot. Don’t let them see you.”

  Spot nodded and bared his teeth. Despite how much he’d already eaten today, he was hungry again. Can I eat them?

  “I’m sure we can find at least one especially evil bandit for you to eat – there’s always at least a couple that are way more evil than the rest – but no eating anybody until we’ve worked out how much they know.” Timmy’s eyes narrowed. “And no snacking on any of them either.”

  Spot huffed. Not even a little?

  “Spot, your definition of ‘a little’ is biting off someone’s arm or leg. People kind of need their arms and legs to survive. I mean we are necromancers, so we could question them even after they’re dead, but it’s just easier and less messy to question them while they’re still alive. Plus, we’re going to get a reputation – a bad one – if we just go around killing everybody and interrogating their spirits. We’re necromancers, not barbarians.”

  Katie sat down beside him and glared. It was heart warming, and it reminded him of a puppy trying to impersonate a wolf. “You want me to look terrified of bandits, master?”

  “Yes. It’s part of the plan. They’re going to get suspicious if you don’t look at least a little bit afraid.”

  “Fine.” Katie sighed and put her book away. Rembrandt hopped onto her shoulder and patted her cheek comfortingly. He knew she wasn’t scared of bandits. She’d just have to pretend, the same way the rats often pretended to be afraid of snakes, so they could lure one in for lunch. Roast snake was one of their favourite meals, along with fried owl. “Should I scream and cry or something?”

  “If you want to, but try not to overdo it.” He put one arm around her shoulders. “Remember, I’m a stupid, overly rich merchant, and you’re my terrified, spoiled daughter.”

  “Spoiled?” Katie growled. “I do more of the paperwork than you, master!”

  “It’s all part of your training, so you can administer your own castle when you grow up and either overthrow me or find one of your own,” Timmy replied. It wasn’t, but that was the excuse he used whenever she asked him. Other necromancers might have more menacing apprentices, but did theirs do paperwork? Hah! He’d take Katie over a scary but paperwork-averse apprentice any day of the week and that was doubly true during tax season. “This is all for the sake of our mission, so go along with it.” He wiped the smile off his face as people emerged from the forest ahead of them. “Remember, you need to look scared.”

  A large man with an even larger axe slung over his shoulder stepped out onto the road. A normal merchant would have been terrified, but Timmy was far from impressed. The man was large, sure, but most of his bulk was fat not muscle. The axe on his shoulder was badly chipped in several places, and it was more of an executioner’s weapon than one meant for normal combat. It looked impressive, but it was far too large and heavy to be practical in an actual fight. The armour he’d chosen to wear was also less than impressive. He’d opted to go for copious quantities of leather and way too many belts in a bid to flatter and shape his physique rather than protect it.

  “Halt!” the man cried in what Timmy was forced to concede was a reasonably menacing voice. If he hadn’t already been threatened on a regular basis by far more dangerous people since he’d been a child, he might have been concerned. Still, he did have a plan to follow. He drew the horses to a halt as more bandits spilled out of the shadows along the road. Based on the observations of his zombies, there were around forty of them, which was a fairly impressive number for a bandit group. Most groups succumbed to infighting once they passed a dozen or so. “You have things we want, merchant. Behave and you might just live through the night although you’ll be a poorer man by the end it, that much I can guarantee.” For a moment there was dead silence before the bandits realised that was their cue and began to laugh uproariously. It took every ounce of Timmy’s self control to not roll his eyes. The bandits had clearly rehearsed this, and they had clearly not rehearsed it enough. He nudged Katie. It was time for her to show off her acting abilities.

  “Oh no, father,” Katie drawled, sounding not the least bit frightened. “Whatever shall we do? These ruffians will surely murder us and rob us of our priceless valuables.” In her pocket, Rembrandt squeaked some words of encouragement, and Katie continued, but not before shooting Timmy another glare. “Yes, we are doomed!” For someone who was supposedly doomed, Katie sounded far more exasperated than afraid. “Hopelessly doomed!”

  “Could you at least try to act scared,” Timmy muttered. “It’s like you’re talking about what you’re going to have for breakfast.”

  “I’m trying,” Katie muttered back. “But… well… they’re so scruffy.”

  Timmy winced, not out of fear, but because Katie was right. For a group that was supposedly funded by one of the Combine’s premier crime lords, they were a scruffy bunch. Then again, it was entirely possible that their backer was short-changing them. It wasn’t like bandits had a guild or a union they could complain to for help. And if they complained to Lord Tarrick, the crime lord could easily replace them after organising a retirement party that involved plenty of knives and arrows in the back.

  “Oh, woe has descended upon us, dear father.” Katie swooned dramatically. “Is there no way we can survive this horror?”

  In the back of the wagon, Spot had clamped his claws over his mouth to stifle his laughter as the rats did their best to muffle their own amusement. Rembrandt squeaked a warning at them. They needed to remember the plan and stay quiet.

  Doing his best to sound appropriately terrified, Timmy finally spoke to the bandits. “Please, noble bandits, spare us! Take our valuables, but do not take our lives!” He threw one arm around Katie. “All of our belongings are yours if you but spare me and my daughter!”

  “Hah!” The leader of the bandits threw his head back and laughed. Despite all of the leather and the multiple belts he wore, his belly still managed to jiggle in a manner that was both impressive and oddly hypnotic. “You are a sensible man, merchant.” He thumped his chest with one meaty fist. “Very well. I – Alan Axe-Bane – shall spare your meagre lives in exchange for all of your valuables.” He gestured dramatically at some of the other bandits. “Search their wagon and seize their valuables.”

  Alan Axe-Bane? That was one of the least impressive bandit names Timmy had heard all year, albeit still much better than Bradley the Bandit. That had honestly been embarrassing to hear. What kind of bandit called himself Bradley the Bandit? It was self-evident, wasn’t it? However, Axe-Bane implied that this fellow was some kind of expert in defeating axes, but Timmy had a hard time believing that given his choice of weapon. Oh well. It wouldn’t be the first time a bandit leader had picked a name they thought sounded good despite it not making any sense, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last time. One of Timmy’s favourites had been Hagar the Humongous who had been all of five feet and
five inches tall. He hadn’t been very big, but he’d been very handy with a pickaxe. Hagar had managed to last twenty years as a bandit before running afoul of a storm dragon. Pickaxes were fine against regular travellers, but they were not much good against two-hundred-feet-long reptiles that could fly and shoot lightning. Timmy waited until some of the bandits had moved to inspect the back of the wagon before he gave the order.

  “Go.”

  The zombie warriors hurled themselves out of the back of the wagon, and the bandits closest to them went sprawling. Timmy was careful not to crush any of them too badly – his zombie warriors could weigh upward of three hundred pounds – but a bit of crushing was acceptable, say the odd arm or leg. The rats were right behind them, and the bandits barely even had a chance to realise they were under attack before needles coated in paralytics were flying through the air with dizzying speed and accuracy.

  In a matter of seconds, almost half the bandits had been incapacitated. As the others rushed forward to attack, Katie’s magic billowed outward. The ability to control and generate shadows was menacing during the day, but at night it went from scary to downright terrifying. Timmy had a feeling these bandits would be having nightmares for years. Huge spectral jaws ripped their way out of the bandits’ own shadows to pin them in place. A single thought from Katie would be enough to tear them into small, bloody pieces. His master would have done it, but his apprentice was not a psychotic alcoholic. All she did was have the shadowy jaws apply just enough pressure to make it clear that attempting to move would be a very, very bad idea.

  That left Timmy with five of his own bandits to deal with. There had been a few others, but Rembrandt had already leapt forward and paralysed them with several well-placed strikes to certain pressure points and nerve clusters. Timmy could have hopped off the wagon to give them a fair fight – his shovel against their swords, spears, and clubs – but he opted for the lazier approach. He jabbed his shovel in their direction, and the solid ground beneath them turned into mud. Within a matter of moments, they were submerged up to their shoulders. The only one left was Alan Axe-Bane, the leader of the bandits. One of the belts he wore had begun to glow. Ah. It must be enchanted to protect him and his surroundings from magic. Timmy could try to overpower it, but there was an easier option.

  “You think you’ve won?” Alan bellowed. “No one defeats Alan Axe-Bane!”

  The bandit leapt forward with his gigantic axe held high above his head – only to be knocked out of the air as Spot burst out of the wagon. The dragon drove Alan into the ground and ripped off the glowing belt. Alan roared in outrage and lashed out with his axe, but Spot was more than ready for the attack. The dragon caught the head of the axe between his teeth and bit down. The metal shattered, and Spot chewed briefly on a broken shard of the weapon before spitting it out with a low growl.

  Yuck. Spot glared at the remains of the axe. Bad steel.

  Alan cursed and reached for the dagger at his waist. Spot huffed and brought his head down in a blow that had the bandit seeing stars. Timmy breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment there, he’d thought Spot was about to take a bite out of Alan. It wouldn’t have been a great loss to civilisation or anything, but he wanted to check what Alan knew before letting Spot add him to the menu.

  “All right.” Timmy hopped off the wagon and then reached back to help Katie climb down. His vertically challenged apprentice scowled before accepting his help. Rembrandt took his customary place on her shoulder, and he glared balefully at the bandits with his lone eye as though daring them to give him an excuse to put his sword to work. Given how good Rembrandt was with a blade, it wouldn’t take him too long to slice and dice his way through a bandit or ten. “Let’s get down to business.”

  In short order, the bandits were dragged into rough lines with the ninja rats and zombie warriors standing guard. In case any of them were feeling particularly bold or stupid, Timmy called in one his zombie wyverns and had it strike a pose that showed off the sharpness of its beak and talons. It might not be a dragon, but it was close enough. Anyone who moved without permission was going to regret it.

  “Now,” Timmy began. “I am not a cruel man –”

  You made me share my cookies! Spot wailed. And you wouldn’t let me eat that cow!

  Timmy twitched. Appearances were important, and getting into an argument did not necessarily make for a good first impression. “That’s because they weren’t your cookies – they were for everyone. And that cow belonged to one of the villagers. You can’t go around eating other people’s cows.” He cleared his throat and looked back at the bandits. “As I was saying, I am not a cruel man. If you give me the information I want, then I will simply hand you over to the authorities. They can decide your fate.”

  “Hah!” One of the bandits drew his head back and spat. Timmy would have ordered one of his zombie warriors to whack the man over the head, but the only person he’d managed to get saliva on was the bandit in front of him. The other bandit turned to complain only to receive a second helping of saliva as the spitter began to rant. “We own the authorities! They’ll never lay a hand on us! You’re not going to leave this place alive!”

  “That might have been true before. Up until tonight, the authorities were overworked, undermanned, and suffering from exceptionally poor leadership. That is about to change.” The man spat again. Once more, the only person he hit was the bandit in front of him. No longer content to simply glare, the other bandit retaliated by spitting back. Timmy sighed and gestured for his zombie warrior to separate the two men before the spitting contest could escalate any further. “After tonight, your backer will no longer be in charge of Tarelan.”

  Thanking his good fortune, Timmy gestured dramatically toward the horizon as a massive explosion shook the night. It came from the city, but it was visible from miles and miles away. Huge plumes of flames soared upward, and the sky was suddenly awash with clouds of embers. Timmy rubbed his temple. He knew exactly whom to blame for the explosion. He could only hope she hadn’t blown up anything – or anyone – important. Beside him, Spot wagged his tail happily. The dragon looked far too happy. He was probably imagining all of the fiery carnage his mother was wreaking and wondering if they could get back in time for him to join in.

  “As we speak, my associates are dealing with your allies.” Timmy leaned on his shovel and smiled sunnily. “So you can either cooperate, or things can get ugly. I want to know about your master. Where is his fortress? What’s in it? And what kind of resistance can we expect if we show up? Answer my questions, and I’ll hand you over to the authorities.”

  “And if we don’t?” Alan Axe-Bane rumbled. “What then?”

  “Well, then I feed you to my dragon.” Timmy nodded at Spot, and the dragon smiled. It was not a nice smile – for the bandits, anyway. It showed off all of his wonderfully large and wonderfully sharp teeth. Timmy thought it looked rather charming.

  “Dragon?” Alan threw his head back and laughed before looking around expectantly. None of the other bandits were laughing. He might not have realised how bad the situation was, but the others had. If he wanted to pick a fight, they weren’t about to join him. “Your overgrown lizard may have caught me off guard before, but there’s no way he can defeat me in honourable combat!”

  “Hmm…” Timmy rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The other bandits were all on the verge of breaking and telling him what he wanted to know. All they needed now was a small push, and Alan had oh so kindly volunteered. “I’ll tell you what, Alan, since you were willing to let us go in exchange for our valuables, I’ll make you a deal. If you can beat Spot, you can leave. If not, you have to tell me everything you know.”

  Alan smiled craftily. He was convinced he was about to win his freedom back in heroic combat. “Can I use a weapon?”

  “Sure. Go ahead. Grab a sword or something.”

  Alan smirked. “Very well. I accept your terms. I’ll show your pet lizard who’s in charge!”

  Timmy nudged Spot. “Try
not to eat him. We need to find out what he knows. Maybe bite off an arm or something.”

  Spot grinned and waited patiently until Alan had grabbed a broadsword that was as long as he was tall. I’m ready.

  “Hah!” Alan roared. The sword came down in a mighty chop. Spot stepped to one side, and the weapon thudded into the earth. With another cry of exertion, Alan heaved the sword to the side. Spot tilted his head to one side and hopped over the wild blow.

  Slow. The dragon wagged his tail. You’re too slow.

  “Keep laughing, lizard! You can’t dodge forever!”

  Over the course of the next three minutes, Spot evaded every single one of Alan’s increasingly frantic attacks. The dragon liked to play tag with his mother, Chomp, and the rats, and compared to them Alan was more than painfully slow. He might as well be standing still. Eventually, Spot tired of the game. With speed that would have made a viper envious, he darted forward and bit off Alan’s hand.

  “Ah!” Alan fell to his knees and clutched at his wrist. “My hand!”

  Spot shoved Alan onto his back, and gave a short, sharp puff of flame. It cauterised the wound and burned off every hair on Alan’s head, leaving the bandit not only bald but also bereft of his beard, moustache, and eyebrows. Spot stared down at him, silver eyes gleaming in the moonlight. I’m a dragon, not a lizard.

  As one of Timmy’s zombie warriors dragged Alan back into line, Timmy picked up Spot. It wasn’t easy – the dragon had not only grown longer but also put on a considerable amount of weight – but appearances mattered. Hopefully, his lower back wouldn’t complain about it too much. After all, lower back pain was one of the most common health complaints amongst necromancers, along with gravedigger’s elbow and pitchfork-related stab wounds.

  “As you can see, I have a dragon, and I’m not afraid to use him.” He brandished Spot at the bandits, and the dragon bared his teeth again to add to the effect. “He might not be very big for a dragon, but that’s because he’s got a lot of growing to do, which means he’s always hungry. You can either tell me what I want to know, or I can let him have a snack or two. It’s your choice.”