Chapter Fifteen #2
laboratory filled with silence. Around them, osseous fibers snarled across the
wall, growing like fungus on a corpse.
“This
sorceress,” Zaria said. “She’s the lone survivor, of all this?”
“The
only one.”
“Is
that the kind of murderous cunt we’re making alliances with now?”
Isaac
pursed his lips, staring up at the apparatus of an energy converter. “It’s
going to be very temporary.”
“I
think so—check ahead.”
He
looked over the metal cage. On the stone floor of the laboratory, stamped
through the layers of dust, there were many footprints, all walking in
proximity. For a moment, Isaac thought of soldiers filed strictly for a march.
“They’re
recent,” Zaria said. She sniffed the air, her black nose twitching. “I can
smell ‘em through the rot. Lots of humans.”
“Thralls.”
“Aye.”
Isaac
moved to approach.
He
knew, for a fact, that the necromancer wouldn’t have asked for their aid
against the puppeteer if the two of them weren’t in a position to help—namely,
if Isaac and Zaria weren’t getting close to their mutual enemy. Whoever this
interloper was, they were standing between them, the necromancer, and his
father. After following a trail of bodies for several days, the two of them
were finally closing in.
A
confrontation was coming.
Slowly,
Isaac limbered himself, working through some of the pre-mnemonic positions. “Be
on your guard.”
Zaria nodded,
keeping the spear tip of her polearm pointed at the laboratory exit. He paced
around her, noting with some disquiet just how many sets of footprints were
stamped through the dust. He poked his head through the door. The corridor
beyond was empty, ribbed with the bulbous lamps of cartilage light. Above, the
giant vertebrae running through the vaulted ceiling had stopped taking the
appearance of lumbar sockets—now, they were beginning to fan out into a sacral
appendage, which would form the wall of bone that, in humans, connected the
spine to the pelvis. They were reaching the groin of the colossus.
From
the pelvis, they would have to descend the legs. At the feet of the giant
corpse, the necromancer would be waiting.
So
would his father.
“The
puppeteer’s thralls are magically capable,” Isaac said. “Each one of them is
deadly. Ambushes and stealth are going to be our best chance.”
“In
that case, take this.”
She
held out her dagger, which was still wrapped in the leather sheath. The hilt
alone was massive. It was designed for zoanthrope hands, and Isaac would have
to wield it more like a sword.
“Last
resort,” Zaria said. “I’ve seen how winded you get when the fighting’s thick.
Might be vital in a pinch.”
“Are
you sure? You could use it, yourself.”
“I’ll
manage. Any human who tries to attack me in close quarter is a foolhardy sort.”
She gave him a look. “As you know.”
He took
the sheathed blade, stuffing it into a hip pocket. “Thanks, Z.”
“Huh?”
“I said
thank you.”
“You
said something else, too.”
“I
don’t—no, I didn’t.”
“Oh,
yes you did.”
Isaac
had prepared himself to speak with confidence. Instead, now that the moment had
actually come, he was blushing terribly. “I, um—you know—you keep, uh. . . .”
She
waited, grinning. Her hyena complexion was surrounded by glassware and rotted
bellows. He had to crane his neck to look up at her, which did not help at all.
“Well,”
Isaac said, more firmly than he felt, “since you are very persistent in calling
me squire, I thought I would give you a nickname, as well. You know—Z. It’s
short. Simple. Unlike a squire, it’s not horribly offensive to your
talents. It’s a nice, modest diminutive.”
She
gave an exaggerated gasp, which echoed down the laboratory. “Are you attemptin’ to give me a cutesy moniker?”
“It’s
just for convenience’s sake.”
“Am I
your special missus?”
“Don’t
take it that far.”
“Shouldn’t
I, now? Suppose I take this as a warning sign, for all your boyish desire?”
“By the
gods,” Isaac said. “Just forget I said anything.”
“At
this rate, I expect you’ll worship at my feet.”
“Zaria—”
“No,
no, no. Look at me, squire. This is serious now. You best believe I’ll want you
to call me that in front of those grand wizards of yours. Your father,
especially.”
Isaac
took a deep breath.
“I’ll
certainly want you to moan it lovingly, while licking me from cunt to tail.”
“Ivtarr
preserve me.”
“But
listen here. That’s as far as she goes. I’d be a dry whore’s cunt before I let you
ask my hand in marriage. You hear me, squire? I am insulted by the notion. You
expectin’ a vicious outlaw to be your wife?”
“Please
stop.”
“Imagine
me,” she said, gesturing at her leather and fur, “wielding naught but apron and
ladle, tending the stew, pining for the moment you grace the door of our wizard
tower. Offends the senses, does it not?”
He
glared up at the laboratory ceiling.
“Imagine,”
Zaria continued, “we make some little children, some half-magic babes, and they
go around shitting fire, robbing the peasant folk, bringing a second Scorch
with teeth and wands. You want to loose beasts like
that upon the world?”
“I want
this conversation to be over.”
She
grinned.
“Stop
it,” he said.
“You’re
adorable.”
“I am
not adorable. I am a journeyman of magical transmutation, trained to
slay an ancient necromancer.”
“You’re
adorable, squire.”
He
cleared his throat, checking the corridor for threats.
“It’s a
fine moniker,” Zaria said, still grinning. “Might be I like it, in fact.”
“So,”
he said, loudly, “how about those evil sorcerers? By the gods, we should do
something about them. Right?”
“Oh,
aye. Hero of ages, we are.”
“We’ll
have songs committed to our name.”
“We
better get castles, at this rate.”
“Yes,”
he said. “Of course. Definitely.”
“Any
time you’re ready, then.”
“Yes,
yes, onwards.” He rolled his shoulders, limbering his arms. “Stay behind me,
Z.”
She
nodded and smiled.
They
emerged into the corridor, crouched and hugging the wall, following the
stampede of human footprints. It was impossible to tell how many thralls the
puppeteer had under their command—the dust was so
heavily trampled that it often looked similar to the mud of a village street.
Isaac
did some mental math.
They
had seen two bodies before the necropolis. From there, they had watched Soren
defeat a full assault from the puppeteer, which had consisted of at least a
dozen thralls. Whoever this person was, they had already lost a sizable
contingent of forces, and, yet, it still did not appear as if they were lacking
for fodder.
How had
they amassed such an army?
More
importantly, how did this sorcerer find thralls who were trained in magic?
They
must have come from somewhere within the Diet of Nine. The supranational
organization held a monopoly on all elemental magic, at least within the nine
kingdoms of the region. With a vast desert restricting travel on one side, and
a stormy ocean on the other, they effectively had total control of the
discipline. There was little other source for such a wealth of magically
inclined flesh.
Were
these thralls apprentices and journeymen, like Isaac himself? Students of
transmutation who had been twisted and enslaved by a rogue sorcerer? None of
them had been older than Isaac, and that suggested they had come directly from
a college, while they were still in the midst of their studies.
But
where?
From
which region of the Diet?
More
importantly, who would even have access to these students?
Isaac led
the way deeper into the government laboratories, tracking the footprints like a
hunter, stalking past empty checkpoints and libraries of rotted books.
Of
course, he might not need to worry. The vulnerability of every puppeteer was
their own singular flesh. They were incredibly powerful, becoming far more
capable of withstanding the inherent attrition of magical combat, but, in the
end, they were still just a person. People can die very easily. Once the caster
was neutralized, the parasite sigils would lose their power, and the thralls
would be freed of control.
Possibly.
Hopefully.
Since
he was focusing on it, Isaac began to notice something strange happening to the
dust in this region. It was extremely fine, almost to the point of being
invisible, and it seemed to glint faintly in the cartilage light, like it was
made of a precious metal. In some places, it was beginning to clump along the
walls, mingling with the osseous fibers already protruding from the stone. It
was filling the gaps in the masonry, like mortar between a crack. If he
squinted, he could’ve sworn the dust was moving, wriggling and breathing like
moss. It almost—
“Isaac,”
Zaria whispered.
He
looked.
The
stampede of footprints curved off suddenly into an adjacent room. It seemed to
be a very abrupt detour. All the thralls had followed.
Right
now, the door was closed. He heard no sound. Isaac gestured, and they stacked
up on opposite sides of the frame. Zaria pressed an ear to the wall, listening.
She shook her head. Even still, she began to extend her polearm, ready to stop
a charge with the length of the weapon. Isaac balled a tangle of flame into one
hand, grabbing the finger-shaped handle with the other.
He
looked to her. She nodded.
He
opened the door and rushed inside.
A
council chamber greeted him. In the middle of the stretching room, there was an
open circle of knuckled stone, capped with a dust-covered husk of a lectern.
Several fetid skeletons surrounded the standing desk, all of which were
displayed like a college lesson. Isaac assumed it was a research presentation.
As he made his way further into the room, he saw the faint residue of
resurrection on the bones, as well as desks and chairs surrounding the stage,
arrayed in rows like pews in a church.
The
desks were made of real bone, woven together like a basket.
Isaac
grimaced.
“Clear,”
Zaria said.
Towards
the back of the council chamber, there was an open square of darkness. It took