Chapter Four
Sikras
ONLY A SLIVER OF THE setting sun’s glow streaked the floor, but Benjamin shoved Sikras into the dark room without hesitation.
“Have a seat,” Ben said, waiting all of three milliseconds before he forced Sikras into compliance by pushing him onto the plush padding of a nearby chair.
“Let the weight of your worries sink into the abyss of this velvety cushion.”
“Worries? What worries? I’m as worry free as I’ve ever been.
” Sikras lay the scythe across his lap and rubbed his temples to stave off the pounding headache he had earned as a result of his last spell’s recoil.
Fortunately, the heavy curtains barring the sunset’s light aided his recovery by keeping the room dim.
“You did the thing. The creepy thing with the shadows and the blades.” Apparently oblivious to their purpose, Benjamin threw open the shades, bathing the room in a golden-yellow haze.
“Gives me the heebie-jeebies when you do that. Plus, it takes a lot out of you. You know I don’t like seeing you suffer. ”
“Then, the last four years must’ve been magical for you.”
“Said the man who’s as worry free as he’s ever been,” Benjamin mocked in his best Sikras voice. To his credit, it was pretty spot on.
Smothering his face with his hands, Sikras groaned into his palms, head collapsing into the chair’s tall back. “I’m sorry, Benjamin. I’m not my best self in these walls. Too many memories.”
“I don’t doubt it. Better these walls than a cell in a Nyllmas dungeon though, yes?”
Sikras’s hands plopped into his lap. “Are you saying you want to yield to Saelihn’s threat?”
“Are you saying you don’t?” In utter disregard of the horrendously loud sound it made, Benjamin dragged a second chair across the floor and positioned it beside Sikras.
“Saelihn doesn’t pull punches. She meant what she said.
You have eight lives left. Do you really want to spend them all rotting in a dungeon?
And for tax evasion, no less? If you’re going to die in a cell, at least let it be for something a tad more sensational than that. ”
“As if one of her cells could hold me.”
“Sikras”—Benjamin’s voice came out flat, unimpressed—“you barely summoned your shadow blades, and you look like you’re about to throw up.”
Still nauseated, Sikras leaned harder into the chair, placing a cold hand on his forehead for relief. “On a scale of one to ten, how much respect for me would you lose if I did throw up? Hypothetically?”
Benjamin hunched over, elbows on femurs. “Can we not do the whole reluctant hero thing? This business with Vessik ... It’s long overdue. You know that.”
The glowing thread in Benjamin’s ribcage captured Sikras’s focus.
He stared at it, emotionless, until a fragment of turmoil tightened his jaw.
He saw it again and again, the mental image of Rowan shooting out Ben’s ‘heart,’ watching the life glow fade from the thread, the revulsion of the Cat’s Eye’s full power returning to his body.
After four long years, that version of him felt like a stranger—a stranger whose presence promised the absence of Benjamin’s.
“You know there’s only one way for me to effectively aid Saelihn,” he whispered. “Don’t make me do it. Please.”
“I’m not asking you to let me go. I mean, sure, it’ll be a lot harder without the full force of the Cat’s Eye, and yes, Vessik decimated our asses twice before, and, yeah, okay, his army has probably only gotten larger and more formidable over the years—”
“Is this your first inspirational speech?”
“Second if you count the one I gave at your wedding.”
Sikras forced a small smile. “I won’t lie to you, my friend, it needs some work.”
“Don’t we all?” A bony hand settled on Sikras’s shoulder. “Look, this doesn’t need to be some clean sweep like it’s always been in battles past. I know Saelihn is asking for Catseye to help, but who says Sikras Nikabod can’t be just as useful?”
Sikras wrinkled his nose. “I’m sorry, are you implying that I, an arthritic human in his midthirties, is just as useful as the literal spirit of Enos with its not-quite-but-may-as-well-be-limitless power?”
Benjamin shrugged. “You’re a great Rack and Ruins player. Strategy has to count for something. All I’m saying is we don’t have to win. But we must try. Again. Third time’s the charm, right?”
Silence filled the room like an uninvited guest. Surrounded by the oppressive weight of quiet, Sikras writhed.
He knew he’d relent, of course. How could he think, even for one moment, that he wouldn’t concede to his brother-in-law’s wishes?
But maybe, maybe it didn’t have to be just for Ben.
Maybe it could be for Vessik too. The Vessik he remembered.
The kind Vessik. The one who nurtured the only good characteristics that Sikras possessed.
Granted, killing Vessik seemed to be the opposite of honoring him, but in some twisted way, it would be like preserving the good version.
The right version. “All right, Benjamin. If it’s what you desire, we’ll aid Saelihn in the battle against Vessik. ”
Before Benjamin could celebrate, the bedroom door swung open with an unoiled squeal.
Helspira marched in, head high. She stopped before the two, a smile on her face and her hands on her hips.
“Gentlemen, you’ll be pleased to know Queen Saelihn has tasked me with convincing you to join the fight against Vessik.
I’ve prepared some very convincing arguments on why it’s in your best interest to—”
“We’ll do it.”
An intoxicated giraffe would’ve appeared more poised than Helspira did in that moment. She held up her index finger, jaw agape. “I—what?”
Sikras shrugged. “I said we’ll do it.”
“But ... My speech.”
“You know how I feel about speeches,” he mumbled, inspecting his cuticles. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure yours would’ve bested Benjamin’s by a landslide.”
Helspira frowned and rubbed the back of her neck. “Okay. Well, that’s ... Good? I guess.”
“Right, glad we got that sorted.” Digging the end of his scythe into the floor, Sikras helped himself up from the chair.
The clack of clapping bones filled the room, and Benjamin pointed at Helspira. “You and me, me and you, Nyllmas’s two biggest abominations working side by side to stop Vessik. Our alliance just got ten times more interesting.”
“Yes!” Helspira bounced on her feet, fists clenched in excitement, but her beaming smile soon faded. “Ben, I’m so sorry about what happened in the Grand Hall. I’m glad you’re okay.”
“No worries. Death has nothing on my dear brother-in-law.” Benjamin trapped Sikras in a headlock and dug his bony knuckles into his skull, an easy feat for a skeleton who towered over him by five inches.
While that did exactly zero favors for his pounding headache, Sikras didn’t put up a fight.
Instead, he lost himself to a rare onslaught of feelings that penetrated the barrier of detachment he had erected to spare his sanity.
He didn’t fault Benjamin for finding enthusiasm in Vessik’s assassination; if nothing, he understood it deeply.
He should’ve shared in it himself given the trauma of their last few encounters. And yet ...
For all the reasons Sikras should’ve hated Vessik Holm, he simply could not. Fortunately, hating a man was not a requirement for killing him.
After freeing Sikras from his grasp, Benjamin approached Helspira. “Does the R.S. have any useful information?”
“Vessik’s armies were last seen in the town of Nevendere,” Helspira said, “but so far, his attacks have been all over the place. Eboni was the latest village to suffer. The population is—was—so small that his undead legion took it in less than twenty-four hours. As soon as the undead handled the more dangerous aspects of infiltration, his living soldiers came in to accompany them. So far, we’ve only encountered his followers. We’ve yet to find Vessik himself.”
Sikras paced the room, cupping his chin. “Vessik influenced living soldiers to join his cause? I’m almost impressed. Try as he might to make friends, he always had a hard time connecting with people.”
Unspoken questions shimmered in Helspira’s eyes. “I couldn’t help but overhear in the Grand Hall. Queen Saelihn didn’t expressly say, but it sounds like you knew Vessik before all of this?”
“His undead won’t be useful for interrogation purposes,” Sikras said, casually glossing over her inquiry.
“Next time we face his followers, if you could secure one of his living soldiers, I may be able to access whatever information they have rattling around in their brain regarding our dear friend Vessik’s primary location. ”
Helspira nodded. “Consider it done. I’ll let Banneret Rowan know immediately, and we can—”
“Banneret Rowan? The man who tried to kill Benjamin? That’ll be a big no, thank you from me.”
“Well”—Helspira balked, face scrunching—“he’s abrasive, I’ll give you that, but he’s also effective and efficient.”
Relenting to his compulsion to grin, Sikras pointed an accusatory finger. “You can’t even say that without looking like you swallowed a rotten lemon. You don’t like him either.”
“Banneret Rowan is ...” Helspira shifted her weight, tugging at her red scarf, as if it chafed. “He’s not my favorite person, but he is my superior.”
“A superior asshole,” Sikras muttered.
A laugh erupted from her before she clamped a hand over her mouth and cleared her throat.
“Look, we can’t do this without him. Vessik’s armies were far easier to hold off last year.
Despite our efforts, their numbers remain consistent.
He re-raises any dead that we don’t dismember.
We need a powerful front if we want to end this quickly, and Banneret Rowan’s division is the best. I should know; I’m a part of it. ”
Sikras crossed his arms. “Rowan may command the best, but have you considered that I hate him? That if he were lit ablaze on the battlefield, I wouldn’t even waste my piss to put out the fire?”