Chapter Eight #2
“Sikras made me practice every day, even when I was beyond embarrassed at my inability. His terrible dancing made me feel better about my own inadequacy. I can still hear him goading me. ‘Come on, Benjamin, I can’t dance without music,’” he said in his best Catseye impression.
“He made me better. Much better. I hope one day to return the favor.”
“I’m no expert,” Helspira said, “but I don’t think he can improve much.”
“No, not better at dancing, just ... better.” Ben’s ghostly voice assumed a hint of sorrow.
“He buried the pain of losing Imri, Vessik, and me somewhere deep. Somewhere I haven’t been able to reach yet.
I keep hoping he’ll find his way back from the dark, but”—Ben shook his head—“he’s been wandering in it so long, I’m afraid he’s grown more comfortable with the shadows. ”
Could Ben hear her teeth grinding? Helspira tried to relax the tension in her jaw.
Now was not the time to pity a man who she intended on betraying.
She had to stay the course, stick to the plan, get in close.
She had manipulated countless demons and beasts in Chthonia in the name of survival.
Manipulating a human would be easy by comparison.
“Ben, we’ve formed something of an alliance, haven’t we? ”
“Are you hitting on me? Because if so, I’m all ears.”
“What? No, I—” Sunlight stabbed her eyes when they widened, and her head flinched back.
“I was just going to ask if, well, since our alliance was going so well, maybe you could help me get closer to Catseye, too. I could help you get him out of those shadows you spoke of. What might someone do to earn his trust? Or his favor?”
The atmosphere’s somberness shattered with the sound of Ben’s laugh. “His favor? Wait, wait, wait, hold on. Did Sikras catch your eye? The prosthetic one or the real one? It’s got to be the prosthetic. You can’t see out of it, can you? There’s no enchantments on it or—”
“Ben!” The heat of a thousand suns burned Helspira’s cheeks. “Keep your voice down, please. I only meant to say that since we’re traveling together and everything—”
“Sikras? Really?”
“I’m just trying to—”
Ben stopped strumming to double over in laughter, hands on kneecaps, lute hanging from its strap. “I can’t believe my nonexistent ears. Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy, but he’s not exactly a lady’s man.”
Crippled by embarrassment, Helspira threw up her hands. “Forget it. This was a stupid idea.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. It’s just”—Ben snickered again—“it’s Sikras for Dionus’s sake. I mean, if it were the version of him that existed prior to constantly sustaining my existence, I could see it, but the gray hair, the gaunt frame ... That’s what does it for you?”
“Ben, I swear to all of Siaphara’s gods—”
He quieted his laughter but still giggled like an immature child into his fleshless hand. “No deity of your own whose name you can utter in vain?”
Helspira frowned. “Deities either do not hear Chthonian prayers from all the way below Siaphara’s soil or they simply choose not to answer them.”
“Godless, huh? Jeez, maybe you and Sikras would get along better than I thought. You two can hold hands and complain about omnipotent beings together.”
Frazzled to lightheadedness, Helspira balled her hands into fists. “For the last time, I have no interest in—”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Ben raised his hands in surrender. “I just ... I miss giving Imri a hard time, and right now, you’re the only woman who can stand the sight of me. Except Canida. Boy, if that woman wasn’t doomed to death, she and I could’ve really had something.”
Rage bowed out to sympathy, and the tightness in Helspira’s shoulders eased. “I’m sorry to hear about your sister. I lost my siblings in Chthonia too, but I was so young when they died. I didn’t grow to know them the way you knew Imri.”
Ben shrugged. “I’m sure it still stung just as bad. What were your siblings like?”
“I don’t remember much. Just that they were tall.” Helspira freed a short laugh. “I was the runt of the litter.”
“Litter?”
The confusion in his tone made her wince. “Sorry. I’m not sure what the human phrase is when multiple children are born to the same mother.”
“No, that’s fine, I like litter. In fact, the next mother I see is getting a compliment on her litter of children.”
Helspira smiled. “And Imri? What was she like?”
“Oh, indescribable. The Red Sentinels adored her, but it’s hard not to like a woman who channels her goddess’s powers into healing one’s injuries, yeah?
She was an amazing person and an even better sister.
Easy to love. I wager that’s one of the reasons Sikras has such a hard time letting her go.
Given their clashing religious beliefs, they both knew they weren’t destined for forever, but still .
..” Ben sighed. “There’s no right move for widowers, really.
If you move on, you’re the villain, and if you don’t, you’re the victim. I never envied his position.”
Oh, good, the pity was back. Helspira bit the inside of her cheek, wishing for once that her callous demonic impulses would surface to keep her on course.
“At least he finally responded to Saelihn’s summonses,” Ben continued. “This’ll be good for us. For him. All those years with only me for company left him a little ... aberrant.”
Helspira arched a brow as Catseye danced around a very unamused Red Sentinel. “He hides it well. Though, based on the murderous glare that sentinel’s wearing, Catseye may be in actual danger if he keeps that up.”
Ben waved a dismissive hand. “They won’t hurt him no matter how much he annoys them. Most of these soldiers know what he’s capable of. Even in his current state, I’d bet my life they’re too scared to try anything.”
“No more music?” Catseye’s inquiry rose above the trilling bugs and birds as he jogged toward Ben and Helspira, panting. “Thought for sure I’d get a reaction out of the ole banneret, but he’s taken to artfully ignoring me.”
“I’m sure he’s just focusing on the plan,” Helspira said to keep the peace. “On that subject, Catseye, have you given any thought to how we’ll face off with Vessik without you being ... um ...”
“Useful in any meaningful way?”
“Your words,” she said, “not mine.”
Catseye paced the ground, picking at the golden band around his ring finger with his thumb. “Tough to say. I thought I knew his limits, but it seems dear Vessik is full of surprises. At the very least, we know the limits of the people he has under his command.”
Helspira raised her chin. “Care to elaborate?”
“You saw who we killed in Vinepool. Beggars. Farmers. The impoverished. The destitute. Vessik didn’t give them explosives as a show of power; he gave them explosives because they can’t swing a sword, and random shrapnel has a better chance of killing than a malnourished man with a rusty blade.
The R.S. will make short work of Vessik’s men, living or dead. ”
“They have been for years,” Helspira said.
“Killing them isn’t the issue, keeping them dead is, and while his makeshift soldiers are no problem for a sentinel, they’re still deadly to your average Nyllmas citizen.
We shouldn’t underestimate him, especially considering his unnatural ability to cast potent spells without repercussion. ”
“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Catseye grimaced, absently scratching at his cheek.
“One time, during our apprenticeship, Vessik didn’t use a hard ‘a’ on the verbal component of a spell, and instead of creating minor illusions, he gave our mentor minor contusions.
Not deadly in any way, of course. Come to think of it, the magical backlash Vessik suffered from performing the spell was worse than the bruises our mentor sustained.
In any case, Vessik felt so badly about it, he wrote a ten-page letter of apology. ”
Helspira crossed her arms. “Well, he’s not issuing any apology letters these days.”
“Right,” Catseye mumbled, looking away. “Regardless of his soldiers’ lack of skill, an army is still an army.
Assuming he is in Stow’s Peak, and he did turn the village, we’ll still have to wade through undead to reach him.
Red Sentinel scarves aren’t exactly prime camouflage either.
He’d have plenty of time to pick us out in a crowd, and if he can cast something as powerful as a mass mental-manipulation spell, it’s likely he has other powerful incantations in his arsenal. ”
Struck by an epiphany, Helspira straightened. “Catseye, can you cast a mental-manipulation spell on someone who doesn’t have a brain to manipulate?”
“Well”—his head flinched back, and his eyebrows pulled together—“no, I suppose not.”
“And,” she continued, “even though Ben is sentient, he doesn’t technically have a brain.”
Ben’s hands slid to his hips. “I feel like I should be offended, but I’m far too intrigued by where you’re going with this.”
Excitement spread through her chest, and she snapped her fingers, pointing. “You also said no one could differentiate one skeleton from another in battle, didn’t you?”
Skepticism consumed Catseye’s narrow-eyed gaze. “I’m not sure I like where this is heading.”
Undeterred, Helspira sprang up and down on her feet, fists clenched in exhilaration. “If Vessik is hiding in Stow’s Peak, Ben could easily infiltrate the village, pose as one of his undead, and get close enough to end him without fear of being manipulated.”
“Well, damn.” Ben tapped his chin, nodding. “That’s not a bad idea.”
Catseye rounded on Ben, jaw agape. “You can’t be serious. You’d face Vessik? Alone?”
Ben shrugged. “I’m sure you and the R.S. would be on standby if anything went wrong.”
“And how would we know if anything went wrong, Benjamin? Telepathy? Or shall we wait for the ear-piercing sound of your screams?”
In the face of Catseye’s frazzled sarcasm, Ben placed his hands on the necromancer’s shoulders. “Once a Red Sentinel, always a Red Sentinel. I took an oath to protect Nyllmas with my life.”