The Empress of Beasts, page 25
part #13 of The Wandering Inn Series
“Hm. And Oom?”
Az’kerash’s thoughts made his eyes flicker. Bea’s face twisted.
“Ah. Of course. That is all.”
She hesitated, and then left. The Necromancer turned his head back ahead of him. He frowned, and his mind began reorganizing. Remember that Oom was dead. It wasn’t a priority fact for him. Now…
“Mister Veldamnt! Dead gods, we haven’t seen you in months, sir! Come in, step forwards—please allow us a small check of your items. [Detect Magic], as usual. ”
“Sir Salin. Always a pleasure. Please step this way. Would you care for refreshments?”
“Hexilt? Allow me to check my list of names, sir. One moment…aha. Will you be wishing to visit the slave auctions today or view our latest line of artifacts?”
A scrying mirror hovered in front of Az’kerash along with another mirror and an orb. He’d selected them at whim; he could have done three orbs, or three mirrors, or any number of the artifacts he needed.
In each, the figures, a Human man, overweight, wearing a smile as he clapped hands with a fellow [Merchant], a Drake dressed in the latest fashion, and a Naga slithering down a white marble floor, trailing a bit of sand from outside, were all moving. Conversing. Az’kerash watched the Human drinking an offered shot of liquid choose a proper response based on the feedback the man’s taste buds gave him.
“Blight me, but what a taste! Plum and alcohol—not my style!”
He began coughing, and the other [Merchant] swatted him on the back. Sir Salin, the Drake, stepped into a booth and rattled off a list of drinks and appetizers as he put a monocle on one eye. The Naga—
And here Az’kerash stopped. He focused on the Naga’s perspective via the orb, saw through the Naga’s eyes as he passed by a row of people on auction. The route he was being taken through the auction house—no, wait, she—the Naga was female—had passed by the auctions, despite her declining the offer to see the auctions.
In that moment, Az’kerash processed on a few levels. He was moving the other two, the Human and Drake he was possessing, keeping them breathing, affecting normal mannerisms and holding a conversation, as well as moving the Naga. He was noting the way the [Auctioneer] had taken him by the display to tempt him—the Naga—on purpose. And the final thought he had was—
“Disgusting.”
The Naga said nothing, merely slithered by the slaves with such blatant disinterest that the [Auctioneer] kept moving straight to the artifacts and producing a small catalogue for the Naga to browse. In his chambers, however, Az’kerash spared an emotion and an expression for what he saw.
Perhaps it seemed hypocritical, or it would have if anyone was in a position to judge the Necromancer. But Az’kerash himself only lingered on the thought for a moment. But he was sinking back into the world, and his posture was changing. He ceased to become a statue of a man. He leaned forwards, his posture still straight.
He wore robes blacker than midnight, and his skin was paler than the whitest of paper, bare of color for lack of sunlight. His hair was white, his features precise. But his eyes were black. And white pupils stared out at the world of the living. For all that, he was now flicking his eyes to each orb while ‘seeing’ on multiple levels.
“Artifacts. Three months. What have I missed?”
The Necromancer put the inquiry through in three different voices. He listened.
“…oh, the finest of vintages, snapped up I’m afraid. I think it was someone from Kaliv. Had that accent—a gift for their [Queen]. A damn shame—”
“Of note, Sir Salin? I can only think of a fine set of gemstones, all perfectly cut, palm-sized. As well, perhaps, a very contested Potion of Youthfulness. We were unable to test the full nature of the enchantment, but it was certified by none other than Xif of Pallass as being authentic, and it sold for about eighteen point four—”
Thousand, obviously. Az’kerash made the Naga sit up. She leaned forwards, and the Human [Auctioneer] shivered as he tried not to regard her serpentine beauty.
“Naq-Alrama steel, yes, Honored Hexilt. An entire ingot of it, sold at fierce bidding. But, I think, the cost was lowered due to the fact that it was unshaped.”
The Necromancer stared as the Naga inquired as to its whereabouts. The [Auctioneer] was hesitant, but this was a Chandrarian Bazaar, and she was wealthy. And beautiful. And it was only a name.
“Roshal, Honored Hexilt. I cannot say who, but the buyer was represented by one of theirs.”
“Ah.”
Az’kerash sighed. The Naga kept speaking, and he piloted her onwards, devoting some thoughts to her ongoing gossip, but he sat back.
“Roshal. Too difficult.”
Anyone but them, and he would have…the Necromancer frowned, and he had another emotion: regret. Bitterness.
“Naq-Alrama steel. How useful. Unforged? It must mean the smith of the Tannousin tribe is dead. If the art passes from this world, only the Dwarves…no. Perhaps they’ve forgotten too. Fascinating.”
His eyes flicked to the left. Now he was investigating the artifacts on sale with all three puppets. Weapons flashed before his eyes, potions, fine wines, artwork—from three perspectives at once, all accompanied by the blather of each seller. It would have overwhelmed, but Az’kerash was used to it. He filtered out what was unimportant, began casting spells.
“[Detect Magic]. [Eagle Eyes]. [Detect Magic]. Hm—forgery. Weaker enchantment. Poor wine? [Detect Lies]. No? [Beguiling Aroma]. [Mindhaze].”
The [Merchant] reached out and clasped another [Trader]’s hand. The female [Trader], who had been sharp as she’d presented her wares, suddenly relaxed, smiling. Then caught herself, suspected a Skill. Az’kerash smiled.
“I couldn’t spare, oh, eight hundred gold pieces for it. But seven-twenty?”
“Sir—under nine hundred gold pieces for a vintage this fine? I remind you, this comes from Chandrarian vineyards, a perfect blend from—”
Haggling took a bit more attention, so Az’kerash lingered on that deal while the Drake took a refreshing drink of wine, much to the delight of those who expected him to become intoxicated, and the Naga ate a rodent. Alive. He settled the deal for the vintage, made a mental note to turn it around for about double the profits.
This was what the Necromancer did for fun, more or less. After all, it was hard to beat a palate that had sampled some of the world’s finest wines and beverages, even if he, Az’kerash, seldom drank. Which reminded him. Az’kerash raised his voice in his quarters.
“Bea. Do you wish anything?”
He heard a sound like a squeak. A shuffle, guilty—Az’kerash sighed.
“Venitra. Kerash. All three of you may observe. Quietly. Stop moving.”
The three Chosen did. They stood as silently as, well, the undead. Venitra, a woman carved of bone, an imposing figure that would have daunted even a Minotaur. Her body was ivory, her features sublime. Her eyes green and glowing.
Kerash stood behind her, an undead Gnoll. Closer to a Draug, but perfectly preserved, statuesque as Gnolls went, wearing ancient armor. He who might have been king. Bea next to him. The Chosen watched, and Az’kerash spared another thought, this time tinged with amusement. Bea must have ran to find them to announce he had left his work room. They were forbidden from interfering with him except in times of emergency when he was laboring over a new creation, but his private study? He had allowed them to watch. It amused him.
Where was Ij—
And then Az’kerash saw a magnificent scroll. Unopened, the latest bit of treasure from…he sighed, spoke aloud for the benefit of his audience.
“Tyfilt Dungeon. Hardly worth the effort. That era of spellcasters were largely inferior. However—”
The Drake began auctioning for the scroll, snatched from a Lizardfolk dungeon in Baleros that had made its way to Zeres’ markets by chance. Az’kerash watched as other Drakes began raising their claws, or bits of wood in the auction house.
“Tiresome. Kerash, take note.”
“Yes master?”
The voice was eager, a growl that mimicked that of Kerash the Gnoll Chieftain in life. But it was a different personality who wore his body. Az’kerash waved a hand to the mirror reflecting the Drake auction.
“Note the way the auction house is run compared to the individual goods on display in Terandria’s gathering, or the bazaar in Chandrar. Terandrian [Merchants] conduct their trading and exchange of goods in private; they prefer to sell to their clients on their own terms, establishing relationships. On the other hand, Chandrar does allow for auctions, but employs a more private relationship, where an item has a set amount of time to be outbid without knowing who you may be bidding against, if any. And a client may discreetly buy the item outright if they so desire. Privacy is emphasized in Chandrar, relationships in Terandria. But Izril?”
He shook his head.
“Spectacle. Drakes wish to be seen to outbid their competition. The display of wealth is as valuable as the acquisition, and the auction house will reap the largest monetary gain through the public bidding system. Spectacle and greed.”
Az’kerash’s tone was crisp, informative. Lecturing, even, with a dry, somewhat cynical tone. But mostly, sharply academic. And he paused, waiting for a response. Kerash was the center of jealousy from Venitra and Bea, as he solemnly delivered his reply.
“It is so, master.”
The Necromancer paused. Kerash smiled superiorly at Bea and Venitra and settled back. He was oblivious to Az’kerash’ true emotions. And indeed, Az’kerash himself didn’t linger on them much, except for a…almost subconscious desire for the reply to have been something other than blind obsequiousness. Perhaps, a challenge to that statement, or an in-depth reply that hinted at the listener’s own understanding of the cultural-economic realities that shaped commerce among different species.
But he didn’t expect it from his Chosen. They were his children. And like children…Az’kerash sighed. He’d won the bidding, and his Drake was smiling smugly as he accepted the scroll. His Chosen were smiling as well, luxuriating in the victory. Az’kerash’s face didn’t move. He was rich enough to win almost any auction he’d cared to, and no one had decided to outbid what he had judged the scroll to be worth.
Time passed by. It wasn’t a simple process, extricating the puppets he was controlling. They had to socialize, make goodbyes, even make mistakes, like his Human [Merchant] ogling another woman, or the Drake getting into a minor tiff over the carriages that would speed him back to his estate.
The Naga had no trouble, but it just took a while. They all had to go to their estates, homes carefully guarded by people who seemed fairly real. Bowing servants—some of them who were actually employed and actually alive—and maneuvering his puppets into a place where they could safely put their acquisitions in a bag of holding. Then they would need transport, sometimes by Courier, other times by covert action. An undead skeleton could run forever, even if they were slower than a Courier, but they needed to take the right path…
“The mental upkeep on Hexilt is tiresome. She may need to incur an accident in the near future. Or find a pressing reason to voyage to Izril or Terandria. Chandrar is simply too far to maintain the spell and her mannerisms constantly. Baleros and Rhir likewise.”
Az’kerash sighed as he put the three puppets on mental autopilot. It was a testament to his abilities that he could actually keep his undead puppets behaving like, well, people while he did everything else. But it did occupy a portion of his thoughts and he had limits.
Still…Az’kerash now had more mental faculties available and he spared a thought for the Hexilt issue. He tapped his fingers together, came to a decision in a split second.
“No, an accident, I think. A…jealous lover. Who will ruin her face. Seclusion—noticeable deterioration over time. Suicide in six years.”
Done! Another little annoyance crossed off the list. Az’kerash made a mental note in his head to see it done next time he actively dealt with Hexilt.
“The sooner the better. Replicating all of her biology is difficult. As is beauty. Especially when she is naturally propositioned often. I do not care for the complexities of the task.”
He heard a shift from behind him. Az’kerash turned his head and saw Bea making a disgusted face along with Kerash. Venitra just looked confused and was bending her head to whisper. Az’kerash stared at Bea and Kerash. How had they learned what sex was? Books, perhaps. Or when he sent them out. It would be Bea who had learned of it; she had been designed for curiosity.
“Bea.”
“Yes, master?”
“Where did you learn of intercourse?”
The plague zombie hesitated. She shuffled her feet.
“Um…I saw some Drakes doing it. When I was in a village.”
“I see. It is a natural behavior. You do not need to emulate it of course, but it does not disgust the living. In fact, it is a natural reaction to beauty. If you are propositioned for it while undercover, do not immediately refuse.”
“Yes, master. But it looks pointless.”
It probably would, to the undead. They were consummate actors, able to play their role among the living when he sent them out. But they were children. Az’kerash only sighed.
Puppets. He had a number of them. Not, as one might suspect, legions. Because each one had to be managed. And Az’kerash was one person. The Necromancer, yes. But controlling hundreds, or even a hundred was far beyond him. It would be simpler if the puppets were themselves thinking beings with limited will. But that either meant creating a Revenant, not an ideal solution, or doing the impossible.
Still. Az’kerash eyed his Chosen.
“Perhaps it is time to send one of you out to fulfill a role in a society once more.”
The Chosen straightened. This was a familiar assignment. Each one of them waited. The Necromancer stood. Now more memories flickered through his mind. He frowned.
“Venitra. You will not be sent. Your ability to deceive and control yourself is lacking. You are still in disgrace.”
The bone woman shrank, the glow in her eyes dimming. Bea and Kerash smiled. Az’kerash looked at them.
“Kerash, perhaps. I may send you out to play the part of a Gnoll wanderer. The Meeting of Tribes will occur this year; I may have to sway their conclusion. Bea…”
He paused. She looked up hopefully.
“…No. You kill too easily at a touch.”
She looked visibly upset.
“I am sorry, master!”
This time her reaction provoked a response. Az’kerash looked at her. And he smiled. The smile wiped away Bea’s grief in a moment.
“You were made to do so, Bea. Your flaw is an asset.”
“Yes, master! I will remember it!”
Joy from her, envy from the other two. They were so simple. Az’kerash was fond for a moment, and then the emotion flickered away. His children. He looked around. Oom was dead, he knew that now. A pity. Bitterly, Az’kerash reflected on Zel Shivertail’s demise. It had exposed errors in his Chosen. But he had not had the…inclination to replace their numbers. And Ijvani?”
A memory surfaced. Ah, yes. Not enough Scrolls of Great Teleport. Az’kerash sighed. He had bought all of his scrolls at great cost, even given his wealth. And Ijvani was now heading back on foot. That was what his memory told him and the preoccupied Necromancer didn’t see fit to question it.
He glanced back into the scrying orb. His Drake puppet was opening the scroll. Az’kerash idly watched it open. He read the magical runes as the Drake looked at them. The Necromancer frowned.
“Hm. This scroll is one of [Searing Light]? No, perhaps—ah—”
The Chosen watched him turn. The Drake puppet dropped the scroll, dove. Too late. The scroll exploded. And the scrying orb went dark. Breathless, Kerash, Bea, and Venitra stared at Az’kerash. The Necromancer sighed.
“A trap scroll.”
“Master?”
Venitra dared to call out, afraid, perhaps of Az’kerash’s wrath, or his failure. The Necromancer paused.
“A minor setback. The Drake assured me the scroll had been tested. Well, it will require work to set up another [Merchant], but the prices of unknown scrolls will plummet in the interim. A simple error to correct. And perhaps the spell eradicated Salin’s neighbors. That would be quite acceptable.”
He waved the scrying mirrors away. The Chosen relaxed, seeing the amusement that flickered across Az’kerash’s face. But like the other emotions, he didn’t linger on them. They watched as their master dismissed the issue. Their world stabilized, and they smiled, gleeful in the accident that still worked to their master’s benefit.
Az’kerash settled back down in his chair. What else? Well, besides sending another puppet to replace Salin and arranging the scandalous and disastrous affair with Hexilt, he had a few other events to take care of. He consulted another puppet.
Information this time.
——
Fierre the Vampire looked up at the code-knock on her door. She paused, and then got up warily to answer it. The door took twice as long to open; she wasn’t used to the new locks or the new office she was in, for that matter. Her old workplace was gone; being attacked by a hail of enchanted needles tended to put people off working with you.
But her new place was pretty good. Pretty good. The door was twice as thick, and it was enchanted. Not only that; Fierre was fairly rich, and she owned this room now. All thanks to her payout from the Order of Seasons. All Fierre needed now was for Ryoka to finally return and she’d be golden. Literally.
But work was work. When the door slid open, the nondescript man walked in and nodded to her. She recognized him and relaxed.
“Information?”
“Latest updates. World events. Three months. Give me what you have. Oh, also—best Runners in the region?”
Fierre hurried over to the desk. The man had a no-nonsense tone and he was straight to the point. She liked that. He paid for information every few months; she suspected he worked for one of the local nobility or a [Merchant] or someone with similar amounts of wealth. He probably rotated [Brokers], but it was free money for information she kept up to date on.
