The Empress of Beasts, page 28
part #13 of The Wandering Inn Series
“Crude. Even were it made correctly. The nobility of Terandria would not stand for it if they knew how simple it was. But if I were…”
He lapsed into thought. And Perril Chandler remembered a boy who might have loved the taste of this dish. He stared at the pizza, and then at the image of Pisces eating, stealing the last bit of pizza from Mrsha. He looked at the burnt, ill-made version in front of him. And he turned away.
His Chosen watched the Necromancer leave the kitchen. They stared at each other, full of wild surmises. They could guess their master’s will most times, at least in part, but this? They stared at the pizza and the single bite taken out of the slice. After a moment, Kerash reached for a piece.
Venitra beat him to it. She snatched up the pizza, took a huge bite. She chewed, and Bea and Kerash all took a bite of the rest of the pizza. After a moment, they swallowed. All of them stared at the deep dish pizza. Then at each other. Venitra tossed her pizza down. The undead woman scowled and spat the pizza out; she didn’t have a throat. She was solid bone. Kerash poked at his stomach experimentally. Bea shook her head.
“I don’t see the point. It’s pretty, though. Like the inside of a fresh body.”
——
The Necromancer didn’t know why he was still watching. Only that the young Pisces called to him. In a way. It had taken Az’kerash some time to make the pizza. And then, the Necromancer returned to his work room and absently continued working on his whale design. But the feed into the inn continued in his mind. And as time passed—so quickly for the [Necromancer], but so full of relevance for the living, he saw Pisces returning upstairs. The inn filling with guests, half of whom fell over. His team returning.
He had a team. People who trusted him. Az’kerash saw the half-Elf, the female [Warrior], and the Antinium joining Pisces. Lyonette had a sign warning everyone of the slippage. She could only wait for the floor to re-dirty itself; she wasn’t about to spread sawdust, which would defeat all the work they’d done. There were some benefits to the slippery floors.
“Whee! Go Mrsha!”
Drassi skidded across the floor, using some towels like skates. Mrsha slid past her on her stomach. The staff had cleared a path for her down the center of the inn when they’d moved the chairs back and the Gnoll was happily sliding across the floor. Some of the guests were trying it too, but they didn’t have the childish ability to surf on their stomachs like Mrsha.
Pisces was there too. Az’kerash had seen him return to his studies, trying to memorize an [Acid Orb] spell. And then return below as his team came back. Ceria was telling him about some scenario involving their team.
“Stan’s on board, and so is Alais’ team and a few others. I think they’re still sort of, you know, about us, but they want the pay. We’re going to go out on a preliminary expedition soon with them, so be polite, Pisces.”
“I shall be exceedingly polite to their fragile egos.”
The [Necromancer] sneered. He was having a dish of greens with a side of salmon. He paused as Mrsha slid by him on her back, giggling silently and waving her paws. Ceria laughed with delight and Yvlon smiled. Pisces just sniffed.
“Childish.”
The Gnoll cub looked up, slightly hurt, and Yvlon punched Pisces on the shoulder.
“Don’t spoil her fun. Is Erin back yet?”
“Not yet. Although I am amused to see her inn is the locus of her breed of chaos, even when she herself is not here.”
They all laughed at that. Az’kerash watched the inn fill, empty. The rat followed Pisces upstairs as night fell. Watching. Just watching. His friends bade him good night. The Antinium even stood in Pisces’ room, watching him demonstrate the new skeleton and dutifully applauded. The [Necromancer] smiled.
“Why am I continuing to observe?”
Az’kerash didn’t know. Guilt over his remarks to Pisces? Fascination? No—there wasn’t anything new here. Pisces’ designs were moderately innovative. The [Necromancer] wasn’t particularly high-level. Az’kerash could have attempted to spy on the King of Destruction.
So why…? Az’kerash kept watching as Pisces studied in his room, as the night deepened. He couldn’t place it. But there was something familiar in him. Something about the way Pisces stomped around the room insulting the author of the book for their convoluted explanations. Az’kerash almost caught himself nodding as he experimented with a sinew crossbow. Obviously, it worked. But who needed to build it into a body when you could buy…?
It was late into the night when Pisces closed his book. Az’kerash expected him to sleep, but the [Necromancer] tiptoed to the door and cautiously peeked outside. Az’kerash stopped his work, intrigued. Pisces had a furtive air about him as he checked the rat skeleton, the hallway, and then tiptoed downstairs. He nearly slipped on the stairs, but made it down into the common room. There he paused.
Az’kerash waited. He waited for Pisces to use the magic door, or perhaps steal from the kitchen. He might be a thief, or conducting some petty betrayal. It was a fact of this era. [Necromancers] were liminal people, outcasts, thieves, petty murderers—that was their role in society. And that was who they were, by and large. It was a stigma, an identity formed by his role. What they had painted him as, and who he had become. The Necromancer stifled the emotions. Waited.
“[Muffle].”
Pisces pointed at himself with a whisper. His feet were soundless as he padded across the floor, in his socks. Az’kerash nodded to himself, coldly unsurprised. Not disappointed; there was nothing to hope for. Subterfuge, perhaps. Meeting with a criminal of some kind? Or simply some perverse voyeurism, petty spying or—
Pisces stopped by the door. He paused, taking a few breaths. Az’kerash, turning back to his work, watched the [Necromancer] look around, inhale deeply one more time—
And then run across the floor. The Necromancer looked up. The undead rat he was controlling saw Pisces slide past him, arms outstretched for balance. The young man caught himself, and then turned. He kicked off the stage at the far end, slid back on one foot.
Az’kerash blinked. Pisces was grinning wildly, windmilling his arms for balance. He kicked off a table and slid! He spun as he went, laughing silently. And then as he reached a far wall, he went for it.
Pisces did a penguin-dive across the floor on his belly, arms outstretched, laughing. He spun as he went, ending up in a casual lounging posture as he bumped against the stage at the far wall. He was grinning, embarrassed, looking around, but no one was watching. He climbed on the stage, did a running jump and cannonballed onto the floor, spinning across it. He was laughing, as a white Gnoll sped past him on her side, staring at him—
The [Necromancer] twisted. He turned to stare at Mrsha and ran knee-first into a chair. Az’kerash couldn’t hear Pisces, [Muffled] as he was, but he heard the impact, and saw the young man curl up and silently shout in pain. Then Pisces was on his feet. He stared around and a little, furry head popped up across the room. Mrsha stared at Pisces. He stared back. Slowly, he raised one finger to his lips. Mrsha blinked at him.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
The faint sound made Pisces whirl. His face went dead white as he saw, on the staircase, a huddle of shapes. Ceria clapped her hands, grinning ear-to-ear. Yvlon was leaning against Ksmvr, laughing so hard she couldn’t stand upright. Only the [Muffle] spell on her kept her from making any sounds. Ksmvr was staring at Pisces, head cocked to one side.
Lyonette was giggling. Even Numbtongue looked amused. Mrsha slid past Pisces. An incredibly smug look was plastered upon her face.
“Looks like fun.”
That was all Ceria said. She took one look at Pisces’ face, and then burst into laughter. He turned bright red and vanished, literally. The [Invisibility] spell didn’t help, though; his audience had burst into guffaws.
“Come on, Pisces, it’s too late now!”
Yvlon howled with laughter when the [Muffle] spell was taken off her. She walked down the stairs, her face nearly purple from laughter. She looked around, and then snagged a bit of air trying to move past her. Pisces reappeared, too red-faced for words. But Ceria just laughed. She leapt down and did a slide across the floor.
“This is fun! I can see why you wanted to do it in private.”
She laughed. Ksmvr came down the stairs. He looked at Pisces and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I am very impressed at your mobility, Comrade Pisces. I shall do my best to emulate you.”
Then he got down and slid on his back across the floor, waving his arms in the air. Pisces tried to get away, but Yvlon, laughing, wouldn’t let him go. He was trying to justify himself, until Yvlon took a running start, tried to slide, and wiped out. She slid past Mrsha, and the Gnoll leapt on her back and surfed her across the room.
“Mrsha!”
Lyonette was beside herself. But she and Numbtongue were coming down, and then Seborn and Moore, who’d been roused by the ruckus. Soon, everyone was sliding back and forth. Pisces’ face never quite turned back to normal, but he was able to laugh, drink three mugs from behind the bar, and then join the others in races to see who could slide across the floor fastest.
The Necromancer saw it all. Az’kerash realized he was standing. Standing and staring at the image playing through the undead rat. He wasn’t working on the whale, or holding another conversation. Every thought, every fiber of his being, was fixed on the scene. He watched Pisces sliding back and forth, and then Moore tossing people across the now-cleared floor. And Az’kerash—
Laughed. It burst out of him. Laughter. Genuine, unprecedented. The Necromancer laughed, caught himself, stared at the image of a half-Giant trying to slide across the floor as half a dozen people pushed him.
And he laughed. The sound echoed through his castle. It was so foreign it made Kerash grab his sword. Venitra strode the hallways, searching for the intruder. She saw her master laughing in his quarters and froze. She had heard him chuckle, seen him smile wryly, or with cynical detachment.
But this? Az’kerash kept laughing. And then, after a minute, he stopped. But he was still feeling levity, even after the minute had passed. And he walked past Venitra, who had frozen.
Down into a wide ballroom. Long deserted, the tapestries faded away to dust. The [Necromancer] stopped there. And he hesitated, much as Pisces had done. But it called to him, that empty space. So he pointed.
“[Ice Floor].”
It spread across the cold stone in a moment, a thin sheet of water, frozen. The Necromancer put one foot on the ice. And he paused. But then he kicked off. And he slid across the ground that looked like glass.
Bea was watching. The plague zombie alone was there. Kerash was still searching the perimeter, convinced it was anyone but his master. Venitra was still standing where she was, trying to memorize, analyze the laughter, the look on her master’s face. But Bea peeked around a door and saw him.
Az’kerash slid across the floor, slowly turning, spinning, halting. It wasn’t an uncontrolled slide, like Pisces’ first attempt. He slid across the ice, pausing, adjusting his trajectory with careful movements. He had done this before. And as memory returned, he kicked off. He slid, no, he skated across the floor on one foot, turning, jumping, spinning. He didn’t have skates but it wasn’t elegance he strove for.
He had done this before. Bea saw it. The smooth glide, the way he caught himself from falling. The Necromancer slid across the floor a few times, but lacking skates, and unwilling to do the belly slide, there wasn’t much you could do. But he wasn’t going to stop with that.
The ice melted with a wave of one hand. And the water evaporated. Bea saw Az’kerash turn. And he waved a hand.
The dead rose. Skeletons, at first. Bone pouring forth, shaking into Human figures, slowly gathering. And then—an illusion. Bone took on the seeming of cloth. Flesh.
Humans stood in the ballroom. And they wore the dresses of old. Elegant clothing, the kind Bea had seen in images of Terandrian nobles. A woman she had killed with a single touch. Beautiful clothing. And the people were beautiful. Smoothed by memory. They stood for a moment.
And then there was light. Bea flinched, but it was another illusion. Az’kerash turned. The ballroom changed. Worn stone turned into smooth, colored tiles. Rags into smooth curtains. Sitting chairs, servants circulating with trays.
And the people began to move. Men and women walked towards each other. He with a bow, she a proffered hand. They paired off, moved in slow steps.
Now music. Bea heard a haunting strain, some string instrument playing slowly. A quiet brass. Picking up in speed. The song filled the hall. And Az’kerash walked among the dancers. They moved in perfect synchronization; that was the only unreal aspect of the illusion. But each of them knew him. A man with a crown and a full beard nodded to Az’kerash, gesturing, scarred cheek twisted, but by a smile. A woman with a circlet approached shyly, hand proffered. A [Knight] bowed, all dignity and straight back.
More. [Mages], in their robes. A haughty Drake accompanied by a trio of giant women—no, statues, each perfectly sculpted. A pair of Garuda holding staves. They stood to the side as the dancers moved to the rhythm of the song.
Az’kerash stood among them. Looking from face to face. And then, at the woman with the circlet. She was most realized of the others. Her face alive with beauty, a hint of laughter, some nerves. Bea touched her face. And she looked at the woman and realized they were the same.
The dancers swirled in front of Az’kerash for a moment. And then they parted. The music picked up. It wasn’t quiet now, but moving. A call to the dance. Not fast, but with deliberate tempo. And he walked from among them.
The Necromancer walked forwards. And Bea saw his face was colorful. Pale in skin, but alive. And his eyes—she felt a surge of apprehension. They were a pale violet, alive, not the dark pits she knew. Perril Chandler, Archmage Chandler, turned his head. And he held out a hand, accepting the woman, the other Bea’s hand.
They stepped into the center of the room. And the dancers slowly began to revolve around them. Az’kerash moved slowly at first, his legs and body moving to a tempo he had all but forgotten. But one he had known. And he turned, staring at the woman. Bea had seen the look on his face a thousand times. She knew it as fondness, amusement, affection. But this was deeper. A thousand times.
It broke her heart. And Bea hadn’t known she had a heart that could break. She whispered one word.
“Master?”
He never heard her. On, Az’kerash danced, and the faces turned to him. Each one different. [Kings], nobility, [Mages]. [Knights] and men and women dressed with less elegance than their counterparts. All smiling. Laughing.
Until the song began to fade. Until, Perril Chandler, turning, saw a flash of contempt across one face. It stood out. A frown, across the crowned [King]’s face. A flash of fear across the women he held.
A discordant note pieced through the music. It halted abruptly. Perril Chandler’s smooth steps faltered. He stopped. The woman he held stared up at him. And her eyes were suddenly distant.
He looked around. The other dancers had stopped. And now, some wore masks. They hid, whispering behind them to each other. Others pointed. Some turned away. One by one, their faces turned accusatory.
Archmage Chandler looked around. He wavered, halted, turning. But the two Garuda had lowered their staffs, bowed their heads. Others he looked for were gone. The Drake and the three carved women were gone. Only one of them remained, and her carved face watched with bitter anguish.
The [Knight] approached Az’kerash. Spat on the floor, drew his sword and pointed it at Az’kerash. A man shouted something. But it was a silent scene.
Alone, the [Necromancer] stood. Amid a sea of faces. Lost figures. They turned on him, then. Full of wrath. Leapt, drawing blades, attacking from behind. He stood there. And as they moved towards him, they turned to dust.
The [King] was first. A look of mortal terror flashed across his face and he raised his hands. He turned to dust, the illusion vanishing, the skeleton disintegrating. The [Knight] was next, swinging his sword. One by one, the people closest to the [Necromancer] turned to dust. Then the others began to flee. They tried to run, not attack. But it was too late. They slowly fell to pieces, turning to pale powder on the floor.
The woman was one of the last. The man knelt over her, holding her for a long time. She looked up at him. And he reached for her. But she closed her eyes and vanished. He straightened, then. And his robes were black. His skin deathly pale. His black eyes searched the room. Bea saw Az’kerash look around.
He was no longer smiling. No longer laughing. The Necromancer stood amid the dust, his head bowed. He did not weep. His shoulders did not shake. He just looked around. And time came back like the crashing waves.
Az’kerash’s face was pained as Bea hesitantly approached. Pained, and then it smoothed as he turned to her. The emotion in his eyes pierced her, holding her tongue, keeping her speechless. But for a second. It faded. Disappearing into the void, the white void of his eyes.
“Master?”
A lone voice. The thing that had once been a man turned. And memory turned into reality. Bea stood in front of him, her face decayed. Her hair not flowing and full, but gone in parts. He smiled at her, appreciating the beauty he saw.
But Bea remembered the woman. And she was afraid. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t have words to describe what she had felt. She only knew what—Bea knew. And Bea was young. So she approached her master, timidly. She looked up at him.
“Master. I am sorry I failed you. I am sorry. But I miss Oom.”
It was a child’s statement. Self-absorbed. Guiltily, without knowing why. Az’kerash looked at her. And he held her, embraced her.
“Bea. My lovely child. You have not failed me.”
“I haven’t?”
“No. It is I who fail you. My craft is not yet enough. The strength I gave you was not sufficient to best Zel Shivertail. My Chosen, my children, are still children.”
The words filled Bea with despair. She clung to her master, and she could not cry.
