The Empress of Beasts, page 49
part #13 of The Wandering Inn Series
“I can see why.”
The Quarass nodded.
“They are not a Shield Kingdom. Germina is older. Nevertheless, Khelt is powerful, as you can see. Fetohep is latest of a line of their rulers. He is six hundred years old.”
“Six hundred—”
The Quarass waved away the number as Trey’s eyes bulged.
“He is younger than me. I warn you, make no insult to his appearance. Nor to Khelt.”
“Do you think I will?”
Trey was deeply worried. The Quarass considered the question.
“By your ignorance, you may, but ignorance is different from disrespect. Fetohep will accept ignorance. But he will take offense should you malign his kingdom or people in any way. As for formalities—I will make excuses for you. Treat Fetohep with the utmost respect. You may address him as ‘King Fetohep’, or his ‘Eternal Majesty’. Again, make no comment about his appearance. Do you know how to bow?”
“Um—”
“Stand up.”
Trey did, gingerly, in the carriage. The Quarass pursued her lips.
“Show me your bow.”
He tried, but the carriage was cramped and bumpy. The Quarass still made him do it and shook her head when she saw his posture. Orthenon had begun teaching Trey and Teres how to behave properly, but Flos had insisted they had more important things to do.
“Bow to this height. Move your feet so. Back leg there. Front leg—there. Hand—”
She was exacting, but a good teacher. Another facet of her memories, Trey guessed. He had memorized the bow to her satisfaction and a few other diplomatic subtleties by the time the carriage approached Khelt’s capital. The Quarass pursed her lips, but she sighed as the carriage slowed.
“You will not offend Fetohep unduly. Now, we approach the palace. Driver, slow. Open the windows of the carriage, Trey. See Khelt.”
He did. By now, the carriage had moved into Khelt and Trey—gasped.
The dusty landscape had gone. The arid climate that he had associated with Reim for so long suddenly turned into one of greenery. There were plants, trees blooming across Khelt’s land! A forest in the desert!
And that wasn’t all. Trey saw people along the road, staring at the carriage as it rolled through their home. They passed through a village—but what a village! The buildings were carved stone, painted without signs of wear or flaking, and paved streets, without a single stone missing! The people of Khelt were dressed in fine clothing—as fine as Flos’ own [Servants], and Trey was certain they were common folk.
They stared at the carriage, a bit uneasily, but mostly with curiosity. But that wasn’t what caught Trey’s eye.
It was the health of Khelt’s people. Not one looked emaciated, or sick. In fact, among the men and women and children as the carriage passed through the first town, Trey saw something he’d failed to notice since coming from earth:
Some of Khelt’s people were a bit pudgy. As in, they had excess fat. Trey had seen fat people of course since coming to this world, but they were a rarity; most people had little excess fat, and indeed, a life without the sugar of home had helped Trey lose ten pounds already. But Khelt?
It looked rich. The streets weren’t asphalt, and not all the windows were glass, but everything was so maintained and fresh. Nothing looked old or in need of repairs. The streets were fantastically maintained. Indeed, Khelt had roads, even extending outside of the capital!
And then Trey saw the farms. The carriage passed by a river and Trey saw a vast field, as large as any from his world. Plants were in full bloom—some wheat-type plant by the look of it, but more reddish. They were being harvested. And Trey felt a chill as he saw the thin, bony figures in the fields, wielding scythes. He leaned back from the window.
“Undead.”
They were tilling the fields. Skeletons, hundreds of them, carrying baskets, harvesting the crops. And they weren’t the only ones. Trey saw a skeletal horse pulling a plough, and then more skeletons, sowing the ground. Watering it. Working tirelessly. They didn’t even glance up as the carriage rolled on past.
The horses caught scent of the undead and became skittish. The driver tried to calm them, but his eyes were as wide as Trey’s. Both of them looked to the Quarass. She just shook her head.
“Move onwards.”
“They’re undead! The workers! Quarass—they’re—”
“Yes. I said Khelt was a necrocracy, did I not?”
She stared at him. Trey closed his mouth and gulped. Then he looked back at the fields. He was scared at first. But then, as the carriage kept moving and the horses grew used to the scent, he became fascinated.
The undead were so—mechanical! They moved tirelessly, their arms never slowing. They were efficient too—the fields were vast enough to trouble a combine tractor or whatever farmers used in Trey’s world, but there were enough undead to handle it! And there were fields upon fields! Not just undead sowing the crops either; Trey saw one group planting trees while another team felled a tree. They were quarrying stone, replacing broken stones in the road, harvesting—
“It’s so efficient. Why doesn’t everyone do this?”
The Quarass looked highly amused as Trey looked around. And intrigued; Trey saw that while his fear had faded, the Germinan driver was still shuddering each time a skeleton passed by the carriage. The Quarass replied calmly, staring at a team of skeletons marching down the road.
“Because the undead crave death. Khelt holds theirs by their [King]; but other undead may well seize control of them. [Necromancers] have implemented systems such as these before. But Khelt is one of the few places where such practices endure. People fear death magic, sometimes rightly. Accidents can turn into catastrophe if the undead are loosed. Many still remember the Necromancer, Az’kerash. He tried to make the same on his land in Terandria until he was named monster.”
“But—”
Trey’s objections trailed off. He understood fearing the undead. Their eyes glowed with pale light. And for all they meekly went about their tasks, there was something unsettling about them. These weren’t toy skeletons. They were actual bone. Dead bodies. And the ghostly flames burning in their eye sockets were as distant as the Quarass’ own gaze.
Even so, Trey was impressed. And as the carriage continued into the heart of Khelt, he saw more wonders of the nation of death. Life, for one thing. Trey saw his first playground in this world; a wooden fortress, filled with swinging rope bridges, a slide—even swings! No roundabouts or monkey bars, but a playground nonetheless! There were children playing on it, laughing and stopping to stare at the carriage Trey rode in. They pointed, and then waved at him and the Quarass. Some were barely younger than her!
“That’s a playground! From my world! I’ve never seen one here!”
“No. In other nations, children are apprenticed at their age. Or they help their families. In Khelt, they do not.”
“Where are their parents?”
The Quarass shrugged.
“Attending to their work or pleasures. The children are safe.”
“But if one falls—”
The Quarass looked at Trey reprovingly.
“Trey Atwood, you are no fool. The children are safer than we. If they but scream, they will be protected, their injuries bandaged. This is Khelt. And Fetohep’s reach touches all of his land. His people are buried everywhere.”
She pointed at the soil. Trey saw the driver shudder and felt another chill himself. But the playground called to Trey. The laughing children. He stared at it until it was gone.
And then they came to the capital, and Trey saw the stone facades rising from the earth, the green dancing amid the shadows cast by overhanging buildings. There were walls, but only to block the sand. The capital of Khelt had no fortifications like Reim or every other city Trey had seen. He passed by a carved image of a [King], a proud statue of a man. Then one of a [Queen]. Then a series of sculptures, each one of a member of royalty.
They stood, lining the entrance to the city, staring down at Trey and the Quarass. Past them was a city that would have fit into an older European town. And it would have been a tourist destination too; the buildings were tall, beautifully kept, made in an art style that Trey couldn’t place, but reminded him of…he paused.
Venetian architecture? Maybe, a bit, if you mixed it in with Beaux-Arts, and a bit of the Tudor revival elements and some experimental modernistic work here and there. That was what Trey would have concluded if he’d had the architectural knowhow to describe the buildings. It was varied, and much was made of stone; the people of Khelt had no need to worry about the cost of manpower when it had come to building their homes.
And they had forever to improve on them. Trey looked up and saw a new style of art as he passed through the exterior of the city into the true heart. And he realized.
Oh. The architecture was Kheltian. And it swept over him, a city designed to provide shade in the sun, but also filter the light, so that each building seemed towering and inviting by turns. Here, the stern facades said. Step here, beckoned some entrances. Here, the city whispered.
Here we are eternal.
The carriage rolled to a stop. Trey looked around; the Quarass was already rising from her seat. She beckoned to him.
“We will go on foot from here. Come. Hedolac, remain with the carriage. You will be directed to follow us later.”
“Yes, Quarass.”
The man’s voice was quavering. Trey looked at the Quarass. There was such a hush in the air. He didn’t know why. Then he realized he hadn’t seen a single soul since entering the city. The girl raised an eyebrow as he stumbled out of the carriage. His legs hurt from not carrying him for so long.
“Um—where is everyone?”
“Waiting, I have no doubt. Fetohep knows we are coming. You will follow me, Trey Atwood. Remember what I have said to you.”
“I will. I mean—what do I do?”
“Speak naturally. Speak honestly. Fetohep enjoys new guests, for all he rarely welcomes them. Remember—”
“Don’t insult him. Or talk about what he looks like.”
“Yes. Now, come.”
She strode forwards. Trey followed her, glancing back at the shivering driver. The street was very broad, and very, very quiet. Ahead of them, Trey could finally see the palace.
“It’s…big.”
The Quarass frowned up at it. It was indeed big. And ostentatious. Khelt’s [Architects] had spared no work on it either. She shook her head.
“I prefer Ger’s palace. Fetohep is vain. He commissioned Drevish the Architect to improve his palace last. Each ruler of Khelt does so. It’s acceptable.”
She walked forwards, and then turned to glare at Trey. He was still trying to take it in.
“It’s amazing.”
“Come.”
She snapped at him, looking irritated at his wonder. Trey started and then hurried after her. They walked past flowering trees, neatly tended to. And Trey wondered where all the people were. He was about to ask—
And then he realized he and the Quarass weren’t alone. There was a sound in the air. Faint, but growing louder. Murmuring. The inescapable rustle of people. A crowd. Trey looked around—
And then they reached a grand plaza in front of the palace. The buildings fell away, and Trey saw Khelt’s people. They filled the vast space, an endless sea of faces, staring at him and the Quarass. He froze. She did not. She kept walking, and Trey saw Khelt’s people.
And its army. At first, they blended with the people. But then they were easily visible, for their stillness.
The dead. Rank upon rank of undead soldiers, standing in perfect formation. Their eyes burned as they stood, forming a double line down the street on either side, in front of Khelt’s people. Trey saw the people kept back from the undead, but without any real fear; they were watching Trey and Quarass with interest. Wariness.
But the undead stared straight ahead, their gazes level. They formed ranks in front of the steps leading up to the palace; these soldiers were all wearing burnished armor, not rusted weapons and ragged bits and pieces. They were also freshly dead, their corpses emaciated, but not yet worn away.
There they stood. And the Quarass stopped, looking down the long hallway of undead bodies. They formed a perfect line, straight up towards the palace. A single figure stood there, shadowed by his citadel. Trey couldn’t see him, but as he hurried after the Quarass, the figure raised a distant hand. And the silence, the rustling of so many bodies, broke.
“Germina.”
The whisper came from the voices of Khelt’s citizens. Hundreds of thousands of voices, from each side, whispering a word. Trey nearly jumped into the Quarass. She looked around her. The figure, distant Fetohep, pointed. And living beings, a small rank of men and women with horns, raised them to their lips around the plaza and blew.
A wailing sound echoed the plaza, as if screaming some word in another language. The sound first terrified, but it picked up in volume and tone, growing louder. Triumphant. The [King], standing upon his palace’s steps raised his hand, palm up. Again, the whisper burst forth. Louder.
“Guardian of Chandrar. Shield Kingdom.”
It wasn’t for him. It was for the Quarass. The girl stood, staring up at the [King]. She was so short the crowd couldn’t even see her past the line of undead [Soldiers]. But then—they bowed.
As one, the undead warriors of Khelt drew their blades. They lifted their swords as they knelt, emaciated flesh and bone kneeling in the street. They bowed their heads. And King Fetohep pointed at her.
“Quarass!”
The word was a shout. And it was jubilant, expectant. Not a threat. Trey saw the [King] lower his hand. And he bowed to her, the girl staring up at him. Surprised. The Quarass had seen a lifetime of glories. But the girl had not. And she turned her head as the people of Khelt bowed with their [King]. He raised his head after a moment and they shouted his name.
“Fetohep!”
And then there was silence. The Quarass looked back at Trey and he saw the hesitation in her eyes. But then she straightened her back.
“Walk with me.”
They moved forwards, through the ranks of kneeling undead. Trey felt lightheaded. Terrified. He stared up at the distant figure, standing in the shadows.
He didn’t even feel himself moving. He only knew he’d suddenly stopped. He’d crossed the plaza; now he and the Quarass looked up at the [King] of Khelt. He was still—Trey squinted. Then he heard Fetohep’s voice. It echoed from the palace steps, clearly audible throughout the plaza.
“Few guests bear welcome in Khelt. Fewer still worthy of respect. One stands before us today. We are Fetohep, [King] of Khelt. We greet the Quarass, may she live forever. The Shield Kingdoms have ever been allies of Khelt. And memory is the shield against folly.”
He pointed again, down at the Quarass. And his voice echoed, his eyes flashed. Burning lights in his…skull. A mouth moved. But—Trey’s eyes widened.
“Tell us, Quarass of Germina! Do the Shield Kingdoms yet stand?”
She called up towards him, a girl, unafraid. A ruler herself.
“Germina still remains. Forever we watch the skies. A shield still holds Chandrar’s sand! Does Khelt stand ready to heed our call?”
Fetohep nodded. Slowly, he descended the stairs. Coming into the light. Trey stared at Fetohep. He should have expected it. The Quarass didn’t blink as Fetohep’s burning, golden gaze found hers. His sockets blazed with a magical light. He spoke slowly. His mouth opened, but no tongue shaped the words.
“Khelt remembers, and Khelt honors the Shield Kingdoms. Nevermore shall our foes set foot upon these sands. So we greet the Quarass of Germina. Dragonbane.”
The word made Trey jerk. He looked at the Quarass. She turned her head. And one of her eyes caught his. And he put the pieces together.
Shield Kingdoms. And Khelt. A necrocracy. Fetohep spoke.
“The Shield Kingdoms stand; let Dragons beware!”
He bowed again. Slightly. The Quarass bowed back. Trey bowed deeply. He heard her mutter as she rose.
“An old greeting. He is one of the few who would remember it.”
And then Fetohep was descending. He looked at Trey. At the Quarass. And he smiled. But then—he was always smiling. His skin was dark. Leathery. Well-preserved, though time and the lack of moisture had worn away at him. He wore rich clothes, which sparkled as they caught the light. Fine silk. And he had a regal manner. The flames that burned in his eyes were like the ones Trey had seen in the other skeleton’s sockets, but more alive. Aware. Trey looked at King Fetohep.
He was most definitely dead.
6.55 K
Fetohep of Khelt stood on the steps of his palace, looking down at Trey and the Quarass. He was dead. His skin mummified. His sockets were sunken, his lips and nose worn away. But his face was not empty, like that of a cadaver.
His eyes burned. Like the ghostly flames that stared out of an undead skeleton’s eye sockets. But Fetohep’s were golden. And they had an intelligence to them, an awareness and personality that Trey had never seen in the undead.
The [King] was dressed in long, flowing robes made of silk. As he raised one arm, the cloth caught the sun. His people, the citizens of Khelt, bowed. The kneeling undead made no move.
“Quarass.”
It was an invitation. Trey looked at the Quarass. She dipped her head and began to ascend the stairs. Trey started. He stared up uneasily at Fetohep.
A lich. That was what he was, wasn’t he? Or—it all fit. An undying [King] for Khelt. Don’t insult his appearance, the Quarass had said. Trey swallowed his nerves and hurried up the steps after the Quarass.
She was ascending slowly. Trey matched her pace, walking next to her. She glanced at him and frowned darkly. The girl made a tsking sound. Trey paused uncertainly, but her glare went without words to explain. She kept walking and he tried to match her pace.
Fetohep’s burning gaze watched as the two approached him. He looked at Trey for the first time and the young man froze and nearly missed a step. Trey stumbled forwards and the Quarass stopped at the top of the steps.
