The Necromancer's Nephew (18 page)

"...go forth to meet the invader and turn him back," Serepheni said, pausing as the people roared their approval.

Garrett broke through the crowd, stumbling forward into the open space between the living civilians and the undead army that they dared approach no closer. The eyeless skulls of a thousand unliving soldiers turned upon him at once. Their battered Chadirian armor creaked beneath their green surcoats that bore the twisted sigil of the Worm-Mother.

Garrett swallowed hard and took a step backward as nearby people laughed.

The sound of hooves thudding in the dust pounded up beside him, and Garrett turned to see a massive zombified stallion, girded in black barding. Astride it sat a man in black armor looking down at him. A polished silver skull mask concealed the man's face. Then a familiar laugh rang out, muffled at first and then clear, as Max Zara lifted his grim visor.

"Running away to join the army, eh?" Zara laughed.

Garrett grinned up at him.

"Well, there's no more room among the enlisted ranks, I suppose you'll have to accept an officer's commission!" Zara leaned low and offered Garrett his gauntleted hand.

Garrett took it, and Zara swung the boy up behind him on the saddle. Zara's great undead steed thundered back to the group of riders assembled behind the priestess. Jitlowe sat upon a mummified stag with gilded horns and a green and purple caparison. Cenick beside him had chosen to ride a living pony with shaggy brown hair and simple tack. Garrett recognized a few other young necromancers among them, but green-clad Templar soldiers formed the bulk of the officer corps.

The priestess Serepheni's chestnut mare, draped in braided cords of green and gold silk, nickered and shied away as Max's undead horse took its place beside her. She graced Zara with a slight smile before returning to her speech.

"These men you see before you," she said, indicating the undead soldiers with a wave of her hand, "came here to destroy us. They failed. I think it's time we send them home again!"

The crowd responded with cheers and laughter.

"Our power is great, but the armies of the Eternal Mother cannot win this war," she said, and her words chilled the enthusiasm of the crowd
.

"Only you can defeat the Chadiri," she said, lifting her hands above the crowd, "Only you have the power. Together, we are stronger than anything they have or ever will have. I know this to be true!"

Serepheni reached into her breast pocket and drew forth a little book, bound between two thin plates of red steel. She held it above her head. "I know this because I have read their book!"

The priestess opened the pages of the Chadirian holy book to a marked passage and read aloud, "Ye shall drive them before you, the enemies of god, turning not from righteous slaughter where ye find them. Where they flee, pursue without mercy. And where they stand, destroy them. Turn them one against the other that they may waste their strength in folly. Permit them neither rest nor succor, but press them and drive them mad with the fear of the red hammer."

Serepheni dashed the book down into the mud of the stockyard, her eyes blazing. "Do I look afraid to you?" she shouted.

The crowd roared out a ragged, "No!"

"Are we divided against one another?"

"No!"

"Are we going to let any of them return home alive?"

Now Garrett and the other necromancers screamed with the crowd a "No!" so loud that the boy's ears rang and his body trembled with rage.

Serepheni sank a little in her saddle, and her voice sounded hoarse as she spoke. "Let us go then," she said, "and bring hell to the damned."

The people cheered wildly as Serepheni’s horse wheeled and galloped toward the gates of the yard, and the other riders followed. As one, the army of the dead lurched forward after them with a ground-shaking stomp of a thousand dusty boots.

“This is the part where we ride off into legend, Garrett,” Zara said, looking back over his shoulder at the boy riding behind him, “Are you coming with us?”

For a moment, Garrett considered saying yes, but he remembered his promise to Uncle and his duty to take care of Caleb and Lampwicke. And then there was Marla, who would be left alone in the city.

Garrett shook his head. "I just came down to say goodbye... and to give you this," he said, pulling an envelope from his shoulder bag. He passed it to Zara.

Zara took the slim parcel, noting Tinjin's handwriting on it. "Is everything all right?" he asked.

Garrett lowered his voice. "Mrs. Veranu's in some sort of trouble," Garrett said, "Uncle's going to the vampire city to help her out."

Max chuckled. "Widows and Orphans!" he said, "Now you know Uncle's only weakness."

"What's wrong?" Cenick asked, trotting up on his mountain pony.

"Nothing's wrong, you gloom-ridden savage!" Zara laughed, "We're off to slay the dragon, and Uncle's gone to rescue the princess!"

Cenick shook his head. "You'd better head back now, Garrett, or this costumed dandy will have you walking all the way back from Logate."

"Forgive me for relishing the last bit of civilized company I'm likely to have for a while," Zara said with a sigh. He
reined
his horse over to the
side of the broad lane that le
d from the stockyards to the edge of the lower city, and Cenick's pony followed. The three necromancers waited and watched the undead army stamp past.

"They're all skeletons, aren't they?" Garrett asked, watching the fleshless soldiers march by.

"Yes," Zara said, "and I intend to learn how they accomplish that little trick before this trip is done."

"So, why did the priestesses want to bring necromancers, if they can already make skeletons?" Garrett asked.

"Because we work quickly," Cenick answered.

"Efficiently!" Zara said, "Whatever the priestesses do to raise their dead, it is a time-consuming process. We, on the other hand..."

"Are fast," Cenick said.

"They expect to have a lot of dead Chadiri laying around in need of resurrection," Zara said, "And who better to accomplish that task than us?"

"Than we," Cenick corrected.

"Don't teach me my own language, you barbarian!" Zara said, "I'll butcher it goodly enough without your help."

Garrett watched the undead soldiers passing by. "Are they going to be enough to defeat the Chadiri?" he asked
.

Cenick chuckled, and Zara grinned. "Let's ride a little further, Garrett," Zara said, "I want you to see something."

Zara nudged his horse down the broad lane beside the marching skeletal soldiers. They passed beyond the last of the pens and warehouses at the edge of the lower city and crested the hill overlooking Logate.

Garrett gasped. Beyond the city's outer wall, the muddy, treeless wastes stretched beneath lead-gray skies all the way to the foggy sea beyond. There, spread like a rusty stain, from the city gate, all the way to the bend in the river, massed an army of the dead, many thousands strong. Above the core group of skeletons waved the green banners of Mauravant and black pinions, bearing the sigils of necromancers, fluttered above the outlying zombie units
.

"The ones they brought into town were the prettiest," Cenick said.

"Have you ever seen anything like it?" Zara said, "It's beautiful!"

Garrett tried to speak, but only stared wide-eyed at the horde assembled before the twilight city. His skin tingled with awe and not a little fear.

"By the gods, Garrett!" Zara said. The leather of his gauntlets creaked as he squeezed the reins in his fists. "By the gods!"

Garrett looked at Cenick. The tattooed necromancer was watching Zara, his eyes narrowed. He noticed Garrett's gaze, and smiled. He sidled his pony up beside Zara's mount and extended his hand. "Come, Garrett," Cenick said, "I'll give you a ride back. I think Max wants to be alone with his army for a while."

Max Zara seemed to start from his reverie, and chuckled ho
arsely. "Well then," he said, "i
f I can't convince you to run away from home with us, we'd best say goodbye, for now."

"You guys be careful, all right?" Garrett said, climbing onto the saddle behind Cenick.

"Hah!" Zara laughed, "You're even starting to sound like Uncle! I promise to take my duties as your primary corrupter much more seriously upon my return."

"I'll keep him out of too much mischief," Cenick said. His pony turned and cantered back toward the stockyards as the last of the undead soldiers trudged by.

"Farewell, Garrett," Zara said, waving a black gauntlet, "I'll bring you back an Inquisitor's gavel for a souvenir!" He snapped down his skull-faced visor and spurred his mount down the hill toward the waiting army. His laughter echoed through his helmet as he rode away
.

Cenick laughed, and Garrett grinned as they rode. Cenick’s pony moved with all the natural grace that Zara’s undead mount lacked.

“Does your horse have a name?” Garrett asked.

“Her name is Lluhda,” Cenick said
, “I
t means waiting.”

“Why did you name her that?”

“Because she does not rush into danger,” Cenick said.

“Do you think everyone will be all right?” Garrett asked.

“In the war?” Cenick laughed, “It’s war, Garrett. Do not wish for easy victories, and you will not be disappointed.”

Garrett fell silent.

“Fear won’t do you any good either,” Cenick said, “Our enemies may be strong, but they’ve never really faced necromancers before. We do not fight the way other men fight, and that may be the advantage we need to overcome them.”

Cenick started to speak again, but stopped as they approached the edge of a large crowd of lower city folk that had gathered around the auction house. Shouts and jeers rose from the center of the crowd, and rising above them, the angry moans of a zombie.

“Caleb!” Garrett shouted, sliding down from the saddle to wiggle through the mass of gawking tradesmen and refugees.

He pushed through into a clear space at the center of the crowd to see his zombie swinging his fist at a young man in patched leggings and a leather vest who danced clear of the sluggish blow with a mocking laugh. The ragged young man stepped in and landed a solid hit on Caleb’s jaw, sending the zombie reeling.

“Where’s my money, Kurtz?” the ruffian shouted, “You ain’t gonna get off with it cause o’ bein’ dead! It ain’t that easy.” He gave Caleb a savage kick that sent him crashing amidst stacks of empty fish baskets.

“Leave him alone!” Garrett shouted.

The young man turned to face Garrett with a wicked sneer. “One o’ you lot then? I s’pose you’re the one that did Kurtz the deadly. I’ll ask you then. Where’s my money?”

“He didn’t have any money,” Garrett said, “He was killed by the Night Watch. We just reanimated the body.”

The young man ran his thick fingers through his sandy hair. A bit of the sneer disappeared from his face. “All I know is that this stinkin’ hunk o’ worm food was the last one had his hands on my coin, and somebody’s gonna get it back for me. I guess that means you, runt!”

The thug took a step forward, and Garrett took a step back.

“I don’t have any money,” Garrett said.

“Now I don’t think I believe you,” the thug said, “Why don’t we check and make sure?” He nodded, and two skinny young men broke from the crowd to advance toward Garrett with leering grins.

Garrett’s skin ran cold, and he took another step back, but the two henchmen moved quickly to cut off his retreat.

“Careful, Rande,” one of the thugs said, “He’s one o’ them magikens.”

“Yeah, Rande,” the other laughed, “might turn you into a mouse or summin’.”

“Only mouse I see here,” the one named Rande said, “is a scared li’l runt about to wish he did have my money.”

One of Rande’s henchmen snatched at Garrett’s cloak, and he jumped away, only to be grabbed by the other who held him fast, arms pinned behind his back. Garrett struggled uselessly as Rande stepped up, cracking his knuckles and smiling.

A whirring noise ripped through the air, and Rande jumped back with a curse as a black dagger thumped, hilt-deep into the dirt at his feet. The crowd of onlookers parted to reveal Cenick astride his shaggy pony, another blade already in his hand. His hood was thrown back to reveal his grim, tattooed face. Garrett felt the thug’s grip on his arms falter, and he slipped free, stumbling clear of Rande’s gang to run to Cenick’s side.

Rande looked to his men for support, but their eyes were locked on the dagger in Cenick’s raised hand. Rande snarled and yanked a knife from his belt. “Come on then, ink-man! Let’s see what you got!”

“You have challenged the boy first,” Cenick said, “If you still live after fighting him, then you may challenge me next.”

Garrett’s eyes went wide as he looked up at Cenick in disbelief.

“What?” Rande managed to say.

Cenick dropped from his saddle and strode into the center of the crowd circle. Rande brandished his knife, but gave way. Cenick stooped and yanked his thrown dagger from the ground, leaving a small crater as the thick blade pulled out a chunk of dirt. He wiped it on the leg of his robe and slipped it back into its scabbard.