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Authors: Martinez A. Lee

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Wrapping herself in Amazonian superiority, she sheathed the blade and pushed open the door without knocking.

Ned, obscured beneath blankets, groaned.

“Your grog, sir.”

A scarred arm poked out from under the covers. It looked a little gangrenous. The fingers grabbed at the air until she put the mug in his hand. The limb retracted, and heavy gulps issued from beneath the cloth.

“Thanks. That is better.” He belched and tossed the empty mug to the floor.

“Anything else, sir?” she asked.

“What?”

She swallowed hard. Her hand toyed with the dagger on her belt. “Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

Ned lowered the blanket, exposing his face and shoulders, a lattice of ugly discolorations. She’d seen healthier corpses. She expected a leer, perhaps an open ogle of her womanly perfection, but Ned barely glanced at her before rolling over, allowing her a glimpse of the slashes and scabs along his back. She found herself mesmerized, staring at the history lacerated upon his skin.

He turned his head to look up at her with his one eye, and she smiled at him without realizing it.

“Are you still here?” he asked.

She frowned. “Sorry, sir.”

She saluted, turned, and left the room. In the hall, she stopped, feeling suddenly short of breath. She leaned against the wall as her legs were inexplicably shaky. She closed her eyes, and the slashes and scabs along his back flashed through her mind. There’d been a sword wound and, beneath that, a dagger’s mark. Beside that, a purple welt that had to have come from a crushing mace blow. Claws of some terrible beast raked across his shoulder blades. And there was more than this. So much more. It was beautiful.

He was beautiful.

Regina had never felt this way before, and she didn’t like it. She fingered her sword, contemplating removing the object causing her discomfort. But this was Never Dead Ned. She couldn’t kill him.

And maybe, she considered with a snarl, she didn’t want to.

Six

NED HADN’T CARED about bookkeeping, nor soldiering, nor anything he’d done before that. Nor did he care about his new command position. If there was passion to be found in life, Ned was still looking. He did what was expected of him and very little else. And inspections were expected. After he’d slept off his hangover, he’d realized that. He roused himself from his nice, cozy bed, got dressed, and set about on his duty.

Seeing Copper Citadel in the light of day for the first time, Ned decided his initial assessment of the fortress had been too kind. The whole place was in terrible shape. The walls were crumbling. The buildings were in the middle of slow-motion collapse. Nothing had been cleaned or polished in a very long time, and garbage had been heaped in out-of-the-way corners—and in not-so-out-of-the-way corners. The cobblestones were cracked and uneven. The walls were held up only by the braces of garbage piles. And the front gate was too rusted to even close.

The soldiers of Ogre Company assembled before their new commander. Ned scanned the rank and file. The sun was near setting, and details were hard to pick out. In addition, the soldiers milled about in disorderly fashion, more a disoriented throng than a disciplined military unit. He estimated about three hundred ogres, one hundred ores, seventy-five humans, a few elves and trolls here and there. There were goblins as well, but too many to bother counting.

Ned walked from one end of the courtyard and back again. He decided that was enough of a show.

“Dismissed,” he grunted.

“Back to your duties, you pathetic wastrels!” shouted Gabel. “Makes me sick to look at the lot of you, undisciplined scum!”

The courtyard began to clear out, although no one seemed to have any particular place to go. A handful of soldiers remained.

“Sir.” Gabel saluted. “I believe you’ll want to have a look at our more singular personnel.”

Ned wanted no such thing, but it seemed the kind of thing a commander was supposed to do. “All right.”

“The archmajor has the files for your convenience, sir,” said Gabel.

Regina stepped up, carrying an armload of scrolls.

Ned waved her away. “Just show me.”

Regina and Gabel exchanged shrugs.

“Very well, sir.” Gabel led Ned to the first in line.

The short, wiry soldier had a worn face, and a long red beard hanging to his belly. Even in the light of dusk, Ned could see the soldier’s eyes were white and glassy as pearls. Ned barely glimpsed the image of a setting sun tattooed on the soldier’s forehead.

“So you’re—” Ned began.

“Yes, sir, I am.” The soldier saluted. “Owens, oracle division.”

“I didn’t know the Legion still—”

“The program was discontinued, sir. Not cost effective.”

“Are you—”

“Completely blind, sir.”

“Do you have—”

“Yes, sir. Very annoying, I’m aware. But it’s a difficult habit to break.”

Ned rubbed his eye. “Are you—”

“I’m very good. Top of my class.”

“Well, that’s impress—”

“Thank you, but I feel I must acknowledge a limitation.”

Ned opened his mouth, but the impatient oracle answered the question before it was asked.

“Since losing use of my eyes, I can only hear the future.” The oracle flashed a proud grin. “But I hear it with an eighty-nine percent success rate.”

This information had barely reached Ned’s brain when the oracle spoke again.

“It still itches, sir, but a little ointment should take care of it. And thank you for your concern.”

“What?”

“My rash. That was what you were going to ask, wasn’t it?”

“No.”

“Are you sure about that? Often we think we’re going to say one thing when in fact we end up saying another.”

Ned replied, “I’m positive.”

“My mistake, sir. When you’re right eighty-nine percent of the time, you’re wrong the other eleven percent.” He pointed to his nose. “I do smell the future with ninety-eight percent accuracy.”

Owens answered before being asked. “No, so far it hasn’t proven very useful. Gods bless you, sir.”

“I didn’t sneeze.”

The oracle dug in his ear with his finger. “You will.”

Ned moved to the next in line, a towering two-headed ogre. Such twins were rarely born, and they even more rarely survived adolescence, the tender formative years when ogres inclined toward their most perilously obnoxious. Puberty for the ogre race was a terrible ordeal involving gushing boils, boundless carnivorous appetite, and dangerously psychotic mood swings. Ogre youths were given lots of space during this stage, but two-headed specimens had little choice but to remain side by side. It didn’t take long for one to kill the other—and himself—in the process.

The twins stood nine feet high if an inch and were nearly as wide. Their body was redder and hairier than those of single-headed ogres. The faces were similar but not identical. The one on the right had a fearsome overbite, and the one on the left had high-set, drooping ears. Still, it would’ve been obvious, even if they didn’t share one body, that the ogres were related.

“Private Lewis and Corporal Martin,” said Gabel.

They saluted with quick, military precision. They both began to speak, but stopped. Started again and stopped.

Lewis nodded to his brother. “After you.”

“Oh, no, after you,” replied Martin.

“Please, dear brother, I insist.”

“Not to be difficult, Lewis, but it is I who must insist.”

“Don’t be foolish.” Lewis bowed his head. “Clearly you were speaking first before I rudely interrupted. And it would be unseemly to speak before a ranking officer.”

“Oh, no no no.” Martin put his hand to his side of their chest. “It’s perfectly obvious to me that you were the one interrupted. To which, rank or no rank, I can offer no valid excuse. Mother taught me better than that.”

“Shut up,” commanded Ned. The words sounded odd attached to his voice. The curtness of it struck him strangely. But he was in charge here. He supposed it only appropriate that he started acting like it.

Neither Lewis nor Martin seemed offended. Ned guessed their mother had taught them better than to question their superiors as well. The twins both tried speaking once more, but neither dared talk before the other.

“You.” Ned pointed to Lewis. “What is it?”

Lewis saluted crisply again. “I just wanted to say, sir, that it is an honor to serve under the famous Never Dead Ned.”

Ned nodded to Martin. “Now you.”

“As you wish, sir, but I see no need to reiterate what my dear brother has declared with such eloquence. Though I myself would’ve preferred the word ‘privilege’ over ‘honor.’”

Lewis smacked his forehead. “Of course, how presumptuous of me. As always, dear brother, you have demonstrated your superior understanding of language.”

“Don’t belittle your own grasp,” replied Martin.

“You’re too kind, but it is obvious that I have overstepped myself with my poor word choice.”

“Now, now, I’ll hear none of that.”

Ned understood now why the twins had never gotten around to killing each other. They were too damn busy apologizing all the time. He left them to their atonements and moved to the next in line. The goblin was bright, leafy green, not the usual gray-green. And he had a shaggy red beard. Goblins didn’t grow hair normally.

“This is Seamus,” said Gabel. “Faerie blood in his family, isn’t that right, Seamus?”

“Yes, sir. My great-great-great-great-grandmother had a fling with a leprechaun. Quite scandalous. We don’t like talking about it.”

“Seamus is a shapeshifter,” said Gabel. “Give the commander a demonstration.”

The goblin disappeared into a blue cloud. When the cloud faded, a large, white cockatoo stood in his place. A green fog swallowed the bird, and Seamus became a fat, brown rat. A burst of yellow smoke later, he transformed into a boot. Then a skillet. Then a trumpet. Then an apple. And finally a bucket.

Ned stood before the bucket a few seconds, but Seamus didn’t change into anything else.

“I think he’s stuck, sir. Happens sometimes. Nothing to worry about.” Gabel nodded to the bucket. “Carry on, Seamus.”

Fourth in line stood a long, white reptile. She was serpentine in form, fifteen feet long stretched out, but her body was coiled to a more reasonable six-foot height. Her limbs were short, four pairs in all. She stood on two pairs while her other two were folded. She radiated warmth, and the air shimmered around her. Her face was more like a cat than a reptile, and her two blue eyes sparkled in the dusky light. Little puffs of fire rose from her nostrils with each breath.

Ned said, “I thought all the salamanders were destroyed after the Terrible Scorching.”

“No, sir.” Flames erupted from her mouth as she spoke. Ned stepped back to avoid having his eyebrows charred. “Not all.”

“What’s your name, private?” It wasn’t that he cared, but he was starting to feel like a commander, despite himself. And a commander should know his soldiers.

“You couldn’t pronounce it with your thick, lumpy tongue, sir. They just call me Sally.” Salamanders changed colors with their moods. Ned knew the basic color codes. Red for anger. Purple for vanity. Green for envy. She turned a golden orange, and he had no idea what that meant. He made a mental note to check her file later to see if it listed the more obscure shades.

“Good to have you on board, private,” said Ned with enthusiasm that surprised him. He nearly slapped her on the shoulder, but caught himself in time to avoid a nasty burn.

She glowed a light purple. “Thank you, sir.”

Next to last in line waited a short, treelike creature with a full head of yellowing leaves. The tree’s bark was scarred. Some of the carvings looked like old wounds, but most appeared intentional or decorative. Only one caught Ned’s eye. It read, “Don’t pick the apples.” A few arrow shafts were buried in the tree’s trunk. He was amusing himself by plucking the petals from a fresh, young rose. Most striking to Ned was the burning cigarette pursed between the tree’s lips.

“Private Elmer, sir,” said Gabel.

Ned glanced the private up and down. It took him a moment to spot the tree’s eyes, two dark spots that might be mistaken for knots.

“I didn’t know we had En—”

“Treefolk, sir,” interrupted Elmer.

“Treefolk. But I thought you called yourselves En—”

“No, sir. We aren’t allowed to say that anymore.”

“Why not?” asked Ned.

“We just aren’t. A wizard put a spell on the word, so we don’t say it anymore.”

“A spell?” said Ned. “But it’s just a word. Why would anyone want to put a spell on a word? What happens if you say it?”