The Melaki Chronicle (14 page)

He snatched the pouch and opened it. The same trinkets he
had given were inside. Frowning at Roke, he pocketed the pouch and sat down.
“What is this about?”

“Be at ease. Would you like another drink?”

“I will buy my own. Be on with your business with me.”

“Dramlos.”

Melaki shrugged, angry that his departure had been canceled.
If the man carried that kind of authority there would be little he could do to
protest. “I have not been there. What of it?”

“Our forces surround the city--”

“I thought you had conquered it all.”

“We did, but one necromancer eluded us.”

“One?”

“He has raised some powerful forces.”

“Storm in there and kill him. You wiped out the entire
island. One necromancer is stopping you?”

“The emperor wants this handled a different way.”

Melaki went still. What did the emperor care? A dead
necromancer was a dead necromancer, whether by spear, arrow, ballista or pike.
He leaned back, frowning at Roke.

“I see you grasp something special about this. Very good. I
understand you destroyed the undead that killed your friends...”

So the story goes.

“...I believe you are the key to solving our dilemma.”

“Exactly what is the dilemma?”

“This necromancer is different. I will say no more of it.”

“And you will compel me with your authority on pain of what?
Death? Flogging? Skin flayed from my bones? My fingers broken one by one?”

“I have seen things in your notes--”

“You transgressed my privacy?” Fear flooded him. His magic
was a death sentence.

“I do not know magic, but your research appears disturbing.
But I would have to consult with the Rukha before--”

“They know nothing of it. The diagrams are merely my musings
for an eleventh ward.”

An eyebrow told Melaki that Roke saw right through it. “And
yet you refused the tenth ward. Why research for an eleventh?”

Melaki was silent.

A flash of teeth and a chuckle from Roke preceded his rise
from the table. “I am so pleased that we came to an agreement.”

“You can not do this to an imperial wizard.”

For a moment, he looked sad. “But I can, Melaki, and I must.
For the good of the empire. I will come to your inn on the morrow.” He gave a
nod and left.

Gramm wandered over from where he had been talking to the
bartender. “I do not think that talk was productive?”

“For him, it was.”

The merchant pursed his lips. “A good merchant finds a profit
angle.”

He felt dirty, used. “From mud?”

“Even from mud, my friend, even from mud.”

Melaki tried to hug Tila, but the woman twisted from his
grasp. He wanted to hold her, to smooth her hair, to tell her that everything
would be alright. He wanted to drive away the loneliness with love. “I love
you.”

She evaded his grasp and with a quick move, plunged her
sword into his gut.

“Tila, please, no.”

“Heretic!”

He began crying silently, wanting to beg and plead with her.

He awoke crying, wetness on his cheek and pillow.

His morning bath soothed him, a little.

Down in the common room of the inn, Roke awaited. He was
sitting at a table, the other chair pulled back, inviting him.

Another guest sat nearby, eating.

“Do I get to eat?” He sat.

Roke waved and indicated the table. “Already prepared.”

The innkeeper's wife set down a plate of cheeses and bread.
On this island, it was almost a feast.

“I have your animals prepared and even now being loaded with
your gear.”

Melaki scowled.

Roke tilted his head and shrugged. “I get things done.”

“Perhaps you should be handling this last necromancer. You
could sweep in, squint menacingly, wave a scroll around, and destroy him.”

“If it were so easy.”

“What is so special about--”

Roke's hand motion and his eyes darting to the other patron
stopped Melaki. “Perhaps we can talk of this later.” His tone was not a suggestion.

He grunted and ate his breakfast.

“Shall we hold your room for you?” The innkeeper was a
shrewd-looking man, but happy to have the payment in his newest venture.

Roke and Melaki rose to go.

“He will return in a couple of weeks, I am sure,” Roke said.
“No need to hold it.”

“Ah, very good. Where are you going?” The innkeeper was just
making conversation.

“Kellerran,” said Roke.

One necromancer in Dramlos was such a secret?

Outside, he mounted Tila. He patted her neck, wanting to
think of Tila the woman, and trying not to.

Another man joined Roke. Another soldier.

Another imperial agent.

*  *  *

The road to Dramlos split at the tavern where he had helped
the two brothers. He did not see them, but a thin plume of smoke rose from the
chimney and a few horses were stabled.

He wanted to stop and check on them, wanted to see some sort
of happiness and contentment on this island.

But they turned onto the capital road and rode on. The trees
became thicker and taller. There was less vegetation around them, but the atmosphere
was even darker. The tall trees blocked out the light from the waters above and
Melaki felt obliged to keep a magelight going.

A few of the first three charters had come this way and they
stayed in the camp of a merchant who was arguing with his partner about the
state of the inn. It was not habitable.

He saw, the next day, Dramlos from a distance. They passed
an advance scouting force of imperials blocking the road in the forest. Roke
flashed his scroll, and they were through. Coming out of the trees and into a
valley, he saw it. The capital was enormous, and situated atop two hills. The
outskirts were unwalled and Melaki could see fortifications scattered, facing
outward, to those who might come. They were fresh, and manned by imperial
soldiers. Ballistaes sat prominently at intervals, well-fortified and the
soldiers well-alert.

They entered a very busy ring of soldiers in the city. So
here was the imperial army. Still in Dramlos.

“Seems to me you could rush--”

“Tried it,” Roke said.

“And?”

“The losses were appalling.”

“How can this army not overcome a single necromancer?”

Roke turned to him after dismounting. “This one is far more
powerful.”

They entered a well-lit building. A fireplace roared
heartily and several lamps and sconces gave forth light and heat. Large tables
were scattered with maps and reports. Officers moved back and forth, on
whatever duties seemed important to soldiers. Messengers came and went.

“Roke,” said an officer.

The agent threw down his riding gloves. “News?”

The officer said, “No change. The piglet comes and we drive
her off.”

Piglet?

Roke nodded and sighed in frustration.

“This is who you went for?”

The agent glanced at Melaki. “He might be our best chance.”

The officer shook his head.

Roke raised an eyebrow. “This is the only one who has beaten
everything he has faced.”

I have been lucky, is all...

The officer, hands behind his back, walked up to Melaki and
looked down his nose. Not rude – inspecting. “I do not see--”

Roke interrupted him. “We have nothing to lose and my
masters have everything to gain.”

What?

The officer looked disturbed. “As you wish. We can get him
through probably after we drive off the piglet again.”

“Piglet?” he said.

The officer raised an eyebrow at him. “She will come again
tomorrow. Perhaps you can defeat her.”

“I am sure,” said Roke, “that he will wave his hand and she
will be no more.”

The officer frowned. “I will lick the mud from your boots,
by the gods, if you do so.”

“Well, I--” Melaki said.

“Come.” The officer beckoned. He stood over a table. Spread
out were several maps pieced together showing the capital city. “We control
this band of city here.”

Melaki blinked. “That is all?”

The officer straightened. “It is secure, but we can advance
no farther and the undead are easily managed by us this distance from the
necromancer.”

“Managed?”

“They are sluggish. The farther away from their master, the
more sluggish. The closer we move, the more deadly they become.”

He grunted. That made sense to him.

“Unfortunately, the containment can only end in the
necromancer's victory. He bleeds us dry, summoning more and more of the
stronger kinds of undead with each day that passes. The skeletons are nothing,
but stronger things are coming out. Piglet was the first and stopped us dead.”

“And there are stronger ones than Piglet?” He still did not
know what he was talking about.

“Aye, but their kind varies. Piglet seems less powerful but
unkillable. The ones coming after are more powerful, but are easily killed with
ballistae. If they get in our lines, they are deadly.” The officer looked at
him dubiously. “How much experience have you had with necromancers?”

“He is--” Roke said.

“None,” Melaki said, interrupting him.

The officer frowned and sighed. “Though it pains me to send
you out, Roke is perhaps right; you are our best hope. Unless the Imperial
Court sends a whole contingent of wizards...”

“It could be an eventuality,” Roke said. “But that would
take some time.”

“Time is something not in good supply.” The officer walked
away.

“Come, I will show you to a lodgement. On the morrow, you
will go forth.” Roke led him out of the building.

*  *  *

Melaki petted Tila's nose. Then he scratched Sala behind the
ears. “You two behave and look after each other.”

Both animals looked at him, not moving.

All through the night, he had been awoken by bursts of
battle, seemingly timed. The necromancer must have been sending regular waves
to prick the lines in an effort to tire the defenders.

The soldiers around him, besieging or being besieged as it
were, had good spirits. But he could tell this was not an army on the march to
victory; it was an army waiting.

Roke came up to him and glanced at his pack – the pack with
his notes. “You do not trust me--”

“Of course not. I think you will do anything for the
empire.”

“It is so.”

“Even transgress the law.” Melaki was accusatory.

“It is so.” Roke's neutral tone offered no argument. He
handed him a smaller satchel. “Food.”

Melaki had already eaten. The satchel was for the foray.
“You never told me what was so different about this necromancer.”

The agent nodded. “I was just going to tell you, so you know
what to expect.”

Did he believe him?

“This necromancer uses magic.”

Melaki was nonplussed. “I thought that was rather obvious.”

Roke stared at him. “Not just necromantic magic.”

Hmm.
Necromancers had their own magic: death magic.
It was distinctly different, supposedly, than spirit-magic. Admittedly evil,
claiming to call upon the most vile of demons, necromancy embraced the evil
rather than trying to manipulate them. The magic was different. “He uses our
magic?”

The agent nodded.

Melaki felt sick, immediately uncertain what he was supposed
to do against something which would be even more powerful than Talin. He
doubted his little trick would work. But he could try it.

A shout rang out from the lines two streets away. “Piglet!”

Roke nodded to him. “Let us see what you can accomplish
against this.”

Melaki followed him along with several other rushing
soldiers. Other soldiers stayed behind, but called luck to those soldiers on
duty. They entered the broad avenue leading to the capital palace. Enormous
barricades had been constructed across it with one, small opening firmly
fortified. Directly facing the opening was a well-protected pair of ballistaes.
Two more ballistaes were either side of the central position.

To their left, two ballistaes thumped in firing. Something
flying and wicked-looking spun in the air and tumbled to a stop on their side
of the barricades. Soldiers went to work hacking and stabbing the thrashing
thing. But it was not the flying thing that caught Melaki's whole attention.

Lumbering to the entry of the barricades behind a wave of
zombies was an enormous fat woman easily two men tall. She was almost the size
of a cozy inn. She was naked and gray. Greasy hair hung over red eyes and her
teeth were fangs. Whatever she had been, this one was no longer human. Enormous
sagging breasts swayed with her movement. Fortunately, the massive rolls of
flab hid other undesirable areas. Her entire body was pockmarked with
bruise-like marks.

Already, the two ballistae at the entry had fired. The bolts
sank into the flesh of the woman-thing, but she plucked them out and tossed
them away.

“Piglet,” said Roke.

Men at the barricades were piking zombies and hatchetmen
finished them off.

A scream of rage split the air. Piglet picked up a zombie by
the arm and swung it back.

“Careful, here.” Roke bent his knees, ready to spring.

What?

Piglet hurled the growling zombie through the air. The
creature spun, growling, grasping, towards them over the barricades.

More ballistae thumped, sending bolts into Piglet.

Melaki formed a killing pattern and threw it at the zombie.
His magic... was nullified. Frantically, he formed a force pattern and threw
it. The zombie bounced in midair and went sailing back over the barricades.

A few soldiers cheered.

He reached out and prodded Piglet, delving the evil, the
magic, the threads of pattern. He could sense the silvery-slimy cord. But it
was as if he was looking at it through very thick glass.

“I feel you.”

“What?” he said.

Roke looked at him. “What is the matter?”

“You feel what?”

“I said nothing.” He shook his head.

Had he heard it in his ears or in his head? He shook himself
and prodded at Piglet again. Without much thought, he formed another force
pattern and deflected another hurled, growling zombie. Piglet's connection to
Earth was being shielded. He considered the glass-like obstruction. It felt
wrong, evil.

“You will fail.”

He looked around. It was in his head. He went back to
studying the shield. It felt magical in nature, as if to stop precisely what he
was doing.

“I see you, wizard. Not even of the tenth ward. How do
you expect to defeat one such as me?”
Laughter echoed in his head. Bad
laughter.

He shook his head and watched as more bolts were shot into
Piglet. She ripped them out. The shield did not vibrate in such a way that
indicated... He strode forward to the central pair of ballistaes.

Piglet was tough, but she was only shielded against magic.

A zombie went flying overhead. Melaki ignored it. “Hold your
next bolts until I say.”

The crews looked at him, then at his robes and then at their
officer. The officer nodded. They prepared the bolts and then looked at him.

He prepared a fire pattern in his mind and a force pattern.
Almost done with the patterns, he nodded.

The two ballistae thumped.

Melaki finished the patterns and threw all of his
concentration into both.

Piglet was screaming, picking up another zombie. The bolts
burst into white hot flames as they shot through the air, and then they
accelerated beyond the eye's ability to follow. One sank deep into her belly.
The other sank deep into her throat.

The strangled cry that erupted from Piglet was followed by a
crackling sound of fire from her two wounds. Smoke erupted from them.

“Loaded,” said the crew officer.

Melaki repeated the patterns, and then nodded.

Two more bolts flew and both erupted in flames, though not
as hot as before. They accelerated, though, just as fast.

At the last moment, he formed a force pattern in his mind
similar to the force used to cause pressure. His energy drained fast.

Piglet had turned, bleeding black rivulets of smoking ooze.
It was trying to get away. The two bolts impacted, one straight into the rolls
of her back, deep. The other went wide and he threw his third pattern on that
one. The bolt sank into Piglet's shoulder and a ripping sound could be heard
above the din of battle. Piglet's flesh ruptured at the shoulder in a violent
explosion of force. An enormous flabby arm went spinning off over the houses.