Book of The Dead

“Tyron, you can’t monopolise the whole thing for months at a time,” Drenan said, “the slayers are already losing their fucking shit.”

The Necromancer didn’t respond immediately, watching the Hammerman with a neutral expression.

“It’s not that I don’t understand your concerns,” he said finally, placing his hands on his knees, “but there are several matters that you need to consider.”

He brought up a hand and began ticking off his fingers.

“First, if I decide to claim all of the kin who come through the rift for myself, there is nothing you can do about it. Even if all of you come at once, I’ll still kill you all.

“Second. There is a greater conflict afoot, and you just so happen to be stuck right in the middle of it. If you aren’t on my side, then why would I give you anything at all? In fact, if you aren’t on my side, then why am I leaving you alive at all?

“Third. If you throw a tantrum because I’ve taken your toys away, why should I even care?

“Fourth. If you are on my side, and if I were so generous as to share the rift, there is an important question that needs to be answered. Are you of any fucking use? Are the levels and proficiency gained by you going to be more help than if those same resources were spent on myself?”

As the list went on, Drenan’s expression fell further and further. Although he didn’t fear actual violence from the Mage, he did manage to get his point across with those threats. In effect, he was saying ‘I am stronger than you, so I can do what I want, what the fuck are you going to do about it?’

The answer to that was… not much. Drenan was perfectly prepared to die in the defence of his people fighting against the rifts, but not against a Necromancer. There had been many additions to Tyron’s collection of former Classed skeletons, and he did not want to become one of them.

“As far as the conflict you spoke to us about, I can’t speak for the others, but I’m… sympathetic, at the very least, to your point of view.”

“Sympathetic?” Tyron raised a brow. “The Magisters let a break happen rather than relax the leash around Magnin and Beory’s neck. The best and strongest slayers in the province were put to death for the sin of getting too strong. That’s a system you’re prepared to live with?”

“It’s not that simple, and you know it,” Drenan growled. “I’m never going to be as good as Magnin or Beory Steelarm, so what they had to face is never going to apply to me. I just want to do my part and help keep people safe. That’s it. The systems and authority we have in place are corrupt and cruel, I understand that, but they’re all we have.”

This was something the Hammerman believed in passionately. The devastation that had rocked the Western Province had shaken him to his core. The people who’d allowed it to happen needed to be punished, certainly, but what difference did that make to the suffering of the common folk? They experienced danger every single day, simply for trying to live in this doomed realm, and they deserved help.

“You don’t get it, Drenan,” Tyron shook his head. “The war is coming. Slayers are furious, across the entire province. That rage is only building. The crackdown might have put a lid on it for the moment, but as time passes, that pressure is going to grow until it finally erupts. The believers in the old gods are fighting back, they won’t sit back and watch as the purge goes by this time.”

He took a long drink from his waterskin and sighed.

“Even if none of that happens… even if the slayers and believers roll over… I won’t. I’m going to fight, and I’m going to kill, and I’m not going to stop until I fail, or I throw the Magisters down and slaughter the Nobles in their castles.”

He turned his gaze on Drenan, and not for the first time, the Hammerman noted the intense fury that burned within. Normally, the man appeared so cold, it was easy to forget what was going on within.

“Keep this in mind, Drenan,” Tyron continued, “I don’t fail.”

There didn’t seem to be any point continuing the conversation. Drenan pushed his hands against his knees and stood.

“I’ll take this news back to the others, and you already know how they’re going to take it. I expect Samantha might come up to speak to you herself, but others may just make a run for it, try and rat you out to the magisters. There’s doubtless a fat reward for information on a den of vipers like Cragwhistle.”

“Who?” Tyron said.

“What?” Drenan asked, caught off guard as he was turning to leave.

“Who is it you think will try to leave for a reward?” Tyron explained patiently.

“What are you going to do?”

“Remove the threat.”

The Hammerman frowned, his mouth set in a thin line.

“You want me to betray fellow slayers?” he spat.

“Pick a side, Drenan. From the sounds of things, you already know some slayers who chose who they’re willing to fight for, and it isn’t my side. I told you what happens to people who aren’t on my side.”

Still, the slayer hesitated. It didn’t sit right with him to sell out people he’d fought alongside, but then again, the people he was protecting didn’t feel the same way. He had little doubt he’d be sold out himself, along with the rest of the village.

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After considering for a long moment, he sighed and hung his head.

“Gramble has been openly discussing abandoning the village. The other members of his team aren’t convinced, but they aren’t happy, either.”

Tyron nodded slowly.

“I knew that much already. Don’t worry about Gramble.”

“No?” Drenan said, surprised, raising his head. He thought the Necromancer would take drastic action immediately.

“You thought I would race down the mountain and kill him?” Tyron asked. “There is no need. Gramble is already dead. He began to pack his things the moment you left the barracks.”

That fucker. He’d already made up his mind, just biding his time until he wasn’t being watched. There wasn’t any point being mad at a dead man, so he directed it towards another deserving target.

“Why drag that out of me if you already knew?” he demanded. “Do you get some sick pleasure from making me betray my own fucking ideals?”

Tyron held up his hands in a gesture of peace.

“Of course not. I just can’t afford to move cautiously. Not anymore. Gramble was a risk that I couldn’t allow to fester, it’s as simple as that. As for you… I’m just pushing you to make a choice. You’re a good person, Drenan. Loyal. Competent. You’re exactly the kind of slayer my parents were proud to call their comrades.”

He looked almost wistful as he reflected on Magnin and Beory.

“So I want you on my side. That’s all. And as thanks for you being willing to share that name with me, I’ll tell you something. I won’t be staying here for too long. There’s another site in the province which is almost as isolated as Cragwhistle right now, and the rifts there are an awful lot more developed than the one here.”

Drenan didn’t have to think long.

“You’re going to Woodsedge?” he said, disbelieving. “There are hundreds of slayers there.”

“You think they’ll kill me?” Tyron chuckled. “They might, but I doubt it. I defeated one Magister here, but there will be a dozen victims in Woodsedge.”

“You’re really going to do this,” Drenan said, eyes widening. It’s not that he hadn’t believed it, but hearing it spoken in such stark terms was still a shock. This man in front of him fully intended to attack a slayer keep and subdue the Magisters inside. Such an act of rebellion was… unthinkable… absurd.

And yet.

“I’m going to send some skeletons down with you,” Tyron said, “to collect Gramble for me. If you could have a word with his teammates for me, I would appreciate it. Despite how this may look, I do not want to kill slayers unless I have to. They can make wiser decisions than their leader.”

“I’ll pass that on.”

But I’m not sure how much they’re going to listen.

It was an eerie journey back down the mountain, with two skeletons on his heels. Being around them more didn’t help with the uncomfortable sense he got from the undead. If anything, the opposite was true. Their silence, their disturbing gaze, all of it set his teeth on edge.

When he reached the gate, he was unsurprised to see there was a disturbance. After he explained himself, he, along with his two escorts, were allowed within the gate.

The barracks was a mess. Christoff and Petri were in the common area, yelling and crying in equal measure. Samantha was grim-faced, listening to them patiently, while the rest of his own team stood against the walls, arms crossed, angry expressions on their faces.

When he entered, everyone fell silent and turned towards him. When the two skeletons followed behind, the two remaining members of the Weaver slayer team burst into anger.

“No fucking way! They aren’t taking him, Drenan! Over my dead body!”

The Hammerman winced. In the circumstances, that was an extremely poor choice of words. He held up his hands.

“Don’t shoot the messenger, I was just talking to the guy on behalf of all of us.”

“You don’t speak for us!” Petri shouted.

“Then you go up the fucking mountain and talk to him yourself.” He turned and pointed to the door. “Well? Get moving.”

Despite their simmering anger, neither of the two Mages made a move toward the exit.

“I didn’t think so.”

Drenan sighed.

“Look, I’m just going to tell you what the Necromancer had to say, then we can make a decision about what to do. In the meantime,” he turned his attention to the two skeletons, who still hadn’t moved after entering the barracks. “I hope these two will stay still….”

There was no response from them, which was expected, since Tyron couldn’t speak through them, but hopefully he was listening. There was no further movement from the undead, so possibly he was.

He took a seat and the gathered slayers listened as he explained what he’d been told. They were pleased to hear that Tyron may leave for Woodsedge, but the dire warning of a coming slayer rebellion was disturbing, to say the least.

“Is that really true?” Samantha asked, looking troubled. “We’re so isolated here, it’s impossible for us to know what is happening in the Keeps around the province.”

“I’ve been talking to the new arrivals,” Choll said, her dark skin gleaming in the low light. “There is a great deal of fear in them. They talk of family members being taken in the night, of Marshals and Priests roaming the cities, taking people without warrants. Something is definitely happening out there.”

“What about Gramble?” Christoff demanded. “What did he have to say about murdering one of us in cold blood?”

Drenan sighed. He still didn’t know how he felt about it himself.

“Again, I’m only telling you what he told me. He said Gramble was preparing to leave, sneak out and report on what was happening here to the Magisters.”

Petri exploded.

“Gramble would never!” he shouted.

“I wish I shared your confidence,” Drenan said quietly, and Petri’s face twisted.

“So is that the case, Drenan? You’re going to side with the Necromancer over us?”

“It’s not as if Gramble made it easy for me, did he?” Drenan shot back. “He started openly talking about leaving the same day that Tyron came back. The man is a fucking Necromancer. Did anyone here think he would take the risk?”

That silenced most of them, but Petri would not be silenced.

“I’m not giving over his body, Drenan. There’s no chance.”

The Hammerman turned to the two skeletons waiting by the doorway.

“You heard the man,” he said. “For what it’s worth, I agree with him. Gramble might have been a little shit, but he was one of us.”

Without a word, the undead turned and left. The gathered slayers watched them go, and some of the tension drained from the room with them.

“Things are going to be tough from here,” Drenan said quietly. “We need to work out what we’re going to do.”

“You mean, we need to pick a side,” Samantha replied. “There’s nothing to be done until we do.”

She was right. Drenan didn’t like it, but she was right.

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