B6C29 - Speak with the Dead (Patreon)

Each member of the delegation grew tense as the undead drew closer. Proximity granted a clarity that Lady Sathin did not appreciate, laying bare the grisly and ghastly details of the approaching party. Skeletons that drifted over the surface of the sand, their feet never touching a single grain, with red crystal growths poking out of their sockets. Others appeared as heavily armoured juggernauts, their cold eyes burning from deep within their bone plated helmets. When they were close enough that she could finally see the Necromancer himself, she struggled not to gasp aloud.

Clad in smoking armour of black bone like the others, his features hidden behind his skull helmet. Flowing from his shoulders was what she could only describe as a cloak of souls. If she listened, she swore she could hear them wailing, could see them reaching out, trying to break free of the magick that bound them to the Necromancers back. 

Schooling her features to stillness, she glanced sharply towards her husband, whose hand had tightened around the hilt of his sword. Anger in his eyes, he met her gaze for a moment before turning it back towards the approaching party. He wouldn't draw, he had assured her with his eyes, not unless he felt he had to. That would have to do.

Unhurried, the Necromancer approached at his own speed, the other undead positioned around him protectively. Ariez was forced to remind herself that each of them was a slave, bound to the will of the Mage in their midst. Such a monstrous existence, surrounding himself with servants and slaves who would celebrate his death and the release it would grant them.

How many of the thousands and thousands that moved to surround her city were there against their wishes, magickaly compelled by one person alone? 

Thinking along these lines was only stirring up her anger, and she was plenty angry already. She hadn't come out here and risked her life and soul in order to throw insults at a madman, but to try and save the lives of her people. Once again, she mastered herself, remaining cool and composed on the outside.

When they were only a hundred metres away, the undead stopped while the Necromancer continued to step forward a few paces before he stopped and raised his hand. 

"Is he really going to parlay?" Leras muttered, disbelieving, "this has to be a trap."

"We are prepared for that," she reminded him without turning her head. She too stepped forward, then raised her hand.

She lowered it, then raised it again, showing three fingers. After a moment, the Necromancer did the same.

"Good, he agreed. Leras and Massan, with me."

Knowing they would obey, she stepped forward and heard them fall in behind her. Just as she had, the Necromancer also walked forward, two of his followers accompanying him. When they were fifty paces apart, they halted again.

"We have come to parlay in good faith," she called, raising her voice to carry over the mist covered sand.

"There will be no treachery from this side," he replied.

He sounded surprisingly young, even if his tone was inhumanly cold. Again, they walked forward, only coming to a halt when they were ten paces apart. To individuals blessed with the power of the Unseen, standing this close to each other was akin to holding a blade to each other's neck. How much more was that true for someone who had reached the heights of this person?

Unbidden, the Necromancer reached up and removed the helmet from his head, exposing his face to the world. His features were surprisingly plain, human, and she realised she had expected to see a monster under that helmet, rather than a man. Deathly pale, she would have thought him to be on the verge of death, frail and weak, if it weren't for his eyes. 

It was difficult not to clasp her hands together to try and ward off the ice in that gaze. There was hatred there, a raging fury that burned cold rather than hot. Despite his placid expression, this man hated them, hated them down to their very bones. If such unthinking rage against a person you had never met before wasn't madness, then what was?

"Well met," she said coolly. 

"Well met," he replied, gaze boring into her own. "I must admit I am surprised that you would attempt to reach out to me. I'm certain the Empire would not approve."

Most likely, that was true. This man was a traitor and a heretic, there would be no outcome for him other than death and even speaking to him could taint them in the eyes of the Emperor. 

"I am Lady Ariez of House Sathin," she said.

"I am Tyron Steelarm," he replied.

Silence fell between them as one side beheld the other. It was broken when Leras spoke up.

"I met your father once."

Tyron turned towards him, one brow raised.

"You met Magnin?"

This was news to Ariez. She wanted to give a slight shake of her head but trusted her husband wouldn't say anything inflammatory.

"He was a hero," Leras Sathin said finally, biting off the final word, turning into a knife directed at the Necromancer.

If it struck home, there was no sign.

"That he was," Tyron agreed, then turned his gaze back to Ariez. If anything, it was even colder now. "I am interested to hear why you have requested this parlay. I hope you do not believe that your city can be saved."

"We have already begun to evacuate, as you already know," she replied coldly. He tilted his head forward to indicate the truth of this statement. He was indeed aware they did not intend to defend it. "I am not hear to plead for the city, but to plead for the people who remain inside. We haven't had enough time to evacuate everyone, and there are many who refuse to leave their homes, mostly the old and infirm. If you give us a little more time, we will be able to evacuate them along with the rest of the citizenry."

If she hoped to see some flicker of humanity in his eyes at the mention of the aged people too sick or too stubborn to leave their homes, it was short lived. There was no reaction whatsoever, only that steady burning stare filled with hate. 

"I have no interest in harming those people. Tell them they will be safe if they remain in their homes and avoid exposing themselves to any signs of concentrated Death Magick. That includes the miasma and rain. If it seeps into them too much, they'll suffer negative effects, perhaps even death if they are too vulnerable. In truth, I have little interest in the city at all. After a visit to the graveyard and picking over the burial ground of your House, I will be leaving."

Lady Sathin's mouth twisted. Was he taunting them by mentioning the honoured dead of her House? She wouldn't take the bait, she'd expected as much from him already. Her family members were long dead, their souls taken to the bosom of the Divines. Tyron Steelarm might desecrate their bones, but no more than that.

"You can't expect anyone to believe your words," she said plainly. "No matter what you say, everyone will believe you intend to slay them and add them to your army."

He shrugged.

"Eventually the truth of the matter will get out. I have no intention of bringing harm directly to the general public within the Southern Province and as long as they leave me alone, I'll leave them alone. After I've moved through a few cities, people will begin to understand once the word spreads. I have to start convincing them at some point, it may as well be now."

Lies, obvious lies. Even if he were speaking the truth, it was likely only to lure a major population into staying put when he approached, to be destroyed once the city had fallen into his control. Lady Sathin doubted she would pass on this message to the people of the city at all, it would only give them false hope that remaining behind would allow them to be safe, perhaps convincing more to stay, which was the opposite of what she had set out to achieve.

"Are you sure you cannot give us more time?" she pressed once more. "Even a few hours would be meaningful to the people and would make next to no difference to you. We are abandoning the city regardless, whether you take it a little faster makes no difference, surely. Think of the families that will be broken by having to abandon their elderly members."

She didn't mention Massan, but she certainly thought of him. Loyal to the end, he would never abandon his duty, but he would torn inside by the loss of his family. It was just so unnecessary.

"No," Tyron replied, unblinking. "I will take the city as soon as possible, there is no reason for me to delay. I say again, you are desperate to protect these people, but they are not at risk from me. If they cannot care for themselves, then their families should remain behind to look after them, they are also safe from me."

"What reason do they have to believe you?" she replied, growing desperate. Was there really no humanity left in this man? "No one will remain behind just because you say they will be safe."

The Necromancer was clearly uncaring.

"I have given you my answer," he said. "Unless you are prepared to give me something I want in exchange, then I see no reason to extend this conversation."

"What is that you want?" she said desperately. "Other than death and destruction of the Empire? That's something I cannot give you."

Tyron Steelarm glared at her, a frightening hunger burning in his eyes.

"It's nothing complicated," he growled, softly, a predatory cast to his features. "I want the blood of the Divines to be wiped from the face of the world. I want every magister dead and every Slayer free. I want to strip the flesh and raise the bones from everyone who gets in my way and I want bring those pretenders out from whatever heavenly hole they have crawled into and strip the godhood out of them painfully and slowly."

With every word his voice grew lower until his voice was barely higher than whisper. Even schooling her features as best she could, it was difficult to keep her face from going pale and her eyes from widening. He truly was mad. Wholly and completely insane.

"If you want me to make this concession, then give me what I want," he said. "Surely you have a few relatives you can hand over. Irritating uncles or aunts? An aged grandfather? Perhaps your mother and father are still alive and won't mind sacrificing themselves for their people? Give me... let's say four. Four people with Noble blood, and I will give you four hours to evacuate your city."

He spread his hands.

"It seem a reasonable deal to me."

Beside her, Leras was shaking with fury. At a loss for words, she couldn't prevent him from lashing out in anger.

"You will never lay a hand on my family, monster!" he spat.

Tyron merely smiled.

"I wouldn't, if your gods hadn't seen fit to lay a hand on mine. But they did, and so I will," he assured them. "I will have all of you, in the end. Not just your family, but every House. Every Noble living in the realm."

"Even the children?" Ariez whispered.

His eyes glittered.

"I said everyone with Noble blood, did I not? There are no exceptions. Every hint of those four pretenders will be erased, as if they had never existed in the first place."

Lady and Lord Sathrin watched as the Necromancer and his party walked back towards the undead army and vanish into the miasma in silence. Then they turned, and rode back to their city.