Last Words chapter 60 (Patreon)

Tracking down Wilbur wasn’t hard. I just went and found Esther, asking her about where he lived, then slipped into my mask and made my way to his house. The sun was down, and in my dark coat and mask I was able to move unnoticed, reaching Wilbur’s home within a short time. When I arrived, I knocked on the door and waiters, trying to look menacing and mysterious.

I waited for a minute or two, and eventually the door opened to reveal a girl around my age. She was blonde, with soft features and big, bright blue eyes that widened at the sight of me. “Oh…hello,” she said warily. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Wilbur,” I said in my quiet Balor tone. “Is this his residence?”

She swallowed hard. “It is,” she nodded, jutting her chin out. “Why are you looking for my father? If he’s done something to upset you I apologize, I’m sure we can compensate you. He gets a bit unruly when he drinks but he’s a kind man. I bake fresh bread every morning, perhaps you might like some.”

“Anna!” came a familiar voice from inside. “What are you doing at the door at this time of night? Who is tha-” Wilbur stepped from behind her, and his concerned face shattered, consumed in an instant by terror as he took in my appearance. “Anna, get away from him!” He grabbed his daughter, yanking her back into the house and behind him. “What are you doing here? You said that-”

“I said you owed me a favor,” I said quietly. “I’ve come to collect. I require information.”

That seemed to help a bit, allowing him to relax. I didn’t know what he imagined I wanted, but given I was masquerading as a demon it was probably fair to say it wasn’t nice. He turned to his daughter. “Anna, go inside and lock the door. I’ll knock when I need to come back in, but don’t open the door unless I tell you the name of your mother’s father.”

I had to admit, that was a solid way to set a password, I approved. I didn’t interrupt his instructions, waiting for him to finish talking to her and step outside. She didn’t seem to want to close the door, but she did as she was told after he shot her a glare. 

Turning back to me, he scowled. “Follow me, I don’t want anyone seeing you near my home.” I trailed behind him, walking along a low wall until we stepped into a dark alley at the intersection of a few squat buildings. He turned to face me with a frown. “Alright, what do you want?” I wasn’t sure if he was getting used to me or was putting on a brave face, but he seemed much less shaken than before. I didn’t mind.

“I require information,” I informed him. “Quite a bit of it. What can you tell me about an underground city near here?”

He staggered like I’d slapped him. “The FELLBARROW? Oh gods, you didn’t go inside, did you?” He was pressed against the wall, almost unconsciously putting himself as far from me as possible.

“What is it?” I asked, ignoring his question. “And since you’re aware of it, why haven’t I heard of it?”

“Because locals know better than to talk about the Fellbarrow,” he sneered. “Idiot out of towners hear about it and think it’s an opportunity for wealth or power. But locals know what it really is. It’s death.” His eyes took on a glazed look, as if he was staring at something far away, and his voice took on an odd sing song pitch as if reciting from memory. “From date of death to date of birth, touch not the halls beneath the earth, the beasts below all lie in wait, food or sport your only fate.”

I blinked at the obvious nursery rhyme. “Interesting,” I said, for lack of anything else thematically appropriate to say. “But you didn’t explain what it is.”

He frowned. “It’s old lore. As you know, we’re on the edge of the Windvein Empire. In fact, this land didn’t used to BE Empire territory. Centuries ago it belonged to the kind of Vastwhalen. They were a powerful force, the equal of the empire in their day, and aside from a few border skirmishes, they mostly maintained a relative balance with imperial forces.”

His tone was smooth and confident, and I realized this old man knew quite a bit about local history. “But countries rise and fall,” he continued, oblivious to my thoughts. “Vastwhalen had its prosperity, and also its decline. About eight hundred years ago, such a decline struck the country. It was during this time that Vastwhalen began to cede ground to the empire, including this very land.

“Desperate to cling to his country’s past glory, the king at the time, Desrick, attempted to contract the services of a terrible mage. A necromancer.” I felt a sinking feeling in my gut.

There was no way we were talking about the same guy. “What was the necromancer’s name?”

“Istvan,” he said grimly. “Istvan the Insane. In order to bolster the kingdom’s forces, he delved deep into the necromantic arts. He began to sacrifice the kingdom’s soldiers, taint their land, and twist their citizenry into dark mockeries of himself. He even took on a dozen students, training them in his unholy patterns and raising them in his dark likeness.”

Oh. It sounded like there was more than just the one necromancer. Did that mean the monster in the Lord’s body wasn’t Istvan? I hoped not, he sounded way out of my league. “So what happened? How did they lose?”

“The Imperial Grand Preceptor,” he said proudly. “Dolovar. One of the greatest mages of this or any age. He raised his staff against Istvan and his twelve pupils single handedly, and with one mighty spell he cast Vaswhalen from this realm, sending it plummeting into the depths, consumed by the very earth itself. In its place, a great forest grew, the trees forming an inescapable web of roots to seal the darkness beneath the soil, never to return.”

I shuddered at the mental image, or at least, I did internally. Had to maintain my facade. “How powerful is Dolovar, you talk like he’s still alive.”

“He is,” Wilbur beamed. “The preceptor has long surpassed the master realm of the mana body. How FAR he has surpassed it by is a matter of some debate, but after mastery the lifespan extends to one thousand years.” His voice was hushed with awe and respect.

I nodded slowly. I was getting the picture, even if I didn’t particularly like the image being painted. “What about…others? Were there any warrior undead that were famous back then? Or maybe enemies of the kingdom?” I remembered the Lord’s words about an unpleasant pile of bones, and I was taking them seriously. I wasn’t sure if he was one of the thirteen necromancers or some other undead they’d made, but whatever he was, he was way out of my league, and anyone that threatened him was likewise a huge problem for me.

He frowned, thinking it over. “I’m no historian, lad,” he admitted, seeming to forget what I supposedly was for a moment. “I heard these stories from me da, and he heard them from his da. But…there was one I remember. About a local boy who rose to power and distinguished himself in the war between Windvein and Vastwhalen, after the Dirkholm had been part of the Empire for some time. A powerful practitioner of holy patterns named Galen.”

“Holy patterns?” I asked, forgetting who I was supposed to be.

He gave me a strange look. “The patterns of the gods? Surely you of all beings must know of them. Galen was a follower of the goddess Aradnia. His holy might was strong, and he stood firm against the hordes of undead. In fact, this city was his personal territory, and remained property of his family for generations after his death. The Croftborn family went extinct in the male line a few centuries ago, however. Ownership of Dirkholme has been contentious ever since.”

Which brought me full circle. “And what of the current Lord?” I asked.

His face twisted in distaste as he looked around, checking if anyone was nearby. He lowered his voice to a bare whisper. “Lord Worther is...odd. When he first arrived, he was your standard entitled brat. He swaggered around the town, sneering and scoffing and expecting us to fall all over ourselves. At first.”

“What happened later?” I asked.

“He became…different,” he said uneasily. “There wasn’t really any sign it was coming. One day he was rampaging around the town, and the next he was never around. He locked himself in his fortress and never comes out. He sends his guard to harass us, and sometimes…sometimes he summons people to the castle. Most of them reappear, but some don’t ever return.” His voice was shaking as he spoke, eyes raking over the alley as if desperate to confirm we were alone.

I focused back on the important parts of why I was here. I planned to help Wilbur and the people like him if possible, but to do that I needed to know what I was getting into. That meant I needed more information on what the Lord could do. “Do you know anything about necromancy?” I asked bluntly.

“Of course not,” he scoffed. “Death attribute mana can only be gathered by sacrificing living beings. It’s highly illegal. Practicing necromancers are executed on sight. All I know about it is that death patterns aren’t generally used on their own. They’re supplementary patterns, almost exclusively used in braids. Necromancy isn’t powerful on its own, it only shows its true power when combined with other disciplines. I only know that much because I was briefed on them as a guard. We’re trained to watch out for them, especially out here.”

I frowned. That wasn’t as helpful as I’d hoped. In fact, it might have made my situation worse. I had no idea what the Lord could do, so there was no way to prepare. I briefly considered trying to acquire a necromancy pattern, since I would be able to refill it without sacrifices, at least assuming I could get a full one to begin with.

Of course, I quickly dismissed the idea. I had enough issues in this world without making myself public enemy number one. I wouldn’t close off the possibility of getting my hands on one, especially to use back home, but I wouldn’t count on it being my salvation here.

But speaking of unique patterns, the other ones Wilbur mentioned were much more interesting to me. Galen Croftborn was apparently a holy mage, and if I could find some of THOSE patterns, I might be able to use them to counter the Lord. I wasn’t sure if I could get them off a skeleton, but it didn’t hurt to try. In the meantime, I needed to find out some more about the nearest entrance to the Fellbarrow.

“Do you know of an access point to the Fellbarrow?” I asked after a slight pause. I knew he wouldn’t like the question but I didn’t have time to worry about that now.

Sure enough, he flinched back, obviously reminded he was supposed to be afraid of me. “I…well…I know of one,” he said quickly. “It’s here in town. In one of the basements. It’s sealed off. I don’t think the owner even knows it’s there. An old friend told me about it before he passed, and his son inherited his home. It’s well hidden.”

I raised an eyebrow at that. “That’s…very interesting,” I said slowly. “Bring me to this house. I want to talk to the owner.” Namely, I wanted to try to bribe them. If I could buy a house with direct access to the barrows, I would have a much more convenient staging area to send teams down there. Judging by his expression, Wilbur didn’t want to do it, but once I assured him I wouldn’t hurt his friend he agreed. From there, we set off to the house in question. I had a feeling this was going to be a long night.