The fall of skullkeep, p.27
The Fall of Skullkeep, page 27
“I agree. Which is why we need to hurry up and finish clearing these camps so that I can join the assault on Skullkeep and make sure no one kills my dad. I just got him back. I’m not ready to lose him again.”
CHAPTER 28
Gavin stood at the periphery of the camp the armies constructed at the mouth of Hope’s Pass. Where he stood was still a vibrant landscape. Green grass reaching for the sun high in the sky. Beautiful wildflowers scattered hither and yon, many behind him trampled by the troops and tents and horses.
But just a hundred yards away—two hundred at the most—the ancient pass became a lifeless desolation. What grasses remained were brown, desiccated husks. The dirt itself a worn brown, almost like the tan of drought-ridden plains, and certainly not rich, black soil capable of supporting life.
Barren and bare rock rose high on either side of the pass. Past the hemispherical mouth of the pass, it narrowed to little more than fifty yards wide. Twenty-five in some places.
It would be a hard, brutal slog. Tense, even. They didn’t know what awaited them. Not really. The reports from the Wraiths sent to infiltrate the stronghold had been sparse. Not more than a handful between all five of them over the previous months. Gavin hoped they were well and just unable to send messages. He knew it was part of being Archmagister—not to mention Kirloth—but he didn’t relish sending people to their deaths.
The Necromancer had been an open threat to the world for too long, and the time had come to see to that.
He was as prepared as he could be for the coming confrontation. But he didn’t feel like he was prepared enough. The one time they’d confronted each other had not gone so well for him… unless you counted the trip home to reconnect with family… but he wasn’t too sure that had been the Necromancer’s intent.
Last night—when he’d finished what little work the others had allowed him to do on his own tent—he set in his comfy camp chair and performed a divination focused on his first confrontation with the Necromancer all those months ago.
What he discovered surprised him.
The divination carried an echo of his skathos—faint though it was—and the sense it gave him of the Necromancer’s invocation was an Interation-laced Transmutation. Almost like a disintegration effect with an overlay of death for good measure.
Which only created more questions.
How had he and Kiri ended up on Earth? That combination should have killed them both. Why didn’t it? Did Bellos—or someone else—meddle yet again? Was that it? His skathos in the divination didn’t give him that feeling… but there’s a reason the scientists back on Earth liked to point out that ‘absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.’
Not to mention how it was impossible to prove a negative.
No… he needed to put all this out of his mind for the next day or so. He needed to focus on defeating the Necromancer or Drannos or whatever he preferred to call himself. Then and only then would he give himself permission to delve into all the mysteries surrounding him.
It was far past time he had some concrete answers.
Gavin allowed himself a heavy sigh, then squared his shoulders and focused on his purpose for coming outside the camp. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind of all distractions, making his intent the paramount thought in his mind. Then, he took a breath and invoked a Word of Divination.
“Klaepos.”
The resonance of his power slammed into the ambient, and he thought he heard a faint scream or two from the camp about twenty-five yards behind him. As the scrying sphere began to form, he couldn’t help but smile at his success.
Soon enough, he looked down on the ancient fortress this world had called Skullkeep for thousands of years. He watched the mass of undead mill about the courtyard. Noted how the walls looks poorly maintained. But poorly maintained didn’t necessarily mean ineffective.
He didn’t see much sign of the living inhabitants, and he couldn’t decide if that was good or not. Such a large number of undead had to fill the area with a rather… strong… bouquet, especially since they were within a few weeks of high summer.
The courtyard was a rectangle with rounded corners, more or less, and Gavin scratched at his chin as he considered an idea. The crux of the issue was that he didn’t know enough about undead. He wanted to lay down an anti-magic field around the courtyard—much like the dueling ring far beneath the College of the Arcane. But would that reduce the undead to rotting corpses and skeletons? Or would it just remove the control the Necromancer had over them, basically turning them feral?
Maybe Ovir would know… or… maybe he could convince Valthon to give him the answer.
It would be ideal if the anti-magic field just turned them off… but Gavin didn’t think he was that lucky.
He canceled the scrying sphere, but just as he was about to turn back to camp, he noticed a faint resonance in his skathos. It was small—no larger than a person or two—and moving slowly. A walking pace at best. He readied the first Word he ever knew but waited to see what physical form the odd resonance took.
And… he was glad he did.
Not even a full heartbeat after he became aware of a faint shimmering that moved out from behind a clutch of saplings, the shimmering faded, revealing none other than the Wraith he’d met as Cyn. She paced her steps carefully as she approached him, and when she reached a comfortable distance, she took and knee and bowed her head.
“Milord, I have come to report.”
Gavin nodded, even though she stared at the ground. “Rise and stand easy. What have you to report?”
“Your scry block has frustrated the Necromancer and his students to great degree. They have massed their mercenaries to await your assault, an event they have been certain will happen ‘any day now’ since not long after you enacted the block. Tempers have well and truly frayed among the intelligent members of the fortress’s garrison, and I myself have had to knife three people who felt a lone woman was fair game to relieve their stress.”
Gavin scowled. “It’s unfortunate and unconscionable that they would treat you such, but I’m glad you’ve protected yourself. If anyone among the Wraiths gives you any flack over it, send them straight to me without a second thought. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Milord.” Cyn gave a quick, assured nod. “I believe I have also located the Necromancer’s soul jar. He has a cubby hidden in one wall of his quarters that is highly warded. Very highly warded. Were it not for the awareness of embedded magic the Wraith tattoo gives us, I doubt I would even have found it. There was a powerful Enchantment effect that tried to nudge me away from even noticing it.”
“If it is that highly warded, there’s no telling what will happen if someone other than Drannos disturbs the wards. I do not want you to sacrifice yourself for this, Cyn. You may consider that an order if needed.”
Cyn replied with a smile that was absolutely predatory. “Oh, Milord… you have no reason to worry. One of the fellows who met the business end of my dagger survived, and he knows beyond any doubt that he owes me his life… which I plan to claim when you assault the fortress. I will take him to the Necromancer’s chambers and use him to activate the wards. If he survives, I will ask that you spare him and set him up somewhere to enjoy whatever remains of his life.”
“Sounds fair,” Gavin replied with a one-shoulder shrug.
“You should also know that the undead in the courtyard constitute the bulk of the defensive force. The mercenaries have been quietly slipping away ever since you laid down the scrying block. Given that the Necromancer and his students are not silent at all about how it persists despite their best efforts to dispel it, many of them have come to believe that shows you are the more powerful with your victory assured.”
“Well… when we faced each other in Tel Mivar the first time, I wasn’t exactly at my best. I’ve been hoping this second meeting would resolve much more in my favor.”
Cyn beamed. “I do not think you have much to fear on that score, Milord. While I would caution you against overconfidence, morale is not high at all within Skullkeep… and… I have taken it upon myself to plant rumors and suggestions where I can to keep it low, if not drive it lower.”
“Good for you. Do you have anything else to report?”
“Nothing substantive, Milord.”
“Very well.” Gavin nodded once. “You deliver excellent work. Be careful slipping back into the fortress.”
“Of course, Milord. When you begin your assault, my minion and I will destroy the soul jar.”
Without another word, Cyn slipped back into the forest and vanished from sight.
Several people turned to face him as they stood when Gavin entered the pavilion that would serve as their command center. They watched him in silence as he made his way around to the only open spot at the round table that dominated the space. He pulled his chair back from the table and sat, gesturing for them to return to their seats.
“Well?” Dagrond Axesplitter demanded. “Did ye see anything?”
More than one person around the table smiled at the dwarven general’s impatience.
Gavin merely leaned back against his seat. “It won’t be easy, but we all knew that. The entire courtyard is a milling mass of undead. I identified skeletons, zombies, and ghouls. There did not seem to be many people manning the walls or the main fortress’s battlements. A few weeks ago, I took the opportunity to block scrying for two thousand square miles, and I put the center-point far enough west that it ends about a hundred feet or so shy of Skullkeep’s walls. It covers large sections of Mivar and Cothos provinces. Sure… they may know we’re here, but they only way they’ll see what we’re doing is the ole Mark I eyeball.”
Those not familiar with Gavin’s odd phrases—which were all but five of the attendees—glanced at each other around the table.
After several moments, Dagrond ventured a question, “Is there a Mark II eyeball?”
Gavin fought the urge to sigh… and largely succeeded. “It’s just an expression from where I was born. It means the naked eye.”
Nods of understanding circled the table.
“So… how long should we rest before making the march to the fortress?” Gavin asked.
Roth Thatcherson answered, “With the bulk of our forces being veterans, I see no reason we couldn’t march on Skullkeep as soon as the day after tomorrow. Using the gateways prevented us from having our support train stretched halfway back to Tel Mivar, so in full truth, there is probably little reason we couldn’t march tomorrow.”
Gavin scanned the expressions looking back at him around the table. No one seemed to disagree with Roth’s statement. Which was both good and bad in his mind. “I’d like to at least hold here until the day after tomorrow. That will give us the opportunity to plan the assault and give us a night to see if we thought of anything we missed during the primary planning. Thoughts?”
More nods circled the table. Telanna spoke, “I agree. I believe that to be the wisest course. We can establish a perimeter of scouts to ensure that no scouts from Skullkeep reach us, and my fellow druids and I have already called the local birds to our cause. In addition to whatever scouts and sentries the generals wish to deploy, we shall also have coverage from the air.”
“That’s excellent, Telanna,” Gavin replied, adding a smile. “I’ll scry the fortress again in the morning and record the visuals to a crystal that will provide us an illusory playback at will. That way, we’ll have a current reference during our planning. Does anyone have anything else at this time?”
No one spoke up, so Gavin dismissed the conference.
He watched them leave and, once they were gone, allowed himself a heavy sigh. He already knew his part in the upcoming assault. He hoped they would be able to get close enough to the fortress that he could wipe out the wall and gate blocking their approach before he had to shift to defending his forces from the Necromancer and whatever arcanists he’d recruited to his cause.
A dark and mirthless chuckle—even almost evil—escaped his control as he remembered the last arcanists from Skullkeep he had faced. They had managed to disintegrate a thirty-foot section of the Vushaari capital city’s wall, which Gavin’s friends—the Apprentices—reconstituted within a matter of minutes.
No… he wasn’t worried about whatever arcanists the Necromancer had at his side. His only concern was the Necromancer himself. He wasn’t the same wizard he’d been when they first confronted each other, and he wouldn’t be walking into this fight barely standing from defeating the manifestation of Milthas. Cyn was right. He shouldn’t allow himself to get cocky or overconfident, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel this meeting would go very differently.
If it went even slightly close to plan, that would be nice.
CHAPTER 29
Cyn slipped back inside the fortress without notice or challenge. Even though her seniority among the Wraiths was… not great… she counted her mentor among the very best. And so, under his tutelage and wise guidance, she had developed a skillset that rivaled veterans. She had overheard Declan talking to a group of senior—very senior—Wraiths not too long before departing on the Skullkeep mission where he said he suspected she would be one of those rare few that set the standard for the new generation… much as he had once upon a time.
That… even the mere memory of hearing his voice say those words filled her with a fire and conviction to not let him down. It was because of him that she was anything other than a street waif who grew into a common thief or a pleasure girl working the docks of her hometown. She’d made the mistake of trying to cut his purse, and after a flurry of movement too fast for her to follow that ended with a needle pricking her neck, she’d woken up on the bed of a room far more upscale than anything she’d ever dreamed possible. He sat in a plush armchair across the room from her, honing the edge of a dagger, as he offered her the chance at a better—but far more dangerous—life.
Weeks later—after she’d passed her first assessment with the top marks in her group—she’d asked him why he’d given her that chance. She still remembered his response clear as day, “Because… once upon a time, I cut the wrong purse, too.”
Cyn slipped into her room in the fortress barracks and checked all the telltales she’d left, finding them undisturbed until her return. She shouldn’t have allowed her memories to overtake her so… not while on an assignment. But she also recognized that she wasn’t perfect—no one was—and resolved to do better tomorrow. For now, she had work to do.
Cedric looked up when movement darkened the doorway to his space, and he fought the urge to cringe when he saw the woman standing there. He didn’t know who she was. The name she’d given the recruiting sergeant was obviously a fake, and her skills and uncaring ruthlessness—even on the practice field—terrified him straight down to his bones. More than anything else in his life, he wished he’d never even learned she existed, let alone agreed with Marc to try having a little fun with her. Now, Marc and his other friends were dead, and he was left with… her.
She stalked into his cubby, not unlike an apex predator, and closed the door behind her. She withdrew what looked like a small, stone pyramid from a belt pouch and placed it on his desk. It was covered in runes unlike anything he’d ever seen… not that he’d know anything at all about runes. She pressed the palm of her hand against one side, and all the runes lit up. Not even a heartbeat later, the room seemed to fill with some kind of pressure that made his ears feel the need to pop.
“There,” she said. “Now, we can talk without risk of anyone overhearing us.”
He eyed her warily, he knew. He didn’t like that… but… neither could he shake the feeling of being prey trapped with a predator.
“Not everyone here would use their ears to spy on us.”
One corner of her mouth quirked in what might have become a smile in another life. “It will take care of that, too.”
Shit… just who was she? That kind of magic wasn’t exactly plentiful, not to mention the pyramid had the look of an artifact. Those weren’t common, either.
“Who are you?”
She lifted one eyebrow to add emphasis to her reply, “Does it matter?”
“I… I don’t know. Are you going to kill me?”
A one-shoulder shrug. “Maybe… but not deliberately. If you survive what I have planned for you, I’ll see you have enough coin to start a new life somewhere no one will ask you which side you fought for when the Old Alliance reclaimed Skullkeep.”
Oh… shit. What did she know? Yes… it wasn’t much a secret that morale among the living garrison wasn’t all that high. It also wasn’t a secret that said garrison had been slowly and quietly dwindling ever since word spread that there was a scrying block over eastern Tel that made the Godswall Mountains seem tiny and incomplete. It didn’t take a tactical or strategic genius to figure out the Old Alliance was coming for them—probably soon—and when the Necromancer couldn’t break through the scrying block… well… that seemed to say everything that needed to be said about how the imminent conflict would end.
It didn’t exactly help that any scouts sent into Tel never returned, either.
Yes, of course… nothing was certain in battle. Something that would have been a minor mistake elsewhere could change the fate of an entire force. But… Cedric wasn’t the only one who felt the Necromancer was outmatched.
Rumors had spread throughout the fortress that the confrontation with the Archmagister happened after the Archmagister had already faced an avatar of Milthas… and survived. More than one person asked themselves if they’d even be employed right now if the Archmagister had faced the Necromancer fresh and untried that day.
This woman seemed to think like many of those who had quietly disappeared into the night. The Necromancer’s days were ending, maybe even sooner than he realized.
“What… what do you have planned?”
