One thing after another. Never a chance to rest.
Arkk stood inside the currently inert walking fortress, frowning at the [HEART] on its shadowy pedestal. He had half a mind to claim it for himself. Vezta worried that anyone else might betray them once they had a taste of its power or just go rogue. Arkk wasn’t quite so pessimistic. Leda hadn’t betrayed him. He hadn’t planned for her to take the [HEART], that had been Priscilla’s machinations, and she certainly wouldn’t have been his first pick from those he considered trustworthy. Her rise to prominence had simply been one of convenience. Few others were small enough to comfortably ride with Priscilla and act as her eyes.
But she hadn’t betrayed him.
This time around, Arkk had the option of choice.
The obvious choice was himself. He wouldn’t betray himself. But he already felt stretched thin. Magical fortress or not, he was only one person. He could only be in one place at a time. If problems occurred at both Fortress Al-Mir and Elmshadow, he would be in trouble. If problems occurred at both those places and here, he would be screwed. If that demon caught him once again, taking him out of the picture, all three locales would be in jeopardy.
That was the only reason he didn’t reach his hand forward.
He needed someone else. Someone who could manage servants, who could teleport forces around at will, who could cast spells at his level…
The obvious choice was someone in his primary circle of advisors. Ilya, Rekk’ar, Olatt’an, Zullie, Savren, Khan, Alma, Agnete, and Priscilla. Those one step removed were possibilities as well, his main field commanders. Dakka, Richter, Abbess Hannah, Sylvara, Vector, Joanne, Lexa…
Katja?
No. Not unless he wished to see betrayal sooner rather than later.
Some of those options were out. Priscilla was impossible, she couldn’t claim a [HEART] after having broken her contract. Zullie and Savren were busy with their research. Rekk’ar butted heads with Arkk enough that he wasn’t sure how loyal the abrasive orc would be. Khan…
Gorgon in general didn’t seem like the type—they were too content with food in their bellies and a warm rock to sit upon. Zhajra was probably the most ambitious of the group and even she spent most of her time relaxing. Arkk needed someone with drive, but not so much drive that they would try to take over.
Alma reminded him a bit too much of Leda. Not to mention he had originally threatened her into joining him, which he thought they were past but he wasn’t sure if they were hand-over-obscenely-powerful-magical-artifact levels of past it.
Abbess Hannah and Sylvara were out for obvious reasons relating to the Light, as were most of the rest of the field commanders on second thought. Lexa was too effective as an assassin to bog her down with managing a fortress. Richter had control over the majority of Arkk’s forces, most of them having joined up as deserters from the Duke’s Grand Guard, but they all joined solely to defeat Evestani. Arkk couldn’t begin to guess what they might do once that task was done with. Vector was the same as Richter, having been the man’s main battlecaster. Dakka, like Lexa, was just too effective in the field, though as a commander rather than an assassin.
Who did that leave? Ilya, Olatt’an, Agnete, and Joanne?
Joanne had been a sub-commander in the Order of the Claymores, so she had experience leading. She wasn’t so effective in the field that Arkk would feel her absence if she were tied to the tower here. Unfortunately, she was taking Leda’s death harder than Arkk expected, believing it was her fault, rather than his, that she and Kevin required rescue in the first place and then, later, that she had failed to adequately protect the small fairy. She might move past it in time, but time was something Arkk lacked at the moment.
Agnete was more like Lexa and Dakka than anyone else, too useful elsewhere. She was already powerful beyond most of the rest of Arkk’s forces. And now, she had ideas on how to improve things based on what she had created from the Anvil.
That left Olatt’an and Ilya.
Olatt’an probably wouldn’t betray Arkk in any sense of the word. They got on well enough and had never really come to harsh conflict. Not like with Arkk and Rekk’ar. He was older. Less effective on the battlefield. The ability to cast magic on the same level as Arkk would certainly make whatever appearances he did make in battle all the more prominent. He was generally wise, the incident with the initial opening of the Anvil portal notwithstanding, and could command respect when required.
There was no doubt in Arkk’s mind that Ilya would ever betray him. They had known each other their entire lives. It simply wasn’t even a question. Arkk trusted her implicitly. The injuries she had sustained at the Duke’s party, and subsequent botched healing by Arkk, longer healing at the manor, and touch-ups by Hale, weren’t holding her down anymore. At least not enough to be worthy of note. While she didn’t have quite the experience with leading men that Olatt’an did, she did have experience with the fortresses, having been effectively the second-in-command at Fortress Al-Mir.
“Ilya or Olatt’an?” Arkk mused to himself.
Vezta, standing at his side, tilted her head. “Those are your selections?”
“Unless I’m forgetting someone,” he said, humming. He had a lot of people working for him. It was entirely possible someone had slipped his mind. But if they didn’t come to mind now, he probably would have dismissed them for one reason or another. Hale popped into his mind momentarily, but he quickly shook his head. She was effective at healing but young and withdrawn.
Kia and Claire were out for the same reason that Zullie couldn’t give him the same treatment that she had given the dark elves. They weren’t quite part of this world. Besides that, he wasn’t sure giving the volatile dark elves access to even more power was a good idea.
“You have better ideas?” he asked.
Vezta fell silent, her eyes shifting back and forth as if reading from a scroll of names that Arkk couldn’t see. “Edvin?”
“Funny,” Arkk said, his voice utterly deadpan. Despite that, he did pause to consider for the briefest of instants. He would have to be beyond desperate to give Edvin a job of any level of importance.
“Darius Vrox?”
Arkk looked over to the servant, frowning. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not. First of all, I’d give the job to Sylvara over Vrox. Second, you don’t think an inquisitor would bind with an ancient magical artifact of dubious origin, do you?”
“Just listing possibilities you may not have considered,” Vezta said with a shrug. “It is among my duties to ensure that you see the full scope of the situation, not just what your mind likely first jumps to. That said, Ilya makes the most sense to me.”
Arkk pursed his lips, staring back at the shadowy orb. He had been afraid of that. “Maybe Vrox deserves some more consideration.”
“I believe Ilya would be most upset if you are coddling her just because you fancy the shape of her backside.”
“I don’t fancy… I mean, it’s more than just her butt—”
“Ah yes. Mammaries,” Vezta said, looking down at her own chest. The fabric-like texture of her skin over her chest turned oily and slick as more and more mass built up. Her chest bulged out, prompting her to prod herself with a finger. “Not sure I understand,” she said as they rapidly deflated back to their usual level.
Arkk boggled, unable to hold back a sudden snort of laughter. “Are you feeling alright?”
“I feel fine. What about yourself? Do you feel any better?”
A small smile settled on Arkk’s face. She was trying to make him feel better? First with ridiculous suggestions like Edvin, now this? One laugh wasn’t going to wipe away the latest disaster, but he did nod his head. It helped.
That help didn’t help solve their problem, unfortunately. “Why Ilya over Olatt’an?”
“Beyond trustworthiness? Her bond with you?” Vezta hummed, tapping her chin with a finger. “Just imagine the look on her mother’s face when she hears that her daughter contracted with an artifact like the one she was supposed to guard for the last few hundred years.”
Arkk stared at Vezta, narrowing his eyes. But now that the words had been said, he couldn’t help but picture Alya’s face. He let out a small laugh that quickly shifted into a hearty chuckle. It wasn’t that funny.
Smiling still felt good.
“Thank you for meeting me on such short notice,” Arkk said, clasping his hand with the bony, skeletal hand of the First and Last Primeval Lord. It was surprisingly warm to the touch.
Yoho, unable to do anything but smile, grinned and nodded his head. “Certainly. Our recruitment efforts are going well, thanks to you. None have moved to the Necropolis yet—we need a solution for locally grown food in the event access is cut off—but it would be remiss of me not to hear you out.” He pulled back, sweeping his fabulous clothing across the floor as he took a seat. “I understand you had questions regarding aspects of necromancy?”
Arkk, taking a seat as well, rested his hands on the table. It was a small meeting room, meant for one-on-one discussions. The whole room smelled faintly of old books. Several occupied the shelves around, more for decoration than for reading—he had a library for that—along with various trinkets and toys designed to catch the eye and start conversations. A decanter filled with wine sat next to some glasses off to the side of the table, its dark red liquid catching the dim light from the chandelier above. Arkk didn’t touch the wine. Yoho, being a skeleton, couldn’t exactly imbibe.
“Yes,” Arkk began, his voice steady but he was sure his eyes betrayed unease. “I… The necromancy I know, even with the tips you offered, raises undead but doesn’t bring the living back. Not like you and your people. I wanted to ask about that.”
“Ah,” Yoho said, falling silent immediately after.
That one word, the tone in which it was spoken, did not fill Arkk with any level of confidence. He closed his eyes, drew in a breath, and prepared for bad news. By the time he opened his eyes once more, Yoho was ready to continue.
“I would describe the process more as a ceremony than a ritual or magic spell. Family, friends, or other individuals of similar position, will bring the recently deceased to the Court in a great funeral procession. A grand celebration will commence, exploring the joy of life and the good deeds of the fallen. We’re the kind of people who love a good party.”
“So I’ve noticed,” Arkk said, keeping his voice neutral.
Yoho nodded his head. Leaning back, he tilted his skull up toward the ceiling as if reminiscing. “Those celebrations could last hours or days or, in certain cases, weeks. Oh, we had some good ones back in the day,” he said with a hearty chuckle. “But they eventually draw to a close, at which point the petitions begin. Relatives of the deceased go before the Court’s twelve Judges and begin a lengthy debate, making their case for why the deceased should be brought back in undeath.”
“They have to argue over it? Argue the merits of saving someone?”
“Argue is a strong word, Arkk,” Yoho said, looking back down. “As is the idea that we are saving someone, but that is a different topic entirely.” He sighed, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “It’s all part of the ceremony. It has happened that the debate fails to find favor with the deceased, yes, but frankly, if the Judges find no reason to revive someone, they’re probably the kind of person you wouldn’t want as your neighbor for the rest of your undeath, if you know what I’m saying. Half the people like that wouldn’t even be brought to the Court to begin with.” Yoho punctuated that with a sarcastic laugh.
“When the petition is accepted, as is usually the case,” Yoho continued, “the Judges call upon the Prince—praise—and ask that He look down upon the deceased with His Smile. Assuming that petition is successful, which has only failed a handful of times throughout all of history, the dead will walk again.”
Arkk nodded slowly, absorbing the information. “The community, the celebration, the debate… How integral is it all to the actual act of bringing someone back?”
Yoho clasped his fingers together over his stomach, the bones clacking with the movement. “Let me ask you a question, Arkk. Did you recently lose someone you cared for? Or perhaps feel responsible for?”
“I’m fighting a war, Lord Yoho,” Arkk said, deflecting. “I lose men every time they pick up their weapons. If I could bring them back, I would in an instant.”
“Ah, but you weren’t asking these questions last week, nor the week before. So something changed.”
Arkk closed his eyes. “She was a young fairy. Nervous about a lot of things. Frightened of a lot of things. Yet so brave. When the pressure mounted, she forced down her fears and took charge, saving several others.” He pursed his lips into a thin line. “I could have saved her. I could have gotten people to her in time or directed the rescue better. But I got captured by a demon,” he spat. “It’s just so… frustrating. She was just starting to come into her own. She wasn’t a warrior. She didn’t join up to fight. But I sent her out there all the same and because of a demon of all things, I couldn’t be there when she needed.”
A long silence hung over the table. Only the slight grinding of Yoho’s bones as he moved broke that silence.
“An impassioned petition,” Yoho said, voice soft. “Though full of brevity compared to the usual.”
Arkk blinked his eyes open, raising an eyebrow at the skeleton across from him. For an instant, a spark of hope filled Arkk’s chest. It withered and died almost immediately. Even though his face was skeletal and unemotive, the look on Yoho’s skull was enough to know that he was about to say something else that Arkk didn’t want to hear.
“I don’t believe I can help you.”
There it is.
“Two reasons,” Yoho said, holding up a pair of bony fingers before Arkk could speak. “First and foremost, I have no Judges!” he said almost gleefully. “It has been a thousand years since the last living person in the Necropolis passed away. Having twelve Judges sit about on their thrones with nothing to do was simply too droll of a duty for anyone, even the most stoic of undead. Some of my Judges returned to the crypts for an eternal rest. Others spread out, exploring the vastness of the Necropolis. I know where only two are. In light of our agreement, I have been accepting applications to fill the other seats, but even were I to select ten more today, they would need training…
“Then there is the possibility that the ceremony has broken entirely with the current state of the worlds. The final few living in the Necropolis weren’t revived with quite the same vigor that most denizens possess. They are there, but sluggish and solemn. According to the most recent census, all five hundred of the most recently revived chose to return to the crypts for their eternal slumber by their fiftieth unbirthday. A statistical oddity.”
Both Arkk’s eyebrows shot up at that. “You want more living among your number and you don’t even know if the ritual will work?”
Yoho simply grinned. “You said you were going to fix the state of things. I have faith in you. Better hurry though. Time keeps on slipping into the future.”
Arkk brought his fingers to his forehead, rubbing at the mounting headache. That was more pressure he definitely didn’t feel he needed or deserved. “So that’s it? No judges and no idea if it will work even with judges.”
“Oh,” Yoho said, glancing at his two fingers before lifting a third. “I was considering those the same reason, but I suppose they are different enough to separate. The actual final reason is that… undeath is simply not for everybody.”
“How do you mean?”
“Death is no treat, make no mistake. I died. So has everyone else in the Necropolis. So will everyone else. But it can be… tranquil to most people. You told me you visited the Silence. Peaceful, isn’t it? Undeath, on the other hand…” The Primeval Lord trailed off, somehow affecting a frown without his skull moving. He looked up, reached over to the decanter of wine, and poured a small amount into one of the glasses set aside. He held it in front of his face, swirling it around.
Yoho shook his head, setting the glass back on the table.
“I can’t smell. Can’t taste. Can’t feel. There are a great many things to enjoy in life. Family, friends, all the twists and bends, unexpected encounters, the joy of learning and finding meaning in work. I can experience those. But there are holes.” He picked up the glass once again. “For example, there is a large hole in my chest!” he said with a laugh. “If I try to drink this, I fear I will only end up staining your lovely cushion!”
Yoho slowly set his glass back on his table and clasped his hands together. “In the Necropolis, we used to work to prepare minds for return. Some elected not to be revived at all. Others found the experience… lacking. And that is for prepared minds.
“For the unprepared mind, a state of undeath could be a worse hell than simply remaining dead.” Yoho stood, smoothed out his colorful robes, and started to turn. Pausing halfway as if a thought occurred to him, his skull swiveled back to face Arkk. “Once I find my Judges, if you wish, we may revisit this conversation. But I suggest you take the time to consider whether what you’re asking is in your friend’s best interests or if you’re asking because you wish to alleviate your guilt over her death.”
Statement given, Yoho turned and departed, leaving Arkk with far, far too many thoughts.