Dirge for a Necromancer - By Ash Stinson Page 0,19

by vacant-eyed Ebha, the human woman Raettonus had met before. She set mugs down in front of Raettonus, Tykkleht, Daeblau, and Dohrleht, and a bowl of ale before Brecan, before placing a cup of goat’s milk before Maeleht. Then she went off, still vacant-eyed, to go do something else. Maeleht toyed with his cup. “I want ale,” he said quietly.

“You can have some of mine,” Brecan offered.

“No, no,” said Tykkleht. “No ale for Maeleht. It aggravates his condition.”

“General,” said Raettonus, leaning back in his chair so as not to let on how small he felt among the centaurs. “I was wandering about your fortress today. It’s a very nice place.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Tykkleht said genially. “I’m afraid we’re not as well staffed as we might be, so we don’t use a lot of the space. I’ve tried not to let it get into a sad state, however. It’s hard; times are tough for the Royal Zylekkhan army. This isn’t an academy citadel like Ruahn or Daerkii, so we don’t have a surplus of men. They always promise me more than they send.”

“As I was wandering about,” Raettonus continued, “I met your hostage.”

Tykkleht furrowed his brow momentarily, but then a look of understanding came over him. “Ah, yes. The goblin prince,” he said with a nod. “Dekho, or Dema, something like that…”

“Deggho dek’Kariss,” supplied Daeblau. “The Kariss chief’s son.”

“That’s the one,” said Tykkleht. He wagged one finger at the air and smiled a little. “Yes, I knew it started with a ‘de’ sound. I mean, Dekho—that’s a goblin name, right?”

“I think that’s actually a werewolf name, General,” Daeblau said.

“No matter.” Tykkleht chuckled. “Goblins, werewolves—doesn’t matter. All those barbarian races are pretty much the same.”

“Oh, yes, very much the same,” agreed Raettonus dryly. “Yes, I don’t know how to keep them straight. I mean, men who turn into wolves are almost exactly the same as seven-foot tall blue-skinned mountain monsters.”

Ebha came back to bring them soup and bread. “So,” Tykkleht asked, pointedly ignoring Raettonus’ tone. “Did Deggho say anything of interest to you? I haven’t seen him in a while. I meant to check up on him more than I have, but you know how it goes. He’s set up fairly, I think, and he doesn’t cause much trouble, so I forget about him.”

“He didn’t say much, no,” Raettonus said. “He showed me some of his paintings, though.”

“Oh, those? They’re pretty good for a barbarian,” Tykkleht said. “He’s taken up the centaurian style of art, which is a plus. I’m not overly fond of his work—I find it unnecessarily violent, and he uses too many bright colors—but quite a few of my men are. They hang those paintings of his all over.”

“I’ve got one of them in my own quarters,” Daeblau said, stirring his soup with a hunk of bread. “It’s a stirring picture of Syrinna Teba with her recently murdered husband, the Creator, Kraah Shohk, in her arms.”

“I’d like to see that painting,” Dohrleht said.

Daeblau smiled at him crookedly. “Then you should. It’s a very…significant scene, I would say. Maybe I could show it to you after dinner.”

“Deggho didn’t mention any specifics of how he ended up here,” Raettonus said to the general. “Who are the Kariss?”

Tykkleht let out a tired sigh. “They’re a stone in my hoof, that’s who they are,” he said. He tore a piece of bread apart. “Since the first day I took command here, they’ve been nothing but trouble. Well, up until I got Deggho. Now we don’t have to deal with them as much, and when we do deal with them… Well, the relationship’s not hostile, but it’s strained. But that’s the best we can expect from that lot.”

“How’d you end up with Deggho?” asked Raettonus.

“Luck, mostly,” Tykkleht said. “We have patrols travel the paths every now and then to make sure there aren’t any armies skulking about, or broken bridges, or—well, you know. All those things that we need to make sure are kept up. The Kariss are under the impression that this mountain belongs to them, so they didn’t like that so well, and they sent a message to us telling us as much. Well, I’m not about to let goblins tell me what to do. I mean, I start bending to the will of goblins, and I might as well cut my hair short and go be an elf. So, I send a message sealed in purple wax and stamped with the king’s hoof back to them, inviting them to