Dirge for a Necromancer - By Ash Stinson Page 0,23

flickered on the walls, and Raettonus stared into them absently. Finally, Deggho started the conversation up again. “You don’t worship our gods, do you?” he asked. “You have your own gods from the Other Realm.”

“I don’t keep any gods at all,” Raettonus answered. “I used to. But that’s neither here nor there. I wouldn’t have taken you for a religious man, Deggho, I must admit.”

Deggho smiled. “I like to pretend that I talk to the gods when I’m all alone,” he said. “It helps pass the time. That and painting them, of course.”

“I take it Kaeriaht’s your favorite to paint,” Raettonus said. “I see a lot of paintings of him on the walls around here.”

“Oh, that’s really just for the soldiers,” Deggho said. “I’m not overly fond of Kaeriaht. Kaeriaht created the centaurs, after all—we goblins would’ve had an easier time if he hadn’t done that.” He chuckled and set down his paintbrush before grabbing up a larger one. “No, I prefer to paint the elven gods. They’re much more majestic. My favorite to paint, actually, is the Moon Son. I don’t do that much though.”

Raettonus raised his eyebrow. “The Moon Son?” asked the magician. “I’ve never heard of him.”

Deggho shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It’s not really his name,” he said. He dropped his voice to barely a whisper. “It’s another name for Kimohr Raulinn.” He cleared his throat and shifted again in his seat. “Like painting him, though, it’s not a good thing to say his name.”

“Really?” Raettonus asked. “Why’s that?”

“Because it’s bad luck,” the goblin answered. “Saying his name, painting him—anything like that—it draws his attention to you. Sometimes it doesn’t matter, but other times there’s no way to escape his notice after that. And he is not the kind of god you want to notice you. He’s cruel and… Well, needless to say, ‘chaos god’ is not a very honorable position.”

“Indeed,” Raettonus said. “I’ve never heard any of this before. And, well, I’m not new around here.”

“You’re new around here,” Deggho said. “The mountains, I mean. Up north, they don’t hold onto the past as well as goblins. I’ve heard centaurs just throw his name about casually. It’s bad luck, but they don’t seem aware… Goblins try to say it as little as possible, and it’s worked out well for us. We’ve never gone to war with any of the other races.”

“That’s because you live in the mountains,” Raettonus said. “To get in a war, it’d have to mean that any of the other races wanted these bloody rocks and weeds.”

“The centaurs want the mountains,” Deggho said in a small voice, looking slightly hurt.

Raettonus made a point of looking widely around the room, at the stone walls and floor, before returning his gaze to Deggho. “And a wonderful job you’re all doing of keeping it from them.”

“That’s not fair,” muttered Deggho. “Have you ever fought a centaur?”

“No, but apparently you haven’t either.”

Deggho frowned. “I’d really like to be friends, Magician,” he said softly. “You’re the only one who has come down here to talk to me in such a long time, and I’d like to be friends. You’re making that really hard.”

Raettonus shrugged. “I don’t really have it in me to make it easy,” he said.

“I can see that,” answered Deggho. He twitched and looked down. “I guess I’ll just have to try harder then. Just…just don’t stop coming down here, all right? I don’t know if I could stand it if you left and never came back. It’s so quiet and dark down here. Sometimes… Sometimes I start to wonder if I’m dead. The Book of Cykkus says that when we die we go to a place without any colors, but I think I’ll probably end up on this floor, all alone in the dark. That’s the scariest hell I can imagine. I’m so alone…”

“There aren’t any guards posted at any of the exits to this wing,” Raettonus pointed out. “What’s to stop you from simply leaving this area?”

“N-no,” said Deggho. “I’ve thought about it, but… Well, they’d just find me and bring me back down here. Or else they’d decide I was trouble and put me in the dungeons instead, or maybe a tower cell. I’m not sure whether a cell would be better or worse than this, actually. I have room to move here—so much room. Too much. There’s so much room that sometimes I feel like all the empty air is crushing me. I think about all these empty rooms, all in