Dirge for a Necromancer - By Ash Stinson Page 0,39

was far smoother, with a grammatical construction closer to English.

Raettonus leaned against the wall of the bath and relaxed, letting the heat loosen the knots in his muscles. He watched a group of four soldiers—one bay, one black, one roan, and one dun—showing off their scars beside his pool. The roan held up his arm proudly, showing his fellows a hard patch of tissue where something had once impaled his biceps. The dun said something in Kaerikyna and motioned back to his withers, where a chunk of flesh was missing and scarred over. Raettonus grew tired of watching them and, inclining his head, closed his eyes.

After a bit, he heard some of the centaurs shout and opened his eyes again. Beyond the steam, he saw a couple of soldiers teasing a human woman at the entrance to the bathhouse. Ebha. She ducked her head, mumbled something, and shuffled past them. Raettonus whistled and called out to her. She looked at him wide-eyed, and for a moment she looked as though she were about to flee. “Come on over here. There’s plenty of room in this one,” said Raettonus, waving her toward him. She glanced about, and then obeyed, stripping down and entering his pool.

Ebha moved quietly to the other side of the bath, staring glassy-eyed at the door. “H-hello, Magician,” she greeted quietly after a moment or two. “It’s…a nice night.”

“I disagree. I think it’s an awful night,” said Raettonus.

“Oh,” she said, lowering her gaze to stare into the water. “I’m sorry. I suppose I misspoke.”

“Yes, you certainly did. Don’t let it happen again,” Raettonus said with a smirk.

“I won’t,” said Ebha.

The smirk disappeared from Raettonus’ face. “I was joking, just now.”

“Oh,” said the woman. “I’m sorry, Magician. It was a good joke, Magician.”

Raettonus sighed and closed his eyes. “Never mind, then,” he muttered. “I suppose that’s as good a conversation as I’ll get out of you, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry, Magician,” she said again.

“This is a record for the longest conversation you and I have ever had, I must say. What is this, the second time we’ve spoken? Although, when I think of it… The other day, some time back, you seemed rather interested when you thought I could resurrect people,” Raettonus noted. “Is there any particular reason for that?”

She was silent for a moment, hesitant. “No, Magician,” she finally said, weakly.

“You shouldn’t lie,” Raettonus said. “Isn’t that the sort of thing a pet like you gets beaten for?”

Ebha stared down at the water. “Y-yes, it is,” she said. “I’m sorry, Magician.”

“So,” Raettonus asked. “Who was it that died?”

“My daughter,” she said. “It was a long time ago though…”

There was a shout outside the door, and two soldiers in scale mail rode in, panting hard. “Quick—to your arms!” shouted one of them. “Ships have been spotted—warships from Tahlehsohr. To the battlements, quickly!”

Soldiers splashed up out of the baths, picking up their mail and weapons and helping each other strap them on. Ebha climbed out of the pool to help the nearest soldier suit up in his armor. Raettonus watched the commotion around him as centaurs scurried to and fro, gathering their armor and weapons and suiting each other up. There was a lot of confusion and excited shouts and concerned whispers. The soldiers who had managed to get their armor on galloped out of the bathhouse. Raettonus climbed out of the pool and got dressed before making his way out of the room, careful not to get trampled by the exiting soldiers. Out in the hall, the soldiers were clamoring about, the frantic sounds of hoofbeats echoing through the building as they ran to the barracks to wake their brothers. War horns were blowing wildly all over.

The giant, heavy doors on the face of the citadel were closed and braced, and the portcullis had been lowered. All the soldiers were galloping up toward the roof in neat rows, shouting and chattering, carrying swords, shields, bows, spears, and halberds. Raettonus stopped one of the soldiers as he was coming out of the bathhouse—the roan centaur he had seen earlier. “If I could get a ride to the battlements, please,” he said, in a tone that did not allow any declining.

“Certainly, Magician,” said the soldier. “But we must go quickly; my bow is needed.”

Raettonus effortlessly mounted the centaur and seated himself uncomfortably on the plate mail that ran along his back. He gripped the strap of the soldier’s quiver as he cantered into line with the others and began to ascend the