Dirge for a Necromancer - By Ash Stinson Page 0,77

“We’ll go, I guess.”

“Diahsis will be glad to hear that,” said the goblin. “I should go see him—I’m supposed to help him plan the faerie hunt tomorrow. I’ll see you and your friend later, Magician.” With a slight bow of his shoulders, Deggho retreated from the room, leaving Slade and Raettonus alone.

“So, where were you all today?” asked Slade as they headed toward the door.

“I was with Kimohr Raulinn, actually,” Raettonus said.

“Is he really a god?” Slade asked. They entered a long hallway with arrow slits carved into one wall. Orange light filtered in through the slits, illuminating the hall in dusky strips. “It’s hard to believe, but he told me he was. It was like sitting down with Odin, or some such.”

“More like Loki,” grunted Raettonus as they started up a dark staircase. “But, yes, he is a god—here, at least.”

Slade frowned. He seemed on the edge of saying something, but decided against it and instead kept silent for a while. Finally, he said, “One of your students, Maeleht, said he’d teach me to speak their language—Kaerikeena, I think he called it.”

“Kaerikyna,” said Raettonus. “I don’t know that it would be such a good idea. That’s the centaurian language. You should learn common Zylekkhan instead. It’s more widely used. I’d…I’d teach you if you want, Master.”

Slade smiled. “That would be lovely, Rae. I’m sure you’ll be a good teacher,” he said, his eyes glowing a soft blue in the quiet dimness of the stone stairwell.

They stepped out onto the landing and began down a long, arching hallway filled with dusk-colored light and the smell of blood drifting up through the arrow slits. Slade paused at one to look out, and Raettonus paused with him. Down below, the soldiers were hacking through the dragon’s limbs, spilling its stale blood all across the sand. Their shouts were muffled by the distance, but Raettonus could still hear them calling to one another and joking. For a long while, Slade watched the centaurian soldiers, listening to their language, which was so alien to him.

“How did you manage?” he asked quietly, after the sun had set completely. The sky was growing dark, and down below soldiers were coming out with torches. “You must have been so scared when you came here, all alone and not knowing the language…surrounded by all these strange creatures…”

“I suppose I didn’t think of it that way,” mumbled Raettonus. “After you died, I was all alone anyway, so…” He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. The smell of the dragon’s blood was still thick in the air; Raettonus wondered if it wouldn’t attract ‘gryphs and unicorns.

Raettonus couldn’t see the expression, but he was certain Slade was staring off, smiling sadly. He’d seen him look that way a thousand times before. When he was little, he’d always wondered what made Sir Slade so sad. When he was older, he’d understood.

“Of course,” said Slade quietly. “I forgot. You’re never afraid—not you. Do you remember that time—oh, it would’ve been about three years after you came to live with me—when some yeomen came and tried to run me out of my castle?”

“Not really,” muttered Raettonus. There had been many times like that. To Raettonus, they’d all become one contemptuous blur.

“When they came up to our walls, you wanted to fight them,” said Slade. “You grabbed up a short sword and you started carrying it around with you, and you wanted to fight them back. When I went out to talk with them, you wouldn’t stay inside, so I let you come with me. It wasn’t going so well, and their leader was an angry man. He pushed me, and you rushed forward with that little sword of yours, and you took a swing at him. You got halfway through his hand, and then the impact knocked the sword out of your grasp.”

“I remember that, a little,” said Raettonus. “You beat me ragged for that.”

Slade nodded. “Even after that, you said you weren’t sorry that you hurt him,” he said, his smile fading away at the corners of his mouth. Raettonus looked at him, and it was one of the few times he had seen Slade without his insincere smile; his genuine sadness was heavy in every feature. “You did the wrong thing, but you were fearless doing it. I wish that counted for more than it does in the long run, fearlessness.”

The light had all died away and the hallway was dark, save for a faint golden glow