of these young men.
“That’s enough, Mott,” she said, clucking her
tongue.
Instantly the beast that had immobilized the
younger of the two brothers released him and scrabbled around her
to cling eagerly to the head of the staff. It was the same beast
she had hastily constructed in the cave some weeks prior upon
awaking, though since then it had been… improved. The jackal skull
now had flesh again, though the lower jaw hung a bit further open
than nature had intended and lacked a tongue. The flesh and fur of
the head faded gradually into the serpent body, which was covered
with dark green scales, but rust-colored jackal fur jutted out from
between the scales like weeds on a cobbled street. Bony flesh, like
the legs of a stork, covered the six spidery legs, and a pair of
undersized leathery wings fluttered madly on its back. Notably
absent was a pair of eyes. Instead it had horrid empty sockets with
embers of violet light within.
Now free of his attacker, the younger brother
scrambled through the grass to see to his sibling, but it was no
use. He was gone, just as shriveled and decayed as the old woman
had been moments before, and somehow already cold to the touch.
“He’s dead.”
“Yes! He’s quite dead. It couldn’t be helped,
boy. I’m a necromancer. I speak to the dead. Once it became clear
my mastery of the Tresson language had become obsolete, I had to
learn the newest inflections. Forgive me, but a lifetime of
communing with the dead has made it much more efficient for me to
absorb knowledge along with life force. And since I was going to
drain him anyway , I may as well put the energy to good
use.”
“But… but you…” he said, nearly sobbing in
anguish and fury.
“I must say, the language has become so much
less formal. I quite like it,” she said, disregarding his
emotional state. “Odd it would have changed so much since I
last spoke to a Tresson. I suppose it has been a while. What’s the
year, boy?”
The man spat at her and hurled a barrage of
expletives.
“Yes,” she said excitedly. “ Much less
formal language these days. And so much more colorful as well. But
really now, the year.”
“Why should I answer you?”
“That’s true, there is the easier way.
If I’d been thinking, I’d have gotten that out of your brother
before I let him wander off, but there’s always another person
about…”
She lowered her staff, bringing the bizarre
creature riding it unnervingly close.
“No! No, I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you
anything, just don’t touch me with that! It’s 157.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. No monarch
rules for that long.”
“Monarch?”
“Yes. Surely you mean one hundred fifty-seven
years since the coronation of the sitting monarch. If not, then one
hundred fifty-seven years since what ?”
“Since the start of the war!”
“Which war?”
“There’s only been one war!”
“And it lasted one hundred and fifty years?
That’s absurd. Perhaps the easy way is best, eh, Mott?”
“No! Please!”
The creature clutching Turiel’s staff
released a throaty churring noise.
“Yes… I suppose you’re right, Mott. Someone’s
got to bury his brother. I hate to see the dead dishonored unless
they are being put to good use. I’ve wasted enough of your time,
young man. I’ll get my information elsewhere. Good day to you,” she
said. She started to walk away, but another churr from her
companion stopped her. “Oh, yes. You are right, of course.” She
turned back to the survivor. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask that you
keep this encounter to yourself. Until I feel otherwise inclined, I
would much prefer to move discreetly. If you tell others what
happened here, I’ll have to return, and there will be very little
reason for me to let you live.”
He nodded, terrified.
“Excellent, once again, good day to you.”
Mott chittered again.
“… What? … No, I’ve told you, we are going to find Teht . … Because she is late for
her
“That’s enough, Mott,” she said, clucking her
tongue.
Instantly the beast that had immobilized the
younger of the two brothers released him and scrabbled around her
to cling eagerly to the head of the staff. It was the same beast
she had hastily constructed in the cave some weeks prior upon
awaking, though since then it had been… improved. The jackal skull
now had flesh again, though the lower jaw hung a bit further open
than nature had intended and lacked a tongue. The flesh and fur of
the head faded gradually into the serpent body, which was covered
with dark green scales, but rust-colored jackal fur jutted out from
between the scales like weeds on a cobbled street. Bony flesh, like
the legs of a stork, covered the six spidery legs, and a pair of
undersized leathery wings fluttered madly on its back. Notably
absent was a pair of eyes. Instead it had horrid empty sockets with
embers of violet light within.
Now free of his attacker, the younger brother
scrambled through the grass to see to his sibling, but it was no
use. He was gone, just as shriveled and decayed as the old woman
had been moments before, and somehow already cold to the touch.
“He’s dead.”
“Yes! He’s quite dead. It couldn’t be helped,
boy. I’m a necromancer. I speak to the dead. Once it became clear
my mastery of the Tresson language had become obsolete, I had to
learn the newest inflections. Forgive me, but a lifetime of
communing with the dead has made it much more efficient for me to
absorb knowledge along with life force. And since I was going to
drain him anyway , I may as well put the energy to good
use.”
“But… but you…” he said, nearly sobbing in
anguish and fury.
“I must say, the language has become so much
less formal. I quite like it,” she said, disregarding his
emotional state. “Odd it would have changed so much since I
last spoke to a Tresson. I suppose it has been a while. What’s the
year, boy?”
The man spat at her and hurled a barrage of
expletives.
“Yes,” she said excitedly. “ Much less
formal language these days. And so much more colorful as well. But
really now, the year.”
“Why should I answer you?”
“That’s true, there is the easier way.
If I’d been thinking, I’d have gotten that out of your brother
before I let him wander off, but there’s always another person
about…”
She lowered her staff, bringing the bizarre
creature riding it unnervingly close.
“No! No, I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you
anything, just don’t touch me with that! It’s 157.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. No monarch
rules for that long.”
“Monarch?”
“Yes. Surely you mean one hundred fifty-seven
years since the coronation of the sitting monarch. If not, then one
hundred fifty-seven years since what ?”
“Since the start of the war!”
“Which war?”
“There’s only been one war!”
“And it lasted one hundred and fifty years?
That’s absurd. Perhaps the easy way is best, eh, Mott?”
“No! Please!”
The creature clutching Turiel’s staff
released a throaty churring noise.
“Yes… I suppose you’re right, Mott. Someone’s
got to bury his brother. I hate to see the dead dishonored unless
they are being put to good use. I’ve wasted enough of your time,
young man. I’ll get my information elsewhere. Good day to you,” she
said. She started to walk away, but another churr from her
companion stopped her. “Oh, yes. You are right, of course.” She
turned back to the survivor. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask that you
keep this encounter to yourself. Until I feel otherwise inclined, I
would much prefer to move discreetly. If you tell others what
happened here, I’ll have to return, and there will be very little
reason for me to let you live.”
He nodded, terrified.
“Excellent, once again, good day to you.”
Mott chittered again.
“… What? … No, I’ve told you, we are going to find Teht . … Because she is late for
her
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