Hungry Necromancer - Chapter 99

I never gave much thought to the furniture that decorated my work chambers.

The large, strong wooden desk. Made from one of the last remaining elven forest woods. My chair, a product of dwarven ingenuity that allows me to move about without ever standing up, and there’s the loveable heating feature on my velvet carpets, made specifically for my sensitive feet.

But today, I find myself, my eyes, gliding across the room, focussing on the smallest details.

And in my idle search, I’ve discovered somethings about my chambers I hadn’t even realized. For instance, I never knew great-great grandfather Carbina, who stands regal in the height of the House’s power on the large and imposing silk portrait behind my desk…had dimples.

The moment I made the discovery I nearly got out of my reverie, excited for that split moment to search the news with any other who likely hadn’t known such a powerful man had dimples.

But I didn’t get pulled out. It’s an amazing discovery to be such, but there were more and now that I’d focused, intent on finding them, they appeared around me like bees near honey.

There’s a crack in the wall shaped like a bow…if you look at it from the right angle.

There are many holes in my desk, despite its strong sturdy wood…the previous owner must have had some bad habits.

The chairs, specifically the ones in front of me, their ribs were unequal. One having four ribs and the other having only three.

My carpet shamefully has some patches on it, I wonder if that’s from the Dwarven installations. Perhaps.

And the ceiling is brown. I have always thought it was black.

Ah, there are just so many new things to disco-

“Lord Mattias!”

“Lord Mayor!”

Ugh…they won’t stop shouting. The two of them. Always bad news, always bad tidings. Never a break for me, not a moment is left in the day when I can breathe and reminiscence times when things weren’t so terrible.

“You brat! You would dare ignore me? You’re lucky I’ve chosen to stay in the meantime, the Synagogue has already settled your excommunication along with the rest of your faithless family.”

“SILENCE!” I can’t hold it any longer. I can’t find new things anymore…not with their grumblings.

Turning around and facing them, facing my supposed councillors…I breathe a breath of tribulation. Why is this happening to me? Why now? Why not someone else?

Taking a deep breath, I look to my uncouth Diviner, “Never speak of my family again…don’t mention them. I will be the last man standing. Do as I command, go to your superiors, the Priests, Bishops, whoever they are, and tell them I am not like the rest of my family, I believe in Anera!”

The Diviner sneers spitefully at me, he’s been this way since grand-mother got into trouble with the Synagogue, if I’d known then that her actions that day would lead to the entire Carbina House been cut out of the Synagogue…I would have stepped aside.

I would have steered clear of her failings. But it’s too late, Leriva’s excommunication all those years ago made a rather convenient argument that the rest of the family would be the same, just as the head, Grand-mother has.

And now here I am, nearly grovelling for a second chance. This façade of confidence and bravado I put on now…I doubt it’ll last another week.

“Ha! Anera. Anera is not the one you should believe in, do not make the same mistake your grandmother did, Mattias, the Synagogue is who you should bow to.”

Blasphemy from the lips of a Diviner. If that isn’t painfully ironic, I don’t know what is. The Synagogue are meant to be mere servants of our Goddess and yet…well, I can’t exactly claim I’ve been wholly righteous now, but at least I’m better than the walking scum in front of me.

“You will last not one week if I leave, and at some point, I will have to, the presence of a Diviner in the fief of an ex-communique contradicts the will of the Synagogue.”

“Of course, it does, but you’re just here to bleed me dry, to empty out my treasury before the minions of doom you’ve set outside my city march in and kill us all!” Again, I lose myself, slamming my fists on the desk, I’m hurt more than the desk no doubt.

He doesn’t seem fazed by my accusations, it’s true after all. He only shakes his head and sighs, “Don’t you think it’ll be better to escape with your life and part with these material substances? Hand them over and I’ll escort you to Aste or Garn if you want.”

“If I wanted to leave my fief to be the bed of the Cult then I’d leave to another Kingdom, not some skip away town where your goons will find and silence me. We both know I have too much up here to be left alone.”

The Synagogue. If only I knew they were this wretched, if only I knew they could control the Cult in this manner…they’ve surround all of us, all around the Kingdom, House Carbina fiefdoms have been cornered by the Cult of Phien.

If that alone isn’t proof of their vile machinations, I don’t know what is. It intrigues me though, how do they manage to control the Cultists? After decades of battling the supposed insurmountable foe, how did they come to control where the Cult appears?

“Induct me back into the Synagogue, lift my excommunication and I’ll give you all you want and more. Wouldn’t it be better to collect on a monthly basis? What I have now can easily be doubled for you in time.”

My other advisors, my Steward, managing what nobles reside in the city as well as the needs of the people and my marshal, managing what’s left of my retinue…I just had to try fighting the Cult.

The both of them had on terrified faces on. That’s right. We’re in this together, if we can’t guarantee my safety, my induction into the Synagogue, then this city would fall.

But why? Why would the Synagogue let so many tithe paying fools in a city like Frozia to be killed off just because of some petty mistake? Don’t they want tokus?

I realize I have far more questions than answers. It vexes me.

The Diviner snorts, “You don’t know enough that we’d bother with you truly, any drunk in a bar can put together that the Synagogue has a way about things. But should you really concern yourself about this now? Do you value your ambition so much more than your life?”

“Yes!” I scream, “Yes! If you set me into the world like a beggar how will I rise to my station again? How will I survive. What you’re offering me is merely a life of destitute.”

What would be the point of letting me live? If I’m not inducted to the church, any battle for fiefdom I win will not be recognized. I will be stunted, unable to rise to power. Left for the worms.

“But a life nonetheless.”

“Not a life worth living! I have to be more than this, if you’re telling me your only offer is that then I’d face the Cult right now.”

He shrugs, “Well if that’s what you want.” He turns around and begins walking out of the chambers, “It’s not like I can force you to save your life…lest Anera smite me. But in case you change your mind…you know where I’ll be.”

As he reaches for the doorknob, the door pushes open, nearly knocking him off his feet as what looks like the last of my military retinue sprawls into the room, panting and huffing, nearly spilling out his guts.

“What in the name of!” The Diviner screeches, “Do you not see who I am, boy!”

True to his word, he is a boy. He couldn’t be more than eighteen truly, small, thin…hungry. Not exactly the model soldier, but the fact that he’s sprawled here on my very expensive carpet, panting and gasping for breath means he’s loyal.

Even after the massacre we experienced at the hands of the Cultists, those Gamma Warriors, he still has on his uniform. And if I’m to guess…he’s here because of his duty.

“Here, drink this and give your report, man.” My Marshal is quick to assess the situation, he hands the boy a glass of water he snatched from my tray of leftovers and ensures he drinks it all.

“AH!” The boy gasps, “I…I’m from the stationed posts near the southern Gamma Warrior!”

The Southern Gamma Warrior. There are three of them surrounding Frozia now, three of the Cult’s baseline Warriors set in the South, coming from the direction of Spol Village.

There are also Warriors in the East and farther up in the North. You’d think that the West would be free to escape through but somehow…they’ve got that covered too, their little minions mingle and mill about the open space, ready to pounce on whoever has the silly idea of escaping.

And you certainly can’t kill them before a Gamma takes possession of one of their bodies and starts preaching about Phien.

“What happened to the South? Are the Warriors making a move?”

Curiously, at the mention of the Warriors making a move the Diviner instantly looks nervous, I decide to prey on that, “Are you that worried for the gold, my dear Diviner? I hear the Cult has no need for money…but you do, don’t you?”

He scoffs, looking away.

“No…” the boy shakes his head, “The men, the soldiers stationed there with me, keeping people out…they’ve been killed.”

“Killed? By the Gamma? They’re encroaching already?” Biweekly, the Cultists encroach on the city and its walls, tightening their trap around it.

But it’s too soon for that…isn’t it?

“No, not the Gamma…it was a man…he, he looked dead. His eyes glowed a terrible green and his hands…he’s a Mage. He killed them all and bit into their flesh.”

“A cannibal?” the Steward shrieks, “A Magic wielding cannibal!”

Again, the boy shakes his head, “I don’t think so, he only took a single bite of each person he killed with those…strings. Before I escaped, I heard him muttering about how hungry he was, and how…”

“And how?” I urge on.

The boy gulps, “How awful it was to be a hungry necromancer.”