Book of The Dead

“You cannot be serious,” Lady Sathin fumed. “You expect us to pay for the care of our people. We abandoned our lands and allowed our cities to be pillaged by a gods’ cursed Necromancer, and you want to squeeze us for money?”

Still covered with dust from the road, she stared into the fat face of Lord Hylin and tried not to imagine sinking her fist into his jowls. Wearing a purple silk robe that draped over his frame, he smiled condescendingly towards her.

“You can’t expect that hundreds of thousands of people will be housed and fed for free, can you? I and other Lords have gone to great expense to care for your people, it is only right that you share a portion of that burden. They are, after all, your people.”

“A share? The lion’s share, no doubt,” she scoffed. She whipped up a finger and waved it threateningly beneath his nose. “The Duchess will hear of this, mark my words. Don’t expect a single coin out of my coffers until I have her personal order to pay, delivered in person.”

“The Duchess doesn’t have time to deal with your petty, low blood matters,” he declared, growing red in the face. “Why should I continue to provide for your peasants if you won’t contribute? I suppose I’ll just let them starve.”

For how long had House Hylin tried to wrest control of the frontier from the Sathins and add the land to their own? Hundreds of years at least, and they still hadn’t given up. Everything, no matter the situation, was an excuse to try and wring some advantage out of the house they saw as so far beneath their own.

It was true, the Sathins had thin blood, her own title put her at only the second rank of nobility, while the Hylins were a semi-respectable fourth rank. Yet she would be damned before she yielded an inch to anyone descended from this family of blood-sucking worms.

“I intend to speak to the Duchess this evening, after I have taken a brief moment to enjoy what passes for hospitality in this house,” she declared, pleased to have slipped in a barb against his manners.

“It is impossible to speak to the Duchess without a written request,” Lord Hylin said smugly. “If you are cooperative in ensuring your people are properly cared for, then perhaps I would be able to petition to allow you an audience… She is, after all, extremely busy.”

Busy trying to wrangle her own Nobles against a Necromancer, no doubt. While her husband had remained in court at Mirasmas, the Duchess had come to Sindar, closer to the border, to help organise the resistance and shove the mandate of the Imperial Court down their throats.It was difficult for Lady Sathin not to whip the scroll case out of the bags her servant was carrying behind her and beat this fool over the head with it.

“That won’t be necessary,” she managed a smile, “I have already secured one. May I ask if a bath is available in my rooms? Thank you for your time, Lord Hylin.”

“You haven’t,” he said disdainfully, openly accusing her of lying!

Ariez Sathin called upon the strength of her great Ancestor, Orthriss, Shield of the Empire, to help her not punch this man as he so richly deserved.

“Then I will look quite the fool when I arrive outside the Duchess’ room only to get rejected at the door,” she said as pleasantly as she could manage. “I will be there in two hours promptly, if you care to spectate.”

Perhaps sensing a moment to head off the brewing conflict between his Lord and a neighbouring house, a steward stepped forward smoothly to show the way to her room, guiding her with proper deference and respect. After stomping her pillow flat, Ariez felt a little better, though she wished Leras could be there with her. One of them had to remain at the refugee camp with the people, and she had to present herself to court as their Head of House.

At least Massan and Miriem had been able to come with her.

Best of all, she was able to reunite with her children, Chol and Alicenza. She’d openly wept as her son and daughter ran to her. With the chill of the Necromancer’s threat still looming large in her mind, she gathered them close and held them tight.

They were so innocent, not yet Awakened. How could anyone in their right mind threaten them so? It was useless to try and find logic in the reasoning of a madman.

As promised, two hours later she stood outside the rooms of the Duchess’ suite, the scroll she had received clutched in one hand. Felton Hylin, the pompous pustule was, in fact, in attendance, discussing some matter or other with a steward wearing his house livery further down the corridor.

He really wanted to see her turned away that badly? Unfortunately for him, once she had knocked and presented the scroll, she was welcomed inside. It took all the strength she possessed not to turn and make a rude gesture. Instead, she merely glanced his way and gave a small, tight smile, taking great satisfaction in the look of profound frustration on his face.

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Inside, the Duchess reclined on a comfortable chair, a steaming cup of tea on the table before her, while three attendants scattered around the room read through paperwork. Behind her seat stood an imposing figure, blade on his hip, wearing armour and looking ready for combat.

As she stepped inside, the Duchess stood, pushing back her chair smoothly to greet her.

“Lady Sathin, welcome. It’s nice to see you again, though I would prefer it were under better circumstances.”

Although in her fifties, Duchess Elenia Mirasmas looked at least a decade younger. With shining blonde hair and green eyes flecked with a hint of gold, she held a dignity and poise that none Ariez had ever met before or since could match. Perhaps it was the quality of her blood, or her upbringing in the capital, but there was no one else in the Southern Province quite like Elenia. The Duke publicly referred to her as his treasure and the jewel of his house, though what she herself thought of marrying what most would see as far beneath her station, nobody knew.

“Duchess Mirasmas,” Ariez curtseyed deeply. “The pleasure is mine.”

“Please sit. Will you take tea?”

They chatted pleasantly for a few minutes, sipping tea and pretending it was a normal get-together of Noble Ladies. Of course, they couldn’t maintain the facade for long. When conversation turned to their host, Ariez felt it was an opportune time to mention that Lord Hylin had attempted to demand she compensate him for feeding the refugees.

The Duchess’ face twisted as if she had smelled something foul.

“Irritating dung heap of a man,” she muttered. “He knows perfectly well that all expenses are being covered by the Imperial Court. He’s just put out because he knows that if he tries to overcharge for a single slice of bread, they’ll slice his throat and toss him in the refuse pile.”

“Language, my lady,” the enormous man behind her intoned.

“Oh hush. Don’t worry, Lady Sathin, I’ll have a word with him. A stern word. Your people will be cared for.”

“I am deeply grateful, Duchess Mirasmas,” she said, bowing her head. “Are there plans to move against the Necromancer soon?” she said, unable to be patient any further. “My people cannot be away from their homes indefinitely and the burden on the Empire will be great.”

Piercing eyes stared at her as the Duchess lifted her spoon and slowly stirred her cup, the silver metal ringing against the porcelain like a tiny bell.

“Right now, my husband and I are in the process of gathering the houses to present a single, unified front, as we have been commanded by Imperial Decree. As you know, we didn’t expect the Necromancer to appear so quickly, nor move so swiftly. Have you heard the latest news?”

Lady Sathin shook her head.

“I have barely had time to bathe and see my children before attending you, Duchess.”

“The Steelarm boy is on the move again. He spent a day hunkered down in Baristaya, but that didn’t last, sadly.”

“Where is he going?” she asked, tense. Was he coming here? Would her people have to flee once more?

“Towards the North-West, it appears. To the border.”

Once more, the Duchess took a sip of her tea, eyes studying, weighing over the decorated rim of the cup. The tea was set back down with a soft click.

“I am told,” the Duchess said softly, “that you spoke to this Necromancer. Perhaps you would like to shed some light on that?”

All at once, Ariez realised that the three associates around the room were no longer flicking through the stacks of pages around them, but were instead staring at her with that same judgement, putting her on a scale in their mind. With difficulty, she maintained her poise while her mind raced. What was the best course of action? Lie? Come clean? Something in between?

Despite her fear, she knew it would be fruitless to lie to the Duchess. If push came to shove, the higher ranking woman could use the Divine Mandate and force someone of much weaker blood to speak. Honesty was the best policy.

“I hoped to bargain for time in order to complete the evacuation of Baristaya,” she admitted evenly. “My request fell on deaf ears.”

That was a diplomatic way of putting it. The Duchess held her gaze for a time.

“I have no intention of punishing you with this information,” she said, “though we both know that I could.”

She paused for a moment to emphasise the threat. Unnecessary, in this case.

“Instead, I very much want to hear the contents of the conversation.”

“You want to know what we talked about?”

“Indeed.”

As much as she didn’t like to recall that meeting, it wasn’t difficult for Ariez to recount what had taken place. It was, after all, a brief conversation, despite how it had felt at the time. When she was done, the Duchess took another sip of her tea, brow furrowed in thought.

“He wants to kill us. Us, specifically? The Nobility?”

“Right down to the children,” Ariez confirmed, suppressing a shudder. “If anything, his grudge didn’t even appear to be with us specifically, but with the Divines themselves. Killing us seems… like a means to an end, as far as he’s concerned.”

“Strange,” the Duchess murmured. “I could understand if he was railing against the Magisters, or the Nobility, but the Divines? Why?”

“He’s insane,” Ariez stated firmly. “Completely mad.”

“It seems to me that it would be rather difficult for a person who had taken complete leave of their senses to assemble an army of undead numbering over a hundred thousand.”

“Even if he can still perform magick, his reasoning is lost. What other explanation is there?”

The Duchess nodded, considering this reasonable position.

“Mad or not, he appears to be forcing our hand. Kallas houses over a million souls. Even if we wanted to, evacuating that many people in a matter of days would be impossible.”

“That means…”

“That means there is going to be a battle,” the Duchess sighed. “And I don’t anticipate it is going to go well.”