Book of The Dead

Chapter B2C46 - Lost in the Mountains

“Damn it,” Tyron cursed.

“I think a more potent choice of language is appropriate in these circumstances. Elevating to ‘fuck’ is a basic step, but more colourful words can be employed to magnify the effect. Fucking-puke-filled-shitbags is a personal favourite.”

“Why didn’t I expect this? It’s so obvious that this would happen….”

“I think you didn’t want to consider it, worried about what a pain in your soft, fleshy backside it would be. And now is.”

“You wish you had a soft fleshy backside,” Tyron grumbled as he jumped down from the cart.

The very same cart they would need to abandon.

The narrow trail that led up into the barrier mountains had been wide enough for the cart to travel on, if only just. Naturally, as the incline steepened and the terrain grew more rough, the trail became even more narrow. Soon, it grew so narrow that the cart would no longer fit, which meant they would need to abandon it if they wanted to go any further.

“It makes a lot of sense when you think about it. Why would they cut the road any deeper into the impassible mountains of death after they’d reached the quarry? There’s literally no reason to do it, and from what I understand, cutting roads into mountains is hard fucking work.”

Tyron pulled his new, thicker cloak tighter around his shoulders as he inspected the trail. As his skeletal friend had suggested, it was clear that they had reached the end of what the villagers had bothered to carve when working on this path. They’d passed the quarry over a kilometre back, and this extension likely only existed because they’d been looking for more useable stone.

Icy cold wind whistled down from the mountains that rose like a wall before him and he pulled his cloak even tighter.

“Blood and bone, that’s cold!” he shivered.

“What did you think it would be like up here? Just as an aside, I don’t feel the cold.”

“Thanks, Dove.”

“I also don’t feel anything else, though. So, there’s that.”

“Do we need to have this conversation now?” Tyron said, as he tried to peer ahead and find a way to get closer to the burgeoning rift. “We’ve got a situation to deal with.”

“Something I’ve noticed in the time I’ve been around you, Tyron, is that there is always a fucking situation to deal with. If there isn’t a situation that needs dealing with, you will promptly stick your good samaritan neck out and create one. The result is that my otherworldly patience has vanished deep into the recesses of the Astral Sea, and so I’d like to have this conversation now.”

“Fine,” Tyron growled, “but I’m going to take a look up ahead. I’ll just bring you with me.”

He marched over and plucked Dove from his traditional position on the cart’s corner post and tied him to his belt.

“Ugh, the belt? Can’t you just carry me?”

“The ground is uneven, I might need my hands.”

“... Fine. Make sure you bring some bony boys.”

“Of course.”

They’d encountered a few kin here on the slope, but thankfully not many. Even so, it would be foolish to run around without protection.

They marched forward up the incline, the skeletons dealing with it better than Tyron. He was a child of the plains, not used to this sort of terrain, and he hated every minute of it.

“So,” Dove chirped, “when are you finally going to allow me the sweet release of death?”

Tyron rolled his eyes.

“Soon,” he said.

“Now, see here. That’s bullshit. You know it’s bullshit. I know it’s bullshit. That fucking bird over there know’s that its bullshit. Kill. Me. Already.”

“It’s not that easy, Dove,” Tyron protested. “One, I don’t want to kill anyone, let alone my friend, and two, if you’re gone, then I’ll be all alone out here.”

“You’d have Yor.”

“Yor is not human.”

“Look, that’s just straight up racist. What if the Dusters heard you talk like that? Or the Stone bloods? You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“You know what I mean, Dove….”

“Yes, I do, and I think it’s stupid. Not to put too fine a point on it, but most humans have a face. Do I have a face, Tyron? No I do not. They also have genitals. Fun, wonderful genitals. I do not have those, Tyron. I may have ghost balls, though, and I want to find out what I can do with them.”

The Necromancer hung his head. He was ashamed that he had dragged out Dove’s unlife far beyond what he had initially promised. The Summoner had never wanted to live like this, had protested vigorously against it, to be honest. Nevertheless, he had accompanied Tyron for more than a month as an undead skull, faithfully offering his advice wherever he could. Or acting as a soundboard for ideas as they discussed magick together.

There was no real way he could justify keeping his friend around any longer that wasn’t purely selfish. He wanted Dove to stay, desperately, but Dove didn’t want to remain. It was as simple as that.

“Fine,” he said finally.

“... What, really?”

The young Mage glared down at the skull tied to his waist.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“Well, yes, it is. I just figured you were going to be a right prick about it. Right. This is great! Well, kid, it's been a pleasure to meet you and behold your giant ball sack in action. Truly. Now smash me on a rock or something.”

“Not this second,” Tyron groaned. “Let me get a camp set up, and I want you to take a look at the rift for me. You know a hell of a lot more about rifts than I do, I’ll be totally useless even after I find the damn thing.”

“I also promised to teach you my favourite eye-technique, didn’t I?” Dove mused, his enthusiasm damping down. “Alright, fine then. That should only take a couple of days. I can wait that long…. Is that a cave?”

It goes to show how distracted he was that Tyron didn’t even notice it, yet Dove, with his cripplingly poor Undead eyesight had been able to find it. The mouth of the cave had been hidden behind a few branches, and scrub, but not much. Relatively close to the direct line that ran from the rift to the village, and with a small mountain tributary running nearby, the cave was all he could have hoped for, if a little cramped.

It took hours to unload the cart and transport the contents, prioritising the supplies the people of Cragwhistle had given him. They hadn’t been able to spare much, but had given what they could to help him survive the cold. He pegged down a canvas to cover the opening as best he could and once again lamented his entirely too poor survival skills. Would it have killed him to travel with his parents, at least a couple of times?

No point crying about it now, he admonished himself.

The cave wasn’t large enough to fit his minions inside, so he tried to find a few places they could gather outside of the wind but remain nearby, while he kept his ghosts out on watch and the revenants by his side.

“I think that ought to do it,” Tyron said, wiping the sweat from his brow and sitting on his bedroll.

A small fire crackled near the mouth of the cave, sheltered from the wind, and the warmth was just enough to take the edge off the cold.

“We can’t be too far from the rift,” Dove mused, “I can sense strange movements in the magick around here, and it’s unusually thick. This cold isn’t totally natural either.”

Tyron nodded grimly. It wasn’t unusual for rifts to have some sort of effect on the surrounding area, but wasn’t a certainty either. If this rift dropped temperatures even further, then the people of Cragwhistle may eventually need to relocate further down the mountain. The winters would be brutal.

“Right, then, time to learn some magick, kid,” Dove announced. “I’ve got a few items I need to cross off the bucket list, and then I can kick the bucket. Let’s get to it.”

The Necromancer sighed and tried to ignore the twinge of pain in his chest. He didn’t have the right to ask Dove to continue his existence, so he didn’t. Instead, he brought out his notebook and began to scribble in it as the skull lectured him on the particulars of ocular magick.

~~~~~~~~~

“How many skeletons?” Brun asked, making note on a filthy page ripped from his satchel.

“Over forty,” Katlyn replied, her expression grim.

The old slayer whistled through a gap in his teeth as he scribbled something down.

“That’s more than I would have expected,” he said, “a lot more. Now the bounty is starting to make a little more sense. Not all the way sense, but we’re getting there.”

Katlyn stared at the dishevelled man with consternation.

“That’s it? You aren’t a little more worried? He practically has an army of Undead following him around! I’d be dead right now if it weren’t for something distracting him.”

“I can’t believe you were caught,” Laurel said, glancing sideways at her fellow Ranger. “How did a magick wielder manage to keep up with you?”

“He didn’t have to,” Katlyn ground out, “he has ghosts and skeletons and spells to do that for him.”

“So what?” Rufus harrumphed, expression filled with contempt. “His skeletons are weak. So long as enough of us go at once, then there’s no way we can lose.”

Brun shrugged.

“That’s up to you lot,” he said. “If you wanna split the bounty further, then you make an agreement and write it down all gentlemanly like. I’ll hold onto it for you so there won’t be any funny business.”

Laurel scanned the group quickly, her eyes flicking over the ten faces of the iron ranked slayers. Some looked nonplussed to hear just how many undead they were up against, whereas others didn’t appear to care.

Only Katlyn appeared to be afraid.

“You’re making a mistake,” she warned Brun, “he’s a lot stronger than you’re giving him credit for.”

“Lass, I’d have run up that mountain and killed him myself days ago, but the academies want you shits to do it, so I’m sitting on my hands. Two hundred sovereigns is enough to have you living like a noble for a good few years. That kind of coin doesn’t land in your lap without a little risk. Now, where is this stupid village?”

The Ranger stared at him for a moment before she slumped, giving in.

“Fine. I’ll show you the way. I just hope we can work together and not all end up dead.”

She turned on her heel and began to walk, the others hefted their packs and fell in behind. Rufus jogged to the front to stand with her, Laurel following after a few seconds.

“Hey, how are you?” Rufus flashed Katlyn a smile and the girl scowled back at him.

“If you want to make a deal, then spit it out,” she said.

Rufus’ smile faltered, but he recovered soon after. Laurel chuckled.

“Straight out with it, that’s good. This is a dangerous mission and we need to be clear about things. This is my partner,” he gestured to Laurel, who nodded politely, “she’s a Ranger, like you. We’ve agreed on a fifty-fifty split, but we might consider expanding that and widening the group, considering what we’re up against.”

“Is that right?” Katlyn said, looking straight ahead as she continued to march at the front of the group.

“I’m also open to paying for information,” Rufus said. “So far, you’re the only one of us to lay eyes on the bounty. I’m sure you managed to learn a lot.”

“Maybe,” she grunted.

“Did you even manage to take a shot?” Laurel asked, a hint of mocking in her voice.

“Of course I did,” Katlyn snapped before she regained her composure. “Of course I did. Which was the first mistake I made.”

She fell silent, and Rufus raised his brows, his expression open and eager for her to continue. She scowled at him.

“No information for free,” she spat. “Ten percent cut, just for the information. Agree right now, and I won't sell it to anyone else.”

Rufus looked like he wanted to argue but Laurel cut him off smoothly.

“That’s fine,” she said, “though for twenty gold sovereigns, this would need to be good information.”

“You’ll have to judge that for yourselves. Now you’ve already paid for it.”

“You don’t get paid unless we claim the bounty,” Laurel reminded her. “So I presume you’ll be doing your best to make that outcome a reality.”

“If you want me to help fight, I want a larger share.”

“Let’s hear the story first,” Rufus broke in, frowning, “we can sort the rest out after that.”

“.... Fine.”