General Khirzhan was modern and cultured. He wore a bright red military uniform with huge epaulettes, all covered in shiny bullion, but no shoes. The general’s clawed green feet were bare, and tough as old leather. Tusks curled upward from his great mouth. These were capped with gold that had been engraved to match the pattern of the rings in his pointed ears.
General Goomblast towered above the other two, a shaggy behemoth with a brass dome screwed directly onto his cranium. He wore soft clothing with an eastern look to it, and a huge pair of goggles over his eyes.
After holding their pose dramatically for thirty seconds, the Generals seemed to feel that they had done their duty by military protocol. They relaxed, eyeing the Baron curiously.
“Generals.” Klaus began. “I want to thank you for your recent efforts.” The creatures acknowledged this compliment with serious nods. Without the Jagermonsters, the Slaver Wasps might actually have overwhelmed Castle Wulfenbach. Three of the monster soldiers had actually died, an extraordinarily high number.
General Khirzhan spoke up. “Yaz, Herr Baron. Ov course ve help vit de bogz, hey? Nasty tings. But... surely dere vos something else hyu vished to talk to us about?”
Khirzhan was the shrewdest of the old Generals—the one who remembered best what it had been to be human. It made him easier to talk to, but also more dangerous. This would be tricky, Klaus thought. Well, their reaction would be interesting...
“You have been enquiring after a...” The Baron pretended to think, “ah, yes, a Miss Clay?”
Zog blinked first. “Ah, vell, ve vas just—”
Khirzhan smoothly stepped on his foot. “Yas,” he rumbled. “Ve did. Vy?”
The Baron moved back and indicated the coffin on the floor. “I am sorry, but she is dead. She ran afoul of an old clank while she was traveling in the Wastelands.” The Jagers crowded in around the coffin and stared down at it.
Klaus paused. This was the dangerous part. The Jagers’ loyalty to the House of Heterodyne was unshakeable. To have a genuine heir appear suddenly after all of these years, only to be killed... Anything could happen. He continued. “I am not happy about this... it... is not what I wanted.”
The Jagers looked at him for a long moment. Even with their distorted features, Klaus could see their confusion.
Zog glanced back at the burned corpse. “But...”
Goomblast shook his head. “Dis iz—”
Khrizhan pushed forward. “Uv course hyu deed not vish for diz poor gurlz death. Who vould vant soch a ting?”
The other two Generals looked at each other, but kept silent. Khrizhan continued, “She vos a very nize gurl. Ve... ve are very sad. Poor ting. Thenk hyu for letting us know, yah?”
Klaus nodded. This was going better than he had dared hoped. It was a bit odd, actually. “If you would like some kind of service held... ah, discreetly, of course?”
Khrizhan open his mouth and then froze. He stared at Klaus for several seconds. General Goomblast smoothly stepped into the conversational void. “We did not get a chance to... properly know de yong lady but Hy em sure dot de spirits uv her ancestors vould—”
“THE HETERODYNE IS DEAD!” Khrizhan’s scream was no doubt heard through half of Castle Wulfenbach. The other two generals stared at him in astonishment. Then their heads snapped back towards the open coffin. Klaus could see the mental connections being made inside their ancient heads, they both then stared at him—
Klaus stepped back. This set the monsters off and with a great roaring and screaming, they proceeded to try to tear the hangar apart. In a blind rage, Zog came at the Baron with claws extended. It was a glorious fight, lasting almost half an hour, and afterwards, the Baron joined them in a bout of drinking that quite erased any doubts before they were even formed.
Ironically, it was the subsequent hangover that inspired Klaus to take the next step...
The bed was hard. It was really only a flat linen sack—stuffed with horsehair and laid out on a wooden shelf—but Agatha slept peacefully, Krosp curled snugly against her back.
Suddenly, a finger pressed lightly against her nose, and a soft voice whispered, “Beep!” Agatha snapped awake and saw Zeetha grinning at her in the predawn light. The green-haired girl set down a small pile of clothing, pointed at it with a significant look, and stepped out of the wagon, closing the door behind her.
A few minutes later, Agatha reluctantly crept out into the cold morning air. What Zeetha had left was a brown, toga-like shift. Agatha had spent several frantic minutes looking for the rest of the outfit. Her clothing from the day before was nowhere to be found. Scandalous stories she’d heard about actors began to sound worryingly plausible.
It looked like no one else was awake except for a couple of roustabouts, who were standing watch around the central fire. They perked up when they saw Agatha’s costume, but a growl from Zeetha caused them to speedily avert their eyes.
Without a word, the green-haired girl took Agatha’s hand and pulled her into the forest. She was carrying a stick about two meters long—its sharp, fresh smell proclaimed it a newly-trimmed sapling. Soon they stepped into a small glade, and Zeetha released her hand and turned to face her. The look she gave Agatha was serious.
Agatha crossed her arms against the morning chill. “Zeetha? What is going on? This outfit—?”
Zeetha smiled. “Remember? You start your warrior training today. That is a close approximation of traditional Skifandrian novice garb.”
Agatha shivered. “Skifander must be in the tropics, then.” She rubbed her arms and looked at the sky. Birds began to call in the trees overhead. “Isn’t it a bit early for this?”
Zeetha shook her head. “My concern is that I may be too late.” She stepped closer. “Know, Agatha Clay, that the warrior tradition of the royal house of Skifander is old, proud, and jealously guarded.
“In this life, I am allowed to train one other besides my own daughters. I have chosen you. The bond between us will be stronger than that of friends. Of family. Of lovers. As of now, we are ‘
Agatha looked hard at Zeetha and thought a moment. This sounded serious—what was she getting into? “What does that mean?” she asked.
Zeetha paused. “Ah—it’s kind of hard to translate. Sort of like ‘teacher and student.’ Sort of like ‘cause and effect.’” With a sudden, fluid movement, she brought the stick around and knocked Agatha to her knees. “Mostly like ‘grindstone and knife.’”
Agatha was stunned. “What are you
Zeetha twirled the stick about her fingers. “Testing your reflexes. You’re
About an hour later, Zeetha sighed deeply and sat on her heels next to Agatha, who had resorted to huddling on the ground with her hands over her head. “Pathetic,” she pronounced. “No stamina. You can’t dodge. You can’t block. You allow anger to drive your attacks, and you can’t even run away properly.” She stood back up. “The good news is that you’ve got fast reflexes, and I’m greatly encouraged by the fact that I haven’t been able to hit you exactly the same way twice.”
Agatha stirred slightly. “So... this death thing that training is supposed to prevent... why is it bad?”
This earned her another smack across the rump. “
“This is lucky?” Agatha’s voice was barely there.
“Sure! Nothing’s broken, is it?” Zeetha turned to go. “That makes it a good first day. I’ll get you some breakfast.”
As Zeetha left, Krosp, who had been watching for some time, hopped from the wagon and sauntered up to Agatha. He gave her a sniff and then nudged her with his foot. “How’d it go?” he asked.
Agatha raised her face and her eyes were despairing. “Krosp,” she wailed. “Help! She’s going to
Krosp’s whiskers twitched disapprovingly. “It
