“Lord Vance, Lord Vance, I um, I, please, Lord Vance, if you could just lend me your esteemed ears for but a moment, my lord…”
I walked past Edwin in the stocks without even bothering to acknowledge his pathetic pleading. His face was covered with rotten eggs and a couple of smashed rotten tomatoes. To top things off, some kids had shoved wads of sheep dung into his ears. Someone else, it seemed, had dumped an entire plate of Yengish noodles over his head. He needed a few more hours of the rot-and-shame treatment… just a few more hours of it. Then, hopefully, he would have learned to never, ever fuck with me again.
By now, a crowd had started to gather. The army was only one or two hundred yards from the city gates.
“Make way!” one of the guards on the battlements shouted. “Make way for the Army of the Temple of Necrosis!”
A path was cleared, with guards shoving people back and using their spears as makeshift barriers. I waited in the gates, my arms crossed over my chest, staring out with a grim expression at the approaching force.
When I saw Cranton and Grast, however, it was hard to maintain a severe expression; both of them beamed out ear-to-ear grins when they saw me. I fought it, trying to look serious for my new followers, but the closer they got, the harder it was. Eventually, my face broke into a smile too.
Cranton, to his credit, took the sort of initiative he never would have as the greenfoil-head he’d been a few months ago. He charged out ahead of the army on his horse and turned around to address them.
“Devotees of Necrosis!” he yelled in his thin, reedy voice—not the most authoritative or intimidating, but hey, it would do- “I present to you, your god! All hail Lord Vance Chauzec, God of Death!”
A tremendous cheer erupted from the black-clad mass of followers. I felt the potency of their energy pulsing like a powerful drug through my veins. This was the reason I’d been feeling like a million gold coins.
I cleared my throat, drew Grave Oath from its sheath—noticing, as soon as I touched the dagger, that it crackled with potent energy—and held my trusty soul-slurper high above my head.
“Welcome, loyal devotees, to Brakith!” I bellowed. Hell, even my voice seemed to have become stronger; it rang out like a peal of thunder.
Again the crowd cheered, and once more I felt a heady rush of energy coursing through me.
“I thank you for your devotion!” I roared. “And I am no selfish deity. Each and every one of you will be rewarded for the sacrifices you have made in my name.”
Again a roar of approval boomed out from the crowd.
“For the moment, though, enter my city, make yourselves at home, and rest after your long journey. I will address you all tonight!”
There was one last cheer from the black army, and I stepped aside to allow them to enter the city. Each of them bowed to me as he or she walked past and entered Brakith. They all wore black hooded cloaks with my sigil, the simple, yellowish-green skull emblazoned on the back.
I saw people of all nationalities, shapes, and sizes; Cranton had gotten busy and had taken his proselytizing pretty damn seriously. It was really hard to believe that the Cranton I was looking at was the same goofy green-fiend I’d met in a scummy tavern in Erst. He was still as ugly as a troll’s behind, of course—nothing, unfortunately, could fix that face, not even divine purpose—but he had a glow about him that was impossible to deny. Making him a priest of the Church of Necrosis—which involved ripping out his heart and dunking it in acid, and turning it black—had, weirdly enough, saved his life.
Cranton and Grast waited until all of the devotees had entered Brakith before coming to speak to me. Cranton trotted over on his horse, while Grast rumbled over on his massive bone-wagon, his ruddy cheeks glowing with drunkenness.
“Lord Chauzec!” Grast bellowed with as broad a grin as I’d ever seen on his face. “It’s bloody fantastic to see you, it is! And praise to, um, you, you’re looking bloody good, my lord, bloody good indeed! Would you care for some Yorish brandy to wet the ol’ whistle, my lord?”
I chuckled and declined politely. I needed to have my wits about me for all the preparations for the quest.
“The wagon looks awesome, Grast,” I said. “It just screams ‘death,’ with this whole bone theme you’ve got going. Where’d you get this done?”
“One of our new devotees, Lord Chauzec,” Grast answered, swigging on his wineskin. “He’s a master carpenter, he is. Used to do a lot o’ work for the Church of Light, he did, in their cathedrals and such.”
“Someone who worked for the Church of Light is pretty much the last sort of person I’d have expected to see doing work for me.” I raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, he got fed up with that lot, Lord Chauzec,” Grast said with a chuckle. “Always paying him less than they said, always nitpicking about his work, trying to rip him off, like. Cranton met him in a tavern, he did. The bloke was drowning his sorrows and cursing the Church of Light to any and all who would listen. Well, old Cranton, he says to this bloke, ‘If you’ve had enough of those pompous penny pinchers, I’ve got a new god for you to follow, I have!’ And then he went on about how bloody great a god you are and how you don’t rip nobody off or pinch pennies, about how you’ve been fighting the Blood God while the Church let one of their own bishops get away with worshiping that bastard under their noses! This bloke was mighty impressed, he was, Lord Chauzec. He took one
