It was Death energy.
Either there was another Death God somewhere in Prand, and he’d sent an army to attack Brakith, or it was something else. Some old friends had come to visit, perhaps?
Controlling Talon with the finesse of an expert puppeteer, I sent it swooping down low over the army. When they caught sight of it, they did not draw their bows or raise their crossbows. Instead, they cheered. I was flying low enough now to get a clear look at the army and to pick out individual faces. Two familiar ones glanced up. Their presence cemented the fact that this was a force of allies, not enemies.
There, at the head of this force of black-and-gray-clad people was the crooked-toothed, squint-eyed, pockmarked visage of Cranton, in all his gangly-limbed, former-greenfoil-junkie glory.
The prodigal priest had returned, and he was riding an expensive-looking stallion. I guessed he’d made the right choice when he took up my offer to become the first priest of the Temple of Necrosis, which, judging by the impressive size of this force, was growing in popularity in leaps and bounds. That was excellent news for me.
Behind Cranton was another familiar face: Grast, the cheerful old wine-sot of a wagon driver. His cheeks and nose were as red as beets, and in his hand was a wineskin, no doubt filled with the ol’ fire-in-a-bottle, Yorish brandy, a drink that could knock an ogre out after a couple of shots. Grast, however, sucked it back like it was warm milk.
He’d upgraded his wagon, though; no longer was it a standard wooden vehicle, covered with a rough tarpaulin. Instead, it seemed he had hired a master woodcarver to do a very detailed job. The wood had been cut away, polished, and smoothed, then painted over in white, black, and gray, as though it were made entirely of bones. A brilliant touch, and perfect for the Temple of Necrosis.
“Nice work, boys,” I murmured. “Very nice work indeed.”
I’d seen all I needed to for now, so I flew Talon back into Brakith. I yanked my consciousness out of the harpy’s head, snapping the invisible strands back into my own brain like a stretched bowstring.
“Stand down, guards and soldiers!” I yelled. “These are friends approaching, not foes!”
“Are you sure, my lord?” a sergeant asked from a couple of yards away.
“One hundred percent certain,” I replied. “That force that’s advancing toward us is an army of Death. They’ve come to serve me, not to fight me.”
“As you say, my lord.”
He then cupped his hands together and bellowed out a command to all the other troops to stand down and abandon their battle stations. There would be no battle in Brakith—at least not today.
It was going to take the approaching army a good while to get to the city gates, so I figured I could take care of a few more things before they arrived. I left the battlements and headed back to my chambers, where I imagined Elyse would be awake now, having been roused from her slumber by all the commotion out here. I also needed to have a word with Isu, who would likely be skulking around the castle crypts. The townsfolk were creeped out by her; as stunningly beautiful as the former goddess was, she did have unearthly eyes, a strange hue to her skin, and uh, two horns coming out of her head.
The feeling of dislike was mutual; Isu looked up at the citizens of Brakith—and, indeed, pretty much any people, anywhere—with contempt, referring to them as “mere mortals,” even though she, as a being stripped of her status as a deity, was just as mortal as any of them. As a necromancer, she still felt a powerful connection with the dead and all things concerned with death, and the place where such energies were most concentrated in Brakith was in the crypts of the Keep, where the bones of my dead ancestors had been interred for over a thousand years.
I’d go talk to her later though. First, I wanted to let Elyse know that we’d be leaving Brakith at dawn tomorrow.
I headed up to the top of the Keep, to my personal chambers. Elyse had been sleeping in the room next to mine, but, more often than not, had ended up sleeping in my bedchamber. So much for her vows of chastity. She kept saying that the Lord of Light would understand. I doubted that, but whatever. It all worked out fine by me.
I had to admire the fact that she had managed to restrain herself from being too clingy; it had been something that I’d been quite worried about, with those puppy dog looks she gave me, and the other things she did for me that made it obvious that her feelings for me went way beyond mere animal attraction. She understood that I couldn’t be tied down to one woman, and even though I knew that this was a hard thing for someone like her to accept, she did accept it, and quite graciously.
I knocked on the door before entering my chambers; yeah, I could have barged right in, but I had been brought up to have at least some manners.
“Vance, is that you?”
Her bell-like voice always sent a ripple of pleasure down my spine; her posh accent made her seem like even more of a bad girl when she shed her Church of Light robe and got down and dirty.
“It is, and I’m coming in.”
I opened the door and saw that she was up and, unfortunately, fully dressed. I wouldn’t have minded getting one more glimpse of that glorious figure, tanned all over; she
