Zachary Scott
patreon
Chapter 122 - The Bone Choir
🕑 Added 2025-08-07 19:48:36 +0000 UTCIt was my first time back at the outpost we’d taken from the wooden constructs. Everyone needed half a day to recover before we could push to claim a third outpost tomorrow, so we were taking the night off for recovery.
The crafting team was happily testing the fit and balance of metal armors and weapons as we all gathered in the outpost courtyard for a very late dinner. Protus stirred a huge cauldron of soup that smelled absolutely incredible, his bald head shimmering by the light of several fires.
“Too tight?” Hera asked as she tested a pair of shin guards on Lyria.
Lyria shook her head. “They’re great, thank you.” The girl smiled and rushed back toward the crafting station to gather more gear.
A group of half a dozen aspirants and slaves were having some good natured sparring matches and betting on the outcome with random objects grommets had forced them to take. A few Coil grommets had even joined in on the betting, though they seemed confused by the concept.
Each day that passed had us looking more and more formidable. Carved wooden armor and even metal plates had begun to replace ragged white or gray tournament uniforms. Everyone who wanted a weapon had at least something now. The poorly fed slaves were gaining strength from proper nutrition, too, as we’d been able to easily hunt all the wild game and forage for extras while we traveled.
As long as I didn’t think about the nobility out there or the occasional viewing portal full of blood-thirsty fans that would swoop by, it felt like things were shaping up.
Protus stood over his massive cauldron and used an oar-sized soup spoon more to beat away grommets than to tend to his soup. The grommets kept trying to add things when he wasn’t looking like roots or handfuls of dirt, and Protus was fiercely defending his work from them.
Steam rose in lazy spirals, carrying scents of wild herbs, root vegetables, and meat. The entire courtyard of our second outpost had transformed into an impromptu dining hall, with people sitting on overturned crates, leaning against walls, or just sprawled on the ground and waiting contentedly.
“Finally,” Ramzi said with a happy sigh. “Civilization returns.”
“Is this what you sekmeti consider civilization?” Sylara asked, pointing at a grommet who was trying to discreetly stuff a guinea pig into his mouth. “Because I have concerns.”
Thorn laughed, the sound rusty from disuse. “I hear nobody giving us orders. Nobody is threatening us. I will take it, Sylara.”
Protus began ladling soup into a collection of mismatched bowls, cups, and in one case, a helmet someone had cleaned out. The grommets joined the line.
“Hey, Protus,” Tamrin called out, still rubbing his head where Timbo had “healed” him yesterday. “You didn’t use any of those guinea pigs in there, did you?”
Protus paused in his ladling, giving Tamrin a look that was completely unreadable. The silence stretched just long enough for several people to glance down at their bowls with sudden concern.
Hector actually spit the huge mouthful he’d taken out and back into his bowl.
Then Protus burst out laughing, the sound booming across the courtyard. “Gods, no! I tried that once. Completely ruins the flavor profile. Too gamey, and they’re full of these tiny bones that—”
“We get it,” one of the younger slave girls interrupted, her face going a shade of green.
I accepted my bowl gratefully and went back to sit with the escaped slaves and Lyria.
“This is good,” I said after my first taste. It was rich and hearty, with a complexity that suggested Protus actually knew what he was doing. “Your reputation is deserved.”
Protus beamed. “Secret’s in the layering. You can’t just throw everything in at once. Each ingredient needs its moment.”
“Like a good song,” Ramzi agreed, closing his eyes as he savored a spoonful.
Grimbo waddled over to our group, moving with unusual purpose. He’d been acting strange all evening, giggling to himself and petting something in his mass of hair. Now he stood before me, rocking back and forth on his heels.
“Horny one,” he said formally. “This one has... a gift.”
“A gift?”
He nodded solemnly, then reached deep into his hair. What he pulled out made my breath catch.
It was a small, round stone. Smooth and gray, with two natural dimples that looked like eyes and a crack below that resembled a crooked smile.
“Pebble,” I whispered.
“You will forgive this one for asking Mr. Hoot for it. He was not wanting to let him go,” Grimbo said, pressing the stone into my palm. “Had to... negotiate.”
I turned the stone over in my hands, smiling. “You negotiated with Hoot? How did you manage to convince him to let Pebble leave his sight?”
“Grommets have ways,” Grimbo said mysteriously, then waddled back to the soup line for thirds.
“What’s that?” Lyria asked, leaning closer. When she saw, she smiled softly. “Oh, great. You and your weird little pets. You just couldn’t even go a full week without them, could you?”
I focused on the stone, channeling mana through the object with Forge Echo. The familiar blue-green light sparked, and suddenly Pebble materialized beside me.
He appeared in a flash, drawing an appreciative murmur from a few watching slaves. The little rock vibrated with what I’d learned to recognize as excitement.
“Oh,” Zahra said softly. “I remember him.”
“He’s admittedly kind of adorable,” Lyria finished. “In a weird, rock sort of way.”
I set Pebble down and gave him a gentle pat. “Good to have you back, buddy. Think you could do me a favor? Scout around the outpost, maybe a few hundred feet out. Let me know if you spot anything unusual.”
“You’re already putting him to work?” Thorn asked. “Can’t the little boy have a few moments to rest and relax with his friends?”
“Pebble likes to have jobs. Don’t you, buddy?”
He gave a little back and forth wobble, then darted toward the front gate, which had a big enough gap for him to roll straight under.
As I watched him go, I wondered if I was imagining it or if his movement was smoother than before, more purposeful. Had he gotten stronger while we were apart? Or was it my own growth affecting him?
“You talk to it like it understands you,” Sylara observed. There was less hostility in her voice than before, but she still watched me with sharp eyes. The woman had never seemed to like me or anyone but Thorn for that matter.
“He definitely understands,” I said.
“How does that work, exactly?” Lyria asked. “If you Forge Echo another rock, will it know what pebble knows?”
“First of all, he’s not just any rock,” I said. “And no. I tested it once. It seemed like I could teach a new rock to be as smart as Pebble, but I’d be starting from scratch, and the new rock would have its own personality and a slightly different disposition.”
She looked thoughtful, but Thorn cleared his throat, drawing our attention. “There is something we wish to admit to you, Brynn and Lyria. Something about the nature of our capture,” Thorn said.
Ramzi, Sylara, and Zahra all looked up from their soup, eyes alert. None of them seemed ready to try to stop him from speaking, though.
Thorn hesitated, running a big hand down his thick beard. “We are ashamed to admit we tried to run.”
“It was my fault,” Sylara admitted. “I did not want to trust your intentions. I believed you would try to sell Zahra and Ramzi to slavers. The price they fetched would have been great, and—”
“We wouldn’t have blamed you,” Thorn said. “So we needed to look after ourselves, but we were fools to think we could escape the city without your help. We were stopped as soon as we tried to secure passage on a boat down the cave river. And now… now we see how wrong we were to think so little of you.”
“We are sorry,” Zahra said, hanging her head.
Ramzi mirrored her posture. “If you wish to cast us out for our disgrace, we will not fight your choice.”
I shook my head. “I don’t blame any of you. You do what you think is best to survive. I’ll never blame any of you for that.”
Thorn looked up sharply, one brow raised. “We just admitted we took you for a liar. You’re here in part to rescue us because of our failure to trust you.”
“It’s water under the bridge,” I said firmly. “If it helps, we all need each other here. So I’m not about to turn away strong allies because you didn’t trust me.”
He glanced at the others, and Ramzi nodded encouragement.
“There is another detail,” Zahra said, her catlike eyes glinting in the starlight. “I overheard the slavers talking when they captured us. Someone had put out our descriptions. They were looking for us specifically.”
I frowned. “Why would…” then I trailed off because it felt clear, even if I couldn’t figure out the “how” of it. “They used you to lure me in here…” the words sent a chill across my skin as I said them.
Zahra nodded sadly. “I hoped you wouldn’t care enough to come for us.”
Lyria gave my arm a punch. “Not his specialty. He cares way, way too much. I’m just surprised it hasn’t gotten him killed yet.”
“So far, it has put me in the best position to get stronger, time and time again,” I said. “And if we pull this off, all the risks will have been worth it.”
“But who would want you in here?” Lyria asked.
“Rake. Kalcus. Maybe even Vitus?” I guessed.
“I thought we trusted Vitus,” Lyria said.
“I did too. But he saw us all together in Beastden. And so did his allies. The other Azure Guard.”
“Hmm,” Lyria said, staring into her soup bowl thoughtfully. “Maybe one of his allies, then?”
“You risked your life to come back for us,” Zahra said. “We owed you for our lives in Beastden. We owed you again for our mistrust. And now we owe you a third time because you came back for us, yet again. Three debts we owe, and for this, there’s no price we won’t pay.”
Sylara, Thorn, and Ramzi all nodded their agreement.
I took another sip of the soup, then lowered my helmet. “Survive this and we’ll call it even. That’s all I ask.”
“It’s not enough.”
“Too bad,” I said. “Because that’s all I’m going to ask.”
“We’re grateful,” Ramzi said. “For what you’re trying to do. This mongrel army, this alliance of outcasts. It’s admirable.”
“But you don’t think it will work,” I said. It wasn’t a question.
“The powerful don’t give up power,” Thorn said simply. “We’ve all fought in the games for their entertainment before. This is just the same thing on a bigger scale. I think they find great humor in our belief that we can win. The higher we get our hopes, the more satisfying it’ll be for them to watch us get crushed and die.”
“We do have a chance,” I said. “From things I heard about past games, we’re already in uncharted territory. A group the size of ours isn’t normal. We’re working together, and we managed to keep a huge number of slaves from dying in the initial carnage. There are still more allies out there we can gather. And we have an advantage with two outposts already and our crafting team. If the nobles leave us alone even another day or two, we’ll be that much more formidable.”
“But we’re drawing attention,” Lyria said. “The nobles are starting to notice. When they stop fighting each other and turn their eyes to us...”
She didn’t need to finish. We all knew what would likely happen.
“Hey,” a voice called from the wall. One of our sentries. “Your ghost rock is back, and he’s... uh... he’s very excited about something.”
I stood quickly. Pebble came rolling in beneath the gate, kicking up a cloud of dust in his wake. He came to a stop by my boot, bouncing and rolling in frantic circles. He almost looked panicked.
“Trouble?” Lyria asked, already reaching for her spear.
Pebble rolled to me and began a series of complex movements. Forward, back, spin left, double spin right. It took me a moment to remember the scouting language we’d worked out together.
“People coming,” I translated. “A lot of them. I think.”
“Undead,” Erasmus said quietly. He was approaching from the front gate, pale skin so white it was nearly translucent. “I can smell them.”
A distant scream rang out not far from the outpost. Then another. Then the sound of many feet running through undergrowth.
“Positions!” I barked. All around, soup bowls clattered to the ground and Protus clutched his head in shocked outrage at all the spilled liquid.
“Anyone with ranged attacks, get on top of the walls,” I shouted. “Yolo, you stay up top for healing. Protus, douse the fires. Smoke will give away our position.”
“But the flavor will only grow by tomorrow, if I douse the flames now—”
“Protus, forget the fucking soup,” Lyria hissed.
The slave clenched his jaw, then moved with admirable speed. The grommets were no help. They mostly screamed, scooped up guinea pigs, or collected discarded soup bowls and drank as they ran for cover deeper in the outpost.
In less than a minute, everyone was mobilized. Half were on top of the walls with ranged weapons and spells ready. The rest of us gathered just outside the front gate, waiting as we listened to the sound of approaching chaos.
As if on cue, thunder rumbled overhead and rain began to pour down on us in sheets. A bolt of lightning cracked in the distance, making everyone jump.
“I see them,” Tamrin called from his position above. “Gods. It looks like skeletons.”
First I saw a group of maybe fifteen people in the white uniforms of slaves. They were running at full-tilt straight for our outpost, mud and water sloshing around their feet. Maybe they thought they stood a better chance against the guardians of this outpost than whatever was chasing them behind that hill.
I gripped the dagger Zahra gave me tighter and dismissed Pebble. With a thin thread of mana, I used Forge Echo on the dagger and watched it take shape beside me. The floating spectral dagger hovered mid-air as if it was being gripped by an invisible figure. It saluted me, then seemed to turn its focus back on the approaching slaves.
“We’re friends!” I shouted, making sure they could hear me over the chaos. I also pulled out my Alchemist’s Kit and drained an entire bottle of Blood Rage potion, wincing at the acrid taste and then wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I threw the empty bottle against the ground so it could respawn with a fresh batch of potion in a few minutes if I needed it.
More thunder rumbled and the sky flickered with light, the rain coming down so hard I could barely hear a thing.
As the slaves came closer, I saw they were all unarmed and most were wounded. There was also a swarm of viewing portals trailing them along with the sound of the crowd roaring so loud I could hear it over the storm.
Great.
“Get inside!” I yelled, voice growing deeper as the muscles in my neck responded to the strain of shouting. I could feel them swelling with the potion, draining blood in the process and already requiring a slow trickle of mana to heal the damage.
The slaves hesitated at the sound of my voice, but recovered quickly and rushed past us and inside the outpost. The viewing portals that had been trailing them circled high, setting up in position to get a view of the carnage that was about to unfold.
“Someone get them bows!” I yelled, voice growing even louder and deeper each time I strained. I knew we had extra weapons and hoped the crafters would move quickly.
Beside me, the others shifted and pushed wet hair from their faces.
It was only a few seconds before the first one appeared. A humanoid skeleton with bones that dangled bits of flesh and clothing. The eye sockets were hollow, but somehow I could feel malignance radiating from them, even from a couple hundred feet away. The white bone glistened in the rain, catching blue light from another jolt of lightning.
More and more of them appeared over the hill, each clutching a rusty weapon and wearing bits of mis-matched armor.
I sensed people inching backward. “We need to hold out here,” I said, straining to be heard over the downpour. “We can fall back inside if we get overwhelmed.”
The demonic sound of my voice amplified by the potion, along with the bits of blood beginning to bead and get washed away from my skin, seemed to add weight to my advice.
The first arrows whispered through the darkness high above, and then spells began to fly. Bolts of ice. Balls of fire. A spinning disc of barbed metal. It all hissed or sliced through the rain and darkness, slamming into the enemies with powerful shockwaves of destruction.
Only half of the ranged attacks found their mark, but the skeletons exploded in showers of bone when hit by magic. The arrows, on the other hand, did little to no damage.
The skeletons were closer now, only a hundred feet away.
A second volley of ranged attacks flew out, downing more skeletons but there were at least a hundred of the things. Maybe twenty or thirty had been destroyed at best.
With only about fifteen of us standing on the ground, it was going to be messy, but I thought we stood a good chance. We could possibly slay half of them or more, then retreat inside and try to pick off the rest little by little from the top of the wall.
But then I saw something red appear over the hilltop. It was thick and misshapen but vaguely humanoid, and the ground rumbled with each step it took. It threw both arms wide and roared.
My stomach went cold when I realized what the thing was made of.
Bodies.
Hundreds of small red goblin-like corpses were stitched together into a shambling nightmare. Their faces were still individual, still expressing their death agonies. Some moved their mouths in silent screams.
And it was charging forward to join the skeletons.
Behind it came a single figure draped in armor made of bones. He had long white hair, glowing white eyes, and skin almost as pale as Erasmus. He rode on a horse made of bones and waited, hair blowing behind him as he lifted a flute of bone to his lips and played a ghostly tune.
“What the fuck,” I whispered.
But there was no time to wonder as the first wave of skeletons crashed into us.
Steel and wood met bone as the fighting began. The skeletons were quick and absolutely relentless. They fought with no regard for their own safety and kept going even when missing arms, legs, or heads. The only way to completely down them was to crush the bones beneath boots or break them apart until some unseen spell faded.
We all hacked in a chaos of shouting and confusion, inching backward as more and more of the things slammed into the fighting.
Beside me, Erasmus hacked one apart using a half-moon shaped hammer that glowed with some unknown magic spell. Lyria used a gust of wind so strong it made a skeleton explode from the stomach out, spraying a shower of bones behind it that knocked down several more of its allies.
A slave went down with a scream, arm nearly cut away from his body by a skeleton with a huge axe.
I flooded the man with healing as Tamrin’s water spheres splashed down amid the downpour, coating several skeletons in sticky magic that slowed them.
Hector waded into their attacks, suffering damage and growing stronger as he bled. His sword was a blur, slicing apart enemies faster than they could come.
But there was a problem.
The skeletons we thought we’d defeated were putting themselves back together and rising up again to join the fighting. Worse, the golem was still lumbering toward the fight and would arrive any second.
My Forge Echo charged the golem, cutting its way through skeletons as I tried to divide my focus and heal minor wounds as they appeared. One of Hector’s friends fell hard, bleeding from a deep gash for only a moment before Yolo’s vine magic encased them and lifted them high.
For my own part, I was growing stronger the longer I fought thanks to the Blood Rage Potion. My muscles were straining against my clothes and blood was soaking through the fabric. But my attacks were getting so strong I hardly needed the knife anymore. I was knocking skeletons apart with a simple swipe of my arms.
“Do we go fall back?” Lyria asked, bashing away a skeleton with the butt of her spear.
“I don’t think we can,” I gritted between my teeth as I dodged a rusty axe and then slashed hard, knocking off a skeleton’s arm at the shoulder. “The golem will rip our outpost apart. And that thing on the horse will keep reanimating them from a distance. We’ve got to go for him.”
“Are you crazy?” Lyria asked. “You’ll never make it to him.”
“We have the grommet tunnels,” I said.
“Look at you. Do you think you’ll even fit?”
She had a point, but the grommets said they made them big for us. I’d just have to hope they were big enough.
“Cover me. Once I’m inside, get everyone in the outpost. Focus fire on the flesh golem. Keep that thing from destroying the wall if you can.”
“Brynn—”
“Just do it,” I said.
Grimbo had walked me through the locations of the tunnels they dug for our defenses. Mostly, the idea was to give us a way to rush beneath the battlefield and appear behind our enemies. Flanking the skeletons didn’t seem worth it, but getting behind them and rushing that asshole on the horse with the bone flute? That felt like a perfect use.
I punched my way through a couple skeletons and tried not to get distracted by the sound of the flesh golem finally reaching the fight to my right.
But I made the mistake of turning just in time to see it grip a slave girl and shove her into its stomach. The thing split in half just long enough to accommodate her and then snapped shut. After a moment’s pause, it seemed to grow slightly larger, reaching for another victim.
Fuck.
I wanted to go back and help, but the best thing I could do was take down the guy animating that thing.
I jumped on a pile of dried leaves and fell straight through into the grommet hole hidden beneath. It was a short fall, and I was grateful to see the grommets had dug it wide enough for two humans to crouch and pass through.
With my swollen muscles, I already barely fit, but I stayed low and moved fast as the sounds of the battle died out behind me.
The horns of my disguised helmet kept scraping on the ceiling and raining dirt and dust on me. Behind, I could sense viewing portals following me through the darkness.
I learned by now that was a bad sign. The people watching got excited when they thought I was about to do something that could get me killed. I assumed they knew who the asshole draped in bones was, and if they were excited to watch me confront him… yeah.
I pushed it all from my mind, unsummoning my Forge Echo as the strain of maintaining the spell across the distance began to drain too much mana. My Blood Rage Potion and its constant self-inflicted damage already had me down to about three quarters of my mana pool.
I reached the end of the tunnel and jumped, using enhanced leg muscles to skip the dirt ladder entirely.
I landed on grass maybe twenty feet from the hilltop where the sound of that ghostly music was louder now. I could see him better, too. His white hair whipped behind his gaunt face, eyes closed as a small smile curved his unnaturally red lips. Armor like a ribcage of bones curved around his torso. Horned skulls with the jaws torn away sat on his shoulders.
I drew my knife, crouched low, and inspected him.
[Human, Level 50 (Iron)]
Strong, then…
I summoned Pebble, hesitated only a second, and then fed a trickle of dark mana into his small body.
He vibrated, shook, and then two rocky arms and two rocky legs sprouted from his central mass. He stood on shaky legs, vibrated again, and then swelled in size until he was maybe a foot tall. The center of his body was that silly little misshapen smile, and under normal circumstances, I would’ve grinned at how cute he looked.
Right now, though, I was counting on him to help me pummel this bastard until he was sucked up to the airships, hopefully dismissing his entire army of undead in the process.
“After me,” I mouthed to Pebble, who seemed like he was trying to look at his own feet. “Focus, buddy. This is important.”
Pebble stood up straighter, then turned to face our enemy and crouched low in readiness.
I started flexing my muscles like I was trying to pump air into them. Each time I strained, they grew, along with the internal damage that was stressing my mana reserves.
I pushed it as far as I dared, knowing my mana needed to last long enough to outlive the potion’s duration, unless I wanted to count on Yolo to save my ass. Or worse, Timbo.
I was huge and swollen with muscle and blood was dripping from me when the man noticed the portals.
At first, just one eye opened, and then both. They were completely white with no iris, and then they swiveled toward me.
He smiled, showing rotted yellow teeth. “Hello, there… what an odd—”
I didn’t give him time for whatever he was about to say. I charged and let out a terrifying, way-too-deep roar as Pebble tucked in his new-grown limbs to roll uphill toward our enemy.
The man gestured and a huge shield of bones appeared in front of him.
I smashed straight through it, shoulder lowered. My momentum kept me moving as I smashed through him and his horse, too.
Bones exploded, showering sharp splinters in every direction and cutting my skin, but I barely felt it.
I staggered to a stop, turned as I held my unfamiliar and swollen limbs at the ready. The knife Zahra gave me looked like a child’s toy in my oversized hand, reminding me of my first moments on Eros as I clutched a tomte knife and faced down Jinglefoot.
The bone man was on his knees and struggling to his feet. Black blood dripped from his mouth.
He had just lifted his head when Pebble unrolled from his combat ball and flew toward him, punching him across the face so hard I thought I saw a rotted tooth fly from the man’s mouth.
I was on top of him a second later, punching and stabbing.
I expected the stasis to flare when my first punch burst straight through his torso and my second knocked his arm clean off his body.
Instead, the man just stared at me with unnatural calm, smile slowly spreading as I tore his body to shreds.
His head fell away, leaving me panting and dripping blood as Dark Pebble stomped on a detached leg, which was trying to wriggle away.
The air instantly went cold and the sky seemed to darken, then all the pieces of the man and his horse exploded into black motes of light that rushed away and reformed several dozen feet into the trees.
He watched me wordlessly for several seconds, and then he gave the horse a nudge and rode away into the trees without a sound.
Dark Pebble rolled into a combat ball again and tried to roll after him, but I unsummoned him. Maintaining a summon with dark mana continually released a trickle of the stuff into my body, and I’d already taken the amount I was comfortable with. Any more and I knew I’d start hearing the burned man in my mind again.
I turned to look back toward the outpost and saw my allies standing in confusion over a pile of motionless bones. I shouted in alarm when I saw the flesh golem rushing toward me.
I only had a moment to try to defend before it jumped high, clearing me by several feet before landing and continuing on in the direction the bone man had gone.
“Fuck,” I tried to whisper, but the sound came out so loud it shook the trees and sent a few groups of birds flying.
“Is everyone alive?” I called out as I walked back toward the wall, breath coming in ragged gasps. The pain of the potion and the damage was taking its toll, but I still had a little less than half my mana pool left, and I knew I could weather the storm.
“Mostly,” Lyria replied. She had a cut on her cheek but seemed otherwise fine. “The golem… it got two slaves from the new group.”
I nodded, trying not to think more about what I’d seen or how terrible a death that must have been to become part of that thing.
When it seemed clear no more attacks were coming, I raised my voice so everyone could hear. “Crush the bones. Every one of them. That necromancer had some kind of magic to animate them, so let’s not leave ammunition behind.”
We all spent a few minutes making sure no bone was left in one piece and finally trudged back into the outpost as the rain began to calm down in intensity.
I found some of the new slaves who had been running were being tended by Timbo, much to their alarm. Grimbo was beside Timbo doing his best to explain that Timbo was a healer.
“Eleven saved,” Tamrin reported as he came down from the wall. “They say they had fifteen before they ran into that guy. And...” He hesitated. “One of them says he has information. About the bone guy.”
The man in question was thin and his soaking white slave uniform seemed to hang from him like a sheet. He was clutching a cup of water with shaking, filthy hands. He actually screamed and tried to get up and run when he saw me.
“Sorry,” I said, holding up both palms in an effort to calm him. “It’s just a potion I took. It’ll wear off soon.”
It took nearly a minute of convincing to get him to settle down and look like he wasn’t about to flee.
“You know who that was?” I asked once I thought he was ready.
He nodded rapidly. “Served in their castle. Before the tournament. Lord Nathaniel Ashmore. He’s... he’s not right. Even for a noble. That was him on the hill. He and his followers call themselves the bone choir.”
“Not right how?”
“He uses an old corestone. That thing has passed from evil fucker to evil fucker for centuries now. All the death in it… It does things to the Ashmores when they take it on. Changes them. And there are lesser versions of that corestone they’ve grown for their servants. Death and music,” he said, shuddering as if taken by a sudden cold. “That’s their way.”
“How did he find you?”
“We were his slaves. From before the tourney. He was keeping us in the castle they took, but he brought us up to the surface to do some kind of ritual. Once it started, we had a chance to run. I heard him tell the others not to bother, that he’d have fun hunting us down.”
The others. One necromancer had been nearly more than all of us could handle. What would we do if a whole team of them came? “How many are part of this choir of his?”
“Three other nobles.”
“Plus however many undead they can raise,” I added, voice grim.
The man nodded miserably. “The bones out there… from the skeletons you killed. They will probably get up and walk back to him before dawn.”
“We crushed them as much as we could.”
“Good,” he said, letting out a breath of relief.
I patted his shoulder. “Get some rest.”
Once I left him, I saw Lyria coming my way.
“I don’t like that potion, Brynn. It seems dangerous. You’re having to heal massive amounts of damage when you use it, aren’t you?”
“Some,” I admitted.
“And what happens if you run out of mana before the potion wears off?”
“I’ll be careful with it.”
She sighed. “What are we going to do about the creepy skeleton guy out there?”
“Add him to the list of problems. Right between ‘surrounded by nobles who want us dead,’ Rake sneaking around and waiting for his shot at me, and ‘no way to win this thing.’“
“That’s a long list.”
“Getting longer by the day.” I paused. Nobody was close enough to overhear us and most were trying to find their soup bowls and realizing the grommets had already gobbled what was left behind.
It looked like she was about to ask me something, but Hector seemed like he was trying to start some kind of argument with Erasmus, drawing our attention.
I sighed and took a step toward them, but Lyria stopped me with a hand on my chest. “Let me handle this. Hector already hates you enough as it is.”
Reluctantly, I agreed as she strode over and began shouting at Hector and poking him until he was backing away and stammering something I couldn’t hear.
I found a quiet spot up high on the wall, away from the others. The night was peaceful now, almost mockingly so after the violence. Somewhere in the forest, Lord Nathaniel Ashmore was probably raising new horrors from the corpses we’d created.
I settled into a meditation position, but my mind kept wandering. The escaped slaves’ story bothered me. Someone had requested them specifically. Someone who almost certainly used them to draw me into this tournament.
But was it to bring me into a vulnerable position, or was there some other reason? And I still hadn’t pieced together who the “old friend” mentioned in my accomplishment note was.
Slowly, I managed to clear my mind and ride out the rest of the potion as my muscles finally shrank to normal size and I stopped bleeding.
“Heavy thoughts?”
I opened my eyes to find Zahra approaching. She moved like a shadow, barely disturbing the air.
“Something like that.”
She settled beside me, not quite touching but close enough for companionship. “You are doing well, Brynn Stygos. But the nobility are… different.”
My eyes fell to the field of bones in front of the gate and the memory of how unbothered that man had looked when I was punching him apart. Was I insane to think our “mongrel army” stood a chance against people like that?
“Maybe they are,” I said softly. “But what choice do we have? There’s no escaping this place, right?”
“Correct. There will be wards around the perimeter preventing our exit until the tournament’s conclusion.”
“Yeah, well, I think the more I learn about this place and the people running this thing, the more satisfaction I get from pissing them off. And I’m pretty sure every time we don’t die like they expect, it makes them more mad.”
Zahra smiled, showing straight white teeth and sharp canines. “Yes. This does bring some satisfaction, does it not?”
“More than some. So imagine how good it’ll feel if we actually find a way to survive.”
“Hmm… Good, I suppose. But I also suppose they would have a contingency plan. Something to handle us if we pose a true threat to their plans.”
“Maybe. But if they have to rig the game to stop us from winning, they’ll make themselves look pretty weak for everybody who’s watching, right? That may be our best defense. They can’t wipe us out without making it clear they were afraid. And people with power usually don’t want to look scared.”
“We shall see, shall we not?”
“Yeah. We’ll see,” I said. “And we’ll start by taking even more outposts. Our mongrel army just grew bigger tonight. A bigger army can divide and conquer more effectively. Tomorrow, I think we can split our forces and take two outposts. Then the next day? I think that’s when it’s time we push in and see about claiming one of those keeps…”
Comments
Zachary Scott
Yeah, I can understand where you're coming from for sure. I just think the solution to having to refer to them as slaves in narration would be Brynn knowing all their names. But the group is so large that would be really clunky to introduce. And then I've worried if he just says man/woman it will make someone wonder if it was an aspirant or slave. On the one hand, I think referring to someone as a slave in this circumstance if they are a slave doesn't imply he condones it or sees them as less human. It's the same way you see someone in a police officer uniform and call them an officer until you learn their name. Labeling them based on the uniform doesn't really come with moral judgments in my opinion. The thing I definitely agree being an issue though is just saying "slave girl" and "slave boy." I'll make sure to get rid of those and avoid them in the future. I think those phrases have some uniquely negative context that didn't jump out to me until you mentioned it. Pretty soon though I imagine Brynn will have learned their names and the slave designation should be largely left behind.
Scott Walker
Love the story and the chapter. I hope when you edit it that you reduce the "slave" designation by like 90%. It's really jarring to have our heroes who believe slavery is wrong to such a degree that they'd risk their life to also just casually refer to people as slaves. Man, woman, person will do most of the time. Enslaved People. Like hell if I was dying and someone referred to me as "slave girl" or "slave boy" like damn that's dehumanizing as hell.
Ben Bass
TYFTC! Yay pebble, with a glimpse of dark pebble too! Considering what the Bone Choir just did, unless they are really wobbly I don't think they will coordinate with the Mongrel army. Unless they are impressed that Brynn sussed out the best way to get them from the field.
