Shadows in the Smoke 33 - A Skeleton Wreathed in Arcane Fire

  “Many things are repulsive to good Citizens. Corruption, inequality, unearned privilege are all sickening. However, little is more depressing than seeing the servile way in which commonborn subjects of the Empire practically worship their queen. They are so blind to the reality of their oppression that they choose to perpetrate it themselves.”

  The Struggle for Freedom by Bjarne Midthun

  =====

  The next day, Ester found herself yawning her way through a meagre breakfast. She hadn’t slept well. She didn't know what to expect, except that it would be disturbing. A meeting with a liche… she shivered, half in excitement, half in terror.

  Jakob had already finished his meal and was doing his best not to look irritated, which did nothing to help with her nerves. She grimaced slightly between bites. To be fair to him, she might have been a bit annoyed if she’d been stuck escorting a Republican Arcanist. Although she’d have tried harder to make it interesting and find out about them.

  With a small sigh, Ester put her bowl aside. She didn’t feel at all full, in fact she could have eaten twice as much without feeling stuffed. Was this what it was going to be like for the next month or two? She could see resignation and fear in the faces of the Republican soldiers dotted around the canteen. They must know something had gone wrong with the cuts to the rations, even if not exactly what.

  She could have been in a palace in Nilrava eating a hearty breakfast with Velxe, instead of stuck in a cold, besieged Republican fort. The thought of Velxe sent a pang through her stomach. A friendly face would be nice right now. Instead, she was preparing to go and meet one of the most dangerous creatures in the world with a bunch of people who’d be happier if she’d never been born. It didn’t sound like the makings of a great story.

  As Ester stood, she dismissed that line of thought. She was here to serve the Empire. She couldn’t flinch at the first sign of difficulty. She was going to prove herself. To everyone, Republicans and Empire alike.

  “Shall we go and get you kitted out?” Jakob gestured for her to follow him.

  “Of course,” Ester resisted the urge to sigh again. “Lead on.”

  As they walked through the fort’s maze of stone-lined corridors, the awkward silence between them stretched until, eventually, Ester broke it.

  “Have you ever met a liche before?” Almost as soon as the words left her lips she was kicking herself, it just sounded like such a stupid question.

  “Me? Great Spirits, no!” For some reason Jakob winced slightly after the exclamation and hurried on. “We’re at war with the creatures, not going to tea parties with them. Perhaps, occasionally, there are talks of some kind, but junior officers like me aren’t invited. To be entirely honest, Mage Mazar, I’m glad I’m not going.” He paused. “Although of course I’m sure you’ll be fine. Talking never hurt anyone and if anything does go wrong, well you’ve got the Ashen Vow with you. It’s going to go far more wrong for the liche than for you.”

  “So you haven’t even seen one then?” Ester wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed by that or proud that Lindholm had thought she’d be able to handle coming with her. “Not even in battle?”

  “Only from a distance, thankfully. Even the weaker ones are… a lot more powerful than I am.” The words came out reluctantly. “Normally the only way to deal with a liche is overwhelming power. Simply defeating them isn’t enough or they just regenerate. Maybe one day I’ll be part of a force taking one down, but at my age I’m more likely to be giving cover to allow more senior Arcanists to gang up on the liche, or to allow our artillery to hit it with special ammunition.”

  Ester nearly asked about the special ammunition, but the Republicans had been close-lipped about that and she didn’t want Jakob to clam up. Anyway, it wasn’t a particularly interesting secret. To anyone with half a brain it was pretty obvious what it was. They were putting Schemas onto the balls they shot out of their cannons. Maybe they had some interesting tricks for how they did that and if she got the chance she’d like to find out more, but the idea was hardly a mystery. However, Jakob might be more willing to answer another question that had been bothering her.

  “Are there different types of liche? What is the difference between a Sovereign and an Ossarch?” She ignored the inevitable incredulous look and waited for Jakob to answer. Admitting ignorance was painful, but not as painful as not knowing might be.

  “Do they not teach you… I shouldn’t have expected anything else.” Ester refused to let her flash of irritation show on her face. “Not all liches are born, created, whatever degenerate process is used to make one, equal. They give themselves titles based on how they stand in their own society, with Sovereigns at the top. Inevitably they are the most magically powerful liches too. After all, power and using it to feed the Hunger are all they care about. Ossarchs are one step below Sovereigns and below them sit Exarchs and Phylarchs, but any liche is more powerful than most Arcanists, or Mages I dare say. Unless you’re Sigrid Lindholm, you shouldn’t be facing a liche by yourself and don’t worry, we’ll be making sure you don’t.”

  “I see.” She wasn’t sure she did, in fact, see, but she wasn’t going to say that. “Do liches grow stronger over time as they develop their skills? Might an Ossarch become a Sovereign?”

  Jakob shrugged awkwardly. “I don’t know. They don’t exactly tell us much about how their society works. It’s a rank, so you’d think so, but I don’t know if liches actually grow in strength.”

  “I suppose you are discouraged from studying liches too closely?”

  “Ha! Of course we study them, you should know your enemy after all, but there are limits. No one wants to look too closely at what makes them what they are.”

  “That is very sensible.” Ester hesitated, “I do think the Empire would have benefitted from more teaching on liches though. I feel like I know almost nothing about them.” It felt strange, almost painful, to be criticising the Empire, however obliquely, to a Republican.

  “Well, it’s understandable I suppose. No one wants to be talking about such things unless they have to. Perhaps if they were closer to your- Ah, we have arrived.” Jakob waved Ester into the room and pointed at the clothes draped over a chair. “Here you go. This should fit well enough. I will give you your privacy.”

  As he closed the door behind him, Ester looked over the drab clothes with unimpressed eyes. If someone had told her a couple of weeks ago that she was going to be putting on a Republican uniform, she’d have been offended. Or just thought they were mad. Yet here she was.

  She quickly stripped out of her dress and pulled the uniform on. The material was as rough and uncomfortable as she’d expected, but it didn’t actually fit as badly as she’d feared. There were a scant few women among the troops and maybe one of them had given up a uniform for her. Either way, it could have been worse.

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  The badges on the uniform said she was a Cantrist-Subaltern, far less threatening than a Chartered Mage. With a grumble Ester set about pulling her hair into a net to sit under the uniform’s hat. Lindholm’s officers had suggested that she might be ignored if she looked enough like a Republican soldier of no particular power. It likely wouldn’t matter, but having a bit more magic at their disposal than the liche expected might provide a surprise.

  As far as Ester was concerned, it was foolishly optimistic. If the infiltrators had been targeting her then she’d hardly surprise the liche. Even if they’d just been unlucky, she was still obviously not a Republican. She shivered with nervous excitement at the thought. Hardened soldiers, a necromancer of all things, had been unlucky to have run into her. If only her fellow Apprentices could have seen her now. That would have shown them. Maybe not in a Republican uniform though…

  With a sigh, she made sure her Schemas were properly hidden in the uniform and went and opened the door. It was time to meet a liche. It would have to be blind not to see anything other than a loyal Imperial subject in a Republican uniform.

  =====

  The walk to the middle of no man’s land took longer than Ester had expected. She'd known it was a three or four mile walk, but the slush and mud, along with the heavy pack and gun of a Republican soldier made it hard going across the snowy grasslands that separated Fort Statvinger from the undead camp. Still, if not for her load and knowing what they were there for, it might have been almost pleasant.

  The two Republicans with her seemed uninclined to make conversation. Lindholm and Arcanist-Captain Loga just grimly marched towards the agreed meeting point, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

  Ester wasn't feeling particularly talkative either. She was shortly going to be face to face with a liche for the first time. She didn't know what to expect. Jakob had never actually met one and opportunities to ask more senior officers were limited. She'd seen enough of the undead to know though, whatever it was, it would probably be even more unpleasant than she anticipated.

  With a quiet humph, Ester shifted her grip on the gun they’d given her and adjusted her cap. It was part of the Republican uniform and helped to hide her very non-Itrian hair, but it was uncomfortable and frankly, she didn’t think it would make any difference. Whatever the Republicans claimed about welcoming anyone willing to work for the good of the people, she hadn’t seen anyone who looked liked her during her time in Nilrava. They were all unhealthily pale.

  Her foot caught on something and she stumbled slightly before regaining her balance. She adjusted the pack on her back and looked up again. There, in the distance. Slowly approaching figures caught her eye. Was that the liche? Who or what had it brought with it? Ester shivered and clutched her gun tighter to her, as if she even knew how to use it.

  By the time they reached the meeting point, Ester was glad of the training she’d done with Sergeant Etroan. Especially with the heavy pack that was part of her disguise. Had that just been an excuse because Lindholm and Loga hadn’t wanted to carry things themselves? She shook her head, that was ridiculous, the Republicans might not like the Empire, but they wouldn’t have brought her to an important meeting just to get a Mage to carry their baggage.

  She shrugged off her pack and untied it before struggling to pull out the two folding chairs inside it and get them set up for the Republican officers while casting surreptitious glances at the approaching undead. Surely they hadn’t brought her along just to make her do a servant’s work?

  In a couple of minutes, Lindholm and Loga were sitting in the small, uncomfortable chairs, looking like they didn’t have a care in the world. Ester stood behind them, doing her best to look soldierly and intimidating while ignoring the weight of the gun in her arms. At least she was tall, so she’d fit in better with the Republican men.

  With a slight frown, Ester focused on Lindholm. The woman had placed an illusion on herself to look vaguely like Commander Sundt. It was probably a waste of time, but there was no harm in trying to fool the liche. What was both more interesting and more impressive was the subtlety of Lindholm’s magic. Ester had seen the precision of the Republican hero’s casting when she’d beaten the new Arcanists in the demonstration match at the Republic’s magic college. However, this was something else. However hard she tried, and even though she already knew it was there, Ester couldn’t see the spell or Schema changing Lindholm’s appearance. The best she could manage was a vague feeling that something wasn’t quite right and then only if she gave it her complete focus. It was lucky Lindholm wasn’t some kind of vampire infiltrator because she could likely have walked straight past Ester, let alone the Arcanists.

  That slightly disturbing thought faded as Ester’s attention was pulled inexorably back to the approaching liche. Was it Kleomens? Were the others with it lesser liches?

  She couldn’t help the way her grip on the gun tightened with every step that the undead drew closer. Lindholm and Loga looked as relaxed as ever, but that must be an act. Even hardened veterans couldn’t face something like that with total equanimity.

  Ester’s eyes stayed fixed on the liche as it approached. It was dressed strangely, wearing a mantle of flowing emerald green robes that draped across it in seemingly impractical folds while leaving its arms bare, despite the cold. It looked more like it was about to visit a bathhouse, rather than having walked several miles towards a potential battle.

  She’d almost expected some kind of a monstrosity. Perhaps a walking skeleton wreathed in arcane fire. The Academy hadn’t taught Appentices much about the creatures, beyond dire warnings about their horrors. However, at a distance, the liche looked almost normal. A tall, pale man striding confidently through grass, mud and snow. It was only as it got closer that she started to see the truth.

  The liche was graced with porcelain-white skin on stunningly handsome features. It was tall, unusually so, with prominent cheekbones and a jawline that could chisel rocks. Its bare arms were muscular and unblemished by any marks on its skin. In fact, other than the perfectly neat, long, blonde hair that descended in waves from its head, it was utterly hairless.

  The liche would have been the most handsome man Ester had ever seen. Except, as it strode towards her, her sense of unease increased. Its skin was too smooth. Its perfectly symmetrical face somehow looked wrong. It didn’t move like a human, every step seemed to be a conscious effort. The rest of it might as well have been a statue for how little it moved. Its eyes were fixed on the three of them and unnaturally still. It blinked, but at regular intervals, as if it made a decision each time.

  Its magic just added to the feelings of wrongness. At a distance there was nothing to see, but the closer it got, the clearer it became. This wasn’t the subtle illusion Lindholm was using, or even the camouflaged necromantic energies of the vampire. Magic crawled over the liche in slow, distorted waves of faint greens and blacks that ebbed and flowed like a living creature’s breath. Distorted and broken runes flickered in and out of existence on those waves, like no spell Ester had ever seen.

  As it drew closer, Ester started to feel something more, a small, subtle discomfort that she ignored at first. It grew stronger and stronger until, with a lurching feel in her guts, she finally, truly felt it. A tugging at her own magic, as if it was being drawn towards the liche without her realising. Instantly she tore her attention away from the creature and back to herself, bringing her mind into the focus she needed for casting and slamming mental doors shut. The sensation vanished as if it had never been there leaving her half wondering whether it had even been real.

  The moment her eyes returned to the liche, that question was banished from her mind. There wasn’t much grass on the ground amidst the snow and mud, but there was enough. With every step the liche took, a circle of grass died around it. The green shoots simply withered and turned black the moment the creature came within a few feet of them as faint, black tendrils of magic flickered out and over them.

  The liche came to a halt, perhaps fifteen feet from where Lindholm and Loga sat, and made a show of looking the three of them over, although by this point Ester wasn’t sure it actually used its eyes to see.

  “So, you have come. That was wise of you, Commander Sundt.” Its voice was rich, deep and somehow flat. It stretched perfectly red lips into a facsimile of a smile. “Yes, that is correct, I know who you are. I know everything about you and your fort. Now let us discuss the terms of your surrender.”

  Ester barely noticed the liche’s two companions as she stood, frozen in horror with her eyes stayed fixed on it. A spell hovered on her lips, fire. It would have to be fire. How could anyone tolerate the existence of something like this?

  This was a mistake. Why had she thought it was a good idea to accompany Lindholm? Why was the woman not burning this monstrosity out of existence? It took all she had to restrain herself, she would listen to what Lindholm had to say and then she’d make sure she never went near one of these things again. With that thought, Ester forced herself to listen and wait.

  A BONUS CHAPTER named "All You Do Is Talk" and will be posted on Tuesday evening next week, followed by the regular chapter on Thursday. You can read it now, along with four more, on my Patreon ahead of the public release. .

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  Dramatis personae:

  Ester Mazar - Chartered Mage, is it treason for me to wear a Republican uniform?

  Jakob Rostad - Arcanist-Subaltern, trying desperately to balance feeling smug about knowing more about liches than Ester with not actually knowing very much about liches.

  Sigrid Lindholm - Arcanist-Colonel, tea with a liche? For you it's the most frightening day of your life, for me it's Thursday.

  Edvin Loga - Arcanist-Captain, I don't like Imperials and I don't like liches. Grump.

  Liche - liche, I'm too sexy for my shirt, Too sexy for my shirt, So sexy it hurts