The Bronze Knight Page 4

  “Atalia,” said Mazael. “How do I kill this thing?”

  She let out a shrill, frightened little laugh. “Kill it? It’s already dead! You can’t kill it!”

  “Fine,” said Mazael. “How do I stop it? Trocend must have told you that at some point.”

  “Magic,” said Atalia, “but I don’t have any spells strong enough. Um…if you can cut it into small enough pieces, that might finish it off.” The corpse staggered towards him. Mazael backed away, but the cellar was not that large, and he was going to run out of space soon. “Fire might do it too, but…”

  Mazael surged forward, ducking under the corpse’s lunge. For all its hideous strength, it was not terribly agile, and he managed to stay ahead of its grasp. He sidestepped, whipping his sword around, and drove the blade into the back of the corpse’s right knee. The creature staggered, twisting around to face him, and Mazael retreated. The corpse moved with a marked limp, the muscles of its right leg damaged.

  “What are you doing?” said Atalia.

  “Don’t do anything unless I tell you,” said Mazael, sidestepping and keeping his eyes on the creature.

  “For the gods' sake, what are you doing?” said Atalia.

  Mazael sidestepped again. The creature ignored Atalia and kept limping towards him. He saw the wound he had carved into the back of its right leg start to heal, black stitches erupting from its flesh. It wasn’t healing very fast, though, and the creature’s balance remained off.

  He moved back step by step, towards one of the braziers with its ghostly green flames, and went motionless.

  “Mazael,” said Atalia.

  He ignored her, and the dead thing reached for him again.

  At the last minute Mazael twisted aside, and his sword blurred down, ripping across the back of the corpse’s left leg. The undead creature tried to turn, and Mazael kicked, driving his boot into its center of mass. The creature stumbled, and with its damaged legs it could not keep its balance.

  It fell right into the brazier.

  At once the creature erupted into flame, green fire devouring its limbs and torso and bursting from its skin. The creature thrashed, pushing away from the brazier, only to fall to its knees. It tried to stand once, but collapsed upon its side, the green fire crackling over it, and did not move again.

  The smell was hideous.

  Mazael let out a long breath, stepping back to join Atalia.

  “How did you know it would burn like that?” said Atalia.

  “All that clear liquid in its veins,” said Mazael. “Figured it was flammable.” He watched the corpse burn for a moment. “I doubt the mansion will burn down. Too much stone down here. Let’s get the Bronze Knight and that scroll and get back to Trocend. He’ll…”

  “You shall,” said a deep voice, “be going nowhere.”

  A man in a black robe stood before the stairs. He walked into the cellar, and Mazael saw the withered features of Father Colchard.

  Chapter 5: Necromancer

  Mazael let out a scornful laugh.

  “Father Colchard?” he said. “I suspect you’re not a priest at all.”

  “Correct, Sir Mazael,” said Colchard. “Everyone in Knightreach is so very pious, at least outwardly, from the common peasant vermin to Lord Malden himself. What better disguise for a member of the School than a priest?”

  “The School,” said Mazael. “That would be your little cult of necromancers, I trust?”

  “Correct again,” said Colchard. “You are better informed than I would expect of a brainless knight. Likely you are one of the thugs of Lord Malden’s pet wizard.” His dark eyes shifted to Atalia. “And you are one of his apprentices.”

  “Is Francis Tymbalt one of you?” said Mazael.

  Colchard scoffed, taking another step into the cellar. “Francis Tymbalt is a fool. He purchased the Bronze Knight, and one of the masters of the School had hidden his necromantic knowledge within the statuette. We offered to purchase it at a reasonable price, but he refused, hoping to stuff his strongboxes with more ill-gotten gold.” A thin smile went over his face. “He has since learned the error of his ways, and shall repent of them fully before he is slain in our service.”

  “Unlikely,” said Mazael, “given that you are not leaving this cellar alive.”

  Colchard’s thin smile did not waver. “Are you so certain? You might have destroyed my servant, but you shall find me harder to overcome, Sir Mazael. I wish to make you an offer.”

  “No,” said Mazael. “No offers. You can either surrender and come with me to Knightcastle, or I will kill you here and now.”

  “I wasn’t,” said Colchard, “talking to you.”

  “Me?” said Atalia, her doubt plain. “What do you want with me?”

  “I wish,” said Colchard, “to extend an offer to join the School.”

  Atalia said nothing, her face settling into a smooth mask.

  “I observed your spells,” said Colchard. “You clearly possess magical potential, though your skill remains pedestrian and crude.”

  “How flattering,” said Atalia.

  “Yet your talent is undeniable,” said Colchard. “With proper training, you can become a wizard of great power. The School can offer you that training.”

  “And why would you do that?” said Atalia, her scorn plain. “I’ve heard this speech before, though it came from a whoremaster in Knightport. ‘Oh, come with me, and you’ll be rich and beautiful and live in idle luxuries.’ Lies. I saw what became of my mother, and I knew what would become of me if I listened to them.”

  “We offer not servitude, but power,” said Colchard. “Power for you to be free, power for you to do as you wish. All we ask in return is your help in our work. The situation would be no different than Sir Mazael’s vassalage to Lord Malden.”

  Atalia hesitated. The disgust was still plain upon her face, but that lustful light had come on in her dark eyes again. She craved magical power, Mazael realized, the way that he craved fighting and women and wine. He supposed any one of those things could destroy him, as Lord Malden and Gerald and Trocend had warned him more than once, but none of them would lead him down a path of destruction like the one that Colchard offered Atalia.

  “You would wield necromancy?” said Mazael. “The wizards’ brotherhood has forbidden it.”

  Colchard offered a brief shrug. “What of that? It is only a difference of degree. The wizards’ brotherhood has forbidden necromancy. Lord Malden has banned the practice of magic within his lands. Perhaps they both are fearful cowards, unable to see the possibilities offered by true power. This is power that you could learn…”

  “Look at what he did, Atalia,” said Mazael, pointing at the charred thing smoldering upon the floor. “Look at what he made. Would you really want that kind of power?”

  Atalia shrugged, the disgust plain upon her features, but the strange light was still in her eyes. “It’s just dead meat. That’s all a body is. Just meat.”

  “And this power can be yours,” said Colchard, “if you but prove yourself worthy of it.”

  “How?” said Atalia.

  “Prove yourself strong enough to master what I offer,” said Colchard. “Prove yourself worthy of wielding power over life and death. Kill Sir Mazael Cravenlock.”

  Atalia’s face turned to a bloodless mask, and for a wild moment Mazael thought she would do it, that she would draw her dagger and sink it into his chest. His fingers tightened against his sword’s hilt. If she thought she could overpower him, she was about to learn a hard lesson otherwise…

  Then Atalia threw back her head and laughed.

  “Truly?” said Atalia. “Mazael saved my life. You think I am so ungrateful? I remember those who helped me. I am a liar and a thief and an outlaw wizard, not a murderer.” Her mouth twisted with disgust. “You would make a murderer of me. I am guilty of many sins, but not of that.”

  Now it was Colchard’s turn to look contemptous. “Truly? You would side with this imbecilic boor rather than thos
e who could set you upon the path of true power?”

  “Yes,” said Atalia.

  “I think as far as she’s concerned,” said Mazael, pointing his longsword at Colchard, “you’re just a different kind of whoremaster, one of the mind rather than the flesh.”

  Atalia flashed a smile. “Yes, that’s exactly right. Thank you, Mazael. For an imbecilic boor, you do sometimes say the right thing.”

  “Fools both,” said Colchard. “No matter. The School shall have a use for you both.”

  Mazael raced forward, drawing back the sword to strike, while Atalia began working a spell.

  Colchard was faster.

  He flung out his right hand with a shout, and green fire blazed from his palm, filling the cellar with harsh radiance. A deathly chill shot through Mazael’s limbs, and he heard Atalia scream. Mazael lost control of himself and fell, smashing hard into the table holding the various implements of magic. The instruments clanged and clattered, the bottles clinking, one of them wobbling near the edge.

  Mazael tried to stand, and found that he could not. He could move somewhat, but the cold chill refused to leave him. Atalia slumped against the wall next to the writing desk, shivering uncontrollably, her lips blue.

  “Do you see the power you have refused?” said Colchard, striding forward. He stopped next to one of the braziers, scowling at Atalia. “That is but the merest taste of what we have to offer. Still, this endeavor has not been a total waste. Your blood and organs shall provide the useful base for a new servant, since you burned my old one.” He glanced at Mazael and smiled. “And Sir Mazael is a healthy young man, with strong limbs. He, too, shall provide useful parts for a new warrior. And perhaps his blood shall have other uses as well.” He turned back towards Atalia, his smile widening. “Do you not realize who he is? What he is? I suspect it. I…”

  He took a step towards her, and Mazael noticed the bottle perched on the edge of the table.

  The bottle filled with clear liquid similar to what had leaked from the undead corpse.

  With a roar Mazael summoned all the strength he could muster and slammed himself against the table once more. The bottle rocked, tipped forward, and exploded between Colchard’s boots. The necromancer looked down in surprise as the liquid soaked the bottom of third of his black robe.

  “Really,” said Colchard with annoyance, “what was the point of that? A waste of…”

  Mazael kicked, driving both of his feet towards Colchard.

  Even in the grips of the dark spell, Mazael still had legs strengthened from a lifetime of fighting and riding, and Colchard for all his magical power was a gaunt old man. The impact rocked him backwards, his robe brushing against the side of the brazier.

  And as before, the clear liquid proved flammable.

  The lower third of Colchard’s robe erupted into flame, as did the pool of liquid at his feet. Colchard screamed and jerked away, beating at the flames, and the horrible cold gripping Mazael lessened, though it did not disappear. He heaved to his feet, seized his longsword, and swung the weapon. He aimed for Colchard’s neck, but the trembling in his arm threw off his aim, and instead he struck the crown of the old man’s head.

  That proved almost as effective. Colchard let out another scream and fell to his knees, still clawing at the flames, and Mazael struck once more. This time the sword sank halfway into the necromancer’s neck, and unlike his undead servant, Colchard proved unable to shrug off the blow.

  He fell face-forward into the burning pool of liquid and went motionless.

  The hideous chill vanished from Mazael. He let out a long breath, shook his head, and crossed to Atalia’s side.

  “Are you all right?” said Mazael.

  “Are you?” said Atalia.

  “I think so,” said Mazael. His forehead throbbed from where he had slammed into the table, and he felt blood trickling down his jaw, but he was otherwise unscathed. “Let’s go see if Colchard murdered Tymbalt on his way down here.”

  Atalia nodded and tried to rise, only for her legs to get tangled in the voluminous folds of her skirt. “Gods damn this dress!”

  Mazael reached down, took her hand, and yanked her to her feet in one smooth motion.

  “Oh,” said Atalia. “That was convenient.”

  Mazael felt something papery in her hand, and frowned.

  He tugged away the paper before she could protest, and saw that it was the necromantic spell he had taken from the interior of the Bronze Knight.

  Mazael looked at the scroll, and then at her.

  “Well,” murmured Atalia with a little smile. “I said I was a thief, not a murderer.”

  Mazael nodded and turned towards the brazier.

  “Stop!” said Atalia. “You…”

  Before she could stop him, he tossed the scroll into the green flames. It went up at once, crumbling into ash.

  “Idiot!” she said. “Why did you do that? I could have studied the spell, learned from it…”

  “For the same reason,” said Mazael, “that I would have torn a cup of poison from your hand and poured it upon the ground. No matter how sweet, it would still kill you.”

  Atalia glared at him for a moment longer, her mouth working. Then she looked at Colchard’s corpse, sighed, and nodded.

  “Perhaps you are right,” said Atalia. “Sometimes I do not know when to stop myself.” She smiled, cheerful once more. “Let’s go check on fat old Tymbalt. I want to see how he reacts to a dead necromancer in his cellar.”

  Mazael nodded, disquieted. She was smiling, but there was still a hint of that lustful gleam in her eye.

  He picked up the Bronze Knight and led the way from the cellar.

  Chapter 6: The Worst In Us

  Francis Tymbalt, as it happened, was hysterical with relief.

  “Oh, thank you, Sir Mazael,” said the merchant. “Oh, gods! It’s finally over. It’s finally over!” He started to weep like a child, his whole body heaving. “It was horrible. He came and showed me things, awful things…he threatened to do them to my wife and children if I didn’t hide him in my cellar.” He wiped at his eyes. “It…how did he die?”

  “Painfully,” said Mazael. He felt himself smiling at that.

  Now it was Atalia’s turn to give him an uneasy look.

  Tymbalt thanked him, and then broke down sobbing once more.

  The banquet, needless to say, ended early.

  ###

  “Well done,” murmured Trocend. He held up the Bronze Knight. “Well done, indeed. A member of the School slain. That was more than I hoped for. Oh, you’ll be pleased to know that Master Tymbalt gifted the Bronze Knight to Lord Malden in gratitude for your help.”

  Mazael scowled. “I hope his lordship appreciates it.”

  “Master Tymbalt also sent you six casks of Travian wine,” said Trocend.

  Atalia laughed. “You’ll appreciate that more.”

  They stood upon the outer curtain wall of Knightcastle, the Riversteel gleaming like a metallic ribbon, Castle Town wreathed in a haze of smoke from the morning’s cooking fires. Behind them Knightcastle awoke, the squires and pages and servants rousing themselves to go about their day.

  “What will happen to Tymbalt?” said Mazael.

  “Oh? Nothing,” said Trocend. “Colchard obviously coerced him. A man like Tymbalt is no more capable of fighting someone like Colchard than a deer can overcome a wolf. No, the School will leave him alone in the future, and fear will keep Tymbalt’s mouth sealed.”

  “Then you expect more trouble with these School necromancers,” said Mazael.

  Trocend smirked. “I always expect trouble, Sir Mazael. Apprentice, attend me at noon. I shall continue your lessons then. Until then, you may do as you wish.”

  He departed, the Bronze Knight tucked in one arm, his brown robes rustling.

  “Why?” said Atalia after a moment.

  “You’re going to need to say more than that,” said Mazael. “You usually like talking so much, so…”

  She pu
nched him in the arm, just hard enough to hurt. “Don’t be snide. Why did you burn the scroll?”

  Mazael shrugged. “I didn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

  Atalia scowled. “I’m not a child, Mazael. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Neither am I,” said Mazael. “And I always know what I’m doing. I think I might have been able to take Colchard alive. But I didn’t. I killed him, and I enjoyed it.”

  Her scowl turned into a concerned frown. “What are you saying?”

  “Trocend thinks,” said Mazael, “that we bring out the worst in each other. Maybe he’s right. I love to fight, and you love power. Maybe we love both of those things a little too much.”

  She flinched. “What…what are you saying? You don’t want to see me anymore?”

  “That’s not it,” said Mazael. “I…don’t know what I’m saying.”

  “You’re thinking too much,” said Atalia.

  Mazael snorted. “You’ve never accused me of that before.”

  “Well, you do tend to brood at times,” said Atalia. “The future will be the future, and that’s that.”

  “Profound,” said Mazael.

  Atalia grinned. “We both escaped certain death. What’s the best way to celebrate, hmm?” She gripped his hands. “Don’t think too hard. I like you best when you’re not thinking too hard. There are all kinds of things we can do without overthinking them.”

  She had an excellent point.

  Mazael smiled back and let her lead him back to his room.

  THE END

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