Deus Necros

The city’s spires grew taller the closer one got, until you could perfectly see their structures, buildings that belonged to people with far more money than they can use. The nearer they came, the more the stone changed from a pale haze to a living skin, veined with inlays and bands that caught the sun and threw it back in sheets. Palaces and villas where they had water coming down those very spires, water in a place that would treat it like gold was being used like decoration here. Thin threads of falling brightness stitched from balcony to pool, cutting the heat for those privileged enough to sit in the shadow of such waste. The scent of damp mortar and cooled clay rode the wind every time one of those fountains sighed. Even the desert air seemed to hesitate before entering the districts that glimmered with that impossible blue.

“We should do something about your appearance sir Ludwig…”

“Why so?” Ludwig asked.

“Like the Empire, the desert of the sand also has many spies inside it. Spies that work for the emperor. If they were to see you…”

“They already know I am a traitor,” Ludwig said, half believing his own words. The sentence tried to be careless and landed short of it. After all, if Titania understood his intention, the higherups will understand his plan without him needing to utter it. He told himself that twice, then let the thought pass through him like hot wind through dry reeds.

“No sir, it is about this,” she said as she pointed down. “The Undead mount, if seen, it does not matter what you are plotting with the emperor. This is as good a reason to eliminate you for using dark magic. You need a new identity.”

“Very fair,” Ludwig said, so he simply reached for the familiar weight at his belt and thumbed the cool metal once. The salamander rumbled but did not vanish. The problem was not the beast. It was the owner. He needed a face the city could ignore.

A mask made from two intertwined hands. The Mask of the Blind Witness. It lay in his palm like a small refusal carved into bone. Ludwig had his own reservations of using this thing, the fact that it would randomly show him things that might or might not happen was not the worst issue, but the mere appearance of such a mask was deterring to all. People reacted to it the way villagers react to a bell toll at the wrong hour.

He placed it on his face, and almost as if the mask had sensed the discomfort it reformed itself, closing the wide opened fingers into cupped hands which landed neatly on Ludwig’s eyes. While the fingers connected above his nose ridge. And the bottom of the mask’s palms rested on his cheeks. The pressure was gentle and unyielding, like the posture of prayer held too long.

“better?”

“How can you even see with that covering your eyes?”

“You do not have to worry about that,” Ludwig said. Sight settled in a different place, not at the surface of his eyes but somewhere behind them, the world outlined by intent rather than line. The dunes drew themselves in the mind and the city marked itself by weight and sound. He had worn worse.

“Still not good enough, the robes you have…”

“Ah the regalia…” Ludwig thought for a second, this regalia was far too good to swap out from, it is tight, clean and can regenerate after battle. And looked very matching with his lantern. Throwing it off here felt like throwing away memory.

The lantern on his side however seemed to agree, so instead of him changing his regalia, the lantern vibrated once. Activating its own illusive effects. The ring of metal was soft and final, as if the lantern had decided and informed him after the decision. Ludwig’s twin tailed coat lengthened and transformed. Giving him a larger cape that draped behind him, almost touching the sand. The fabric appeared to breathe with the desert, rising a hand’s width every time a warm gust pushed under it.

While the rest of the leather transformed to a looser set of drabs that hung on him like the people of the desert he remembered. The sleeves slouched at the wrist, ready to be rolled, ready to look as if they had always belonged on a bazaar road rather than a battlement. The leather texture of the regalia changed to that of cotton and cloth. It still looked too fancy, The silver linins and nobility of the regalia was crafted with the most care by Celine’s hands for her brother. The thread glimmered where it should have dulled, and the drape fell too perfectly.

Sensing the disparity of the nobility of the empire with the casualness of the desert dwellers drabs, the lantern shook a second time, melding the silver into the cloth, turning the black drabs into lighter colored gray. The gray picked up the dust and kept it, which is how the city liked strangers to look. An edge of the mask’s palm drank the same color and made the whole disguise sit together.

“Much better,” Ludwig said.

“You are full of surprises.”

Ludwig could not help but smile. It is all thanks to his lantern’s illusion effects. In reality he was still in the same regalia, nothing changed. The comfort of the cut still sat on his shoulders, the familiar weight still tugged when he turned. Only the world would swear it saw something else.

“This should at least confuse people,” she said.

“I was hoping for more like… deceive, if it is only at the level of confusion then I did not do a good job.”

“No, confusion is what you want,” she said, “The reason for that is your skin, it is far too fair to be that of the people who lived here for this long. But that is good, and you will see why soon.” As she pointed forward.

He followed her gaze to the city, it had tall fortified walls, with hundreds of soldiers standing under small shade but carefully watching from afar. From a distance they looked like beads threaded along the parapet. Closer, they were men trying to be less visible than their orders allowed, tucked into slits of shadow hacked from awnings and the undersides of hanging banners. Spears angled in the same exact way. Shields rested on toes in a rhythm set by drillmasters. Eyes flicked and returned to stillness whenever anyone stared back.

“Once we enter, you will be asked to give identifications, I suggest you do not say a word and I will handle everything.”

“I hope you will not throw me to the wolves,” Ludwig said.

“I think the opposite,” she replied. Her tone did not strain for assurance. It landed flat and even, which is sometimes more convincing.

“I never got to ask,” Ludwig said as he walked forward.

“What is it, sir Ludwig?”

“Why are you helping me?”

“It is far better than helping the person who wanted to eat my heart,” she said. “Not to mention, I was given a revelation.”

“Is that the reason why you went so far deep almost to the enemy territory?”

“Yes, I was told to go there and find the Liberator…”

“That is a mighty heavy title I do not think I want to carry it.”

“It is the will of Uhsn’ak.” She said. The name left a faint taste of cold iron in the mouth, the syllables sliding together like beads thumbed in prayer. Ludwig realized that might be the name of her god, but did not pry any further. The desert did not like questions placed carelessly on sacred things.

“Our goals should be similar… I need to relieve my father from the clutch of the Lustful Death… and I cannot do it alone.”

“Wait, your father?” Ludwig turned to her. “You are not just a priestess?”

“Yes and no. The King is my adoptive father, I was adopted and then put to worship Uhsn’ak after they figured out my holy powers. I was but a beggar on the street, but when the King saw me one time when he was walking among his subject in hiding, he said he saw the will of Uhsn’ak surrounding me, adopted me right there and then, and I was transferred to one of the kingdom’s temples to both worship and give revelations and share blessings.” Her eyes did not soften as she spoke it. She told it as a record, not a plea. Gratitude sat in the quiet places between words and kept its dignity.

Ludwig nodded, the king does not sound like one of those evil and vile things, but at the same time, it can all be from different perspectives. For someone who was saved from poverty, even a demon, to them might look like a guardian angel for saving them. He knew too well how titles turned depending on who held the knife and who held the bowl.

Once they reached the checkpoint, the guards looked at Ludwig warily along with the two with him, but the moment they noticed the woman with them, one of the guard’s eyes opened wide. The spear tip lifted a finger’s width then dipped as training wrestled with recognition.

“Your holiness! This way!” he hurried toward them. His voice cracked on the second word. The others at the gate straightened as if a cord had been yanked through their spines.

The moment the words holiness echoed, the whole line moved aside, allowing Ludwig along with the undead mount to move through. The crowd’s sound shifted. Some muttered blessings. Some dragged their children a step back so they would not stare. One boy stared anyway and put his fist in his mouth when the salamander blinked.

Once Ludwig took the first step, the guard with the spear pointed it at him, “What do you think you are doing?” the words were threatening and the intent was more than obvious.

This wasn’t going as the priestess has mentioned.

For a second, Ludwig was about to draw his sword if need be and duke it out if the circumstances couldn’t help it.

“Stop,” the priestess said, “I am the one who ordered him to summon the mount, the guard knight is ill, and I needed transport, or do you wish to see the guard knight dead? Not to mention this is not a battle mount, it is a salamander, completely harmless.” She added. The salamander, insulted, puffed its throat and tried to look like a rug.

“N no, my apologies your holiness,” he said, the spear point dipping so fast it almost kissed the ground, “Open the gate for her holiness, we have been blessed!” he said.

Just then, the gate was torn open for them to move through, and Ludwig simply moved ahead with the salamander behind him. Leading the way even if he did not know where to go. The hinges complained like old men and then settled into silence as the shadow of the tunnel swallowed heat for twenty paces. The cool inside tasted of stored stone.

“There is a temple of the Sun here, we need to go there for treatment, I do not think sir guard knight can last much longer.”

“Which way?” Ludwig asked.

“Go straight ahead and turn left, you will know it when you see it,” she said.

Ludwig moved as asked through the bustling city in sand. The smell of barbeque and roasted beef, ale and many other spices mixed into the sandy air giving it flavor like one would to a dish. Fat crackled on iron. Saffron tried to float above cumin and failed. Vendors shouted numbers that sounded like insults and compliments at once. The sunlight turned from the pale cruelty of the open desert to the bright cruelty of streets that gave you no place to escape it.

Stalls and tarps placed on the ground with vendors selling all sort of things, from dried skins, vegetables and food, to weapons and magic tools, everything was on display without any rhyme or rhythm. Bowls of dates shone like brown coins. Piles of salt looked like ground bone. A man hammered copper so thin it tried to be sound before it was a plate. It felt more like a flea market than a proper place to sell one’s goods. And not too far from the turn that Ludwig was going to take, a large platform with several people half naked, chained and cuffed was erected. The chain links were new on old wood. The shame on the platform had learned to hold itself still.

Several vendors with turban hats and long drape clothes were bidding on the prices. Their voices were light, almost bored, like men buying fruit that would be overripe by noon. A scribe near them wrote figures with a reed he did not bother to wet twice.

Slave market. The words sat cold in the mouth. The princess’s face did not change, which is a kind of change. The knight blinked a slow blink that admitted he saw and admitted he had no room for outrage with his fever. The salamander turned its head away with theatrical delicacy.

Just then, one of the men with the most gold on his body, and more rings than he had fingers turned to Ludwig’s group. His bracelets chimed as if applauding his own attention. He immediately rushed toward Ludwig and grabbed him by the arm. The grip came fast and familiar, a merchant’s claim laid like a brand on anything that pleases the eye.

“Ah,” he then turned to the priestess. He pried his smile wider, showing teeth he had paid to keep white and gold while his fingers dug into Ludwig’s sleeve as if linen were a leash.

“Priestess!” he shouted.

Ludwig did not like how he was grabbed then disregarded, the grip was like that of a vice, so he did not let go of Ludwig as if afraid of him to leave. But at the same time did not deign to even say a word to Ludwig before he talked to the priestess. In his head the deal had already been written and the man he wanted to buy was already a number.

“Sell him, this slave of yours! To me!”