Deus Necros

Up ahead in the distance, a city manifested itself among the mountainous dunes of the desert. Vast of size, and walled on all four sides. Its walls were massive enough that one could simply feel the despair it would take if one were to go against it in a siege war. Towers rose up high with orbs of gold above, spires to see and inspect and detect both intruders and incoming merchants. Large swaths of land which should not belong to a desert were spread all around the city, greenery, where grass and wheat grew. Irrigation trenches cut long seams through the soil and threw thin mirrors of light back at the sun. Wind chimed on brass plates set along the parapets. Watchers paced in patient rhythm. The whole place breathed in measured order, as if the city itself were a living beast that had learned how to survive among dunes that devoured anything careless.

A pathway between the grasslands opened up for travelers that seemed to be full of caravans and people seeking the capital city of the kingdom of the sand. Piled carpets and crates creaked on wagons. Camels groaned and shook their heads. Pilgrims in pale wraps lifted gourds to cracked lips and stared at the walls as if seeing a shrine. The city’s noise rolled outward in a low tide. Market calls. Hammer rings. Prayer drums. Ludwig watched the flow while the ship’s hull murmured over grit like a whetstone over steel.

“I do not suppose we will be allowed on the main road,” Ludwig said.

“No, we cannot, we will need to go to the harbor,” the captain said as he began steering his ship to the side. The tiller complained. Sails shifted and spilled heat. They slid toward a flank of the city where the dunes fell away to packed earth and beams. One of the sides of the city, a gate stood erect, far larger than any of the other gates designed for travelers. And along the gate’s path, a long wood and stone bridge spread an incredible distance from the city. Along the bridge, many ships were positioned and stationed there, noses tied with thick rope to ringed posts, unable to pass as they all waited for inspection. Flag lines hung limp. Crewmen squatted in what shade they could steal beneath rails and tilted crates. Heat rippled above the planks and turned figures into wavering shapes.

“Seems like we will have some issues at the gate,” Ludwig said as he turned to the captain, “With all the illegal stuff you have in here.”

“I was hoping the guard would put a word for me,” the captain rubbed his hands together. The grease on his knuckles had turned to a dark sheen that caught light like oil on water.

“Do not worry about that, you did the kingdom a good service in bringing us here out of harm’s way, no one would speak ill of you,” the guard said. His voice carried a steadiness that made the nearby deckhands glance up and then look away again. Rank had weight even when armor was dented.

“Good to know,” the captain laughed as he drove the ship toward the docking area. Ropes went over. The hull kissed the pier with a dull thud. The desert wind reached them from the fields and brought the scent of cut straw and wet clay, a strange sweetness after so many days of salt dust.

Once their small ship placed itself along the waiting line the captain began pouring what looked like a powerful smelling liquid all over the deck. It had the smell of lavender and something sharper beneath it, a sting that pinched the nose and made the eyes water. He worked fast, splashing seams, scrubbing with a frayed brush, and whistling under his breath as if this were no different than washing a bowl.

“Why are you doing this?” the priestess asked.

“Although the king might be forgiving to me, the smell of illegal engine oil would paint me as a fool who cannot keep his own secrets. I would not dishonor the king with that,” he said. He tipped the jug and let the last violet beads fall in the cracks between planks.

“Smart man,” Ludwig said, “And I guess we will have to find out if your trick worked early.”

Just then two men wearing large robes and leather armor with small flakes of knitted steel on the shoulders and around the torso and thighs walked up to them. Their sandals clicked on the pegs as they came to a stop. “Inspection, lower the gangplank.”

“As you command, sir,” the captain said as he pushed over the wooden bridge for the two to enter. The plank thudded down. Heat rolled up from it like breath from a kiln.

“Something smells here,” the first guard said as he looked at the captain first, ignoring everyone else, “Smells fishy, we are not trying to hide anything, are we?” His fingers made a small motion at his belt. The meaning was dull and obvious. Pay up.

“Ahem,” the guard captain said as he gave the man a stern look that did not need words. His shadow fell over the plank and the younger guard took a half step back before he noticed he had done it.

“G-g-guard captain. What are you doing here? We thought you died,” the second inspector immediately recognized him, albeit the injuries and the armor that was badly dented and deformed. The old respect flared through his trained body. He straightened and pressed a fist to his chest.

“Seems like you have been doing side jobs while I was away,” the guard captain said. His tone did not rise. It did not need to.

“N-no. That is a misunderstanding. I smelled something wrong so I had to inspect, you see.”

“Stop giving me excuses. And hurry up. We need to meet his majesty as soon as possible.”

The two guards looked at each other and then back at the guard captain. Their bravado drained the way water drains from a cracked jar. “I guess you did not hear.”

For a moment, seriousness showed on the guard’s face. His jaw set. “What happened,” he asked briskly and moved a step closer without waiting for them to find their words.

“His majesty has been ill for the past week. We do not know what caused it. He is unable to attend to any meetings or do any of his royal tasks. There are several highly respected doctors in the capital right now trying to figure out what is wrong with his majesty.”

“We need to hurry,” the priestess said. She reached for her shawl as if to pull it tighter, then stopped, hands quiet at her sides. Her eyes had already turned inward to calculations and prayers.

Only then did the other guards notice her. “Blessings of the moon upon you, priestess,” they said, and bowed deep. The posture was quick but sincere enough to ease the hard lines at the corners of her mouth.

“Enough with the charades, I know both of you are Sun worshippers,” the guard captain said.

“The sun and moon are both the same side of one coin, sir guard,” the priestess said, “It is no shame for one to show respect to another’s religion. Let them be.” She took the first steps toward the gangplank coming down toward the main stone bridge. Sand scuffed beneath her sandals. Cloth stirred at her heels like a faint tide.

Ludwig followed after, with his mask on and his baggy gray clothes. The lantern at his side lay quiet and heavy against his hip. The ship’s tar stung the air. The city’s shade looked near enough to touch, though the bridge still streamed with waiting crews who stared without trying to hide it. The fact that his skin was not the same color as that of the people of the sand drew eyes, and the mask drew more. The two inspectors exchanged a look that tried to be subtle and failed, but seeing both the guard and the priestess grant him the right to walk first said enough about rank and purpose for most of the onlookers. Curiosity smoldered, but obedience kept it low.

“What is taking so long for these ships? Usually the harbor is empty throughout the year,” the guard said as he walked alongside the two inspectors. He kept his tone casual, but his gaze kept measuring the lines of soldiers and the speed of clerks at the tally tables.

One of them jumped in, “Her royal majesty asked for the capture of an individual. A dangerous man who goes on killing sprees. It has caused a lot of strife in the outer regions of the kingdom.”

“And why are they doing inspections here if he is doing such atrocities at the border,” the guard asked.

“Because she was given news by her trusted oracle that the person responsible for those murders will appear in the capital for more strife,” the inspector said. His voice softened on the word oracle in a way that meant he believed it more than he wanted to admit.

“I see. I will have to take over the investigation once I am back to office then. Sounds like a dangerous being.”

“Yes, we know he is,” the guard said.

Ludwig who was attentively listening could already guess what they were about to say. The rhythm of these stories rarely surprised him anymore. Blame travels faster than caravans.

“And who might that person be?” the guard asked.

“He goes by the name Ludwig Heart.”

’Yep, as I guessed it… now, let’s see what they have to say about me…’