Defiant Necromancer (Book 2 stubbed)

The next morning brought the biggest celebration the beastfolk tribes had enjoyed in over a century.

For a people that often barely had enough food to eat, the beastfolk tribes knew how to throw an incredibly lavish wedding. It was like nothing Tybalt had ever seen before.

The decorations were bright and colorful - banners and streamers and confetti everywhere. Sugar skulls and rice dolls for both display and eating, and huge quantities of oat whiskey that had been made and teleported from the mountains. Elaborately choreographed dances around the edges of the party.

Huge platters of food - from freshly hunted and roasted mountain boar brought through the teleportation circle to piles of fried fish - made their way around the long tables as guests danced and ate freely to music that played steadily from all around.

The streets were crowded with the long tables and thousands of guests of every shape and size, from Aoife in her semihumanoid form, to the ogres, to the beastfolk and the humans.

Tybalt smiled as he looked out at it.

I can’t believe this is all for us.

Even though he knew he had done everything possible to earn special treatment from the beastfolk and the town’s residents, from saving both groups’ homes to conquering the entire desert and uniting it under his authority - providing both security and uniform administration of justice, as well as religious tolerance - deep down, it was hard to accept that such a big celebration could be for him.

The feast the fox tribe Elders had thrown after Tybalt and Mariella saved their village, he could have understood as at least in part a celebration of the village’s survival, not just a way of thanking their heroes.

This event was just for him and his brides, though. An opportunity for all their people to wish them well and curry favor

I wish you could see me now, Ma. Surrounded by women who love me, who are beautiful and accomplished in their own rights. A seer who manipulated her whole tribe before she even met me, her sister who’s becoming an important leader within our religious organization, one of my former commanding officers who almost killed the Hero, a huntress who almost killed a fucking dragon, a dark elf who’s the last surviving member of her race’s royal family and has lived for longer than all the rest of us put together… and a vampire high elf princess, the heir to their throne.

That felt a little odd, adding her in at the end, but Liora was going to marry him today alongside the others. It had been agreed to, though they barely knew each other, and one of the conditions was delayed consummation until after Tybalt was in less danger - obviously an effort by the High Elf King to keep his daughter from being soiled in the event that her husband was killed in battle.

Tybalt glanced at her from his hiding place - he wasn’t supposed to come out yet - and Liora smiled shyly, clearly aware of his gaze thanks to her elven senses.

It’s normal for nobles to marry people they barely know, the necromancer reminded himself. This isn’t strange at all.

Never mind that if he had married in his own village, it would have undoubtedly been to one of his neighbors, some girl he might have already slept with.

Well, I can’t exactly complain about this situation.

His brides were the most beautiful part of the spectacle.

In accordance with the customs of their people, Victoria and Vidalia dressed in thin dresses of pure white, hair worn loose down to their shoulders, seated around a high table on the marital altar - a stage that placed them at a higher elevation than everyone else. Kistana and Mariella joined them, dressed identically - adopting the fox tribe’s custom for their own, since they were marrying a man who had been adopted into that tribe. Dero and Liora sat on the altar, too, but they were conspicuously different in their elven-style dresses, white with lace floral patterns and sleeves embroidered with silver and gold thread respectively, symbolic of their respective royal lines.

An additional person was seated on the altar, closest to Dero - as she was the eldest bride, that was the custom - but that figure wore a cloak and cowl, concealing his features in shadow. Beneath the cowl, Tybalt knew the man’s face was further hidden behind a death’s head mask. For Tybalt’s devout subjects, this figure’s importance was obvious, but deliberately, no one looked at him or acknowledged his presence in any way.

The dancing nearest to the figure was a little subdued, as it was difficult to dance fluidly when one was carefully avoiding looking in a certain direction. But the guests managed.

It was bad luck to do otherwise.

Tybalt watched the early part of the wedding from the Mayor’s house that they had perhaps permanently commandeered. The groom wasn’t meant to be seen until a climactic moment arrived in Elder Elswyth’s speech. She was meant to officiate, as the necromancer’s closest advisor among the religious officials of the fox tribe aside from Victoria.

Before Elder Elswyth began to speak, the Elders all made toasts to the absent Beastking.

“We thank the members of the House of Black for their protection and their leadership of our people in an era of conflict,” Eldest Isak said. “May you and your descendants usher in a millennium of righteousness and understanding.”

Applause rang out.

“We praise the Beastking and his choices of partner for uniting disparate peoples and giving us all common cause!” said Elder Michael, smiling. “May your unions be fruitful and provide you with a strong succession.”

There was more applause, although slightly less than Eldest Isak had received.

There were more words of praise from every Elder of each tribe except for the ibex tribe who had tragically been left leaderless - and Elder Elswyth, who waited to speak until the end.

Through the toasts, the guests continued to dance, eat, and talk, moving in circles around the altar.

Finally, Elder Elswyth began her speech in her old woman’s voice, the thin sound of it reinforced with mana so that it rang out across the crowd for all to hear.

“These fair and virtuous maidens—” There was a bit of laughter at that from somewhere within the crowd, as more than one of Tybalt’s brides was visibly pregnant, but the laughter stopped when Elswyth turned her gaze into the crowd with a look on her face that could curdle milk—“Ah hem, these fair and virtuous maidens gather here to marry, to join the threads of their lives with those of a husband. They have chosen together, and they call out to their chosen mate. The man who is to make them his possessions, his flesh, his heart. The man who is to guard them against all others and to lavish them with the bounty of his labors.”

She paused, shaded her eyes, and looked around as if searching for Tybalt, but he remained where he was. He knew that this was just part of the script. It wasn’t time yet.

After a moment, Elder Elswyth began speaking again.

“Ah! But now comes the shadow of the Death God, ready to make them his brides, to share his gift of eternity with them.” For the first time in the ceremony, she turned her attention to the man in the cowl and the death’s head mask and looked him boldly in his false face. “The strongest law in this world is the law of mortality. Death is inevitable for all who live. But these are young maidens with long lives ahead of them. It is not their time. They are not food for worms. They are not for you yet! Who will shield them against this mightiest of gods? Who will cloak and protect them from the hazards of this world? Who will hold them safe against untimely death?”

That was Tybalt’s signal. There was something deeply ironic about the wedding invocation calling for him to protect his brides from the god the beastfolk revered above all others, but it wasn’t something he thought more about now. He allowed his brain to fixate only on what he needed to do and say in 

He emerged from his hiding place with six cloaks draped over one arm, quickly strode toward the altar, ascended the steps to the top, and approached the table his brides sat around.

“I, Tybalt Black, take these women as my brides.” He moved to Dero first, because she was seated closest to the fake Death God. He took one of the cloaks off his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, then looked her in the eyes as he spoke. “Dero, I place you under my protection, from this day until my dying day.” He thought he saw some emotion in her eyes as he spoke. She tried to present herself as dispassionate, but he didn’t think she could feel that way today. Not at her own wedding. As he finished speaking, he pressed his lips against hers. She broke the protocol slightly by opening her lips and slipping her tongue into his mouth for an enthusiastic elven-style kiss. Tybalt kept it quick despite the surprise. He knew it wasn’t the time for too much affection.

They would have all night for that.

Having proceeded with the oldest woman among his brides, the necromancer then started again with the youngest of his wives and moved in escalating order.

He walked to Victoria, who had come out of the womb after her sister. He wrapped her in the next cloak.

“Victoria, I place you under my protection, from this day until my dying day.”

I love you, he tried to say with his eyes.

They kissed, and she put her hands around his neck, trying to hold him there longer.

I love you, her eyes said as they separated.

Tybalt moved to Vidalia. She had tears in her eyes. She lowered her head to make it easier for him to wrap her in his cloak.

“Vidalia, I place you under my protection, from this day until my dying day.”

“Thank you, darling.” The words were spoken with her head still lowered, in such a small voice that no one but those on stage could have heard them. Tybalt thought he knew why she said them. There had been some possible futures she had foreseen with her powers where she was merely his concubine. She had even said she would accept that fate if she had to in this life. But he loved her far too much, and she was far too valuable, to push her into concubine status.

Tybalt kissed her just slightly longer than was appropriate. He was starting to lose a bit of discipline with all of these women looking at him so affectionately.

He walked over to Mariella, who had a hand on her bump.

“Mariella, I place you under my protection, from this day until my dying day.”

“We accept,” she whispered, seemingly speaking on behalf of both herself and their baby.

Their kiss was tender and relatively chaste, but the look in Mariella’s eyes as they separated was far more suggestive.

It’s going to be a long night, the necromancer thought. He knew his wives were going to administer him some lamia venom at some point during the meal. They had actually told him about it this time, unlike his birthday surprise, which he appreciated and had consented to.

How else would he consummate his marriage with all of them? Besides Liora, of course.

Tybalt wrapped his cloak around Kistana, who eagerly helped him - a bit of a violation of protocol, but it made him smile.

“Kistana, I place you under my protection, from this day until my dying day.”

“And I promise to protect you in turn, husband,” she said very quietly, her eyes fixed on his.

When he kissed her, he felt her tail brush up against his leg, from his knee up to his inner thigh. All of them were working hard to get him anticipating the night, it seemed. The tip of her tail brushed against his manhood - he was already erect, of course - and as Tybalt stepped back from the catgirl, she had an unmistakable look of satisfaction on her face.

He walked over to Liora, the last one left. He wrapped his cloak around the elven vampire and spoke the words one final time.

“Liora, I place you under my protection, from this day until my dying day.”

When he kissed her, he was surprised by how hard she pressed her lips against his. He felt as if, without the crowd watching, she might have tried to hold him there and continue the kiss for longer. As things stood, she didn’t allow herself to move any part of herself below the neck.

As they parted, she spoke a single word: “Finally.”

You haven’t been waiting long at all - well, except, I guess, your father basically kept you in a walled garden your whole life, like a delicate flower. In that sense, maybe it was a long wait.

She was a decade older than Tybalt and still untouched, after all.

He knew Dero had some ideas about corrupting this girl into a shape her father would never recognize or approve of. The smile on Liora’s face made the necromancer wonder if she was ready to eagerly jump into that corruption.

He turned before he could get sucked in by any of his women’s hungry looks and instead stared at the hooded, masked figure, trying to give off an intimidating feeling despite knowing that the mask wearer was just some random member of the fox tribe.

“These women are mine, Lord Mudo. Go in peace, and take someone else instead of me and mine.”

Then death rose from his seat, turned, and left the stage. He didn’t speak a word, but Tybalt felt the crowd of observers watching them relax a bit.

Superstition ran powerfully in the beastfolk tribes.

“Shall we dance, husband?” Dero asked from behind him in a light tone.

“Let’s.”