Defiant Necromancer (Book 2 stubbed)

A pair of mages shifted to the front of the column of soldiers and gathered mana around their hands, preparing their first attempt to force the entryway.

Then the left door lightly clattered, moving just slightly back and forth in the frame.

Just enough to show it was unlocked.

What the fuck? Caracalla thought uneasily. He’s never done this before.

In no prior future he had experienced had the necromancer seemingly emptied out the fortress but not manned it at all.

“Must have been a breeze,” Geta said from beside his father.

I didn’t feel a breeze. But more importantly, the necromancer left this place without a garrison and unlocked? There must be something else wrong with it. A trap.

His eyes darted side to side, looking for some sign of what was up. There was nowhere else they could go for the night, of course. Not unless he wanted to tire his men out by ordering them to march on Whadesgart tonight and make camp outside the enemy’s walls. Or camp out in the middle of the desert again when they had likely already been sighted by the necromancer’s lookouts.

Caracalla couldn’t ignore the fact that in most of his prior loops through this conflict, he and the necromancer’s armies had clashed in this area. He needed to use the fortification. He just needed to take some precautions first.

Men started to move forward from among the ranks, ignoring the mages who still stood with mana gathered around themselves, waiting for the General to give them an order to stand down.

He cleared his throat.

“Ah hem. Halt! Let the priests go first.”

The soldiers froze at his words, and a few men of the Divine Trust stepped forward - with, Caracalla thought, a touch of reluctance.

“What do you need from us, General?” asked Inquisitor Bram.

Must I spell it out?

“This place, there are no soldiers on the walls, no one has answered our hails, and the door is apparently open,” Caracalla said. “Something smells wrong here. We face an enemy who uses dark magics the likes of which my men have never seen before. This is your domain of expertise. So go and use your priestly powers to detect if something unholy waits for us.”

“Ah, right. Of course.”

Bram visibly swallowed and then advanced to the door, a few of the other holy men beside him.

He pushed the door slightly open - not even enough to cast light into the shadow, just enough that his hand and upper arm were clearly across the threshold.

The Inquisitor turned his head back, still leaning into the shadows slightly.

“Your instincts are correct, General!” he called. “I sense a darkne—argh!”

His sentence was cut off mid-word as a gray-skinned thing lunged out of the darkness, sank its teeth into his throat, and jerked Bram backward into the fortress.

The priests around him fortunately had good reflexes.

“Bram!” one of them shouted as all of them rushed into the entrance, practically climbing over each other to rescue their leader.

Caracalla saw the glow of Holy Light from the doorway and then all the figures had vanished into the shadows of Fort Hadrian.

The General nodded to the men in front who looked to him for permission, and they began cautiously following after the priests, raising spears and shields and slipping naturally into small, tight groupings - just a few men together in each pod, so they could protect each other but also fit through the doors.

Some instinct led Caracalla to turn and look to see how Samara was reacting to these events, but the paladin maintained a stoic expression. Perhaps a slight tightening around the jaw at what was happening to her fellow clergy.

She’s already suffered all the despair she can process for the moment, he thought. Soldiers straight from the Grand Duke showing up and putting you in irons will do that to almost anyone.

A cry rang out from near the door as the first soldiers entered, and then the figure of one of the priests emerged, dragging Inquisitor Bram. The man appeared to be unconscious, and his usually immaculate uniform was covered in blood.

The priest dragging him quickly knelt on the ground and began applying some sort of healing light.

Why did he drag him out of the fortress? Are they having trouble with the undead in there?

The latter question was seemingly answered a moment later when the other priests, looking shaken but intact, emerged in single file from the fortress.

Caracalla stepped forward to more easily hear the exchanges between them and the soldiers.

“Undead in there,” one of the priests explained. “Not many, but they took Inquisitor Bram by surprise. He was badly bitten and clawed by a ghoul…”

“Holy Light disintegrated them, of course,” another was saying. “Only, it did feel a bit harder to call on.”

The most definitive thing was what a priest standing over the one healing Inquisitor Bram said.

“There’s something wrong in that place. A darkness that dampens our light. That’s… I think something must have desecrated the fortress.”

That’s what the necromancer did, Caracalla knew instantly.

He quickly approached one of the priests who wasn’t working on Inquisitor Bram.

“I heard something about a darkness within the fortress,” he said. “What did that man mean?” He pointed at the priest hovering over the Inquisitor.

“Um, it was, it was as if the ground itself was rejecting our power,” the man said, visibly flustered at the question. “All of us in the lead have classes, except Inquisitor Bram and Initiate Inquisitor Fagin. But our connections to the gods seemed to be dampened by the environment around us.”

“What can we do about it?” Caracalla asked

“All of the clergy present could work together to perform a cleansing rite,” another priest suggested. “Hopefully our connections to the gods are strong enough for that.” He didn’t sound entirely confident.

“No, stay with us, sir!” the priest standing over Bram cried out in obvious distress.

Is he actually dying? With priests all around?

The man using the healing light on him continued his work, though. So Bram probably wasn’t dead yet, at least.

This continued for another minute. The priest who’d been working on Bram stopped using his power, let out a long breath, rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and rose to his feet.

Then he slapped the priest who had cried out across the face.

“Don’t you ever panic like that while I’m in the middle of working, Fagin,” scolded the healer. “You could have killed him!”

“I apologize, Inquisitor Tobin,” Fagin replied in a formal tone. “I was… overcome with feeling. I won’t let it happen again.”

The priest Caracalla had just been speaking with nodded to the General, then grabbed his closest fellow priests by the arms and pulled them closer to Fagin and Tobin. A quiet but energetic huddled discussion ensued.

There seemed to be some disagreement, though about what, Caracalla had no idea.

After a few minutes, they cleared it up themselves.

Inquisitor Tobin approached Caracalla, the priest’s hands still stained with Inquisitor Bram’s blood.

“How is Bram?” the General forced himself to ask. He didn’t care very much about Bram personally, but it would be impolite not to acknowledge the struggle they’d just undergone to save the man’s life.

“His heart stopped for a moment, but it resumed its pace, sir,” Tobin said. “He will almost certainly recover. Er, thank you for asking.”

Caracalla simply nodded with a serious expression and waited for the priest to move on.

“We would like to do what you asked,” Tobin said. “But we are… limited. The shadow that hangs over this place is deep. Likely created by an emissary of darkness more powerful than any of us individually. The prayers of all holy people present will be necessary, but the prayers of those with a direct connection to Vika or Astara are most valuable. That means those of us up front, and… it would be far more likely to succeed if we had another. The more, the better.” He looked over meaningfully at Samara.

“Ask her to help, then,” Caracalla asked a little irritably. He was annoyed by the apparent game playing from Inquisitor Tobin. It had not been Caracalla’s decision to arrest her, nor had he told her to break the law.

These holy people are a nuisance.

“Can we unshackle her, sir?” asked the priest he’d been speaking with, whose name Caracalla didn’t immediately recall.

“Do what you want, just prepare this fortress for human occupation,” he replied curtly.

The priests moved over to where Samara and her escort of guards stood, and there was a brief discussion. The General nodded to indicate his support when Mathias looked in his direction. The soldier looked annoyed, but he immediately unshackled the paladin.

Good. The day was drawing far too close to sunset, and it was possible that the necromancer’s entire goal was to catch them waiting outside after dark. If that had been a serious attack from the sorts of undead the necromancer could cook up when he was actually aiming to kill, the lead priests would surely all be dead by now. In the next loop, I’ll have to protect them a bit more.

The priests all moved forward as a body once Samara was freed. They left Inquisitor Bram in the care of the soldiers, and they advanced into the fortress, hand in hand.

For the next half hour, Caracalla heard the sound of singing and chanting.

Just as the sun was setting, Caracalla saw a glow emanate from within the fort, and he heard a number of inhuman screams.

Hopefully that’s a good thing…

The priests emerged. Their brows were all sweaty, and they looked worn out.

Samara breathed as heavily, and appeared just as tired, as the others.

“We believe we have exorcised the spirits inhabiting the place,” said Tobin as he reached Caracalla. But he sounded maddeningly uncertain.

“Would you stake your life on it?” the General asked bluntly. “Because you are staking my men’s lives on this.”

Tobin paled slightly. Then a hand fell on his shoulder.

It was the paladin. She looked Caracalla directly in the eyes, then spoke with a confidence he had never seen from her before.

“General, Inquisitor Tobin still feels a pall over the fortress. There is a darkness there even now. That’s why he’s nervous about answering you. But such a feeling is not abnormal when a place is as thoroughly infested by evil energies as your fortress was before we exorcised it. I have performed many such exorcisms in my travels with the Party of Heroes, and I can tell you, the power is scattered and destroyed. The undead residing within the structure will have turned to dust. It will take months or years for the darkness to reform itself naturally, if ever, and it is certainly safe for you and your soldiers to inhabit for the night.”

Caracalla nodded, satisfied. He turned his head and began barking orders. The men started filing into Fort Hadrian, preparing to occupy, organizing patrol routes, and performing their usual duties.

He turned back to Samara - whether to thank her or ask her something else, he wasn’t quite sure - when a mocking voice spoke up from off to the side.

“My lady, are you ready to put on your formalwear? Your quarters await.”

It was Mathias. He held her shackles in his hands.

Caracalla actually felt slightly bad about this, but he simply nodded at Mathias to go ahead and restrain her again.

“Samara, thank you for your service,” the General said quietly. “Serve well over the next few days, and I promise to put in a good word for you with the Grand Duke, personally.”

Mathias scowled at him, but Caracalla ignored the man and focused only on the paladin. She bit her lip and hesitated for a long moment before she spoke.

“Thank you, sir,” she said finally. “I understand the law enforcement necessity of confining me for the moment. But… do I have to be chained? I didn’t sleep well last night. It’s difficult to get comfortable with my legs restrained.”

“I’m sorry,” Caracalla said firmly. “This is a law enforcement matter, as you yourself pointed out. Please be patient.”

“Come along, my lady,” said Mathias. He pulled her by the back of her clothing.

The General was about to tell Mathias off about that attitude - there was no call for any man to treat a lady so roughly - but as he opened his mouth to speak, he sneezed three times in a row.

Ugh. This cold, I almost thought it went away over the last hour.

He thought he caught a glimpse of something in the paladin’s face as she turned away, something beneath the mask of misery. Was it anger? Well, that made sense, but it looked like a note of some other emotion mixed in too.

But Caracalla dismissed it as his own paranoia acting up.

Logically, there was no reason for Samara to feel triumphant.