At the strike of the eleventh bell Teren and Baltry met the Prince outside the palace gates. They had changed back to their normal tunics and sandals, and the Prince himself was wearing a dull and dirty hooded longcoat. The Prince had taken off all his silver, leaving only rings of bone and ivory. He was accompanied by that lizard guard, who was wearing a sleeveless vest that showed off his scaled physique.
The apprentices had decided to stay and eat after the outburst at dinner. A master of the Twelve Paths might have the luxury of storming away from a prince's hospitality, but certainly not an apprentice. Besides, if Rotwood and Quickstrider had wanted them to follow they would have made it known.
And so they stayed for dessert, and then they stayed for another beer, and then one beer turned into two, and two into eight, and before they knew it Teren and the Prince had agreed that they absolutely couldn't let the party die.
Baltry was quite tipsy. Ronic had insisted he come back to the room and sleep it off, but dropped the matter after Dirjir had introduced him to a serving girl who claimed to be an expert in a Southranger method of scalp massaging, which supposedly made use of natural energy points in the body. She was also very attractive.
Dirjir nodded to his companion. "This here's Unjbat, he'll be our security for the night. He's with the Tiger Guard and more loyal to my mother than I'd like, but he won't let us get hurt." He slapped the skinswitcher on the back.
Unjabit smiled, an unnatural expression on his lizard-tinged face. He had skinswitched to increase the number of scales around his eyes and forehead, and his nose had become a slit. His arms were scales from his biceps down to his clawed fingers. Tall for a Southranger, he was only half a head shorter than Teren. He said something in narabric, followed by one word of the Sainted Tongue. "Drink." Unjabit pointed down the street and began walking.
Teren had a nice buzz going on and didn't feel like losing it. He laughed as Dirjir danced ahead, stumbling after Unjabit.
Baltry frowned. He hadn't really wanted to come, but Dirjir said it was better to take on the dream-fish while awake. "I ate that thing hours ago and barely feel anything."
"Maybe it wasn't mixmade very strong."
"Or it hasn't digested yet."
Teren sighed. "Well you already tried throwing it up and lifebreathing it away, so no use worrying about it now." He lightly punched t
the younger boy. "Come on! We're at the top of the world, Balt. Try and enjoy yourself, make some memories before you go back home."
"I suppose you're right," Baltry admitted.
Teren hiccuped. "Of course I'm right! Now let's go have some fun."
Shadows danced in the corner of his eye. He couldn't sense the darktwisting that had saturated this part of Merdz, but he could sense the people it had killed. There were bodies buried everywhere. Empty containers, practically begging to be given another
soul. Teren reached out, and the remains of dozens upon dozens of corpses deep under the dirt and stone reached back, soaking him with power and vitality. He laughed, drawing looks from Dirjir and Unjabit. Scavenger's Delight was the name of the spell, and it was intoxicating when used in a place of the dead, even if the bodies weren't fresh.
The first stop was only a street away, a dusty hole in the wall populated by a few lone patrons who kept to themselves. The innkeeper, a small man with a monkey on his shoulder, rushed over to greet them.
Unjabit spoke to him in narabric, handing over Merdz coins– those odd copper rectangles with holes in the middle. The innkeeper bowed in thanks while the monkey familiar ran off to the bar, rummaging through the cabinets.
"Looks dead," remarked Teren.
"Relax, we're just staying for one drink," winked Dirjir. "There's a special vintage here."
The monkey, a small creature with orange-yellow fur and a soft red face, lugged a red clay jug nearly as large as itself up onto the counter. Teren's eyes locked onto it. There was something dead inside.
Teren picked up the jug, examining it. The label was written in a script he didn't recognize, and the wax on top was stamped with a snake seal. Putting a hand on it and sensing the dead thing inside, he grinned. "No way. Can we really..?"
"Of course!" exclaimed Dirjir. "Drinks are made to be drunk." He opened the bottle, pouring it into four tiny clay bowls. Unjabit shook his head. Dirjir shrugged and split the fourth among the three, passing them out to Teren and Baltry.
Baltry sniffed it and reeled back in disgust. "What in the woods is that?"
Dirjir giggled. "Kah Rinibri. Snake Wine."
"Why is it called snake-" he peered inside. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me."
"Pit viper and rice wine," said the innkeeper. "Very good pairing."
"Pit vipers are venomous!" yelled Baltry.
Teren finished his in one sip. He shuddered but kept it down. It tasted exactly like what he imagined a dead animal in a jar would taste like. "Damn fine stuff. Go on, Baltry. Live a little."
"No."
"Think about it," said Dirjir as he downed his own. "If someone put the time and effort into creating something, it surely must be worth trying at least once."
"That doesn't seem right to me," muttered Baltry." But he drank nonetheless, wincing.
"Good man," said Dirjir. He tossed a few more coins to the innkeeper. "Now let's get out of here."
Outside the moon had vanished beneath the mountains, leaving stars and lamplight to guide the way. The streets were all but empty, dotted by a few solitary figures who kept their distance.
"The nightlife of the Maze District leaves something to be desired," Dirjir admitted.
Teren shook his head. "No, this is perfect. Very eerie, just the way I like it. How do you navigate through the darktwisting?"
"You don't. We'll just wander around until we find a place that looks lively." He paused. "You might have noticed that there are some roads that lead underground. If for any reason we get separated, do not go down them. They're full of trouble."
"There are roads underground?" asked Baltry.
"Not exactly. Most are lava tunnels, left over from before the volcano below Merdz was sealed. Others were made in the process of that sealing, and the rest formed naturally over time."
The young men walked the streets, laughing and entertaining each other with tales of past exploits. Unjabit couldn't speak much of the Sainted Tongue, so Dirjir narrated for him.
He had joined the Tiger Guard as his father and mother had done before him. The Guard had once been a band of sellswords that had come from the east centuries ago, out of the Half-World Nation. They had been led by a Prince of Merdz, a fourth son who had left the Southrange to seek his destiny. He had returned with the sellswords and led them to victory against several rebelling tribes tricked by his second eldest sister. Ever since then they had been the protectors of the royal family, and many a son or daughter of the Pajirhut line had sworn the oath and tattooed the striped crest over their hearts.
Dirjir chuckled and shook his head. "When I was young, I wished I wasn't an only child. Then I could join up and leave the throne as someone else's problem."
"What's stopping you now?"
"Duty," sighed the Prince. "Again, I was young."
Baltry hadn't said anything in a while. He had a strange grin plastered on his face.
Teren tapped his shoulder. "Anyone in there?"
Baltry slowly turned to look at him. "When I drank that snake before… I threw up in my mouth a bit. I think that moved something around in my stomach, and, um. I think the dream-fish just got digested."
"What makes you say that?"
"Head feels weird. Like I've been laughing too hard." He looked around him. "The bugs on the walls are very bright."
Unjabit cocked his head. "You hear?"
There was singing coming from up ahead. They rounded a corner, to find an alley brightly lit by hanging paper lanterns dyed red and green. Men and women danced in the street, laughing and twirling wildly about to the beating of drums and plucking of strings. There was a crackling bonfire with flames twice as tall as any man in the middle of it all.
Dirjir whooped, running over to join in the celebration. Teren followed, steering a dazed Baltry by the shoulders.
"Hey Teren," he said. "Are those people real?"
Teren thought so. That snake wine had hit him out of nowhere, like someone had found a dozen drinks and then bashed them into his skull. The barley beer from earlier in the night hadn't helped either, but Scavenger's Delight balanced him out and kept him on his feet.
He wandered through the crowd in a drunken daze, loosely bobbing his head to the music. The partygoers stopped and stared at him curiously, probably having never seen a Fendali before. He supposed he did stand out with his height, wide shoulders, and long hair. Fendali skin ran dark, but not as dark as these Southrangers. One might describe the people of the Greenreach as almost copper colored. Their hair was straight and dark, and it was rare for a Fendali man to be able to grow a mustache, let alone a full beard. Even so, it was said that Fendali often looked older than their years. Teren didn't see it. Yes, their foreheads ran a bit large, but so what? He wasn't balding like Rotwood.
Dirjir was talking to some local women, pretty things that might have been related. He waved Teren over and offered a long wooden pipe. "You a smoker?"
Teren inhaled the smoke, held it in for a moment, and then exhaled through his nose. He let out a flurry of coughs. "Back home I mostly chew it."
The women with Dirjir tried to talk to him. Their sainted tongue was shrouded by a thick accent, and with all the drinks coursing through him he couldn't be bothered to interpret what they were saying. So he laughed and nodded at whatever they said and bobbed his head to the music.
Dirjir started dancing, rocking back and forth violently. He wasn't very good, judging from the stunned expressions of the women. Teren copied him. He figured it couldn't hurt to cut loose in a distant land, far away from the eyes of anyone who knew him. His long hair flailed back and forth, obscuring his vision as he laughed with Dirjir.
Moments bled into each other as they danced and drank and made fools of themselves. Even Unjabit relented and had a smoke. Baltry was chatting up one of the women who had been trying to talk to Teren before. She was attentively listening to his drunken rant about family politics between East and West Cicada.
The drums began to beat loud and fast, and the crowd cheered. Dirjir grabbed Teren by the shoulder. "Group dance!" he screamed in his ear. "Just follow along!"
The crowd became a vortex, swirling around a man blowing a large ivory horn that was curved and carved into the form of a writhing centipede. People laughed and cheered as the man played, dancing around him faster and faster. Teren whooped and hollered, losing himself in the festivities.
Hours later he was throwing up in a dark corner. It had to have been at least the third bell by now, and the party showed no signs of stopping.
Unjabit bent down next to him. "Teren. Where Baltry?"
Teren groaned in response, spitting out the last few specks of vomit. "He was with that girl." He pumped his fist at the night sky. "That's a real grass-chewing legend, there! Didn't think he had it in him."
"Where did went, Baltry and girl?"
Teren shrugged, pointing to a secluded alley at the far end of the street. Squinting, he realized it was actually a staircase. One of the ones that led below ground. "Uh oh."
Unjabit cursed. He glanced over at Dirjir, who was taking a piss and mumbling a song to himself. "Teren. Baltry in large danger. I cannot leave Prince. You find Baltry, now!"
Dirjir stumbled over to them. He had pissed on his trousers a little bit. "Hold on. Hooold on. Baltry is… Where?"
"He went with a girl. They, uh, went underground." Teren yawned. "We'll find him in the morning."
Dirjir slapped his head, dragging it down his face. "Damn. Damn damn damn, damn!" He glared at Unjabit, speaking to him in rapid-fire narabric. The two of them began to argue.
"Hey. Hey!" Teren placed himself between the two. "What is down there that's so bad anyways?"
Dirjir scowled. "Undesirables. Slums and… unclean establishments. Buyers and sellers of flesh, plagued by diseases of the mind, body, and soul. Not a great place for a kid drunk and drugged up.
It was Teren's turn to curse.
Unjabit began to pace back and forth. "The paths below are not all charted. There are routes underground, ones that go deep into the crater. Some even lead outside Merdz's walls. We need to find him before…"
Teren looked at the two of them. "…Before what?"
Dirjir coughed. "A young foreign boy like Baltry might be, ah, high in demand."
Teren sprinted to the stairs, ignoring Prince shouting after him. As he plunged into the darkness the light from the celebration faded away unnaturally fast. The darktwisting effects must not vanish below ground.
He ran and ran, seeing nothing in front of him, keeping his hand on the right side of the wall. Darktwisting or no, surely if he just kept contact he would eventually–
Teren stumbled into a shanty town, lit dimly by tiny candles. There were figures huddled together in filthy ragged blankets, rotting beggars who shied away from the imposing intruder.
"Hey!" he yelled. "Was there a boy here? Small, Saintlander, long hair?"
It was useless. None of them spoke any sainted tongue, and they just squirmed deeper into the shadows. He cursed and ran past, swiping two of their candles.
His panic grew as he ran through the tunnels, screaming Baltry's name until his voice grew hoarse. He should have known better, should have told Baltry to stay back, should have watched him closer. Damn!
The underground was full of all sorts. Solitary individuals with sores all over their skin, skinswitcher abominations, laughing women who beckoned him into their tents, and parties of rugged men who gripped their weapons warily as he passed. Baltry wasn't among any of them.
Teren skidded to a halt in a large cavern with a lake in the middle, surrounded by a scattering of tents and shanties. Steam rose off of the water, which extended far out into the darkness beyond the candlelight of the slums. He didn't know how long he had been running, and had, in his panic, abandoned all sense of direction in this foul underworld.
There were dead men everywhere. He could feel not just the corpses buried in the walls, but the spirits wandering in the dark. These tunnels must have been catacombs, or burial grounds, or something at one point in time.
He fell down and screamed, tears running down his face. His breathing grew rapid and his heart felt like it would beat out of his chest. "Saints one and all," he prayed. "Help me. Please, help me find him."
"They can't hear you, Teren," said a sad voice from behind him.
He turned to see Spellhaunt's ghostly hand on his shoulder. There was pity in her eyes.
Teren sniffled, wiping his eyes. "How are you… I didn't call you."
"Our bond grows stronger. But more than that, there is power down here. Can't you feel it?"
Teren stood up, ignoring his shaking leg. "I have to find him. Please, please help me."
"Of course. But all I can do is help you help yourself, Teren." She sat down cross-legged. "We need to concentrate. Sit in front of me and close your eyes."
He did so, turning his focus inward.
"Alright. Just breathe, in and out. Connect yourself to the fading world."
He inhaled and exhaled slowly, calming his heart. Aren Fultas was always with him. He just had to reach out and… His eyes remained closed, but the whispers of gathering spirits told no lie. "I'm in."
"Good. Feel the power around you. This is is a place not just of shadow, but of death. Reach out to the dead. Command, and you shall receive!"
Teren felt the whispers drawing close. He called out to them in the language of the dead, demanding their help. Find my friend. Find the lifebreathing boy. I command it.
He opened his eyes. Dozens of spirits staggered around him and Spellhaunt. Pathetic and awful things, with rotting bodies and missing limbs. Teren extended his hand out and filled the dead with his deathcrafting. He could have never given all of them so much, if it weren't for the power granted to him by Scavenger's Delight. And that wasn't all. Spellhaunt was a bonfire of spirit residue, and she directed her energy into him. It was cold and dark, and shivers ran up his spine.
The spirits grew solid, and as they did so their muttering grew. They sprinted off in different directions, an unnatural speed that didn't fit with their decaying flesh. While most went straight for the tunnels, there were some that dove into the still water of the lake, making not a splash with their passing.
A young boy dressed in little more than rags stepped out of a tent, rubbing his eyes. He was lean and filthy, and held a candle in his hand as he peered out into the darkness. He saw Teren and gasped. He must have been an intimidating sight to this child, a foreign figure screaming in the night.
The boy approached hesitantly, speaking in hushed narabric. He did not notice the disturbance in the water behind him. Not until the smell hit him.
Corpses, foul and bloated, rose out of the lake. Broken vessels that would have been of little use without the spirit residue binding their old bones together. Without a word they shuffled on by to do their master's bidding.
The boy wailed, running back into his tent. By now much of the inhabitants had awoken, and peeked outside their shanties to see what the commotion was. The rotting dead and ghastly spirits didn't do much to ease their curiosity, and before he knew it the entire town was awake and screaming.
"That was an impressive amount of spirits," remarked Spellhaunt. "Nice work."
"They should be able to find him," muttered Teren. "There were dozens of them. They can walk through walls. We're going to find him." And repeating that almost made him believe it. He ignored the terrified crowd as he checkd their tents for Baltry.
Panicked Southrangers ran past him as he continued through the tunnels. Beggars, bandits, whores, slaves, slavers, they all blended together down here in the dark. And delighted to be among the living once again, the spirits laughed and howled as they searched among them.
It wasn't long before a headless woman coalesced before him, pointing at a path that led upwards. Teren took the hint, following the spirit as it pointed again at each intersection. Eventually he ended up in another slum, a tent city that had descended into chaos. Headless pointed to a shack nestled away between a hundred more that looked just like it.
Teren stood outside with his fists clenched, ignoring the screams and the panic and the laughing of the dead. He raised his fist to the stalactite-ridden ceiling, and summoned the dead to him.
In an instant a troop of ghosts stood behind him in rank and file. Spellhaunt was on his right. She had playfully switched out her vest and trousers for queer armor– A breastplate, longskirt, and bladed arm-bracers. "There could be anything in there. Be ready."
Taking deep breaths, Teren braced himself for the worst. He kicked the flimsy door down and rushed in, a horde of dead screaming and howling behind him. Inside was a shocked elderly woman playing cards by herself. Not sparing any time, he sicked a half dozen spirits on her and ran on by. The next room was incense filled and sectioned off by numerous red curtains. He pulled each one back, displaying surprised men and women in various states of undress. The fifth one down had Baltry inside.
He was laying undressed on a cot, his body twitching faintly. Nearly passed out, his eyes were fluttering open. The woman from the party was riding him hard, having not even registered the commotion beyond her set of curtains.
Teren roared, roundhouse kicking the side of her head. She yelped as she flew off Baltry and tumbled through a curtain. He picked the pantless apprentice up and slung him over his shoulder. "It's okay, brother. I got you now." The gathered ghosts cheered as Teren carried the near-comatose Baltry out of there.
By now a mob had gathered outside, terrified men and women holding torches and huddling together. The spirits streamed out behind him, led by Spellhaunt. The living and dead stared at each other, unmoving.
"You know," said Teren. "Earlier I had gotten the feeling that Merdz wasn't too fond of the Twelve Paths."
Spellhaunt clicked her tongue. "And that was before we had ghosts stampede through their homes in the middle of the night. How many bodies did you get from the lake?"
"Erm. Five?" He stared out at the crowd of over a hundred. "The spirits might scare them off."
The crowd began to inch closer. Makeshift weapons were brandished and torches were lit. Skinswitchers revealed their fangs, while hybrids and familiars stalked closer.
"We're in their home, Teren. I don't think they're going anywhere."
Baltry was murmuring something. He was beyond drunk, or the dream-fish was still working its magic. Probably both.
"Don't worry, Balt," Teren whispered. "We're getting out of this." He raised his voice to the mob. "Hey! I don't know if any of you speak the sainted tongue, but I'm taking my friend and walking out of here."
The crowd advanced, screaming at him with hate on their lips and fear in their hearts. His own troops howled back. A few of the corpse possessors had arrived, yet their bodies were weak from who knows how long being underwater. This wasn't a battle he could win. Nevertheless he growled and stood tall, ready for a fight. In the language of the dead he commanded his forces to prepare for a counterstrike. His best bet would be to cause a distraction, slip past, and lose them in the tunnels.
But just as the mob was about to get within striking distance, three figures pushed out from the middle. It was one of his corpses, leading two men behind him.
Teren cracked a smile. "Thanks for stopping by."
The corpse hobbled over to Teren while the Prince and his bodyguard stood between him and the crowd. Dirjir yelled at them in Narabric. This didn't calm anyone down, not until Unjabit pulled his vest to the side and revealed the tiger stripes over his heart. Unjabit spoke as well, gesturing to Dirjir.
"What are you saying to them?" asked Teren.
Dirjir didn't look back at him. "They don't recognize that I'm their prince, so Unjabit is vouching for me. My fault for not spending enough time down here."
"Will they listen to you?"
"They might, if you do what I say. I'm going to turn to you and speak to you. When I do, dispel your ghosts."
Teren glanced at Spellhaunt. She shrugged in return.
Dirjir raised his voice and the crowd went quiet. He turned around to Teren and spoke to him in harsh Narabric.
Teren didn't have any better ideas, so he relented and took some of his strength back from the dead. Corpses fell over, abandoned. Spirits faded away from the living world, but stayed close by in Aren Fultas. Just in case.
Spellhaunt pursed her lips. "Hope you know what you're doing. If you get out of this, we should talk again tonight." And then she too faded back to the land of the dead.
This seemed to reassure the people. Dirjir walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. He spoke to the mob again, and reluctantly they lowered their weapons. They stood aside, making room for the four of them to walk by.
"Give Baltry to Unjabit, Teren. You look like you're about to keel over."
Teren shook his head. "I got him into this mess. Carrying him out of it is my responsibility."
Unjabit carefully led them out of the tent city, choosing a set of stairs leading upward. At the end of it they found the crack of dawn spilling over the distant mountains.
Teren breathed a sigh of relief. "Wasn't sure I'd see another sunrise. Thank you, Prince Dirjir. Thank you, Unjabit."
"Don't thank me! I'm your host. I led you into this mess."
"Not your responsibility. I made the choice to come, and then I dragged Baltry along." He gently placed Baltry on the ground. He had completely passed out. Teren sat down next to him, watching the sun rise.
Dirjir joined in. "That was amazing what you did down there, with the dead. I've never seen anything like it."
He grunted. "I can't take all of the credit. There's power in your city."
"My city. My city!" He threw back his head and laughed. "They nearly tore me apart down there."
"All the more reason for you to take the throne, I suppose."
Dirjir frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know. If you're in charge then you could maybe make their lives better or something."
The Prince thought about that. "My mother isn't a bad Queen, you know. But I'd rather rely on myself to make the right choices than someone else. She thinks she's doing me a favor, she knows I never wanted to rule."
"So why are you trying to?"
He chewed his lip. "My father died believing I was useless. That I was spoiled, that I didn't care about my duty to my people. And that was true." He got up. "But I'm done with that. I will not shirk off the responsibility I was born with. Not while my ancestors watch me."
Unjabit smiled faintly at that. He must have known more sainted tongue than he let on.
Teren stared at the Prince. "I'm sorry my Master refused to help you. Believe me, he has his reasons." He stood up as well, carrying Baltry in his arms. "But I'm not him, and from what I saw tonight I think I'm willing to bet on you."
"…Bet on me?"
Teren nodded. "I'll do it, Prince Dirjir. On the first Night of the Lost, I will raise the dead for you."