Chapter 5: Two Can Keep a Secret

As I walked along the hallway, cells to my right, a stone wall to my left, the tune changed from a happy melody to a chilling lament.

The whistling had a weird effect, I had never known much about music but my brain told me the inconsistent tone and occasional squeaking combined to make a horrible sound. Yet my undead body responded positively to its frequency. Was this perhaps the result of the Charisma Attribute(s)?

My fibulas began to skip slightly as the tune changed once more, to a depressing and bleak piece - a Danse Macabre. That was certainly an odd reaction and would require further investigation.

For now, with an effort of will, I returned to walking normally - it was undignified for an Archmagus to go around skipping.

The hallway I followed was circular, with the cells on the inside. By the time I came to the closed door, from which I heard the noise, I had nearly come full circle. A wall stopped me from travelling in the other direction.

With a skillful use of my new Spell, Necrotising Bolt, I decayed the wood around the lock. As soon as the metal construction struck the ground, the whistling ceased.

Preparing my Bone Claws, in case of a fight, I kicked open the door - much as the brute had done.

On the other side of the cell, cowering behind a stringless lute, was an incredibly young, pale man with sunken cheeks, shiny brown hair, and blue eyes. I knew in my bones, this man was not alive.

“Who are you?” the man asked, “You’re not Pater’s normal thug.”

I blinked at him, or tried to, before answering.

“I don’t know who this Pater is - my name is Osseus, Lich.” I replied, it wasn’t my normal form of address but since this was my first time meeting another sentient undead, I decided to take a chance.

“What’s a Lich?” he asked, honestly.

My mandible was left hanging. In my life there was no one who hadn’t heard of a Lich.

The last true Lich lived more than twelve hundred years ago but legends of his reign of terror were just as strong today as when I was born. He had raised an undead army and taken control of half of the civilised world. It took the other half working together to finish him, hundreds of magi died. My late master had fought in that war. According to him, we were set back centuries by all the magical knowledge lost. That was why if a “Lich” were to be sighted, every Archmagus would be expected to destroy them.

“Are you well?” he questioned earnestly, “You’ve been quiet a while, don’t tell me I’m dreaming again.”

“Quite alright,” I replied, rattling away my momentary speechlessness. “And you are?”

“Where are my manners, my name is Dante Ghibellines, Bard… I think.” The boy, Dante, said as he bowed gracelessly.

“You don’t know?” I asked, raising my frontal bone.

“I mean, I know that I am a Bard, the System says that it’s my Class. I don’t know how I got it, I don’t remember much before Lord Pater woke me and asked me to play for his men - in this fort.” Dante answered, picking up the lute he had dropped in his attempt to bow.

I found what he said interesting for a number of reasons: first, others seemed to have access to this System as well, second, he was afflicted by some recollectary condition. To my knowledge, the undead couldn’t be affected by mundane ailments. Then again, he was sentient and, presumably, so was this Pater character, perhaps they were vampires. I didn’t know much about the creatures but from what I had read, they toed the line between life and death.

“What are you?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“A Bard?” he said, looking at me strangely.

“No. Your Race, boy.” I reiterated, as I paced around, looking him up and down, poking and prodding his lean, yet firm, body.

“Dante,” he growled, slapping my hand away, before his affable demeanour returned and he continued. “I’m a Revenant, someone who died with strong regrets, returned to the land of the living for revenge. At least that’s what the System says. Wait, why am I telling you all this?”

I only shrugged, before turning and walking back into the hallway. Although I had never heard of a Revenant, stories of the undead returning for revenge were common.

From a cursory examination, I could tell he was different from a Zombie; when they reanimated, the spirit was damaged and left in charge of a deteriorating shell. The spiritual damage was evident with just a glance, as their internal mana channels would be completely destroyed.

Dante’s channels were intact, if rather small - perhaps causing his memory problems?

My hypothesis would be: although his body was dead, his spirit was still whole enough to direct the body to undergo its normal functions, stopping him from rotting. I couldn’t tell more at the moment as I lacked the materials for a proper diagnostic spell. Overall, not very interesting.

The boy caught up to me as I marched back the way I had come.

“Wait, you can’t just barge in then leave me,” Dante complained.

“By all means, follow me. Boy,” I replied, not missing a step.

“Dante!” he growled, his eyes narrowing and his teeth sharpening for a second. “Where are you going?” he asked, when I removed my boney finger from his mouth. “And why did you just do that?" he added after he had a moment to think.

“I don’t know where I’m going, somewhere where I can get lots of money - always need that for research. Then maybe I’ll try to learn as much as I can about this world’s magic. To answer your second question, I thought I saw something interesting,” I rambled.

“In my mouth?” he asked, feeling around in there himself.

“Yes,” I replied, distractedly - as we came to the end of the hallway.

“Here we are,” I proclaimed. A door I had seen earlier stood in front of us, daylight leaking from underneath. Grasping the handle firmly, I threw it open wide.

The last thing I heard was a desperate cry of:

“Wait!”

The darkness I found myself in was new to me. It wasn’t the darkness of unconsciousness, gone in but the blink of an eye. It wasn’t the darkness of night, banished with a few words and the wave of my hand. This darkness seemed dreamlike, yet weighted by reality.

I was formless in the dark, but with a thought I had a body - my old living body. References and texts flashed through my mind. This was a soul space. The Archmagus of the Black Tower had an artefact, from before the undead wars, which contained a long dead mage’s soul space. After the war, research into soul magic had been banned so I had no idea why they worked. How they worked was well documented.

With a thought my Tower appeared before me, complete with the valley it resided in. I rushed through the doors, summoning a whale’s fin from nowhere to cast a flight spell. Rushing to the top of the building, I came to the door of my research chambers. A soul space was the perfect place to conduct experiments without risk of consequence.

I grasped the door handle and threw it open. In a flash, I was back in the dungeon. My head on the floor staring at my bones as they rolled along the floor towards me. I gasped reflexively as the rest of my body screwed itself into place.

Congratulations:

* Bone Articulation has reached Lv. 2

I swiped away the window with a thought; struggling groggily to my feet, shaking away the strange dream. Before I could even ask what had happened, my non-existent ears popped. Presenting me with the longest string of expletives I had heard in two hundred years.

Looking up, I saw Dante hopping back and forth, clutching a limp arm. After he seemed to have worked it out of his system, and was just shouting normal words angrily, I butted in.

“What was that?” I asked, with a leaden tongue.

“Oh,” he said, somewhat sheepishly, “For some reason, I really like swearing and being angry. It seems to fulfil me,” Dante replied with a beaming smile.

“Not that you dolt, the bones all over the floor and your arm and leg.” I spat testily, being scattered made me rather grumpy it would seem.

“Oh,” he said again, this time with understanding. “It’s daytime, what did you expect to happen?”

“I’ve seen undead in the sun before, it should have just weakened me, not done whatever that was,” I complained, resting a hand on the, now closed, door to steady myself.

Dante looked at me confused, “They must have been some high Level undead, everyone knows that undead are just dead in the light of day.”

I opened a cell that didn’t contain the putrefied remains of a Zombie and slumped to the floor.

“Come here,” I instructed, “It would seem that I need to know a lot more if I am to escape this dungeon.”

Dante dutifully sat beside me and began to talk excitedly and extensively.