“Arion’s the name.” The boy explained, beginning his lie with an admirable ease. Such aptitudes were a sign of personalities that went well in House Shaiagrazni. “Arion Hawk, merchant, trader, entrepreneur…You may have heard of me? No matter if you haven’t, I’m just passing through for a bit of bargain-hunting, you see.”

The guard did not verbally reply, only peered at Silenos and King Galukar in silent question. It was an understandable concern of course, Silenos knew full well that both of them cut an intimidating enough sight on their own. He stood a full two metres in height, and though he was far leaner than muscled, his body would nonetheless have been correctly assessed as physically potent even were it not for the genius of Fleshcrafting that gave it such macromolecular strength.

King Galukar’s physicality was more apparent even than that. Beyond the handful of centimetres he towered over even Silenos by, his musculature was quite frankly in defiance of Shaiagrazni biology. No man in a pre-industrial world ought to have been able to sustain it, nor even could any animal natural selection was likely to engineer at all. Between that and his sheer scale, Silenos estimated the barbarian King to weigh even more than his own quarter-tonne.

A single flexed bicep on that King’s part was enough to quickly snap the guard’s eyes back to Falls, who used the resumed attention as well as Silenos had come to expect.

“My bodyguards.” He explained, grinning. “These are treacherous lands, you understand, if you don’t happen to be a dark magus or such things.”

The man nodded in empathetic understanding, then sent his gaze expectedly to the next sight of note. The largest point of failure in their entire masquerade.

Sphera, the petty Necromancer-officer of the so-called Dark Lord, was no more compliant in their deception than she had been in their journey.

“They’re lying.” She snapped, glaring from one of them to another, then staring at the guard with a desperation that would have been enjoyable to witness at any other time. “That one’s a magus, he’s a dark caster. They’re just trying to get entrance without giving you their true identities-”

She trailed off as Falls hit her, perhaps a shade harder than was necessary.

“Shut it, whore.” He snapped, then turned back to the guard, feigning apology. “You must forgive me, that one’s a slave and she’s rather recently captured. Still haven’t finished breaking her in, if you understand, so she’ll be a bit unmanageable for a while.”

It had been their one great concession. Finlay Baird, Governor of Kaltan, was famously a man of progress and liberation.

He despised slavery almost as much as a slave might, and had all but outlawed it within his own city before being redirected in his efforts by the Dark Lord. Travelling with one openly behind his walls was not a way to go unnoticed.

But they could not have risked leaving Sphera behind outside, not without the risk of her escaping whatever bonds they encased her in, and there was simply no other way to bring an openly held prisoner within. Gagging her would only have conveyed all that binding her already had, as well as making it apparent that they did not wish her to speak.

It was possible the guard saw through their facade, as imperfect a concession as it was, but if he did there was no hint of the fact in his gaze. He only nodded, slow at first, then more earnestly as he watched the hateful glares Sphera sent at Falls.

“You’re aware of the Governor’s opinion on slavery?” The man asked, wearily. Falls shrugged.

“Nobody’s perfect. I’ll take a bit of abolitionist sentiment if it means doing my business in the only undead-free city within fifty miles.”

The guard snorted, then stepped aside to allow them unbarred passage through the broad gates.

“In that case, by all means, go about your business, and please accept my apologies for keeping you so long in the first place.”

With a few more tedious moments of feigned smiles, they moved past the man and into the city. Silenos felt his expression relax into its usual, sensible mask the moment he was certain it could no longer be scrutinised by the guard.

“Arion, you stay with the prisoner.” Silenos ordered his apprentice. “The barbarian and I shall investigate this place alone, we can walk faster and easier than you, and are more intimidating.”

The latter would be useful in extracting answers from otherwise unwilling containers, while the former would simply allow for more ground to be covered within the same span. Perhaps even Galukar understood as much, because he gave little in the way of protests before following after Silenos.

It was an uneventful day, for them both. Grinding sluggishly past them in lengthy patches of nothing, punctuated by the occasional bout of insubstantiality. It was easy to grow frustrated as their continued efforts proved uselessly applied, but Silenos found his temper a simple thing to control. Perhaps he had simply been unpractised in regulating the primordial idiocy of emotion, given his century of freedom from its touch. Perhaps, more disturbingly, he was growing accustomed to being denied his will. That was an unacceptable thought. Seniors of House Shaiagrazni did not get accustomed to such things.

However wrong it was in the ethical sense, reality did not seem to care. The people Silenos probed with questions were of invariably little help. Refusing to answer, turning back in fear, or even meeting him with overt confusion. Those few who knew something, they all knew the very same fact. And it was a tedious thing to squeeze from each and every one of them despite its insignificance.

Only one fact emerged with any consistency in their search; that the Governor, of all people, knew of the man named Silhouette, going so far as to even publicly claim he had met the man. Galukar’s face darkened to a rather grim mask as that much was made clear, his eyes sharpening with rage.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“This was a fine city, once.” The King growled. “I knew many of the people who ruled it. Good, decent people. Then Finlay the Butcher staged his little coup and painted the streets with red. I’d sooner surrender the world to the Dark Lord than work with that upstart little monster. I say we wring his neck before taking our leave and find some other way out of the area.”

Silenos really was getting tired of the local idiots of this new world. Really, he’d never seen a class rebellion that hadn’t been deserved. It was remarkably easy to keep the common people held underfoot, ordinary humans were a remarkably docile bunch. Anyone stupid enough to be overthrown by them deserved it.

And that was without considering the simple fact of Finlay’s success in holding the city. As Silenos had heard it, half of the settlement was going to be ceded over to the Dark Lord by its inept rulers before his coup. No doubt, that had been the inciting incident for it. People tended to lash out against foreigners substantially more readily than they did starvation or tyranny.

One citizen after another, regardless of rank, they all gave the same responses. Either nothing of any real substance or a direction towards Finlay himself. King Galukar grew angrier by the answer, his blood pooling with rage intensely enough that it actually showed beneath his bronzed skin. Silenos found himself wondering whether the giant oaf might burst a blood vessel, if it continued. Found himself hoping he did. Such a thing would be trivially healed, and unspeakably amusing.

Silenos’ own annoyance mounted as they continued their questioning, eventually becoming clear that there was only one man they had anything to gain by investigating. He asked, more specifically, about Finlay.

Arion had gotten a cheap inn, given the state of their funds, and found himself mortified to realise that it was striking him as some sort of luxury. The walls were thin, and marked by numerous holes. Floors rough, unvarnished wood. The beds were two in number and rickety, with the ceiling being low and the entire place smelling faintly of human flesh and alcohol.

But it was not the wilds. Not a charred wasteland of black, Necromantic dirt. The ceiling was better coverage than unbound sky, the walls were better windbreaks than empty air. Good God, he was going native. What a revolting thought.

The Necromancer, Sphera, was with him still of course. Arion didn’t intend to let her out of his sight for an instant, leaving her bound against the far wall, glaring back at him as he glared likewise. She was powerful, he had to admit. For a woman.

No, just powerful in general. The more Arion actually saw of women in the wilds, the more sceptical he found himself of how the other magi regarded them. If nothing else there were exceptions to the general rule, and he was holding one of them prisoner. A dangerous exception.

She was older than him by at least a few years, and as far as Arion could tell her talent was superior to Walriq’s. The difference wasn’t small, either. In raw power alone she was likely the equal of a lesser Hero, more than a match for Arion’s own. She was bound tightly, though, carefully immobilised and kept from conjuring shadestuff to free herself. More importantly, she was a Necromancer without reanimates. Arion had already seen just how a fight like that went when his master spent those days struggling so dangerously while weaponizing his Fleshcrafting.

“Thinking of how you’ll fight back if I escape?”

Her question came abrupt and staggering as a cavalry charge, whipping Arion out of his own mind and back to the present. He turned, sharply, to the Necromancer, half expecting to find her already free and readying an attack. Instead she remained as she was, bound to one corner, but smiling now. Looking altogether too confident for his liking.

“Why would I bother thinking about that?” Arion shot back. “You don’t have a chance against me and we both know it.”

He briefly considered breaking an arm or leg, to make sure, but decided against it. The noise, and the injury following the noise, might attract undue attention. Even in a city not actively filled with the enemy, caution was needed.

“I had a chance against your master.” She grinned back, speaking of her killing the great windmage as if…Well, as if it were the killing of the great windmage. “And I didn’t have a hard time tricking you about it, either. Dead to a heart attack mid-fuck, eh?”

Arion felt his jaw tighten with rage. Hers, meanwhile, grew lax with amusement.

“Oh! You didn’t recognise me? Come now, how little attention do you pay? No wonder you magi never get anything done, too busy thinking about sex and food to even notice what’s right beneath your nose, hm?”

Arion couldn’t know whether she was telling the truth or not. He didn’t remember the girl he’d found standing over his dead master, couldn’t even recall the colour of her skin or hair. For all he knew, the Necromancer really was telling the truth.

“Couldn’t think of a better way to get him alone than by fucking him?” He noted, deciding to be safe and simply turn things around on her. “A woman is still a woman, I suppose.”

He saw the Necromancer’s eyes narrow for a moment, turning jagged with hatred at his jab. Arion found that interesting. He’d struck a nerve, it seemed. She didn’t let it remain exposed for long.

“And how about the woman in your group, that Paladin. Still held captive by Venka, I’d guess?”

Arion’s blood curdled as she threw the verbal lance his way, feeling it sink in deep. Her smile only widened at the sight.

“Oh, yes, I know it was him she got snatched up by. You’ve heard of his reputation of course, yes?”

“I have.” Arion snapped, but she just kept on talking as if he’d said nothing at all.

“Cruelty is the main thing. Though having met him I wouldn’t say he’s exactly cruel. More…Hard, sharp. Doesn’t take uncooperative prisoners lightly. He does his duty in the hopes of one day ascending in rank as reward, and won’t let anything get in the way of that. Your friend should be fine as long as she gives him what he wants to know during interrogation.”

He wanted to vomit more with each new word past her lips.

“We’ll get her back.” He snapped, glaring at the woman, feeling his hatred foam over. “Or she’ll escape, Ensharia’s smarter than you’d believe. She-”

“-She is not getting past several thousand orcs and the most gifted fencer currently alive.” The Necromancer grinned. “But it’s adorable that you have so much faith in her. Perhaps it will prove well placed, if she’s particularly resourceful she might make it out of whatever cell she’s in and manage to get killed in the attempt of fleeing by her guards, rather than strapped down and peeled like a grape for information.”

Arion was storming towards her before he knew it, hand raised and cocked back in a fist, ready to strike her. He was interrupted by the door’s opening.

Silenos Shaiagrazni strode into the room as if his every step were something to be celebrated, and behind him King Galukar ducked down beneath the low frame to squeeze in after. The door closing behind them, both men affixed Arion and the Necromancer with thoughtful looks. Galukar seemed approving of what he’d been about to do, Silenos indifferent. Neither bothered to remark upon it.

“I have decided upon our next move.” Silenos declared, moving to the single chair resting against a wall in their room, then pausing. He remained standing rather than taking it. Arion would have done the same, the caster was far heavier than he looked, and such a fragile thing would surely have perished beneath his weight.

“What is it?” He asked his master, eager for the distraction of planning.

“We require the aid of this city’s Governor.” Silenos explained. “And to get that we need an audience. If an audience of thanks and gratitude on his part, then so much the better. We are going to break his son out of prison.”