“We cannot leave Ma’aseh Merkavah just yet.”
I fucking knew it. Being in close proximity to a crown for long periods of time rots the brain.
Oak could not believe what he was hearing and was about to protest, when Ur-Namma lifted a stick thin, shaking hand and spoke: “I know your heart warns against dallying in Ma’aseh Merkavah but hear me out first. You have been a Warlock for about a week, correct?”
Oak nodded. “Yes, that’s about right.”
“Let us look at what we are working with, then. I was mighty at my full strength, but my long imprisonment has left my body broken and my soul brittle. It will take a long time for me to recover,” Ur-Namma said, looking at his own skeletal hand. “You, on the other hand, are a Warlock, but a very new and inexperienced one. Every elf under Yam-Nahar’s thrall could kill us both in a blink of an eye. We need time that we do not have.
“Eventually my escape will be noticed and my jailors will do something, either because their master’s orders demand it or for no other reason than to save their own pathetic hides from the dragon’s fury. Even worse, one day in the not so distant future, Yam-Nahar will wake from his slumber and no one can tell how he will react to my escape. All of this might take years, but years alone are not enough to bridge the gap between us and the dragon.”
“Ashmedai is no fool,” Oak replied. “He thinks we have a chance, and I believe him.”
“I did not say our task is hopeless, nor will I give up in the face of a challenge. Believe me, I have dreamed of revenge for three hundred years,” Ur-Namma said, eyes blazing with barely controlled wrath. “We need something that can give us an edge and I have something in mind.
“My sister Aoibheann had no equal in the use of magic among the tribes. It was no coincidence that out of all Elven mages, Yam-Nahar approached her to help him call Mother’s flesh to creation. The dragon and his minions have surely picked her palaces and places of study clean by now, but she had a secret vault in the imperial library and as far as I know, Yam-Nahar never learned of it.”
“That could be useful or it might not help in the slightest, depending on what is inside,” Oak replied. “Why are you so certain it would be wise to risk life and limb to set out and retrieve the vault’s contents?”
“My sister liked to collect rituals. So, there is a small vault in the imperial library, filled with rituals collected by the greatest Elven mage to ever live. And I know the password,” Ur-Namma said with vicious glee.
Oak smiled. Things were finally looking up.
***
Come morning, Oak, Geezer and Ur-Namma broke their fast and got ready to leave the palace behind them. Since Ur-Namma moved with the pace of a snail and could not climb anything higher than a doorstep without help, Oak left him in Geezer’s care, and went searching through the palace for a set of clothes for the elf.
He eventually located the servants' quarters and found a set of brown robes and a pair of sandals inside a broken cabinet.
I really need to know how someone made clothes and footwear that have not degraded to scraps after sitting in the dark for three hundred years, Oak thought as he marveled at his findings. The cobbler’s and seamstresses back home would kill me for the knowledge and then kill me again when people would not need new clothes or shoes nearly as often as before.
Since Oak had no desire to lose his life or destroy the livelihoods of tradesmen and women, he let the matter rest. Some stones were better left unturned.
Ur-Namma was delighted with Oaks’ findings and eagerly changed clothes with his help. Food, water and a good night’s rest had done wonders for the elf’s disposition and constitution, but he was still as weak as a kitten and could not walk unaided.
Despite his physical condition, Ur-Namma attached the longsword to his belt and would not hear it when Oak offered to carry it for him. “Will the sword be lighter tomorrow if I give it to you now? No? I thought so,” Ur-Namma said, and gritted his needle-sharp teeth together as the weight of the weapon settled on his hip.
Oak let the matter drop, since arguing with the ancient elf was an exercise in futility. He packed his rucksack and checked his own weapons before he carried Ur-Namma back to the palaces’ ballroom. Soon their merry company stood once again in front of the black stone pillar that had been Ur-Namma’s prison for centuries.
“Wait,” Ur-Namma said, when Oak was about to walk past the pillar. “Set me down next to the pillar. There is one thing I must do before we leave.”
“What are you up to?” Oak asked as he lowered the elf on the ground next to the pillar. “Wanting to say goodbye to your former accommodations before we depart?”
“I would spit on your boots if it wouldn’t be a waste of good moisture,” Ur-Namma warned. “No, I am going to cast a spell. Do you have anything small but durable, maybe a coin?”
“I did not know you knew magic,” Oak said, as he checked his jacket pockets for anything useful. He found a coin and handed it to Ur-Namma.
Ur-Namma held the coin in his shaking left hand and pressed his right hand against the cool stone surface.
“I’m no magical savant. I mostly focused on martial pursuits, but I have dabbled in the art. That is the advantage of a lifespan measured in millennia,” the elf said and closed his eyes, face twitching as he focused.
Oak shuffled around while nothing happened. “Is it working, or are you having performance anxiety? I could go to another room, if you like?” he offered with a grin on his face.
Ur-Namma opened his left eye and glared at Oak. “How is it possible that of the two of you, the hellhound is more well behaved?”
Geezer sat down next to the elf and looked very proud of himself. He panted happily, tongue lolling out of his mouth. The dog was a sucker for compliments.
“I am constructing the flimsiest string of magic I can produce and tying that string to a spell around this coin. When the string breaks, so will the coin,” Ur-Namma explained. “This way we will know when Namtar, Dumuzi and Gestianna figure out I have escaped, since even a cursory examination of the pillar will instantly shatter the string.”
Oak let out a whistle. “Smart.”
“If I was incapable of impressing a northern savage like you, I would jump down the slope to my death the first chance I got,” Ur-Namma grumbled and went back to casting.
“Nice to know you hold me in such high esteem,” Oak said and bowed at the waist. “I will await your continued attempts to keep me awed.”
Ur-Namma shook his head in disgust.
Finally, after a considerable amount of face crunching and muttering, Ur-Namma finished his spell. A small hole formed in the center of the coin. The elf threaded a twine through it, tied the ends together, and placed the coin around his neck. He saw Oak looking at him and defended himself: “You try not casting anything for centuries and see how well your first attempt goes. I am a bit out of practice.”
“I am sure you are grandpa,” Oak said and picked Ur-Namma up, while the elf called him names and insulted his ancestry in response.
They decided to leave through the front door of the palace and climb back down through the gardens. The dead trees and wooden palisades would serve as good resting places as they climbed down towards the edge of the palace grounds.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
When Ur-Namma laid eyes on Ma’aseh Merkavah and saw the city spreading out below and above him, he cried out quietly.
“Oh, how it hurts to see the jewel of the Empire mutilated so. All of it, every life, every great work and achievement, lost to the megalomania of my sister and the malevolence of Yam-Nahar.” Ur -Namma blanched. “And a testament to my failures.”
Then he fell quiet and Oak could not get a word out of him, as the old elf stared at the madhouse they would be descending into with un-blinking eyes.
Oak had made a harness for Ur-Namma out of old curtains and he wrapped it tightly around the skeletal elf. This finally roused the elf from his thoughts.
“Remind me, how many times did you almost fall to your death while climbing up here?” Ur-Namma asked.
“For all our sakes, let's not start reminiscing,” Oak said.
He attached the other end of the harness to himself and got ready to start the journey down the slope. In short order, he had a dog and an elf hanging under him as he slowly made his way downwards through the dead garden. It was slow going, but the trees were evenly placed, and they held the weight without complaint.
Once Oak got them out of the palace grounds, they began moving from building to building. Since he could lower Geezer and Ur-Namma one by one from room to room inside the houses and apartments, their progress downwards was fairly safe, but much slower than climbing up or down a street like he had done when it had been just him and Geezer.
Oak was stretching his enhanced hearing to the maximum, and paid close attention to every returning echo sent out by their little group, but he heard and saw nothing. No spider disturbed them and no centipede showed its wriggling little legs. Geezer was alert as well, turning his head this way and that. The hellhound had taken a liking to Ur-Namma and clearly realized the elf’s weak physical condition.
They stopped to eat and drink at the same temple of the Seraphim Oak and Geezer had used as a resting place on their way up. Ur-Namma ate mechanically, staring glumly at the mural painting depicting the Night of Fratricide and the death of the Morningstar.
Geezer had set himself between Ur-Namma and the nearest door. The hellhound chewed on a piece of corned beef, and stared at the open doorway, ready to spring into action if the need arose.
It was very cute.
“So, how are we going to get close to the Imperial Library?” Oak asked between bites of hardtack. “It’s near the center of the city and no doubt the streets over there are filled to the brim with all kinds of monsters. We might even run into one of those elves if we are truly unlucky. Or a leshen might eat us. When it comes to gruesome deaths, we are spoiled for choice, each option more horrifying than the last.”
Ur-Namma nodded. “It is as you say. Yam-Nahar must keep some forces close to the ziggurat to guard him in his sleep, which makes approaching above ground undoubtedly a fool's errand. I would only take us through there if we had no other option.”
“Any ideas? Oak asked. “Since this is your home turf, I am trusting you to have a plan.”
“Yes,” Ur-Namma responded.
Oak grunted. “Are you going to share those ideas with me anytime soon or are you going to keep sulking?”
Ur-Namma sighed and looked away. “I am sorry. My conduct is unbecoming of a member of the tribe of Shara. We will use the sewers.”
Oak felt a bad feeling crawling up his spine. “The sewers, you say?”
Ur-Namma waved away Oak’s concerns with a shaky hand that did not fill Oak with confidence. “There is no need to worry. The imperial sewer system is a magnificent feat of engineering, and I ordered it built with ongoing repairs in mind. There are walkways inside the sewer system, so we won't have to wade through centuries old muck.
“I am much more worried about the things living in the muck,” Oak muttered.
***
“Something is following us,” Oak whispered. They had made their way down the slope to flat ground without incident, but shortly afterwards, their luck had run out in the fog. “I hear footsteps behind us.”
Ur-Namma was leaning against Oak, hand on his shoulder as they walked forward. The City of God felt less hostile, with Ur-Namma by his side. The elf stumbled and struggled, but his feet never snagged on a protruding cobble nor did a loose rock trip him. Even after three hundred years of malice and hate, the city remembered one of its founders and eased his way.
Geezer was circling anxiously, taking point and then dropping behind to watch their back.
“We continue forward. If it keeps coming, we either race towards the entrance to the sewers and hope it does not follow us inside or we choose a location and face it,” Ur-Namma said, gritting his teeth with effort, snarling with every laborious footstep.
Oak felt cold sweat running down his back. “Fuck me. I don’t think we are going to race anywhere.”
Ur-Namma panted for breath, the weak grip of his hand barely holding onto Oak.“You might be right,” he said. “There is a cathedral up ahead. Get us inside. There will be room for you to maneuver and the sound of the fight won’t travel so far if the battle takes place inside thick stone walls.”
Nothing for it. Like the old man used to say, if a task is unpleasant, waiting won’t make it any better.
He grunted and picked up the pace, snatching Ur-Namma on top of his shoulder and carrying the elf through the cobblestone streets. The sound of footsteps behind them continued, but it was too far away for the Ears of Amdusias to show him anything.
As quickly and silently as he could, Oak ran along the fog-covered streets, towards the towers of the cathedral ahead. Geezer followed right behind them like a shadow, red eyes gleaming in the dark.
The street opened into a square, and Oak ran right through the middle of it at the large black doors of the cathedral, throwing caution to the wind. It was an imposing building with lofty towers and sharp angles all over. He opened the double doors and stepped inside.
“Leave the door open, we want it to follow us,” Ur-Namma whispered from his shoulder.
Oak did not argue and left the open door as it was. He walked up a small set of stairs to the entrance hall and through a short hallway into the main hall of the cathedral. It was a staggeringly beautiful place of worship, but Oak had no time to appreciate the columns, frescos and intricate decorations. He stomped down the main aisle and brought Ur-Namma right at the altar, where he plopped the elf down and set down his rucksack.
“You look after those supplies,” Oak said and turned towards the entrance, drawing his falchion.
Geezer sat down in front of Ur-Namma, looking worriedly in the same direction.
Waiting for something bad to happen was a skill Oak had honed during the war, so he did not fidget or pace around, even though he really wanted to. I’m still breathing, he thought, trying to calm his frayed nerves. Still breathing. Sweat gathered in his palms and he wiped it on his trousers.
The footsteps were getting closer now. It felt like the shadows of the cathedral were deepening and closing in on Oak, trapping him to a waking nightmare.
“I hate feeling like I’m being hunted,” Oak said.
“Cavalry?” Ur-Namma asked.
“Oh yeah. Our side lost a battle. We lost thrice as many men while we ran away as we did in the battle itself, riders with lances hot on our heels,” Oak answered.
Ur-Namma nodded, eyes unblinking, staring at the entrance to the cathedral. “Only has to happen once for it to leave an impression. Am I right?”
Oak laughed, but there was a nervous edge to it. Amusement and anxiety warred for dominance inside him. He wanted to laugh freely, but felt trapped by the iron grip of the past. “I pity every sorry bastard who has gone through it more than once.” He shook himself. “I would give my firstborn for a tankard of ale right about now.”
Ur-Namma lifted an eyebrow. “I was under the impression you had no children?”
“I could always father one just to get that tankard,” Oak muttered.
The sound of something hard slapping the cobblestones with a steady, unyielding beat reached the steps of the cathedral and someone entered, closing the doors behind it shut with a bang. The sound echoed through the cathedral and it had a sense of finality to it.
With an unhurried gait, a large figure wearing the black robes of a priest stepped inside the main hall of the cathedral. Even hunched over, their hunter was almost as tall as Oak, and the figure had an impressive executioner’s axe on their shoulder. Two blue balls of fire stared at Oak from the bare eye sockets of a skeletal face, locked in a rictus grin.
“Ur-Namma, what is that thing?” Oak asked.
“Hmm. Some type of revenant, If I am not mistaken,” Ur-Namma said, looking at the figure with a curious expression on his face. “Nice to see there is someone in Ma’aseh Merkavah who resembles a skeleton even more than I do.”
The revenant lowered their hood, revealing a gleaming white skull and pointed at Oak with a finger that had been stripped of flesh. “Slave of the demon. Can you hear it? The bell tolls for thee.” Its voice was like the rasping gurgle of a dying man’s last breath.
Oak hid a shiver and answered: “Ain’t no bells tolling here, corpse. Go back to your rest.”
The revenant shook its head. “My mausoleum can wait until my fingers grasp thine bleeding heart. I will make a gift of it to the Seraphim, heretic.” The walking corpse stalked forward, axe loosely held at its side.
“Oh, fuck me,” Oak said.