Chapter 12 - The Bargain

Malfus stared at the Inquisitor with as much joy as a greedy merchant opening the door to one of the King’s tax collectors. The crazed, zealous look in his eye only magnified by the blood covering him. Ugh… of course he survived. I survive a damn giant just to end up back in the black-gloved hands of the Inquisition. I swear, I’ve got as much luck as a dwarf at an orc family reunion. “Why, hello Inquisitor. I can’t begin to tell you what a relief it is to see your face again, and alive to boot. I must admit, for a while there, I feared for the worst.” Malfus said.

“Save your insipid sarcasm for another time. I am not in the mood.” The Inquisitor said. “I came when I saw the tower leaning, but it collapsed before I made it.” Then he looked at the pile of bricks, all that remained of the western tower. “I must admit, I am relieved to see you are still alive so that my duty to Vesenia can continue. She must have seen fit to spare you.” The Inquisitor said.

“No.” Malfus said emphatically. “I’m alive thanks to these soldiers. We all are. They just killed a bloody giant. Stopped it from turning the rest of the fort into a pile of rubble.”

The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow as he turned to the two soldiers, pausing as a look of recognition crossed his face. “You were the soldier who escorted my prisoner and I from earlier.” Inquisitor Deza said, then looked them both up and down. “The two of you managed to kill a giant?”

“Yes, Inquisitor sir. B-but it wasn’t just us,” Morten stammered, “there were others too, but…” Morten looked back at the pile of bricks that would now serve as their grave marker.

The Inquisitor took one more look at the pile of rubble then turned to the two soldiers. “For ensuring the safety of my prisoner, I thank you, the Inquisition honors you, and the blind goddess blesses you. Both of you, and those that gave their lives in her service.” Your hollow thanks won’t bring his friends back. Only I can do that.

“T-thanks.” Morten said, looking wistfully back at the tower.

“How did you manage the task?” The Inquisitor asked, as he stared at the pile of bricks.

Finn piped up, “We had a ballista that we got from the dwarv-,” but Morten elbowed him in the side before he could finish.

“A ballista, Inquisitor.” Morten answered. “Sent from the Duke of Austerland himself, the finest engineering Austerland has to offer. At such close range, not even a giant could withstand it.”

The Inquisitor nodded, then turned back to Malfus. “Come necromancer. We must go find Commander Peshka. I must find another place to lock you up until this is all over.”

“Oh joy, can I request a bigger room this time? One that’s a little less drafty this time, perhaps?”

“Silence necromancer.” The Inquisitor snapped. “The sooner we get through this, the sooner we can get back on the road to Castillea.”

“Of course, Inquisitor. Anything you say.” Malfus raised his shackled hands to his mouth and made a mock movement, like he was locking his lips with an invisible key, then threw it over his shoulder. The Inquisitor glowered at Malfus.

“We were on our way back to the front gates too, er… what’s left of them. I’m sure Commander Peshka will be there.” Morten said.

“Lead on soldier.” The Inquisitor said, his voice as welcoming as an empty coffin.

******

All that remained of the fires were a few errant wisps of smoke that still rose high in the air, carrying the pleasant smell of wood smoke with them. Reminds me of the smell of cooking, and the passingly bad food of the magic academy. Oh, what I would give to be back there, a chance to start this all over. I’d try twice as hard studying in Madame Dis’elauxe’s classes on illusion magic. I should have never picked up that black book. Should have left that tome on necromancy well-enough alone in the restricted section. But deep down, Malfus knew the truth of it. He had failed miserably in the academy. None of the other eight schools of magic had come naturally to him at all. He had to work twice as hard as the others to even make half of their progress. It was just his luck that the only spec of talent he had been given in life, was in the one school of magic that was outlawed and punishable by death.

A horse thundered past, breaking Malfus out of his reverie. He looked over and saw several horses galloping around the camp as the remaining, uninjured men tried to chase them down and catch them. The horses ran around, excited for the exercise and free rein, oblivious to the surrounding horror. They seemed to be a making a game of it, running around trying to evade capture. Malfus could empathize with them, already envious of their freedom, even if it was bound to be short lived.

The cries of the wounded and not quite dead carried through the air, growing louder the closer they got to the front gate. A soldier screamed as two others carried him past. Blood was still spurting from his leg, which was missing from the knee down. Malfus saw the uninjured, or the ones that could still at least walk on their own, were busy at work separating the wounded from the dead.

Corpses were still strewn everywhere, along with bits of armor and errant weapons. There were corpses of men killed with swords, hacked apart with axes, shot full of arrows, and others too disfigured to tell what had felled them. The corpses of the men were being lain out in neat rows off to the side, while the gnolls were being heaped into a pile by the gates. Any gnoll that moved or showed any sign of life met a quick and sharp end before being thrown onto the pile. The soldiers’ rage had burned out now, and they killed the surviving gnolls like it was little more than a business, making quick work of it before dragging them over to the corpse pile.

Malfus looked over at the wreckage of the front gates and swallowed. A gigantic boulder rested triumphantly atop the pile of bricks. The massive, reinforced wooden doors that had opened for them earlier in the night were little more than pieces of kindling now. Crumbling sections of the wall to the left and right still stood, but the area around the gate was only a pile of rubble, just like the tower. Malfus was no military expert, but he knew a fort without a gate would not stand for very long.

Ahead of them, Malfus saw Commander Peshka standing next to First Sergeant Goren, surveying the ruined gate. First Sergeant Goren had to bellow for his orders to be heard over the cries of the wounded.

“Well, this is a fine fucking mess.” Commander Peshka muttered to himself as he looked at the wreckage. Men gathered around the massive rock, discussing how to even begin moving something so heavy.

“Ahem…” The Inquisitor cleared his throat.

“Ah, Inquisitor… just what I needed right now.” Peshka muttered under his breath, but loud enough for Malfus to hear. “I see you survived the attack… and your prisoner, too.” Peshka looked over at Malfus, a slight glimmer in his eyes that didn’t go unnoticed by Malfus. Although, he wasn’t sure if it was excitement that he was still alive, or just the glassy eyes of a drunk. “I saw the tower had collapsed and assumed the worst for your prisoner.”

“Of course, we survived, Commander. I told you that Vesenia would protect her faithful subjects.” The Inquisitor said, then looked over at Malfus. “And those awaiting her righteous justice.” Yes… unfortunately. I still wonder if I should have jumped out of the hole in the tower while I still had the chance.

“Yes, well…” Commander Peshka looked around at the rows of dead soldiers. “Pity that she didn’t tend to all of those in her flock.”

“Sacrifices must be made for the greater good, Commander.” The Inquisitor waved his hand toward the pile of gnoll corpses to the side of the gates. “The gnolls certainly fared worse than your soldiers.”

A soldier stood next to the pile of gnoll corpses. He had just doused them in lamp oil and was fumbling with a flint and steel. Sparks flashed to life as he scraped the steel against the flint.

“Give it a wait on that, will you?” Commander Peshka called out to the soldier behind him.

The soldier gave him a strange look. “They’ll start smelling if we don’t light them.”

“Dammit man! Just wait on that, I said!” Commander Peshka growled, then clutched at his stomach.

“Yes Commander.” The soldier said, shrugging his shoulders. Then he walked off to help the other soldiers with the fallen.

Peshka turned back to the Inquisitor. “Men these days… no respect for authority.”

“I find I seldom have that problem, Commander.” The Inquisitor said coldly. “Perhaps a tighter fist will instill more discipline.”

“Yes…” Commander Peshka said, his voice trailing off, then he raised a red, bushy eyebrow as he saw Private Morten standing behind the Inquisitor.

“Private Morten, didn’t see you there lad.” Commander Peshka turned to him, then looked around. “Where is Sergeant Donovan? Where are the others?”

“Dead sir. Sergeant Donovan, Corporal Heimrich, and Big- er… Private Duncan.” Morten hung his head. “Private Finn and I were the only survivors. But… we managed to kill one of the giants, sir.”

Commander Peshka raised both eyebrows this time. “Was that what that was over there? You two are damn heroes! Both deserve bloody medals after this is all over.” Commander Peshka looked distantly at the western tower.

“It was Corporal Heimrich, sir. If anyone deserves a medal, it’s him.” Morten said wistfully.

“I’ll get a detail together later to go search the rubble for their bodies.” First Sergeant Goren grunted, mumbling mostly to himself.

The Inquisitor stepped forward. “Yes… and with the tower gone. I’ll need a new place to lock up my prisoner.” The Inquisitor snapped, then glared at Malfus.

“The western tower had the only…” First Sergeant Goren started, but Commander Peshka cut him off, waving his arms in the air. “No, no, no, don’t worry! I know just the place. Follow me, Inquisitor. Goren, come with me.”

“I should really finish getting a count of the wounded…” First Sergeant Goren looked back at the bodies lying in neat rows.

“Nonsense. There will be plenty of time for that later. Come along. Morten, Finn, you too.”

*******

“Here we are, Inquisitor.” Commander Peshka opened the door in front of him with a loud creak.

Malfus’s eyes had to adjust to the gloom as he stepped into the dark room. The two soldiers held up their torches to help pierce through the darkness of the large room. Ah, hello darkness. My old friend. At least it will be easier to get some shuteye in here.

Clusters of dusty wooden boxes and barrels filled most of the room, while wooden racks lined the walls. Most of them were empty, but there was the occasional polearm, sword, mace, or crossbow scattered amongst the racks.

First Sergeant Goren closed the door behind them with a resounding slam that echoed throughout the room.

“This was the old armory, but now it’s just become a graveyard for all things forgotten.” Commander Peshka said. I wonder if it will become my graveyard. Guess it’s as good as any other.

“This will scarcely suffice as a holding cell.” Inquisitor Deza said, looking around at the racks of weapons. Not like I can swing any of those brutish metal implements around. Certainly not with my hands chained together.

“No, no, this room just off to the side here.” Peshka had to suck in his gut as he moved between the narrow gaps of the boxes until he made it to a reinforced wooden door. Then he reached up and took a key off a leather cord he kept around his neck to unlock it.

The door creaked open, revealing a dark stone stairway that led to a room below. Peshka grabbed the torch from Finn and then held it up. “My own personal wine cellar. Well, used to be. Almost bone dry now, unfortunately.” Commander Peshka said, a tinge of sadness in his voice. “It’s not as secure as the iron cell doors in the tower, but it does have a door with a lock and there is nowhere to go. I think those are the two basic requirements for a holding cell. I believe it should be suitable for your prisoner, but you are, of course, welcome to check it out for yourself…” Peshka gestured towards the stairs with his hand.

“Of course, I will need to inspect his cell.” Inquisitor Deza snapped.

“Be my guest.” Peshka said, stepping out of the way.

The Inquisitor stepped forward to stand in the doorway and looked down the dark stairwell, then began walking down the steps with Commander Peshka following after him. Malfus followed the two of them, and he could hear the big man’s metal armor clattering right behind him. You big brute, do you have to walk so damn close?

This room was much smaller, crowded once the other two soldiers came down the stairs to join them as well. It was cool and damp, and there was an odor that was somewhere between mildew and sour grapes that permeated the entirety of the room. A few wooden barrel-kegs were inset on one side of the wall, while rows of racks for holding wine bottles lined the rest. They were mostly empty, with less than half a dozen bottles left on one lonely shelf. There was a much larger pile of empty glass bottles in one corner of the room.

“I guess this will have to suffice for now if there are no other options,” the Inquisitor’s eyes drifted across the few remaining bottles on the shelves, “but first we will have to remove whatever wine or alcohol may be left.” He said with disgust. Like a rain cloud on a sunny day or a wet fart in a new pair of trousers, you sure know how to suck the fun out of anything.

“That won’t be a problem, Inquisitor. I’ll be taking the rest of the bottles with me. Pretty sure I’ll need a drink after this.” Peshka said, grabbing one of the bottles.

“After what, Commander?” The Inquisitor turned to Peshka, but Peshka ignored him, just looked right past him and then made a slight, barely perceptible nod of his head.

A metal fist came out of nowhere, hitting the Inquisitor in the back of the head. The Inquisitor’s hat fell off, and he stumbled forward, grabbing at the back of his head with one hand. He started to turn around, but then First Sergeant Goren hit him again, this time even harder. Inquisitor Deza tottered on his feet, then fell backwards. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you Inquisitor.” Goren said in a low rumbling voice, then caught the Inquisitor in his big arms as gently as a mother ogress, before he fell to the ground. Then he lay the Inquisitor down on the stone floor.

Malfus, Finn, and Morten all stared at the unfolding scene in complete disbelief. Well now… looks like my luck might be about to change after all.

“W-what have you done?” Finn stammered in disbelief. “Striking an Inquisitor?! The Inquisition will execute you, they’ll execute all of us!”

“I’d rather be alive to deal with the consequences of this later than have all of us dead because of this zealot.” Commander Peshka said. “Now, let’s go upstairs. We have much to discuss, necromancer.”

“Wait, his key!” Malfus said, holding up his manacles and shaking them.

“Where is it?” Goren asked.

“Around his neck.” Malfus pointed.

“Best take that sword of his too, big man.” Commander Peshka said.

Goren reached down and unclasped the Inquisitor’s sword from his belt, then grabbed the leather cord around his neck.

“Unhhh… what’s…” The Inquisitor groaned suddenly, reaching for Goren’s gauntleted wrist.

“Shhhhh…. Sleep now Inquisitor.” Goren hit him again, this time with the pommel of the Inquisitor’s own sword. There was a dull smack as his head hit the floor, and then his black-gloved hand fell limply to the ground. Goren cut the leather cord with the sword, then pulled the key free.

“Come, we best clear out of here before he wakes back up. I’m sure he’ll be as cordial as a nest of hornets when he does.” Commander Peshka started to head back toward the stairs. Malfus followed Goren and the others back up the stairs. Then Peshka closed the door behind them, turning the key until a hollow click echoed throughout the storeroom.

“Hope you’re making the right choice here, sir.” Goren said, tossing the Inquisitor’s key to the Commander and then looking Malfus up and down. “I better go get back to the men and get a count of the wounded.” Then he headed back outside to the courtyard.

Malfus stood there watching Commander Peshka as he held the brass key in his open palm, feeling the weight of it. Hope you aren’t having second thoughts now.

“Am I mad for freeing a necromancer? Trading one evil to fight another?”

“Oh, we’re all only a finger’s breadth away from madness, Commander, but I’m pretty sure we are locking up the real madman now.” Malfus nodded toward the door behind him. “Is wanting to live madness?” Malfus asked.

“Never thought I would be getting a speech about the value of life from a necromancer.” Commander Peshka said dryly.

“Well, it looks like we’re well past the point of second thoughts.” Malfus said, looking back at the room where the now unconscious Inquisitor was lying.

“Well, I hope you’re up to the task necromancer. You’re right, we’re… committed now.” Peshka leaned over and unlocked Malfus’s manacles. Malfus could smell the alcohol on his breath.

The manacles fell from his wrists, clattering to the stone floor with a loud clang. Malfus tenderly rubbed at his wrists, covered in sores from where the metal had been digging into them for the last several weeks.

“So we have a deal, then? I assume you know what needs to be done?”

Malfus rolled his shoulders back, making his joints click and pop as he stretched his long, lean arms all the way out to his sides like a scarecrow. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to do that for?”

“Well necromancer?” Commander Peshka asked again, impatience brewing in his voice.

“Weeks!” Malfus said, rolling his shoulders backward. “We have a deal. Although, if I were you, I’d start thinking about what you will say to the rest of your men. Not all of them will be so open to see their comrades again. Even if they are there to save their lives.”

“Gods dammit, I need a drink.” Peshka growled, grabbing at his stomach. Morten and Finn looked at one another uneasily, neither sure what to say to that.

“Oh, it won’t be so bad. All the men have already given their lives to fight to protect the fort already. Just tell the men this is just giving their comrades-in-arms the opportunity to do it again.”

Commander Peshka’s blotchy red skin turned a few shades paler, and he grabbed at his stomach as it made an audible gurgle.

“I’ll need my effects before I can get started. Where was the Inquisitor keeping the rest of his equipment?” Malfus asked.

“I took the Inquisitor to Lieutenant Erickson’s old room. I can take you there.” Morten said.

“Alright. Private Morten go take the necromancer to his room. Private Finn, you stay here and guard this door. Make sure he doesn’t try anything… fishy.” Commander Peshka said, stroking his long mustache.

“Me?” Finn asked. “Why me?” But Commander Peshka was already walking away.

“This way.” Private Morten said. As Malfus followed the young soldier, a grin slowly spread across his face for the first time in weeks as he began to formulate a plan.