Only Villains Do That

Well, it was a good thing I’d stopped by Auldmaer’s place first. Our conversation had been so brief and pleasant it verged on forgettable; as Gizmit predicted, he was pleased by all my suggestions, and I was on my way to the Kingsguard’s HQ to drop in on Norovena in just a handful of minutes. Had I tried to do it the other way around and gotten Norovena’s surprise news first, I would have had to skip Auldmaer entirely in my rush over to the King’s Guild. It would’ve been nice if Gizmit could have warned me of these events so I had time to make something resembling a plan, but she’d been right that attempting to put surveillance around the adventurers was asking for disaster. The middle ring in general was a blind spot in my intelligence capability, at least until Gizmit had time to carefully build and extend her networks there.

As it was, I had to head over there in a rush, having done none of the preparation I feared would be necessary for this discussion, to find I was already too late.

“Gone?”

“Indeed, my lord,” replied the wizened old receptionist at the Guild, looking at me in that way underpaid retail veterans had which said my existence was a personal nuisance to him but fell just short of open rudeness. “Given recent events, Rhydion has moved out to secure the front. The rest of his party is preparing to join him.”

“Rest of his party? Where are they?”

“You are just in time, my lord,” he said, and I got the distinct impression he was disappointed that I wasn’t going to be disappointed. “Sister Dhinell and Master Harker are at this moment directing the last preparations before embarking. If their wagon has not yet left, it is being loaded in the wide alley just to the north of the Guild’s offices.”

“Perfect. Thank you kindly.”

He turned away without another word to talk to the next person waiting at the desk, and I strode for the door, Aster still on my heels.

“Somebody really needs to take that old coot down a peg,” she muttered.

“Now now, let’s not bully the victim, Aster. If I had to deal with half the idiots in a day he does, I’d be ten times as grumpy.”

“You are, anyway.”

“Exactly.”

Back outside, it was kind of impossible to miss the sight of a wagon being loaded with crates and barrels at the corner of the King’s Guild offices; I’d blown past it on the way in because we were coming from the opposite direction and I was in a rush to intercept Rhydion. Now we turned that way, stepping past the porters lifting the final loads into the wagon bed to where two people in much more expensive clothing were…I guess “supervising” would be one way to describe it.

“Well, look who it is,” Sister Dhinell greeted me coldly, folding her arms. “Come to serenade us, Lord Senji?”

“It’s Seiji.”

“I assure you I do not care. Kindly don’t block the wagon, we are about to embark.”

“Right, I heard your little zombie problem suddenly escalated. I need to speak with Rhydion about it.”

“Oh, now you want to speak with him?” she snapped, turning fully toward me and making fists at her sides, because nobody had explained to her that this posture makes a person look petty and impotent, not powerful. “After stringing him along, dragging us into your schemes and stubbornly refusing to contribute anything useful, you finally deign to show up after it’s already too late? There is the street that brought you, Lord Senji, and it works the same in both directions. Use it.”

“Aster, every time she deliberately gets my name wrong, punch her in the mouth.”

“I’m your bodyguard, Lord Seiji,” she said in a long-suffering tone. “My contract doesn’t extend to assaulting priestesses because your feelings are hurt. We can revisit the topic when you inevitably provoke her to go for your jugular.”

“I’m amazed someone who possesses even a basic degree of social piety can tolerate working for this man, Miss Delavada,” Sister Dhinell stated. “You should seek out better employment, for your own sake.”

Aster shrugged. “He pays well. And I like him better than most highborn.”

The priestess halted with her mouth open, apparently in the middle of screeching her next observation, and narrowed her eyes.

“All right, let’s not get too excited, Sister,” said her fellow supervisor. Rather than taking a conciliatory tone, he was openly amused by all this. “Rhydion still wants this guy; it’s not like we’ve found another Blessed with healing spells on Dount. Him being an asshole doesn’t change the situation, nor is it new. We’re kinda busy, though, Lord…Seiji? I’m sayin’ that right? Well, anyway, this is no time to chitchat. If you’re not interested in coming along to fight zombies, I’m afraid it’s gonna have to wait.”

I remembered this guy, now that I saw him again: lowborn, bushy mustache, carrying an artifact bow.

“I might be,” I said. “I’ll talk with Rhydion about it. At the very least, I have information about the undead which I’m sure he wants.”

“Oh, please,” Dhinell scoffed.

“Is it that there’s suddenly a lot of them on the move?” Harker asked dryly. “Because yeah, we’ve heard.”

“I spoke with the wolf tribe about—”

“The hell you did,” he brazenly interrupted me. “I’m the deep forest expert in this party, Lord Seiji. The wolf tribe talks to no one. They’re as unfriendly as the squirrels, and less polite about it.”

“Yeah, I got the impression they weren’t exactly sociable. Apparently matters are different when they’re fleeing their village and in need of my healing magic. Didn’t have much to trade except for information, but I listened to everything they had to say. It seemed pretty relevant.”

That finally brought the both of them up short. Dhinell and Harker exchanged a loaded look before returning their focus to me.

“So the zombies have gotten bad enough to drive the wolves out entirely?” he demanded.

“The way they described it, the zombies were just the last straw; they lost a lot to the Inferno and couldn’t properly defend their village anymore. Also, I got the impression the issue with the zombies wasn’t the threat of physical attack, but the fact that they’re moving heaps of rot and that spread disease.”

“Well, that’s certainly true,” the priestess grunted, folding her arms. “Even those not imbued with curses or magical plague are a health hazard just to have in the area. Hence Rhydion’s insistence on you, despite how gratuitously difficult you choose to make yourself.”

“You said the entire tribe was on the move?” Harker asked, now staring intently at me. “That could be a big problem. If they’re desperate enough to try moving into Clan territory it’ll be more of a mess than the zombies.”

See, this was why I’d wanted to have more prep time before initiating this conversation. Obviously, I did not want the King’s Guild investigating the beast tribes, and now I had to think of an answer on the fly which would both satisfy him as to the veracity of my account and not provoke too much interest in my own neck of the woods.

“Based on what they said, they know better than to provoke either the Fflyr or the Shylver-aligned tribes to the west. The wolves were going north to try their luck against the cats.”

“Is that going to be a problem?” Dhinell asked, directing herself to Harker rather than me.

“Mmm… Actually, that might be an ideal outcome,” he mused. “If the wolves and cats thin each other out, less trouble for everybody. Even better, it’ll give them no cause to be resentful of us over it. All the benefits of a suppressive action without the usual drawback. Hell, come to that, if the fighting is in the cats’ territory that’s perfect. The only Fflyr bordering them are Clan Yldyllich, and the Yldillich Clansguard is more than capable of putting down any stragglers who wander out of their turf. Their favorite thing is a chance to murder somebody; they’ll settle for beasts if they can’t get actual people. The Guild should probably send scouts to verify this, of course,” he amended, shooting me a look.

Well. Not ideal, but for spur of the moment, not bad. I could have my people pull back from wolf territory until the King’s Guild had satisfied themselves that the tribe was out of the area. Hopefully that would satisfy them; if they wanted to check further north, it shouldn’t be impossible to simulate the aftermath of clashes between the wolf and cat tribes.

The only diversion I’d made on the way to the Guild was to quickly update Gizmit and Zui and leave my more obvious artifacts—the boots and rapier—with them. I still had my ring and amulet, which were hidden under my clothes and thus shouldn’t be visible to Rhydion’s artifact sight, and more immediately, both of those highly competent women now knew where I was about to disappear to, which was the best I could hope for in terms of arranging support in the field. The logistics were going to be…tricky. With any luck, at least some of my people would discreetly turn up wherever I ended up going and I’d be able to relay orders back to North Watch.

Which raised its own hazards, but that was life.

“Later,” Dhinell said impatiently. “We need to join Rhydion with these supplies, and whatever those animals are doing isn’t half the threat the undead have become. Thank you for the information, Lord…Seiji, we will be sure to pass it along.”

“You didn’t think that was all of it, surely,” I said. “Would I really come all the way here just to say that?”

“I assure you,” she snapped, “Rhydion has the matter well in hand. Or he will, once his requested backup and supplies join him!”

“Oh, right, of course,” I said, nodding. “So you already know about the witch, then.”

Harker had been paying attention to me still, but at that he perked up noticeably, and Dhinell froze in the act of turning away to climb into the wagon. Slowly, with clear reluctance, she turned back to stare at me.

“I mean, obviously,” I said sweetly. “You’ve got your own expert on forest matters, and you’ve been investigating zombies for months. I’m just a guy who got the scoop from fleeing wolves. So of course you already know all about the witch who’s behind this.”

“What. Witch.” The grating quality of her voice was incredibly satisfying.

“I hate repeating myself,” I said. “You can listen in while I brief Rhydion. Who is…where, exactly?”

Dhinell started to swell up like an offended frog, and Harker cleared his throat.

“Why don’t you hop in, Lord Seiji, we’re going to join him anyway. Don’t give me that look, Sister, you know Rhydion will want him along, even if he’s exaggerating the value of his intel. And if we’ve gotta listen to this guy talk, I’d just as soon Rhydion be in charge of it rather than us.”

“Oh, very well,” she huffed, turning to clamber into the wagon. Harker folded down his hands at me, managing to make the gesture look openly sarcastic, and hopped up onto the driver’s seat.

“Hear that, Aster?” I said cheerfully, bounding up after the priestess. “We’re going for a ride!”

“One way or another,” she sighed, “it seems like we’re always getting taken for a ride.”

The long, awkwardly quiet (neither of our new allies seemed much inclined to talk to me) wagon ride gave me the opportunity to think, at least. It was enough to consider likely possibilities and courses of action and begin to lay some tentative plans. Frustratingly, this was no time to work on my spell combinations, despite my eagerness to see what Shock could add to the mix. Actually making those combinations was surprisingly tiring and took longer than it seemed like it should, definitely not something to attempt in the bumpy back of a wagon in the winter air, with a pair of suspicious allies of convenience watching me like hawks.

Soon. Hopefully.

We departed Gwyllthean and headed southwest. Along the route, khora plantations gave way to pastures, blanketed in snow and many with their livestock not in evidence; those who had access to barns were doubtless in them. Our destination wasn’t too far from the city, though it appeared to be the last stretch of cultivated land before the great western forest rose in a multicolored wall beyond the fields. It was also extremely obvious where we were going once it came into view, though the sight which greeted us was not what I had expected.

“What in the hell?”

Some of it, sure. In the area closest to the forest was a clear military camp; people in anime-looking outfits milled around, some carrying weapons with the telltale artifact glow. The handful of King’s Guild adventurers were keeping mostly to themselves around a bonfire, separate from the soldiers who were securing the outer border, some in the armor of the Kingsguard and others whose uniforms I didn’t recognize, probably the local Clansguard.

Another, smaller fire blazed some distance from them. As we drew close I realized the blackened shapes strewn beneath the flames were human—or humanoid—skeletons. Well, that was probably the safest way to deal with zombies, after all. There didn’t seem to be all that many of them, at least not enough to warrant this heavy a response.

Still, all that was more or less what I’d expected when Captain Norovena had described the response to undead activity. It was the other camp that drew most of my attention.

Well, for a given value of “camp.” “Fairground” might have been a better description.

In the near distance a towering manor stood atop a hill, built around enormous pieces of khora that made it look like a huge seashell. A village encircled its outer walls, apparently all the way around but not more than two or three houses deep at any point save along the main road approaching the manor’s gates.

Between us and the village, a field had been mostly cleared of snow and a profusion of brightly-colored tents and pavilions had been erected. Cheerful bonfires blazed merrily at multiple points, the smells of scented asauthec and cooking food wafted through the air, and there were even musicians playing sprightly tunes. Expensively-dressed highborn wandered about, while various servants scurried around them.

All this was ludicrous enough, but even worse, the biggest concentration of the watching nobility were milling around uncomfortably near the military camp, where the zombies were burning. It was clear what they had come to see.

“It’s winter, my lord,” Harker said in a low, sardonic drawl. “An early winter, at that. The highborn are positively starved for entertainment—which, unlike the normal kind of starved that happens to other people, is a big enough problem to demand immediate action. What’s more interesting than an outbreak of undead? Looks like this is shaping up to be the social event of the year.”

My god, rich people are ridiculous.

“Mind your tone, and your place,” Sister Dhinell growled. “It is not for the likes of you to question the actions of your betters, Master Harker.”

“Question?” His tone was almost offensively mild. “I don’t recall asking a question. Merely explained to our foreign friend, here, what should be obvious to the likes of you and me. Paranoia is a sin, Sister. Are we not to trust that the Goddess has all things in hand?”

Entertaining as this was—and oh, the look on Dhinell’s face was priceless—I had more important shit to do.

“All right! Well, thanks for the lift. I’m sure you guys can unpack without my help.”

I hopped out of the back of the still-moving wagon, followed immediately by Aster and no commentary from the other two. Whatever they thought about being ditched, I suspected they weren’t unhappy to be free of my company for at least a little while. In the meantime, I had spotted my actual reason for coming to this godforsaken place.

It was impossible to miss Rhydion under any circumstances, between that plate armor which not only glowed to my artifact vision but always seemed to shine as if every centimeter was freshly buffed, and the striking red-and-gold Convocation tabard he wore over it. Currently he was standing near the zombie fire, speaking to a middleborn woman in adventurer-style clothing who I presumed was a sorceress to judge by the lack of any visible artifacts or weapons on her. As I strode through the slush toward him, she folded down her hands at him and turned to pick her way carefully in the direction of the other adventurers.

Rhydion’s inscrutable helmet shifted to face me as I approached.

He did not make a hierat, or bow, but simply nodded once in greeting.

“Lord Seiji. Your presence here is a surprise, but not unwelcome.”

“I see I’m a bit behind the times,” I said, peering critically at the zombie pile. They clearly hadn’t used funerary asauthec; the bones were charred, but still intact. Well, that would’ve been plenty hot enough to burn any contagion, which was doubtless the point. “I thought I had news about the undead for you, and here I find events outpacing me. Wait, is this it? There’s, what…five of them?”

“Seven,” he said. “Undead anywhere are usually the work of some grand evil, a once-in-a-lifetime disaster. Except on this one island in all the world. Zombies have periodically wandered out of the southern part of Dount’s forest for the entirety of Fflyr history. In all that time, however, it has been at a rate of one every three or so years, on average. Clearly there is something vile in the depths of that forest which spawns them, hence my investigation, but the threat has always seemed minor—and so, I was content to devote my efforts to research around the island until a healer could be arranged. But now, this. You are correct, seven zombies in a few days are not much of a threat in and of themselves, but they represent an abrupt and severe escalation. I very much fear this is the first portent of far worse to come.”

“Hum. The leader of the wolf tribe said much the same. He speculated they’d been contained somewhere and the Inferno damaged whatever was holding them back.”

“I have entertained that thought, as well. You spoke to the wolves? Impressive, Lord Seiji. Even my expert tracker, the man most familiar with the tribes I could find on this island, has rarely managed a civil conversation with them.”

“It helps to have something they need.”

I summarized the edited version of my interaction with the wolves I’d decided was safe enough for him and the King’s Guild to know. Dhinell came floundering toward us through the snow in an obvious hurry to prevent me monopolizing Rhydion’s attention, with Harker moving more sedately behind. They succeeded in not getting left out, arriving just as I’d explained the very small amount I had already hinted to the pair of them back in Gwyllthean.

“A Void witch?” Rhydion demanded, his voice containing the first hint of open alarm I had ever heard in it.

I shook my head. “That’s the first thing I asked, of course. The chief said the witch had always been there, but he was adamant that they never smelled the Void in the forest.”

“Hah!” Harker snorted derisively. “You got taken in, Lord Seiji. They can’t smell magic, that’s nonsense. Beastfolk lie almost as bad as goblins.”

“They have better senses than humans, don’t they?” Aster asked.

Dhinell turned a scandalized look on her, clearly aghast that a mere bodyguard—and a lowborn one at that—would insert herself into this important conversation.

“Better smell, anyway, that’s true enough,” Harker acknowledged. “But magic doesn’t have a smell, Void or otherwise. He was just showing off for the sorcerer.”

“Given the circumstances,” Rhydion said, “if this chieftain claimed not to have smelled the Void in his forest, I am more inclined to take that as poetic phrasing than an intent to deceive. Were there a Void witch active for any length of time, the inhabitants of the forest would definitely know, and would certainly have no motivation to protect it.”

“Their sense of smell is relevant,” I said. “When I pushed for details, the wolves said the zombies did have a distinct odor that reminded them of alchemy, beneath all the rot. It was… Aster, how did they describe it?”

“Herbs, soap, and alcohol.”

“Thanks, yeah, that was it.”

“Well… That’s good, isn’t it?” Sister Dhinell said uncertainly, looking to Rhydion. “Anything is better than a Void witch. Doubtless this is some scheme of the dark elves.”

“Aggression is not the way of the Shylver,” Rhydion said pensively. “This news is vital indeed, Lord Seiji—exactly the clue for which I have been searching. But even with the threat of the Void ruled out, my next greatest concern remains. In all my study of every record I could obtain, I found no credible record of any loose undead on Dount prior to Fflyr rule, but consistent encounters throughout the entirety of the Kingdom’s history.”

“Wait, so…you think the Fflyr are making zombies?” I asked. “Which Fflyr? Why?”

“Ah, yes, you are foreign. Prior to the founding of Dlemathlys, Lord Seiji, Dount was swiftly conquered and made a forward base by the Dark Crusade. It was Yomiko who purchased the miracle city of Shylverrael. If this is not the work of some devil or Void witch, it is almost certainly some leftover mischief of the Dark Lord.”

I managed, just barely and by exerting every iota of my self-control, not to perk up visibly. Yomiko had zombies? Could I get zombies? Undead shock troops would be amazing.

“Well, we’re still left with the prospect of searching the entire forest on foot,” Harker grunted. “Most of it’s uncharted, and the section in question is squirrel territory. That’s a nightmare of an idea even without zombies everywhere—much less in the snow. I guess we can get started, at least, if this guy’s finally willing to get off his arse and heal for us, but I’m still gonna recommend that we table this until spring unless something far worse than this handful of shamblers comes boiling outta there.”

“Now hang on, I wasn’t done,” I said. “When I pressed the wolves about this witch of theirs, they said only the squirrel tribe had any dealings with her directly. That was the extent of what they knew, but it means that there are more answers available, and that we know exactly where to get them.”

Rath Kadora had also mentioned that the witch had occasionally done business with bandit gangs, but that was the absolute last place I wanted to direct Rhydion’s attention. Besides, all the bandits answered to me now and none of them had admitted to knowing anything about this. I strongly suspected the only recent prospects had been that gang of cannibals we had wiped out.

“The squirrel tribe,” Rhydion repeated thoughtfully. “That is, indeed, a game-changing piece of information. Well done, Lord Seiji, and my profound thanks. In your conversation with the wolves, did you learn anything of the squirrels’ current situation?”

I shook my head. “They hadn’t seen any sign of squirrels since the zombies started popping up, and I got the distinct impression they weren’t too concerned. The tribes don’t appear to think fondly of each other.”

“Well, that’s the truth,” Harker commented. “Only reason the Guild leaves them alone. If those animals had the basic sense to band together they might become a real problem, but as is? A wolf wouldn’t spit on a squirrel if he was on fire, or vice versa.”

“But you know the location of the squirrel village,” Rhydion prompted.

“Of course. You can’t miss it, it’s up in a stand of red-spire khora. Only a few of those on the island, and no others in this area.”

“You mean nhithra khora,” Dhinell said, lifting her chin.

“Thank you, Sister Dhinell, for the correction,” Harker replied, utterly deadpan. “The problem is the squirrels are absolutely intolerant of anyone approaching them. If we head for their village… Best case, they’ll hide up in the khora, and there’s absolutely no climbing those things if they pull up the ladders. Worst case, they’ll shoot poisoned arrows at us. Even having a healer along won’t help much with that. The squirrels are the least aggressive beast tribe, but they’re the last ones I’d want to screw with.”

“As Lord Seiji discovered with the wolves,” said Rhydion, “recent events may have changed their attitude. After the Inferno, I doubt they can afford to turn down any offered help.”

“Unless they’re in league with this witch, and allied with the zombies,” Dhinell sniffed.

“I deem that unlikely, but not implausible,” the paladin allowed. “And if it is so, confirming it will still be valuable progress. If it is not, however, we can likely extract significant concessions from them simply by offering the services of a Blessed healer. If, that is, Lord Seiji consents to join our quest?”

He turned expectantly toward me, as did everyone else.

And it suddenly occurred to me that, idiotic and inexplicable as it was for all the highborn to have come to gawk at the zombies, having them here in the same place as Rhydion was incredibly convenient for my own purposes. So much so that I could almost suspect the sticky fingers of a goddess on the scales yet again.

“Ah, yes. About that.”