‘Shush, Grimra,’ she said.
She came to stand a few paces from the ghoul, who remained motionless.
‘Molluvial was a great warrior,’ she said. ‘Tall and strong, spoken of in legends.’
‘I do not know of legend,’ he said. ‘Nor do I well remember my mortal years. Flashes and splashes only.’
‘But how did you become like this?’
A groan rattled from Molluvial’s throat. ‘Raised from my grave by Assidax.’
Lalenda was shocked. She did not know much of necromancy, but it was wrong to raise those who had long been put to rest, and Telnuwind had been several Shadowdreamers before Assidax.
‘She wanted me to serve in her war against the light,’ said Molluvial. ‘An experiment perhaps, pushing her own boundaries in her younger days. She found my grave, cast her spell. My soul was departed, had already broken down and dispersed in the Great Well.’ His tone grew angry. ‘Well I remember that pain, drawn from the collective in dribs and drabs, back into this wasted body. Some of my soul had already gone back into the world, beyond her grasping. Of the rest, bits and pieces, all that was left. I did not return whole.’
‘Violation,’ hissed Grimra.
‘Yes,’ said Molluvial, apparently unsurprised by Grimra’s presence. ‘She strove too hard, too meanly, did not think of others, only cared for her ambition.’
‘But,’ said Lalenda, ‘how did you come to be here?’
‘When the wars failed, Assidax did not put her hordes to sleep. Tried to control them, keep them, but no. She was powerful, but not so powerful as that. Many left, wandered, lost. Her last try, she set magic in Duskwood that would draw us, call to us – the illusion of belonging. She thought that if she could not control us constantly, at least she would know where to find us if ever she needed us, though she did not march again. Her magic killed the wood, keeps it dry to slow our rot, and to this day some still find their way here, though arrivals have slowed – who knows, years or decades now without one, I have lost care of time.’
Lalenda tried to make sense of what she was hearing. More importantly, why would Battu, with his orders from the gods, have let this place stand? Did he not know of it, despite it being right under his nose? Did he like having unwilling guardians to his rear? Or had he simply despised the order enough to ignore it?
‘Why do you remain?’ she asked.
‘Where else to go?’ said Molluvial. ‘Here, at least, I am amongst fellows. Though many have lost the power of speech, or even thought, it is still preferable to …to …’ He could not seem to sum up the idea.
‘How many of you are here?’ she said.
Molluvial went silent for a time, then nodded, and dust rained from his neck. ‘Curious creature, aren’t you? Yet I do not know what you are to me. Enemy has no meaning, for there is nothing that can be done to worsen my existence. Prey, not, for I do not eat, nor gain pleasure as I once did from killing. Friend, no, for no heart beats, and no confidences are left to betray.’ He tapped his bony fingers again on the sword. ‘I care not,’ he decided. ‘If you would see us, you may follow.’
He turned to the gap in the tree tunnel and hobbled towards it, using his sword for support. Lalenda followed at some distance, while Grimra muttered worriedly. As Molluvial led them through the wood, every now and then he would grasp a tree to steady himself or hack at something in his way. The speed and strength of his blows was impressive enough to make her think she had been too bold when she’d stood so near to him.
After a while they came to an outcropping of rock that looked down upon a wooded bowl in the land. Populating it were many figures, skeletons and ghouls and things in between. Some moved, others were like statues crusted with dust. Above them wraiths wafted.
She had the sense that Grimra was hovering over her again, covering her from any attack. A wraith issued up before her and he snarled.
‘Back, you,’ said Molluvial, waving an ashen hand, and the wraith receded.
‘They obey you?’ asked Lalenda.
‘Not the right word,’ said Molluvial, though he added nothing more.
How many undead were here, she wondered? Maybe a hundred, maybe more. And there were others elsewhere too, spread throughout the wood.
‘Why do they gather like this?’
‘I do not know,’ said Molluvial. ‘Perhaps there is some spark of comfort in commonality, when all else is gone.’
Suddenly Lalenda knew what she must do, knew the reason why her prophecy had been important.
‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘I am a friend after all?’
Molluvial creaked his eyeless gaze towards her.
‘With one last confidence to betray?’
He stared at her for a long time, finally nodding slowly.
‘Come, Grimra,’ she said. ‘Let us depart.’
She beat her wings, lifting from the ground and sending up dust in her wake. Grimra swirled beneath her, buoying her up. As she rose, the ancient warrior watched her go, the mighty in a cage, and she felt great sadness. Tears pricked the back of her eyes, but she blinked them away. If she had not cried upon learning of her mother’s death, there was nothing left to cry about, ever again.
Well , she thought, perhaps it will not win us the war, but there is good to be done in mercy here.
The way up was not as easy as down, though she wasn’t trying to get back to the aviary, just the top of the sheer black cliff. Grimra gave her a bit of extra lift, but the almost-vertical ascent was still slow going.
‘What be we doing now?’ asked the ghost.
‘Let’s just get to the top,’ she puffed. ‘When I have breath again, I will tell you.’
Soon she crested the cliff and made the last flutter over the wall that ran around Skygrip. She landed on the other side with a sigh of relief and slumped down for a moment of rest. Two goblin guards noticed her arrival and came striding towards her. She met their gazes steadily from under her tousled black mane, not bothering to rise.
‘Mistress Lalenda,’ said one, ‘are you all right?’
‘Fine, thank you,’ she said, still panting.
The older guard seemed a bit coarser. ‘By whose leave are you outside the castle?’ he demanded.
‘By my own,’ she replied. ‘Only Battu sought to keep me confined – though if you continue to uphold his orders, perhaps you are still loyal to him, something my lord Losara should know about?’
The goblin glared. ‘I am loyal to the Shadowdreamer.’
‘Well then,’ she said, ‘you’d better cease your impertinent questions.’
After a moment’s deliberation the goblin made an effort to remove his scowl, and gave a curt nod. ‘Forgiveness, my lady,’ he said.
Grimra’s grinning skull materialised above her head, and both the goblins took a step back.
‘Do these be irking you, flutterbug?’ asked the ghost. ‘Want me to vent their spleens?’
‘No, Grimra,’ she snapped, finding her irritation now directed at him. She had been handling the situation well enough.
‘If we may take our leave, mistress?’ said the first goblin hurriedly.
‘Wait,’ she commanded, and they drew up short in their eagerness to retreat.
‘Yes, my lady?’
‘I have heard it said that when Battu attacked the Shining Mines he used fire.’
The subject made the goblins instantly more uncomfortable than they already were. Fire was ever something feared by the shadow, so hot and horrible it was. It had uses, of course – some kinds of cooking, weapon-making and warfare – but it was rarely seen in general use.
‘Yes,’ said the older goblin, who perhaps had even been part of that campaign. ‘There were catapults, which hurled balls of tar that had been set alight.’
‘I see. And do we still have any of those catapults, or materials?’