Chapter 13
How like Thaddeus he is, this Lich Lord Dralnu, thought Agnate. He hefted his torch and glanced sidelong. Yes, he could almost be him-Thaddeus's face, his eyes, his hands. More than anything else, it was Thaddeus's voice. These were his words.
"When I lived, I was as you- a great warrior. It is the province of men to make war, to kill, as it is the province of women to make life."
Agnate and Dralnu descended through a black and twisting cave. Their companies followed-the five hundred Metathran who had fallen into the quicksand and the five hundred undead who had saved them. Boots and bones pattered in a stream at the base of the cave.
"I suffered a likely enough death for a warrior-slain by a greater foe," Dralnu continued. "That is when my story became unlikely. At that time, there was a lich lady in Urborg who collected fallen warriors. She raised them and restored their armor, their clothing, their very flesh. She raised me and put me in her collection."
Agnate nodded. "Not a fate worthy of a great warrior." "No indeed. The ultimate sacrifice should not have been so meanly repaid," Lord Dralnu said. "I should have been burned or buried or left to rot in the swamp. I should not have been raised to dance on wires, but I bided my time.
"I learned all I could from the lich lady. She even taught me her necromantic spells. I used them first to enhance my body and mind. I used them next to destroy her."
"Destroy her?" Agnate echoed, surprised.
"It was a brutal act but an act of war. I was liberating the occupied nation that she ruled. I was taking her collection to turn it once again into an army."
Agnate's eyes gleamed like sapphires. "These troops, who saved us-these were her collection."
"Some," Lich Lord Dralnu responded. "Most are mine. I've become the equal of my mistress. I can raise even ashes to do my bidding."
A fragile question came to Agnate's lips. "How far does your power reach?"
"Throughout Urborg. My troops stand guard all across the island. The dead can wait indefinitely, whether within a shattered tree or a quicksand slough."
"I mean your magic," Agnate clarified. "How far can it reach? Can you touch other lands, distant battlefields?"
A dry smile formed on Dralnu's pallid lips. "There is someone you wish to raise. Every mortal has someone."
Agnate's gaze darkened. "Forgive my presumption."
"Forgive my inability to aid you," Dralnu replied. His breath had a dry, unwholesome quality. "My powers do not reach beyond this isle." He paused, seeming to consider. "Was this someone a great warrior?"
Blinking, Agnate said, "Yes. A great warrior slain by a great warrior-me." With a shuddering breath, Agnate changed the subject. "Why did you save us?"
"What?" asked Dralnu, seeming surprised.
"Why did you save us? You could have had a whole new division in your undead army if you'd allowed us to die."
"Unlife is no substitute for life," Dralnu responded without pause. "You forget, Agnate. I was once a warrior. No true warrior should die before his time. The world needs you and your troops, and it needs you alive. I would rather have you as living allies than undead minions. I do what I do for the good of war and warriors."
They were the sort of words Thaddeus would have spoken. It was more than that. Agnate and his troops owed this lich their lives. When Dralnu had invited them to his underworld kingdom to feast the new alliance, Agnate had been honor bound to accept.
Ahead, the pathway descended through its last, snaking turn. It opened into a large, deep cavern. Water led the way. From the moment they had left the world above, the troops had marched down through the trickling stream. It guided them to a world below.
Side by side, Agnate and Dralnu peered across the yawning spaces.
The cavern before them was immense. All around the perimeter of the space opened caves like the one where Agnate and Dralnu stood. Some of these passages emptied mere trickles of water across the sloping floor. A few to the right gushed regular rivers. The streams wended through deep channels, joined with other streams, and at last plunged into the wide pit at the center of the chamber.
All the light in the cavern came from that pit. It glowed crimson, the color of bare magma. A constant column of steam gushed upward from it. No doubt the waters that poured into that well fell until they stuck the world's hot soul. The incessant steam had built up a massive collection of stalactites above the pit. Even now, sultry winds coiled about the stalactites, adding minutely to them before slipping upward through cracks in the ceiling.
"Behold, Agnate, the city of Vhelnish." Within the stalactites, lights glowed. Yellow and green, orange and purple, windows shone in their thousands. No solid fingers of stone, these structures were inverted towers. Instead of yearning skyward, they plunged toward fiery depths. Within their dripping walls would be chambers and stairways, libraries and staterooms, garrisons and guardhouses. Walkways stretched from tower to tower. Balconies perched above the reeling deeps. Here and there, just visible in shifting shadows, were the unliving inhabitants of this city.
"Vhelnish," whispered Agnate in awe.
"Yes. It is my city. Once it had been only a showcase for my mistress's collection. She kept warriors in niches as if they were statues. I have given them quarters of their own. She wished them to do nothing but stand. I have given them duties. I have made a life here for the dead. We work. We guard. We fight. We feast."
"All in mockery of the cities above," Agnate murmured before he could catch himself.
Dralnu did not bristle. "Not mockery but reflection. Throughout the world are priests who say death is not final, that we will live again in glory. I have died, Agnate. I tell you, there is nothing after death, nothing except oblivion. I have made a bargain with death to live again, to make a haven for virtuous souls that have gone before. No, it is not paradise, but neither is it oblivion."
A deep sadness moved through Agnate. Here was a righteous warrior who, in the absence of a loving deity, determined to provide an eternal reward to those who deserved one. Yes, he was a necromancer. Yes, Dralnu had made a dark bargain, but all mortals try to bargain with their killers. This was not the inevitable end of a perverse soul but the inevitable end of a righteous one.
"Come," Dralnu said.
He gestured toward a wide walkway that stretched from a nearby knob of stone up to the hanging city. Though wide enough to accommodate ten warriors abreast, when glimpsed against the yawning spaces, the path seemed a mere cobweb. Agnate had not even noticed it before. Now he glimpsed numerous other threads, ascending from distal points around the cavern.
Dralnu motioned Agnate upward.
"Are we the first living beings to walk this road?"
"Yes," the lich lord said. "But I hope you will not be the last, and I swear that all of you will return living to the daylight."
That was assurance enough. Agnate stepped onto the broad path. It was fashioned of braided cables, solid and flexible. With Dralnu beside him, he ascended the silken road.
If only this path had extended to Koilos, Agnate thought, perhaps Thaddeus could have climbed it.
A cold thrill went through Agnate. The sensation passed as he rose into misty heights. Water beaded on his tattooed forehead. He drew steam into his lungs. It wrapped his heart in a hot hand. Agnate's steps became numb things. He strode forward in happy bliss, a spirit entering the cloudy afterlife.
His troops followed more reluctantly. Hands were ready on weapons. Confusion and impatience showed in their eyes.
They do not understand death, Agnate realized. They deal it to others without hesitation, but they do not understand it. Death is not a thing that can be grasped. Death does the grasping.