Hesketh Tolson
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Lich, Please 76: Terrible Lizard
🕑 Added 2022-03-26 13:11:13 +0000 UTCChapter 76
Terrible Lizard
I wind my way slowly along the woodland paths, giving myself time to adjust to the feeling of the forest in my soul. After a while the sensation recedes. I grow comfortable with the idea of bedrock, of loam, of the strange duality of having ferns and bushes as well as hair. No longer do I look at my digits expecting to see twigs.
As I walk farther it disappears almost entirely. Perhaps my soul has settled and the memory will fade completely. Perhaps the capacity of my mind has expanded? Or perhaps I have finally lost my mind and this is all happening in my head? I frown, stopping to examine the delicate tracing of frost on bark. Just because it is happening in my head does not mean it is not real.
Either way, I am glad for the time alone as I travel back to Dunbarra Keep. By the time I arrive, I should be normal enough to deal with whatever excitement is happening there. Normal enough for a lich, I suppose. Whatever that means.
I head west and after an hour or two I am able to think of more mundane matters. My mind turns over to the next task on my list: finding and destroying Janvier’s phylactery.
It is an appallingly difficult proposition. His soul could be anything, and it could be anywhere. On the surface level, it is a fool’s errand. My rival could have put his soul in a rock and buried it at a random spot in the hills, or dropped it in a river. It could be an old, discarded boot or a carrot. But considering his highness’ character, I think those last options are unlikely.
Knowing what I know of the proud, obnoxious man, his soul is probably resting in the tarnished gold of the crown on his head. Or in a ruby hung around the neck of some monstrous undead beast? I doubt he would trust his precious soul to another creature, living or dead.
As to location, there are two places that seem likely. The first being the royal crypts under Castle Rock in Fairhaven. The Einheath royal family has been interred there for millenia. What could be a more fitting resting place for the current king’s soul than the royal tomb? With the added bonus of it being close to hand.
Hmm. The more I chew this over in my mind the more I think this is not likely. Javier is out to make his own legacy, not to ride the coattails of those foolish mortals who came before him. I have to consider that Janvier is more like me than I care to admit. I shudder at the thought but it must be borne.
His soul is likely resting somewhere personal. Somewhere significant. Somewhere he loved? But how do I discover this? I return his letters but our relationship is not intimate. We are both trying to out manoeuvre each other and he is as canny as he is cold. He will not slip up and give me personal information without purpose.
I know he was born, mortal and aristocratic, in the far northern fiefdom of Kara Crag. I will start my search there. If I am unsuccessful, I will continue to the crypts under Fairhaven.
Leaving Downing makes me uneasy but I see no alternative. I must. The defences have been bolstered. There are more people here, dead and alive than ever before. The fortifications are rising; the castle basement is filled with weapons of war. The boundaries are spelled and limned with aggressive plants. There is always more to be done but I must trust those I leave behind to keep everyone safe. To keep my forest safe.
I will not wait for Janvier to act. His time is due. Perhaps, when I have wiped him from face of the earth, I will have time to myself once more. What a pleasant thought.
Dunbarra Keep makes itself heard before it can be seen. I must remember to commission the Knitting Guild to make me some new ear muffs. The new defensive plantings are looking excellent, fulfilling my need for function and aesthetics. I tramp through the gatehouse feeling pleased with myself, and raise a hand to wave at the draugr on duty.
A jumble of noise hits my ears as I enter the castle courtyard.
I arrive with the dawn and the wraith is shrieking. People are clamouring for my attention. It takes me a while to separate their voices into words, my mind is still partially with peace of the slumbering forest.
Ah, it is Roland.
The little draugr seems excited rather than stressed. Good. I have had more than my fill of drama for one winter. I take a moment to admire the stitching on his fluffy ears while he talks. They are holding well although the chain stitching on the left one is looking a little… dog-eared.
“Sorry?” I say after a while, realising that I have not heard a word.
“Lady Maud! Lady Maud! There is something you should see!”
The words are making sense now.
“Yessss?” I say slowly. “What is it Roland?”
The Fairhaven girls are jumping up and down behind him, what in the Whisperer’s name has got them all so worked up? And why is everyone moving so fast, it is like watching ants on an ant pile.
“Bones!” Roland says. “Bones!”
“Bones?” I say in some confusion. I look down at my body, but I am flesh, if not blood.
“Are you alright, Mistress?” he asks in some concern.
“Yes,” I snap, although the word comes out slower than I thought it would. “What about bones?”
“In the basement,” he says. “The builders found bones while they were digging out the new cellars!”
“So what? They are probably just the remains of people who were buried long ago. Although I suppose it would be interesting to talk to them.”
I am quite proud of that long sentence. Three sentences.
“No, Lady!” he says, with a wide grin. “These are really big bones! I’ve never seen - you will understand when you see them!”
“They’re enormous!” shouts Sara. Gabriella and Saffron are nodding in enthusiasm.
My interest is piqued by their enthusiasm. I shake the cobwebs from my mind. Trailing excited teenagers and hangers on, I follow Roland down the many flights of stairs to the bowels of the castle.
Past the caves we go, into the lovely dark, past the Whisperer’s Cathedral, all the way down to a sprawling cavern adjacent to Thom’s workshop.
A group of draugr and wight labourers are waiting there, under the guidance of one of the Fairhaven architects. The buzz of conversation fills the dark space. They sound like bees, and the darkness does nothing to dispel the insect-like impression. I suppose the castle is kind of a hive.
As we walk over and the crowd parts.
At first I can’t make out what they are all looking at, but then I see it, half buried in the densely packed soil.
Roland is right, it is massive.
An enormous skeleton, lieing huddled in the ground. Spindly arms are long and tapering, extended they would be at least thirty-six feet, if I was to guess. Wings? Are they wings? The forearms are much longer than the rear. Is it some obscure sort of dragon? Not that I am a dragon expert. The only dragon I have seen up close was Janvier’s and that had precious little flesh on it. The shape of this creature is completely different. Its head is too big, its snout too pointed and elongated. Rows of sharp teeth line the razor jaw.
“What is it?” I ask.
No one seems to know.
It is beautiful, whatever it is. How long has it lain here, buried by centuries of rock and sediment? It looks old.
The labourers continue digging it up, taking utmost care not to destroy any part of it. It takes some time. The earth is hard packed, and stony by turn. The skeleton is completely embedded. A short while later, it is extracted from its ancient tomb.
Oh please let it be a flying creature! I am so jealous of Janvier’s flying serpents.
When it is fully unearthed it is clear that the skeleton is two large to remove from the cave in one go.
Piece by piece we carry it out.
Once outside I lay the bones down in the castle courtyard. There is a brief argument about which one goes there. The crowd of onlookers grows as the living dwellers are attracted to the throng. One of them is surprisingly helpful.
“A terrible lizard!” says one of the alchemists. Terence, I think. I recognise him vaguely from Fairhaven. He never seems to have eyebrows and constantly smells of sulphur which makes him more memorable than most humans. He pushed his way to the front peers down. He moves a bone into position. “I saw a similar skeleton at the University of Donheath when I was a student! In their hall of marvels!”
“A terrible lizard?” I say. “More terrible than a dragon?”
“That is their name,” he says. “Ancestors to the dragons. Distant ancestors. Fossilised reptile from the dawn of time. Do you think you will be able to raise it?”
A sea of questioning faces turn towards me.
“I don’t see why not.”
“It must be very old.”
Undoubtedly. But I have raised old bones before.
I am bouncing on my toes. Will it fly? Janvier’s dragon flew, with very little flesh on its bones. I have seen skeletal sparrows fly, and all the abominations of the undead plague. There is no reason why it shouldn’t fly. But will it fly with me on its back?
I flap my hands at the bystanders and everyone moves backwards, their eyes bright. At least the living people’s eyes are bright, and the dead’s eyes are as shiny as the Whisperer allows.
“Here we go!” I murmur.
“Good luck!” yells Karine. The rest of the girls sit with their chins clasped in their hands. I feel like an underpaid entertainer at a children’s party. I would mind more if I wasn’t so excited myself.
There is a moment of absolute silence.
Even the castle has taken a breath between wails.
“Resurgemus iterum,” I whisper, and sound rushes in to fill the void.
The stones of the courtyard rattle.
These bones are unbelievably ancient. I feel the weight of the years. Far older than anything I have ever raised. It is like reaching for something through thick mud. I can grasp it, I can feel the spirit but it is dim, a drowsy sentience that thought it was done with this world. The soul of this creature has long since fled but the spirit lingers. I can feel the spirit, answering my call, sluggishly. For a moment I think I have overextended and disappointment is inevitable, but then the skeleton twitches.
The crowd gasps.
I lean forward, eagerly, but then the bones return to their sleep. My stomach is flooded with disappointment.
“Try again!” yells Sara.
“Yes, yes,” I mutter bad temperedly. I do not require an audience.
“Resurgemus iterum,” I urge. “Wake up! Resurgemus iterum!”
Come and experience the world with me! I push every ounce of my strength into the command. The skeleton twitches again, jiggling and shuddering. It is working!
“Resurgemus iterum,” I whisper, soft as a cloud. Coaxing “Resurgemus iterum…”
The remains of the terrible lizard shudders awake.
A flicker of sapphire flame flares in the empty sockets.
The great head lifts, slowly, as if it has the weight of a mountain. The bones shake themselves, climbing on awkward knees to its full height. The crowd gasps again, stepping back. Bones rattle and the creature throws back its empty maw, making a strange, mournful cry. A sound like I have never heard. A sound I suspect has not been heard for millenia.
It extends those spindly limbs. Like this there can be no doubt. They are wings, and this is a predator unlike any I have seen before, living or dead.
The crowd shuffles backwards, pressing themselves at the wall. It swings its head towards them, no doubt thinking about taking a snap. Those teeth look a lot more dangerous now they are awake. Perhaps it is wondering what has happened to the world since it last gazed at it. Perhaps it thinks it is dreaming.
“Hello beastie,” I say. “Welcome back.”
Sightless eyes stare into mine.
The massive jaw lolls open.
“Can you fly?” I ask.
The uncanny head gazes at me. Then lazily, languidly it turns. With a mighty flap of its fleshless wings it soars into the sky.
The whistling, hooting cries bounce off the castle stones, lending another chilling note to the chaos of noise that already pours from the castle’s angry spirit. I watch with my mouth open. The terrible reptile is beautiful.
It circles the keep, and makes a lazy snap at one of the falling ghosts before coasting to the ground once more.
I pat it on the elongated skull.
“Excellent!” I say, “well done. Very good. Can I ride you?”
It does not answer me. How could it? But it does not seem bothered.
Gingerly I climb onto its bony back.
There is not much for my own legs to hold on too and it feels incredibly precarious. Fortunately I am very strong.
“Let’s go!” I shout, as we shoot into the sky.
