Tenebroum Ch. 44-47 (Patreon)

Tenebroum is now 10 chapters ahead of the general public. That means you are getting to the climax of act 1 in the post. 

Ch. 44 - Paying the Toll

“Truely?” Kelvun asked, pretending to be impressed. “You’ve seen the water dragon yourself, with your own eyes?”

He took another drink of his wine as he tried to remember the woman’s name. Alison? Arrissa? He was pretty sure it was the former, but it didn’t really matter. He was far more interested in getting her drunk enough to see what a priestess of the cult of Oroza wore underneath their drab blue robes. That was the whole reason he’d brought her back to his cabin. To the best of his knowledge their order had no rules demanding celibacy, and if they did then he very much doubted they would apply to a Lord like him. Why would they? They worshiped a goddess of fertility; surely with all the fertility she’d given his lands she would appreciate him returning the favor with a member of the flock.

“I have my lord, not just in prayers in the temple either,” she giggled nervously before taking another sip of wine to steady her nerves. A common girl like her had obviously never been in the presence of real nobility before, and it showed. “I was there - that night on the water front. That’s what made me convert. As soon as I witnessed the true power of the river dragon I knew that I must give up my sinful ways and focus on serving her.”

That admission forced Kelvun to raise an eyebrow. When the priests of the Orozian temple in Fallravea had asked for permission to come with him on his annual trip to tithe the river goddess he’d accepted, but only because it would have seemed strange not to. The last thing he would have expected was to meet someone along the way who could shed some light on the mystery that had happened just over a year ago. “You were there that night? You saw what happened”

When Kelvun had returned from last year’s tithe he had seen the devastation on the southern end of the waterfront even before he’d returned to the city proper. His underlings had told him that it was evidence that they’d done something to upset the river, but a few coins in the right pockets and Kelvun had quickly turned the blame in the story to a barge captain that had upset the goddess instead. In that time he’d received a few stories, but not the one he wanted most: that of his spy master, who had been missing ever since.

“I was my Lord,” the priestess answered, nodding her head in an awkward sort of sitting bow as she tried to observe protocol she didn’t truely understand. “I was on the docks that night, ummm… plying my trade with a couple of sailors when it all happened.”

Normally he’d have a lot of trouble not staring at her generous cleavage when she leaned forward like that, but her words banished his lust in an instant. On any other night, talking about any other topic, Kelvun would have focused on the lewdness of what she’d just said. He would have asked for all the lascivious details, and then paid her double what her rate had been just to relive the moment with her. His wife was still recovering their firstborn after all, and there wasn’t a man alive who didn’t understand that a leader like him had needs in time such as these.

But his true need was to finally know the truth.

“Tell me,” he breathed. “Tell me everything you saw.”

She blushed, and for a moment she started at the beginning, with exactly how many ducats she used to charge, but Kelvun rushed her past that part. “Tell me about the crash. Was it truly a dragon?”

“It was my Lord,” she agreed, obviously a little annoyed that her attempt at seduction was starting to go sideways. “She was as powerful as she was beautiful, and she towered over most of the buildings on the waterfront.”

“That big?” he asked incredulously. He’d known that anything that would shatter the broad south dock had to be monstrous, but he found that when he tried to imagine a river dragon like the one in the murals that was two or three stories tall, his brain just wouldn’t accept it. “Describe it to me, please. I’ll pay you, you need only name your price.”

“Not all my Lord. You donate so much to honor the river every year. You needn’t pay me for anything. I’d happily do whatever you ask for free…” She let the moment of sexual tension linger for a moment, but when Lord Garvin didn’t bite, she continued. “My Lady Oroza was beautiful my lord. I wish you could have seen her. She had such pale skin, and wide eyes and the way that she rode on the dragon, she—”

“She rode the dragon?” Kelvun interrupted. “I thought she was the dragon?”

He’d been so busy trying not to laugh as she mentioned him tithing the river goddess that he’d almost missed that point. This would make it the 8th year of his reign and his seventh trip to Blackwater, but he’d never once tithed her goddess. Not in truth, and this would be the first time that he felt brave enough to reduce his usurious payments to a creature that no longer seemed to exist.

From everything he’d seen in the last few years, the likeliest explanation for why he no longer got those terrible dreams was that his efforts to drain the swamp had finally paid dividends and starved the spirit of its strength. Between that and the fact that the river goddess had reasserted her claim to the area so often lately, he no longer felt that he needed to honor his oath to pay the loathsome thing. Surely she would protect him should the worst happen, wouldn’t she?

“Well, the water is muddy here, and I confess that I was so shocked from the sounds of shattering wood that I remember it both ways,” Alison agreed. “She was at once the majestic river dragon with gilded scales rising out of the water, and simultaneously a rider on it. She wasn’t in a saddle though, like you might ride a horse, but in a gilded carriage of silver and gold, like in a fairy story.”

As the woman spoke her eyes clouded over like she was struggling to remember something, or more disturbingly struggling not to remember something.

“I didn’t see the first boat that she crushed,” she remembered. “But I saw the second and the third, and it was only after I thought that I should run that I noticed that she was chasing someone down the docks.”

“Who was she chasing,” Kelvun asked, trying and failing to imagine the carnage of the scene that she described. Trying to think of who might be important for even a small god like her to personally hunt down and kill was even harder. Small gods lacked the powers of true divinity, but even so, it was a foolish person who would ever cross them.

“I have no idea,” she said. “I was frozen in fear as I watch him go though. The wagon he was running from was smashed into flinders, and just before he reached the land, foolishly thinking that such a place would be out of my ladies reach he tripped and went tumbling to the ground.”

“Did she kill him then, or drag him into the water while he was still alive,” he asked, leaning forward. His wine was forgotten, and he was sitting on the edge of his seat now. Kelvun could hardly contain himself as she continued her tale as a nameless dread came over him. Suddenly he felt foolish for trying to cheat the river. Even though he no longer had real fear about the darkness, perhaps this goddess now felt that his payments were owned to her instead?

“Neither actually,” the priestess said, surprising him. “She just sort of loomed over him for a long moment. At first, I was sure she would destroy him like she had everything else in her path, but instead she just stood there frozen for the better part of a minute, and gave him some sort of message. After that he fled as quickly as he could, and then she turned her gaze to me instead.”

“What did she say?” Kelvun asked, feeling uncomfortably reminded of the night that he’d made his pact with the darkness. Was this the source of his paranoia all these years? Did the goddess Oroza have servants of her own working against him the same way he’d once carried out the orders of the darkness?

“To me? Nothing. She just looked at me with those dark, sad eyes from her gilded carriage and then turned and—” she answered, her voice mixed with both fear and awe.

“No, not to you. To the man!” It took all that Kelvun had not to throttle the woman. If not for being in the right place at the right time he wouldn’t care a whit for her beyond the bedroom.

She looked at him, obviously unsure of what to say before she finally opened her mouth. “Well, you have to understand that I was terrified, and they were far away, so I really didn’t hear anything, but even so the priestess told me that I shouldn’t repeat it.”

That at least made Kelvun smile, and he placed his hand on her knee to reassure her. “You didn’t hear anything, and you shouldn’t repeat anything you heard are two very different things Alison. Now which is it?”

“Ummm…” She realized she’d said too much and was looking for a way to back peddle her way out of this trap.

“Come now, I’m Count Garvin, the Lord of the whole region. Surely you can tell me anything,” he said in his most sincere tone of voice. “I promise you, I can make it worth your while…”

The moment of indecision stretched a few seconds longer, before the priestess finally said, “Alright, but you mussant tell a soul that I told you, I could get in real trouble.” she waited for him to promise before she continued. “She said something about how the temple depths were inviolable and that he must instead seek the headwaters to be truely cleansed. I think she was forcing someone to repent from some terrible deed they must have committed honestly.”

“The headwaters, hmmmm, that’s very interesting.” Kelvun lied. He pretended to consider what she said, but in reality he had absolutely no idea what that might mean.

They talked for a while after that, and Kelvun considered bedding his interesting little priestess just for something to do, but in the end he just dismissed her to brood alone. Another man might dismiss her words, but he knew well the touch of the spirit world, and even if he’d succeeded in throwing off the shackles of his old master there was nothing to guarantee that the river goddess wouldn’t seek to enslave him in the same way. Did that mean that the greater risk was in continuing to venerate her and pay her tithe or in not doing so and cracking down on her worship. One would placate and strengthen her while the other would starve and anger her.

Both seemed like poor decisions to him, and in the end he decided to second to split the difference and hope that she would reward him with indifference rather than wrath. This year would tithe the river goddess instead of the vanquished spirit of the swamp, but less than he had paid before. If she wanted more than that than she could bargain with him the same as the darkness had.

That wasn’t all that Kelvun decided on the final two nights of his trip though. He also decided that he would be returning to his home in Fallravea via horse. One way or another he would be steering clear of the river going forward. To date it had served his domain well, but after lurid dreams about river dragons ravaging his city he did not think he would sail on it again any time soon.

Ch. 45 - The Drought

Even though the darkness felt the ripple as soon as the ingots touched the water it did not notice the discrepancy right away because it was consumed with other things. The swamp that had been its birthplace was all but gone now, and as a result it had lost focus on that singular point. Instead, it focused on the entire region that was touched by the Oroza now. The entire watershed was its domain, from the headwaters to the delta.

Even to the north, the Wodenspine mountains were no longer off limits to it thanks to the tireless work of lizard worshipers and the strange totems they erected to celebrate their victories. Where once its territory had been a blood stained archipelago stretching from Fallravea in the east, the swamp in the south, and the red hills in the north-west, the darkness now enveloped the whole region.  It was so lost exploring the air currents of the surrounding mountains with the storms crows that it had been manufacturing by the dozen and monitoring the seemingly endless journey of Krulm’venor that it scarcely had time for the gold.

All that changed when the drudge that had been assigned eventually fetched it and brought it down through the labyrinth of tunnels to the hoard that was the darkness’ treasure vault. If there had been a single source of light in that room it would have shone with an unmatched brilliance. Every coin that it had ever stolen from a corpse and every magical weapon that had not been melted down and put to other uses in its growing army of the dead ended up there. It was a wonder, and these days it contained almost as many captured souls that had been set aside as it did jewelry or anything else. The world contained an untold bounty after all, and all of it belonged to the Lich.

No matter what else it might covet though, the Lich would never care about anything as much as gold. That tainted metal was the seed from which it had blossomed, and some day it would possess every last ounce in the world. So, when it discovered that it’s minion had delivered less than it had in previous years, it bellowed until the halls of its labyrinth shook with rage.

“How DARE he,” the Lich roared in outrage, screaming voicelessly to his minions so loudly that birds all around blackwater landing took flight in an attempt to escape from the rage.

Normally such behavior would have distracted it at least momentarily as it struggled to learn more about the creatures of their air by their movements. Weaving together the wyvern and the drake into a single terrifying monster had proven more difficult than it would have imagined, and the Lich had spent months trying in vain to understand what it was doing wrong. To date only its red eyed ravens had flown, but they were clumsy things, and they didn’t survive long in the outside world as it tried to use the little wind up toys to better understand the currents of the air.

If the Lich had been more powerfully connected to the little brat it would have snuffed his life force out on the spot and stolen his soul to sit on a shelf beside his bard. It would have been happy to torment the two of them for the rest of time, whenever the mood struck. For better or worse though, the ungrateful little lordling was outside his reach at the moment. It had been so sure that the forces of light were going to be a bigger problem, and that it was only a matter of time before some sort of inquisition struck that it had maintained the lightest possible touch on Kelvun’s soul for the last decade.

That was ironic of course, because anything it did to the Count now would almost certainly draw the attention of the church, but the darkness couldn’t make itself care. It was ten times more powerful than when it last touched the light, and this time it would be the victor. So, instead of crushing him like an insect it had time to contemplate ever greater horrors that it could inflict on the man. If it was going to finally have to bear the cost of true intercession of the gods, then it was going to have to be for a fate that was worth it.

With every day that passed after that, its desire to humiliate and destroy the man for everything he had done only increased. The Count had dug a canal through the swamp intending to weaken the Lich, and then he had invited priests of the light to the very heart of its domain. Either one of these would have been sufficient cause to tear the flesh from the traitor’s still living body, if the Lich hadn’t found a way to turn both events to its advantage, but trying to deprive it of its rightful share of the gold that was mined? Trying to break their pact? That was an unforgivable insult.

At first the darkness thought that the best solution might be to continue to ramp up the child’s paranoia until he executed all of those around him. That would be an amusing way to pass the time, and it would no doubt end in a palace coup and some sort of bloody civil war which it would find entertaining. That wasn’t enough for it though, not anymore. Count Garvin didn’t just need to be humiliated, he needed to be humbled and destroyed. Ultimately the Lich spent more days than would ever be considered reasonable just watching the lordling’s dreams to discover what it was he loved the most, so he could turn it to ash.

Such an investigation only took a few nights though. In the end the answer had been obvious. Kelvun loved himself more than everyone else combined, but just below that there were other things that he appreciated, like his kingdom for one. Despite the fact that the Count had even less to do with Greshen’s greatness than his drunk of a father had, he was very proud of it. After that came the love of the people, and a few of his favorite mistresses.

Yes, it decided, feeling it’s vengeance flow through it. Those would be its targets. First it would destroy the man, for daring to defy it, and then it would use the disaster that was about to befall him to escalate its plan further.

. . .

For the next few weeks, its ferryman made nightly trips to Fallravea. Its minions were delivered to the second tunnel entrance just outside of town. It of course led to the warrens that the worshipers of the drowned woman had already started in their perverse quest to build her undertemple. They were so far under her spell that when the zombies flooded the tunnels and began their relentless digging, the humans could only see them as fellow devotees to her shining divinity. How could they not? They saw her as an alabaster maiden riding a river dragon in a silvered carriage instead of the bloated corpse of a drowned woman trapped in a rotting corpse by a rib cage of steel.

They were blind enough that they only truly saw what the lich wanted them to see now, and day by day that turned to resentment for the powers that be. Once the priestesses and the worshipers had been Kelvun’s strongest supporters, but now they turn against him almost as one.

At the same time, the level of the river began to fall precipitously. This was a normal behavior that happened every year. In the spring when the snows began to melt the river would flood, and in the summer it would slowly shrink. This year, with the unwilling help of the river goddess it was worse than it had been in living memory. One by one the springs that fed it trickled to a stop, drying up the springs that would go on to become springs and tributaries.

This not only weakened the River Dragon, it forced her to flee her own native land. For the first time in her life she was forced to go to see to prowl for death. Even in her weakened state, there was nothing that could challenge her, and she went on to bring ocean traffic to a standstill out of sheer rage at being denied her own river. The Lich saw no reason to reign her behavior, though it could have, of course.

One by one the sandbars emerged and then day after day the river began to narrow. At first, it affected only river traffic, slowing and snarling the normal flow of commerce and depriving the Count’s coffer’s of much-needed duties and taxes. By the time it brought all river traffic to a stop until the rains started again in the fall, though, the people were getting restless. Eventually the giant chain that had served as a symbol of prosperity for so long hung over a dry river bed, and wells dried up while crops were withering in the fields.

It was a devastating blow to the ecosystems, but the Lich didn’t care. Besides the loss of power that it derived from its chained god, the only way that it was effected was in that it had to put up illusions over its various river facing tunnels, so they wouldn’t be discovered. It was no longer of the water. The darkness had soaked so deeply that the ground itself was now permanently stained with blood, cholerium and other, darker things.

By the time the people were starting to blame the Count openly, in taverns and on the street, even the lordling’s newest inept spymaster couldn’t help but notice the discontent. There was nothing to be done this time though. No amount of intentional rumors or coins in the pockets of popular bards would turn public opinion without water, and the sisters of the Orozian temples were adamant in their belief that this was the doing of the young count.

“Come to our temple,” the high priestess beseeched him in public one day while he was going about his business. “Come to the blessed house of the water bearer and beg for absolution sir! Surely if you repent then she will take mercy on all of us in our time of need and unleash the flood!”

It wasn’t the first time that Kevlun had heard that particular message, but it was the first time that someone was disappeared after making it so publicly. His henchman was just supposed to torture her until she saw the error of her ways and learned not to embarrass Count Garvin in public, but sadly he did not know his own strength, and she perished while she was being made to see the light. The lich didn’t allow her corpse to stay buried in its shallow grave for more than a night, but it did make sure that the man that had done such grievous harm to one of his servants was made to suffer for it as he was ripped to pieces.

Kelvun’s mistresses disappeared shortly after that as further retaliation, adding further fuel to the fire. In the Count’s world they were his only remaining joy, and that they all disappeared in a single night and no one could say to where caused pain and fear to course through him like he hadn’t felt since the goblin wars. The Lich was kinder to the women than they deserved though, but only because it wanted their beautiful bodies to be as well-preserved as possible for the final act. After months of preparation by the Lich, everything that Count Kelvun Garvin loved most in the world had been taken from him. The land was dying, the people hated him, and there was no one left to comfort the lordling in the hour of need. Even the drudges had completed their work beneath the city.

Truly, the stage was at last set to rob Kelvun of the last thing that mattered to him: his life.

Ch. 46 - Fever Pitch

After the speech had started to go sideways, and the heckling began Kelvun didn’t even bother to try to get back to his carriage. The way that the mob just kept growing, and he was sure that even over the short distance he needed to travel, he’d never be able to force his way through the streets without making things worse. Instead, he barked a few orders and used his personal guard to force a path through smaller side streets. That way, with only the occasional beating to force their way through, he and his party managed to weave their way back to his palace.

The last time that he’d used armed men to clear the streets and imposed a curfew it had backfired worse than he’d expected and lead to riots. With things this dry, a repeat performance might burn half the city down. So, with the fall rains due to start any time now, it wasn’t the time for heroics. Angry as they were he could just wait for a few days, and let this all blow over.

“Just keep moving,” he growled at one of the other nobles who’d stopped and was stealing himself to try to speak to the crowd that followed them. Lord Leonin had come with him to try to get the people to see reason and feel self-important, but Kelvun had known that one more viscount wasn’t going to make a difference in the eyes of a random peasant.

“But if we don’t teach them there’s a price for this it will only embolden the rabble further,” Lord Leonin muttered, pausing once again to look balefully at the mob that was lurking sullenly past the men with halberds that were protecting them.

Kelvin couldn’t say he disagreed with the man’s sentiment. He was almost certainly right, and at any other time when their guards weren’t surrounded and outnumbered by thirty to one, he would have gladly made any one of half a dozen examples out of the miscreants. Now was not the moment though. After the rain started to fall it would be simple enough to use his spies to suss out the ringleaders and make them regret the part they’d played in all this, and once the Oroza was flowing again, no one would notice if they just disappeared.

For now, he just ignored the old fool as they made good time back to his estate. There the high walls would keep the jackals at bay. Well, the lower class jackals anyway. The ones with fleas. The Garvin estate barely had a room to spare just now since most of the nobles worth the name had fled the riots either to his demesne or to their estates in the country, and the constant presence of strangers lent a festive atmosphere to the usually drab place.

Of course, the jackals that wore fine clothes were an entirely different breed than the starving, mangy mass of humanity that followed them while they worked up the nerve to do something bold. That didn’t mean that they were any less dangerous, though. Here his subjects wanted food and rain, while the rich constantly petitioned him for concessions and tax relief. The former was impossible of course, but the latter was too expensive to conscience. The rebuilding of Fallravea had not come cheap, and the constant construction in Blackwater was almost as expensive. These were the reasons he always had dreams about endless digging, he was sure, because of the endless construction that was always threatening to undermine everything he had planned.

Still - there were advantages to having so many people around. His wife had never been kinder or sweeter to him than she was right now, when she couldn’t hope to escape the eyes of her peers. Of course, the fact that he had to work so hard to coordinate his secret rendezvous, and that they were now under his own roof made them all the more exciting too. His favorite mistresses had all apparently fled the city, but there were plenty of noble women in his house right now looking to curry his favor no matter what it took to do that.

That made him smile, even if nothing else in this wretched day did. The Baroness Hilfta had implied she’d be open to some very tough negotiations tonight after the dancing had wound down, should he be inclined to hear her petition about land rights once more. He sighed as he walked through the gate and noticed the preparations that were taking place in the garden. It seemed like every night they had some sort of gala at this point, and he couldn’t remember if this one was the masquerade sort or just the normal kind.

Honestly, he was almost sick of the parties, even if it was all there was to do. Kelvun resolved to spend a whole week in bed once he’d sent the freeloaders packing after the rains had calmed things down. He could pass the time by counting all the favors that so many of the most important men in the region would owe him.

Kelvun looked at the preparations, but all he was really focused on were the clouds hanging above the city in wispy grey streamers. Any other year those would have held the promise of rain and no one would have dreamed of hanging bunting and arranging flowers without pavilions, but in this cursed season they were nothing but a terrible tease. For weeks now they’d hung above the region, but the scattered showers had done nothing to help either the farmers or the fishermen.

Kelvun stood there just long enough to trigger the knots of people to start walking toward him. When he realized he was about to become enmeshed in layer after layer of impenetrable he started walking purposefully towards the front door once more. He’d had more than enough talking for one day and would leave it to Viscount Leonin to explain how restless things were becoming outside the gates. Maybe a little fear would blunt their gossip tonight, but he doubted it.

“How did it go my darling,” Kelvun’s wife Arnisste asked, bringing him to a sudden halt as he strode through one of their parlors. He’d been intent on going to the chapel so that he could get a little solitude to calm down. There at least he could pretend to pray for rain as he’d promised the people he would, but it would seem that gods were enjoying playing with him, because today conversation was almost entirely inescapable.

“Oh, everything was lovely,” he said, pasting on his best fake smile as he took stock of the women she was having tea with. “I believe the best way to describe the mood of the average man in Fallravea just now is uproarious, though excitable and clamorous would also describe things almost as well.”

“That good then?” Her answer dripped sarcasm, but the brightness of her tone hid it almost completely. “Well - that’s certainly better than expected. We were just discussing how things might take a turn for the ugly out there if we don’t have rain soon.”

“My dears, that is impossible,” Kelvun said with a slight mock bow. “I assure you that common people couldn’t get any uglier if they tried.”

That at least caused a burst of polite laughter, though Kelvun did not stay long enough to bask in it, after a few more exchanges he made his apologies and left them to while away the day while he tried to decide what, if anything he could do to improve the plight.

In his bedroom he found a costume all laid out for him. The coat and hose were crushed black velvet, and the mask had a skull motif to it. He wondered if that was supposed to reflect the specter of starvation that was stalking so many right now, or if it was a mythological figure. He was just glad the artist had gone with white instead of gold leaf. A golden skull on his bed would have given him nightmares.

He took the paper mache mask into the small private chapel with him, but he was at a loss on who to pray to. He’d tried to beg Oroza for her mercy in private, but because of his feelings about the river these days he’d been unwilling to go pray publicly at her temple as the priestess’ requested. None of the other gods, large or small that he’d sacrificed to in turn had done any good either. As far as he was concerned there was really only one power left to try, and it was better left dead and buried.

Kelvun reflected on everything that had happened and tried to figure out what he could have done to improve things, but as usual he found his past actions quite correct. Truthfully, he wouldn’t have changed a thing, he decided. Any other choice would have led to an even worse sort of ruin too horrible to contemplate.

As day faded to night, his manservant finally chased him down and badgered him into preparing for his latest gala. It was supposed to be to celebrate the end of the dry season, but no one really believed that. They’d had three previous parties in the last week with similar themes. Tonight was just another excuse to get everyone drunk and keep the most powerful lords and ladies in the region from tearing out each other’s eyes for sport.

It worked fantastically well at that, at least. After a few bottles of wine, and enough masks to give the identity of the person making the insults plausible deniability everything faded into the background of revelry, albeit a revelry that had overstayed its welcome and grown a bit stale around the edges.

That was how the Baroness found him, he was sure. How could he hide from someone who had seen him almost every day for the last two weeks? He was in much the same boat. Just because he didn’t know that his wife was dressed as the goddess Arden, didn’t mean that he couldn’t recognize her favorite blue dress while her face was hidden behind that golden mask.

It would have been so tiresome of course, had it not provided the perfect cover for these little assignations and trysts. That was why when lady Hilfte, who wore the mask of a beautiful fairy queen in what he could only assume was a touch of irony for the aging woman, he was happy to follow her into the hedge maze. He’d been planning to add her notch to his bed post already of course, but he would almost certainly enjoy it more if he had her keep the mask on.

In the darkness they had no trouble separating themselves from the guests or the light. Indeed, the light of the paper lanterns did not reach past the second bend in the path. After that the only way he could keep track of the other woman was by holding her hand as they slipped deeper into the darkness until they finally stopped at a dead end somewhat off the main path through.

“Have you reconsidered my proposal, about the logging rights then?” she said in a voice that promised a smile that he couldn’t see in the night.

“That they were yours was never in doubt,” he answered smoothly. “I—”

For a moment Kelvun imagined that he heard the distant peal of thunder over the sound of the string quartet that was filling the background with sweet notes. That was impossible of course, since any hope of rain was still weeks away, so he didn’t let it deter him and instead stepped toward the Baroness, pressing her against the wall, kissing her hard enough to make her melt. She wasn’t as pretty as the women he’d been bedding before he was forced into this deadly dull house arrest, but then, those other girls had never offered to let him take them in the middle of his own hedge maze, and tonight that made all the difference.

He’d only started to pull up her skirts and petty coats when the rain started. It didn’t start with a few drops and slowly get worse. Instead, a wall of water descended on the city in a vicious downpour. Kelvun shock quickly turned to disappointment that he was going to be denied his conquest, but only for a moment. After that he started laughing, and a moment later the lady he’d been kissing was too as they reveled in natures grand joke. After all, how could he possibly be disappointed that the drought had finally ended, and soon enough things would be back to business as usual?

Ch. 47 - Taking Shelter

Inexplicably, spirits were still high as the nobles and the servants rushed into the grand hall to escape the unexpected downpour. Despite the fact that hairdos and outfits were ruined, along with most of the food, everyone was smiling and laughing. They’d all been feeling the tension of the heat and the unrest of the people every bit as much as Kelvun had, he realized.

It was a pity they hadn’t had this party indoors. It would have been a wonderful. Thing to have in the grand hall while they watched the lightning flicker and flash, and listened as the rain drowned out everything except the thunder.

“I suppose this means I’ll finally be able to take the missus back to our home and finally stop imposing on you,” Lord Leonin said, offering Kelvun his hand. “Once the river has refilled and traffic is restored we were talking about taking a trip to Abendend or…”

The servants were still running in and out of the side doors closest to the point where the remains of the evening's festivities lay in their watery grave amidst the gardens, so Count Garvin had been straining to hear his Viscount’s groveling when the main doors to the entrance hall suddenly slammed open, shattering the dozens of conversations that had been taking place moments before with a wave of silence.

Kelvun looked toward the sound along with everyone else, but despite the lit candelabras, the light did not reach their guest, and all he could make out was this silhouette of a single person. For a moment the fact that there was only one person there was a relief; he’d worried that despite the rain the mob had finally worked up the nerve to escalate.

That relief didn’t last long though. As the figure strode forward silently into the hall, the nearby candles and lamps that had withstood the sudden gust of wind began to flicker and gutter before going out one at a time as the light shrank from the spreading shadows that seemed to grow larger with every step forward.

Kelvun hadn’t felt like this in years - not since that night he’d met with his mages on the eve of the canal’s completion - but he recognized it immediately. The darkness had come for him. For a moment anger flared inside him as he realized the darkness hadn’t just come, but it was doing it in a place where his peers could see him.

“Seize him,” Kelvun said, drawing the sword he’d been wearing and advancing two steps. The weapon he held was ornamental, but everyone else didn’t know that. The intruder certainly didn’t.

Kelvun almost backed down when no one besides him moved, but two guards finally began to advance on the shadowy figure, giving Kelvun the strength he needed to keep going. The stranger just kept walking until it reached the table that was closest to the door, and then it stopped. It seemed oblivious to the three men with swords that were advancing on it, and instead produced a box from nowhere, and placed it on the table. Then, without a word it turned and began to walk back the way it came.

“You there!” one of the guards shouted, “halt by order of Lord Garvin!”

It ignored the command, angering Kelvun further, though he tried not to let his impotent rage show through his mask of calm as he studied the box. It was golden, and even from this distance he could see that it was engraved with many strange symbols, and only a little larger than the head of a man.

The strange calm of that moment was finally broken when the second guard reached for their uninvited guest and his head went right through it like it was nothing but a ghost.

“Witchcraft!” the second guard yelled out as the first one tried to run it through with his sword. The sword strike was no more effective than the mailed fist had been though, and the shadowy form continued to retreat in slow measured steps, apparently completely unconcerned about the panicked whispers and fidgeting that was rising in its wake.

“You fools - get a torch and—” Kelvun was shouting out orders to try to stay in some sort of control, but before he could tell his men to fight the thing with fire, it had crossed beyond the threshold and the doors slammed forcefully behind it. That was followed almost immediately by the side doors slamming, then the windows and the interior doors. One by one every single exit from the hall had shut, and the count had a terrible feeling in his stomach.

Panic was rising now, and spreading like fire among the nobles. Some of them were trying to force the doors open now, while most of the others were busy demanding answers or praying.

“Everyone, please remain calm,” he yelled, trying to sound more confident than he was. “The servants will restore the lights in a moment, and then we will deal with the prankster behind this very harshly.”

Even while he spoke he kept walking towards the box though. He was drawn to it in a way that was almost magnetic. He considered trying to burn it unopened, but he doubted that just taking a quick peek would hurt. After all, the darkness needed him. This was probably just an attempt by whatever dregs were left in the deepest part of the swamp to bluff about its strength or beg for mercy.

He never quite touched the box. When his hand hovered inches away the thing opened by itself, unfolding like a complicated work of art to reveal a golden skull. It was stylized and expensive, but obviously not real. The slight asymmetries present throughout it kept it from being quite beautiful though. Instead, it was off-putting. If it were up to him, he’d have the thing melted down immediately.

It wasn’t up to him. He’d have to humor the darkness at least until he could drive a stake through its foul heart. He just had to—

Kelvun’s mind came to a screeching halt as the skull rose into the air, and a glowing, ghostly body began to materialize around it. The figure was just translucent enough that he could see the skull flickering beneath the handsome face of the dead man, but otherwise it was a convincing illusion. He hadn’t seen better outside the capital. There was something about the man that it portrayed that looked familiar to Kelvun, but he couldn’t quite place it, at least not until the disembodied spirit began to speak.

“In thanks for all you have done for it over the years, Count Kelvun Garvin, my master has offers you a boon: one final performance so everyone might know your greatness.” The ghost’s voice was uncertain, and wavering, like he was talking from underwater, but it was still loud enough that Kelvun was sure all could hear.

This was the ghost of a bard that he’d heard play in his father’s court when he was young. He couldn’t recall the name, but he was sure that he’d known then man in life however briefly, and the swamp had dared summoned him into his house where people could see? Kelvun could hear his heart pounding in his ears now as the rage flowed through him. How was he supposed to deflect or minimize such a terrible charge. He was ruined! Perhaps if he could play this off as a message from the Magica Collegium he could make everything think this was the work of mages instead of evil spirits.

Kelvun tired to think frantically, noting with only vague interest as several stringed instruments flew out of their owner’s hands and took to the air, orbiting the strange apparition. He didn’t give a fig for any performance. He only wanted this to stop, but there was neither a mage nor a priest in attendance who had any hope of sending this abomination back to the netherworld.

The sound of the instruments coming to life was melodious at first, but in an inhuman way. As first the lute and then the violin joined it they struck a discordant melody that was at once lacking in harmony, and using minor keys in a way that was unnerving. None of that compared to the sound of the ghostly singing that came next.

“There once was a boy who thought people were toys,

and his father was a lousy drunk.

He sold his land for a song but didn’t think it wrong,

For where his heart should be was only junk.

As ruler Kelvun had his season, but for almost to reason,

He chose to cheat the shadows.

Now an unblooded hero, the callowest zero,

He’s much too good for the gallows,

So now he will die in the dark.”

The dissonant music horrified Kelvun as much as it did everyone else, but once the signing started, he stood transfixed as all his sins were suddenly laid bare before everyone. His wife. His servants. The other lords of the region. There would be no way from coming back from this.

Upon reaching the end of his song, the ghost kept playing the instruments, but as the word ‘dark’ was spoken every light in the palace that he could see was extinguished in unison.  It was terrifying enough that it made his heart seize in his chest, but half a dozen women screamed as a result.

Kelvun should run. He knew that, but he couldn’t make himself move from where he stood, gazing up at the ghost which was the only source of light left in the room. It was dark enough that no one would see his cowardice. He could escape via one of the servant exits, or maybe a second story window. If neither of those worked he could always lock himself in his chapel until this was over, he thought desperately. The ground there was consecrated and that should be enough to keep evil out.

The sound of splintering wood from somewhere close in the darkness gave him hope for a moment. “Those good for nothing guards must have finally gotten off their asses and done something,” he muttered to himself. Kelvun was about to commend them on their work and order everyone to evacuate, but the blood-curdling scream he heard next changed everything.

It wasn’t the sound of someone being startled, but the sound of someone being murdered.

Kelvun stood there breathing heavily to keep from fainting even as the panic spread through the crowd of nobles and many of them started to running.

“Run for your lives!” A shrill male voice shouted. Others shouted similar things, but the first voice was the loudest.

“The dead have risen! They—” Another person screamed. This time it was a woman. What caught his attention though wasn’t what she said, it was the awful tearing sounds and breaking sounds. They weren’t the sound of doors or furniture, but the sounds of meat and carnage.

In that moment he was suddenly transported back to the battlefield on that terrible day when the goblins had surrounded him and threatened to eat his impromptu army whole. It was that extra jolt of fear that finally gave him the impetus to run towards the closest staircase.

Along the way he shoved several bodies out of the way, and almost tripped over one on the ground, but Kelvun didn’t let that stop him. Somehow the swamp had unleashed monster’s among them, as some sort of last gasp revenge, and he was going to lock himself in the only place in the entire palace that he knew for certain was safe.