Fortress Al-Mir

“I know what I just said,” Ilya hissed into Arkk’s ear. Both her hands gripped Arkk’s arm, making him feel a little numb in the fingers. Every so often, her sharp eyes would flick to movement and move toward her bow, only to stop herself and return her hands to Arkk’s arm. “But isn’t this a bit much?”

Arkk tried not to look like he was at all bothered.

In truth, he wasn’t exactly at ease either.

The Necropolis was populated.

From the large cathedral-like building that housed the portal, Matar the grave keeper led them out to a wide road made from thick black bricks. Tall rectangular buildings lined the road, each pressed right up against the next. Occasional gaps between the buildings opened into more roads, all of which were angled seemingly at random. That led to some buildings being a mere thin blade while others were wide enough to stretch on for a thousand paces.

Every resident seemed able to afford glass in their windows. The green-tinged sky reflected off the glass, making it difficult to see inside any of them. He could, however, see movement.

There was nothing living here. Which meant whatever moved inside the buildings was likely undead.

Arkk did not shudder.

Ilya did, perhaps thinking the same things.

“Children,” she whispered.

Arkk followed her gaze to find someone else outside the buildings. Another skeleton. This one looked a bit less human and a bit more beastman, but it wasn’t possible to tell what kind of beastman. Only that its skull had a more pronounced snout-like shape to it. Three smaller, child-sized skeletons stood at its side. All stopped to watch the procession carry on.

“If Matar is right, they’re probably older than both of us combined.” The last living resident of the Necropolis became undead hundreds of years ago. Although they might look like children, they certainly weren’t any longer. “Maybe even older than your mother.”

Ilya shuddered again, forcing her gaze forward.

Zullie was ahead of them, chatting with Matar like it was the most usual thing in the world. Dakka and a quintet of orcs followed along, silent except for the noise of their boots on the tiles. Everyone else was back at Fortress Al-Mir or Elmshadow, keeping a watch on things. Yet, Arkk was starting to regret not taking everyone with him. As they continued through the city, more and more skeletons started appearing outside.

All just staring.

“My experiments have shown that magic in bones tends to go stale,” Zullie said, speaking quite loudly. “I first raised a horse and, while it used to work perfectly, it has been a bit stiff lately and it is only a few months old. Does the ambient magic here help with your animation or is your advanced age with little reduction in mobility a product of more advanced necromancy?”

“A quandary I haven’t given much thought toward,” Matar answered back in his surprisingly smooth voice. “I know of what effect thy means. When one grows restless in their crypt and wishes to walk once more, they often suffer from rigor. But that tends to fade after moving about for a few weeks.”

Zullie hummed, rubbing at her chin with her thumb and forefinger. “Is simple movement a way to reduce—”

“The graveyards I’m used to are either pits in the ground with small markers denoting the… resident or large mounds serving as mass graves, generally for a single-family or lineage,” Arkk cut in as Zullie started mumbling to herself. “Are graveyards different here? I haven’t seen anything that looks like the place you said you take care of.”

Matar’s skull swiveled backward, making eye contact with Arkk.

Arkk didn’t shudder.

Ilya did.

“The resting are honored here. Each resident of the crypt hath a vault to call their own. A wide and grandiose plot of land, though far lower to the ground than the buildings around us, maintained by myself and a small… skeleton crew.” Matar paused to chuckle before continuing. “But our path now carries us in the opposite direction.”

Arkk glanced back, wondering if he could see it, but realized he couldn’t even see that grand cathedral anymore. The smaller buildings blocked it completely.

They had left the remainder of Dakka’s squad guarding the portal on this side—he didn’t want to come back to find that the locals had disabled the portal, trapping him here like Agnete was trapped in the Anvil—so he could still use the employee links to both see it and tell where it was in relation to him. There was little chance of getting lost here, even if the streets did cross at random.

Though, perhaps it would have been wise to recall Priscilla to keep watch of them from above. Or Nora, since she had functioning eyes without needing someone riding on her back. But the harpy would be in far more danger on her own than a dragonoid. Either way, too late now.

“How far is… King Yoho?”

“King?” Matar shook his head, making a slight grinding noise in his bones as he moved. “No. Necropolis has no king. The First and Last Primeval Lord, Yoho. The Eternal Sovereign of the Risen Dead. The Chief Bone-Juggler. The Indomitable Necromancer. Yoho, the Undying Blight.”

Arkk pressed his lips together, nodding slightly. All those titles sounded like fancier ways of saying King, but who was he to disagree?

“Bone-Juggler?” Ilya asked with a confused frown on her face.

“Laughing Prince,” Arkk whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

“Verily!” Matar said, turning his skeletal grin on Ilya. She immediately flinched back, her fingers once again starting toward her bow before stopping abruptly. “Lord Yoho is a masterful virtuoso in all manner of merriment, from capering a lively jig to warbling a delicate tune.”

“He can dance and sing,” Arkk said in a flat tone.

“And juggle,” Ilya whispered.

Arkk slowly looked around at the silent undead watching them walk through the city. Enough had gathered that they lined the sides of the road with practically no gaps. It seemed as if word had spread through the entire city in a flash. Nobody had yet to approach them, however. There was a clear barrier that none of the undead were willing to cross.

“The Sable Citadel,” Matar said, sweeping an arm in a grandiose gesture as they turned down a new street.

Towering spires wrought from obsidian, adorned with intricate skeletal gargoyles, surrounded a truly massive building. The walls of the citadel were a labyrinth of arches and buttresses. The green-stained windows depicted revelry and fanciful dance in the way they were patterned while the iron gates looked far more macabre with their reliefs of skeletal figures guarding the entrance.

Ancient trees that looked more like stone than wood dotted a wide courtyard, the center of which held a tall fountain of glowing green liquid. The cobblestones underfoot had been worn smooth by the passage of countless undead feet, far more than any of the rest of the streets Arkk had crossed to reach this place.

At the center of the citadel, one tall spire stretched high enough to pierce the clouds. A swirling mist cascaded down the obsidian stone, spreading out over the roof of the building in long, curling streams.

“Arkk,” Ilya whispered, her voice sounding tense.

Arkk just patted her hand, not taking his eyes off the tall structure. “For a person with such modest titles, he certainly lives in a grandiose home.”

“Home?” Matar said. Arkk could imagine the skeleton cocking an eyebrow with the way he tilted his head. “No, no. Thou art mistaken. The Sable Citadel is merely the festival court! Lord Yoho doth reside just over yonder.”

Following the bony finger of the skeleton, Arkk found himself looking at a small cottage just outside the citadel’s walls. Practically no bigger than the home Arkk had lived in back in Langleey Village. It had a small stone garden with smooth lines drawn in fine gravel and a fence gate low enough that even the most unathletic noble could have hopped over.

“I see,” Arkk said as he and his companions stepped up to the Sable Citadel’s courtyard gate.

The blackened metal gates swung open of their own accord as soon as Matar stepped close enough. The hinges groaned like a dying beast, making Ilya wince and rub at her ears, only to stop with a heavy thud as they fully opened.

Following the thud, a brief moment of silence descended upon the group.

Across the courtyard, beyond the fountain, the tall doors of the citadel swung open. Music flowed forth, some kind of reed instrument played in a merry jig as a tall skeleton practically leaped from the citadel’s entrance. He was dressed in robes of deep purple and gold, adorned with ribbons and bells that jingled with every movement. A dozen more skeletons pranced out, weaving their ribbons in the air around them as they flooded into the courtyard.

The lead skeleton, eyes aglow with red light that didn’t do any favors for the permanent grin of his skeletal face, jumped high into the air, and landed into a tumbling cartwheel, before coming to a stop on the near side of the fountain. With a flourish, he extended his arms, as if beckoning old friends to a grand celebration.

“Welcome! Visitors!” he bellowed into the air.

The sounds of horns and flutes and drums filled the air along with a dozen other instruments that Arkk couldn’t pick out individually. Loud bangs that sounded like the Cliff defensive cannons blasted off sparkling balls of flames high into the skies. They exploded, raining down thin bits of colored papers all around the assembled skeletons as they began a macabre dance.

More and more skeletons were flooding into the courtyard, moving around Arkk and his company from the rest of the city. They seamlessly merged with the others already present, joining in on the dance.

One broke away in a lavish orange dress, waving around a long staff with a cloth sheet trailing after it. The sheet momentarily blocked Arkk’s view of the skeleton. By the time it passed, the skeleton was wearing a smaller yellow dress. With a wide sweeping motion, the skeleton hid behind the sheet once again only to emerge with a blue dress, then a green, then a red.

A quartet of skeletons stood atop tall poles made from the same petrified wood as the tree in the center, standing twice as tall as any orc. Ruffled clothes shimmered and swayed as they balanced on the poles, hopping from one to another. All four were in the air at the same time and all four landed on the next pillar at the same time. If even one was a second too slow, they would have crashed into each other.

High overhead, a long rope shot out from one side of the courtyard to the other. Far more limber skeletons rushed out, hopping and skipping as they scampered across the taut rope.

A pair of skeletons held smaller rods. One in each hand and another balanced on their foreheads. Spinning plates precariously balanced at the tops of the rods. Now and again, the skeletons would jolt their rods, sending the plates up into the air. Sometimes the same skeleton would catch their plate, sometimes they swapped, catching each other’s plates.

Throughout it all, Arkk, Ilya, Dakka, and even Zullie just stared. Arkk had no words for the sudden revelry. Judging by the silence around him, no one else did either. The only skeleton in his line of sight who wasn’t dancing and performing was Matar, and even he clapped his hands together completely out of timing with the rest of the music.

Arkk didn’t count how long the dancing went on. The skeletons never seemed to tire. Which, he supposed, was expected of them. None of the undead he had raised ever tired either. At some point, a few of his guards got drawn in by some of the skeletons. It was a bit strange seeing fully armored orcs trying to dance. Not that the skeletons seemed to care about the awkwardness. They just laughed and cheered.

“Not enjoying thyself?”

Arkk yelped, half barreling over Ilya as he jolted away from the sudden voice in his ear.

The central figure of the festival, the one Arkk presumed was Yoho, stood with a wide grin. Not that he could make any other expression without lips. For a skeleton covered in flamboyant clothing and jingling bells, he had certainly managed to sneak up on Arkk without any difficulty.

Arkk quickly composed himself. “It isn’t that I’m not enjoying myself,” he said, not wanting to offend the First and Last Primeval Lord. “I just wasn’t expecting… this.”

“And what, pray tell, fell within thine expectations?”

“A meeting of some kind? Honestly, not sure.”

“It was a bit sudden,” Zullie said, frowning. “We only opened the portal an hour ago. How did you manage to prepare all this?”

“Prepare?” Yoho slid to the side, wrapping a skeletal arm around Zullie’s shoulders as he spun her to face the courtyard once again. He ended up in front of her, down on one knee with her hand pressed to his bare teeth as if he were kissing her knuckles. “My lady, this realm is the land of festivities! We are always prepared!”

Zullie slowly pulled her hand back to herself. Arkk wasn’t sure what, if anything, she could see. He could see the irritation welling in her face. She turned her head toward him.

“I have confirmed the safety of this realm, environmentally and magically speaking,” Zullie said with a terse tone in her voice. “If you’ve got nothing better to do than this, I’ll be returning now. Perhaps research into possible access to the Permafrost’s domain will be more interesting. The new statue in the temple must mean something, right? I wonder… If I scrape off…”

Zullie continued muttering to herself even as she turned and wandered off, heading back the way they had come. Even with the crowd of skeletons behind them, both observing the courtyard and dancing themselves, Zullie managed to weave between them without any issue.

The skeleton’s jaw clicked shut. Despite being unable to change his expression, Yoho managed to look disappointed. “I suppose a quieter meeting will have to suffice for now,” he finally said.

“I apologize for her behavior,” Arkk said, still not wanting to offend their hosts. “She has something of a one-track mind. If it isn’t related to exploring new magics, she isn’t interested.”

“Ah, but thine interest in the festivities wanes as well, does it not?”

Arkk took a quick look around. The skeletal festival was continuing in full swing. It didn’t seem as if anyone had noticed their guests or their king weren’t participating. Or, if they had noticed, they didn’t care.

“I suppose a calmer setting is in order then,” Yoho said with a small sigh. As he stood from his one knee, some magic shimmered over his attire. Rather than looking like a rejected jester, he almost looked dignified in a long, flowing robe of black and green. However, it still had jingling bells hanging from its collar. “Come, follow me,” he said.

Instead of heading toward the Sable Citadel, he instead started walking toward the small cottage just outside the walls. The crowd around parted, flowing more like water than bones, allowing him and Arkk access.

“Do not worry about troubling the performance,” Yoho said, gesturing toward the courtyard. “Now that is hath commenced, the festivities will continue for weeks should joining be on thy mind.”

“I’ll… remember that.” Though he didn’t want to offend, he didn’t have much desire to dance around. Zullie was right. There was a lot of work to be done.

The cottage, although it couldn’t keep out all the noises of the festival, did manage to at least muffle it. There wasn’t much to its insides. No bed or kitchen. Just a small sitting room. Skeletons probably didn’t need much sleep or food. Yoho dragged out a few chairs for Arkk, Ilya, and Dakka. He didn’t take one for himself, choosing to stand.

“Visitors,” Yoho said. “To what do I owe the honor of such a meeting?”

“Well,” Arkk said, looking from Ilya to Dakka and back. “A war, I suppose.”

“War?” The skeleton’s countenance took on a darker look as the red in his eyes started to brighten. “Necropolis hasn’t seen war in my reign.”

“Perhaps I should start at the beginning… Several months ago, I discovered a fortress Heart belonging to Xel’atriss, Lock and Key…”

“I understand. Quite the dire situation.”

Arkk nodded his head.

“And you wish to drag the good people of Necrovale into your affairs?”

Arkk snapped his head up. “No. Not at all. Truth be told, we didn’t expect to find people here. None of the other realms we visited had… many living beings. As I said, the Underworld suffered a similar fate to your world, except without undeath allowing them to continue. The Silence was… silent, as far as we could tell during our short visit. And the Anvil… is locked away for the time being. When the Laughing Prince bestowed the boon of a portal keystone to me, all I hoped for were perhaps some magical artifacts, books of ancient magic, or, hopefully, more fortress hearts. Especially for walking fortresses.”

Also, potentially, hordes of undead able to utterly bury his enemies. But he hadn’t counted on intelligent undead, just mindless beings like what he had raised in the past.

“Mine people are a happy, peaceful people,” Yoho said. Though he lacked eyelids, the light in his sockets dimmed like he was closing his eyes. “I will not sacrifice them in the name of a distant war.”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t expect that of anyone.”

“But if the object of thine search is knowledge, artifacts, or wealth… Necrovale has little need of such material possessions. There is a vault deep within the Citadel. I might be willing to part with such possessions.”

“Might?”

Yoho clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing between the chairs. “Once, life and undeath flourished as one. Now, however, life in the Necropolis has ceased to be.”

“Matar mentioned something about that on our way over from the portal. Magic in the air poisoned the crops, or something?”

“Matar spoke true. My people have stagnated. No new life, no new undeath, no new ideas or options. Certainly, my people are not the slothful sort. They engage and learn and grow on their own. But that has its limits. Without new minds, growth is slow.”

“So you want people? Living people?”

“And supplies,” Yoho said, dipping his head in a confirming nod. “For their survival. A long-term solution for the magic problem would be welcome, though I know not if such lies within thine power.”

“It is something Zullie has been working on, but no results just yet. Supplies are doable as well—” Especially if Yoho had a vast wealth he was willing to part with. Arkk could turn a portion of that into crops and livestock. “But people could pose a problem.”

“People are the most important part.”

“I know,” Arkk said. “It’s just that necromancy has a poor reputation where I’m from.” He gave a small nod toward Ilya. “She’s normally much more talkative than this. Dakka as well. And I imagine anyone with me is going to be much more accepting of… unusual occurrences than a general population.”

Yoho turned his red eyes from Dakka, who shifted in her seat, to Ilya, who didn’t move at all. As if coming to a realization, he looked up at the ceiling. He stared at the petrified wooden roof for a short moment before coming to a decision. “Speak with the old and the infirm. Those who fear the swift approach of the Eternal Silence. They who might be open to alternatives. Unless they convince their families to join, they won’t sustain anything, but they will be a start to welcoming others into our realm. Speak also with the young who have no others they can rely upon; the Laughing Prince has always been a friend to the innocent.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Arkk noted Ilya stiffen ever so slightly. Her thoughts probably drifted toward Nyala, Yavin, and several other refugees who were in or had been in the fortress as refugees from the war. “I won’t force anyone,” he said quickly. “I’ll ask for volunteers. But just as you won’t force your people into a war, I’m not going to force anyone uncomfortable with it to come here.”

Yoho must have expected that. He dipped his head without hesitation. “Acceptable. Perhaps I, and some of my fellows, might act as envoys…”

Arkk winced. “I don’t have any problems bringing you over to my world, but anyone you speak with is more likely to try to kill an animated skeleton rather than engage in a conversation.”

“A problem to be worked out later. As a gesture of goodwill, if thy taketh myself through the portal to see the other realm for myself, I will bequeath upon you some small amount of items from the vault in advance. That should assist with thine immediate problems, should it not?”

Arkk put on a bright smile. “I’d be more than happy to.”