The Wayward Witch Chronicles

The body count was staggering.

Stairs led down the center and on either side of the auditorium. Nearly a dozen stone terraces wrapped the central platform, edged with red quartz bricks. Only silver pillars and banisters populated the highest two tiers, but the rest supported low-backed, stone-carved benches. It was on these benches that the corpses sat in orderly rows.

West could see marks of violence on each body– deep gashes, vicious punctures, terrible disfigurements. Some lacked limbs. One had been cut in two pieces across the torso, and each piece was propped up beside the other. Some were near skeletal, but oddly, there was no rot on any of them. No stench either, or buzzing of flies; it felt disturbingly sterile. All sat with perfect patience, staring down at the platform.

Face tight and eyes wide, Vera slid her branch wand away in the case, knuckles white around the black spike. Pulling off the thread spool and leaving it at the entrance to the room, Roman eased ahead until he could prod one stiff arm with the flat of his sword. It shifted lifelessly.

"Certainly dead," he said. "Damn. I was worried!"

West didn’t budge from the doorway, motioning for the swordsman to return. Roman laughed scoffingly. "Oh, it's only a scare tactic. Just look!” He pointed to a bony cadaver. “At least half these bodies must be decades old– decades! What's the earliest report you said you had, three years ago? It's nothing to brush off, mind you, but we shouldn't–”

"Got magic on them!" With a burst of excitement, Vera switched out the spike for a blue-painted rod. Pressing a sigil at the end, she extended her arm and swung it in a slow circle. Glows, dull and bright, spread around the possessions of the dead– daggers, swords, rings, necklaces, belts, shields, bags. Not every article glowed, but each body possessed at least one item that reacted to the wand's spell– and some were almost blinding, coated with glowing items. Vera squeaked. "Magic... so many magics...."

Roman, for once, was lost for words. He surveyed the lines of seated corpses, taking a rough count for the first time. More than fifty– close to a hundred. All fully equipped for treasure hunting.

Vera's voice raised an octave. "All those, magic. Worth thousands, hundreds of thousands...."

"Dinnae. Be touchin'. The bodies." The sight of a fortune didn't move West a centimeter, his face drawn into the grimmest line. "Dinnae either of ye touch nothin' 'bout them. In fact, dinnae touch anythin' here. Time we went back, while we still got the chance...."

"WANDS." Ignoring West and bouncing on her heels, Vera pointed at a set of slumped remains with two rods of light clutched on its lap."Permission, sir?"

"Wait, Vera." Roman studied West. "Is there something we ought to hear about, Investigator?"

"Mebbe. Mebbe nae. Tell the truth, I'd feel a world better discussin' this somewhere else," West urged. Roman was unmoved. West sucked in a breath. "Yer information's nae good, Roman. What kind o' greedy, gem-hoardin' buggers would set up a bunch o' bodies with all this valuable gear? This setup stinks o' necromancy."

"Necromancy?" Roman's eyebrows shot high. "Necromancers are rarer than a gray-bearded Mani. It’s unlikely–”

"I damned well KNOW–!” West's voice boomed through the chamber, and he winced. More quietly, just as urgently, he said, "Listen. If anythin's me speciality, it's necromancers. I know damn well that, rare or not, they still be about. And if I walk into a room and see a hoard o' stiffs with weapons and armor, outnumberin' me group by something like thirty times, I know it's time to walk away and call fer reinforcements."

Vera puckered her lips. "Corpses themselves got no magic. Not undead."

"You're certain about that, Vera?" Roman was less casual now, but Vera's confident nod was all he needed. "There you have it. There's no undead here."

"Jes’ because they’re nae magic," West hissed through his teeth, "that dinnae mean–”

"Investigator. I trust her analysis. Unless you have evidence to offer beyond your career bias, we will proceed with caution, but proceed regardless."

West rubbed the back of his head. Time to change tactics. "Do ye know the reward set forth by the government fer information leadin' to a practicin' necromancer? Yer not goin' away empty-handed, yer leavin' alive.”

"There's a fundamental misunderstanding here." Roman smiled as he explored the room, still cautious as he maneuvered around the corpses but his stance straight and unworried. "This expedition is not about money. Gold's useful, mind you, but it's just a tool. It's the doing and earning that makes a person actually worth something. I should think you understand that."

West thought furiously, grinding his teeth. Every argument he made, Roman dismissed with less and less care. It was obvious he wouldn’t be persuaded with as flimsy a tool as common sense. "All right, lad. I cannae make ye leave. What about the lass? Still time to walk away, Vera."

Vera’s jaw set. "Wands," she said, pointing urgently. "New wands. It's in my contract. They're mine."

"Walk away. Get yer money reward. Buy whatever wands ya' want."

Vera gave West a look of disgust. “I don’t want wands that are just wands. These have history and place and need me.” She stabbed her finger at them again. "Those are mine and I am not leaving them behind."

"... Right. Cannae reason with either of ye. Jes’ let me ask fer a wee favor a'fore gettin' yerselves killed, then." His companions soured – Roman with a scowl as he turned to face the Investigator dead-on, Vera with a derisive snort – but West was annoyed beyond any care for ego. "A'fore we go grabby-hands at an obvious trap, can we agree to take a peek 'round the rest o' this place and clear out any nasty surprises? Like if, fer instance, there does happen to be a necromancer lurkin' about – why dinnae we look fer wherever they might be hidin' a’fore they can wake up all their pals?"

Roman's sword shifted in his grip. "I don't appreciate your tone, West, nor that you seem to think we're such amateurs that our next step isn’t already to secure the area. But I'll tell you, it would give me peace of mind if you'd stop clinging to the door like you're having second thoughts. Are you with us, or aren't you?"

"Ach, lad,” West groaned. The thought occurred to him, fleetingly, that he could simply turn back on his own. He’d technically found the missing adventurers after all, even if he didn’t know what had killed them yet. He could report back with his findings, push through a request for more resources– maybe knock down that fancy stone door overhead before the next moonless night came, get the jump on whatever was here. But by the time he made it back to this room, there’d be two more bodies to account for, and he’d never stop wondering if he could have prevented it.

“O' course I'm nae goin' to leave ye two alone." West sighed as he stepped into the chamber. "But I dinnae think this is wise. I cannae promise I'll be able to keep ye safe."

"All I expect is for you to play your role and stand with us. Or do I need to remind you that, since you’re here replacing Barros–”

"Ye dinnae need to remind me, I'm nae goin' to let ye down." Irritated, West scanned the room. Pointing toward an open archway on the left of the bottom landing, he said, "Now, let's just pass this room by quiet-like, and we'll come back once we’re sure nothin' else be about, aye?"

"In a moment. Just as Vera said, she's got a contractual right here. However, even so." Roman rubbed at the stubble on his face. "Vera, can you guarantee that there's not a trap here?"

Vera’s face darkened. "Contract."

"Your first claim on wands doesn't mean we do anything rash to get them."

"CONTRACT."

"Unless you've got evidence that we're not going to set anything off trying to take something, we're better off doing what the Investigator says–”

"Hold it. Both of ye, jes’– quiet, for one damned second!" West earned twin glares, but before Roman could reprimand him, all three of them heard it. A low, hollow melody; a whistled tune. Something that tickled at the back of the Investigator’s mind, like a tune he could remember the start of, but not the end. The sound bounced around the chamber, making it impossible to pinpoint its source.

"... Hide," Vera recommended at once, disappearing behind one of the seated bodies. West followed suit, flattening himself under an unoccupied bench. Roman faded back into the shadow of a pillar, panning his gaze about the room for any hint of life.

A fumbling second later, Vera drew the branch-wand again. Employing it with a faint click, she dismissed the light, casting the room back into darkness.

In the shadows, the eerie tune seemed ever closer, as if it were coming from within the room. There was a maddening familiarity about it that West couldn’t make sense of. Clomp, clomp– footsteps?

From the stage, West realized. They were no longer alone in the room.

Gauging the distance to each of his companions, West eased himself off the ground, millimeter by millimeter. He didn’t know what was in there with them, but they were too scattered. If he could make his way to one of them, they’d be safer–

The whistling stopped, and the ground trembled and growled. West flattened himself again beneath the bench. What could possibly cause the sturdy stone floor to shake so violently?

He got his answer as he glanced at the entrance.

Oh, feck. West felt his guts tighten. A sliding wall within the entryway was shutting, almost sealed altogether.

If he sprang for the door now, he might just be able to squeeze through, but that would mean leaving Roman and Vera behind. Making sure at least one of them got out might the wisest course, but even if they were only temporary allies, it just wasn’t in him to abandon them. And besides, he saw now, the passage to the next room had already closed.

Their escape to the surface disappeared with a definitive crunch, snapping the strategically-employed string Roman had set up to show their way back.

Whatever had found them, they were trapped with it.