Reviews

Laxard: You're onto something as far as Bertholdt goes, but I obviously can't spoil it too quickly. And yes, Lyle reckless nature is thanks in no small part to how unusual his family was...and is.

Immage: Lyle isn't all that knowledgeable about the mechanics of guns, but you bet that he's going to affect them going forward as you pointed out. He's genuinely affronted by the fact that his fellow necromancers didn't tell him about them sooner.

...

"Ya know…for a beardless Umgi, your cookin' skills would make even my brewmasters gold with envy." Nalga admitted openly after swallowing down a piece of boar. She made sure to dab her lips with the stray grease from the meal, eyeing the necromancer in front of her curiously as he downed some of her clan's finest beer. "And I can tell you have high regards for the family recipe."

"Do I ever!" Lyle sighed openly, licking his lips. "I'm not gonna lie, I'm impressed by how cold it is! I nearly had a heart attack when I found out Brettonians didn't have any fridges!"

"Brettonians don't got much besides their chivalry n' inbred peasants." Nalga found herself chuckling, strangely relaxed around the almost jovial air Lyle seemed to exude around himself, a constant contradiction to what her father told her to expect from necromancers. "Nice wine, though. Especially from Bordeaux… don't tell any of my longbeards that, though. They're more proud than they have any right to be."

"You're secret stays with me, m'lady. Sides', if any of em' had anything to do with this beer, they have a damn-good reason to be proud!"

It was late in the night in Karak Ziflin's great hall. They weren't sitting at the great table but a smaller one reserved for diplomats when her…father would discuss trade agreements with merchants and lords. There were a few guards on the outskirts of the room, both from what remained of the warriors willing to stay with her and a few skeleton warriors controlled by Lyle himself.

It was the day after the whole mess with that beastmen and her father. A full day after haggling and bartering…to eventually resigning herself to signing a document to Lyle's terms and the terms of the Barrow Legion. A document that Nalga knew she would have to uphold, not just for the good of her people, but for the good of her word as a dawi…lest she not consider herself one at all.

Still, though she felt a little of herself die inside when she signed that deal, she had to admit they were still generous terms. Part of the reason why she was still in an amenable mood. In return for the guns, some gold, and…well…this date, Lyle would allow her to continue to rule her people as her father would, so long as they followed his lead, so to speak.

As she slept on all of this and wondered what devious tricks he was conniving and what trickery was developing, she also dreaded the…date that she was now taking part in.

She was now starting to wonder just why and how she thought this man was devious, to begin with. Oh, his followers fit her father's many tails to a T. Those necromancers with their gaunt pale and skinny complexion and higher than thou looks fit someone of their ilk perfectly. Especially the bald one, with a short temper…that was one she wouldn't mind sinking her az into.

Sure, Lyle was a shameless flirt…an arrogant Umgi to boot, but he wasn't Brettonian arrogant, so that was a start. Still, him not having a beard was problematic for her, to say the least…also his accent was strange.

"So…were you always Kemmler's favorite student, or were you just in the right place at the right time?" Maybe she could figure out more about him with the right questions.

Lyle chuckled good-naturedly. "Damn, you go for the throat, don't you?...but, nah, I had nothin' to do with that. Never met the guy, actually."

"...ya never met im,' and they made you the new head Uzkul in charge? You necromancers have a funny way of runnin' yourselves."

"Can't argue that!" Lyle laughed openly. "I kinda inherited their shitshow, and I'm just along for the ride if you can believe it! Trust me, I got plenty o' problems with how my pale and skinny boys n' girls conduct themselves, but I'm lookin' to get them to my way of thinkin'."

"Feh…you make it sound easy."

"Never said it was, but it sure as hell is interesting. Like you dwarves. I mean refrigeration? Plumbing? Toilet paper? You had no idea how much I was sweating bullets when I realized I had to work without worldly comforts, believe me!"

Nalga smirked knowingly. "I've been in a Brettonian castle…and village. I know what you mean…but you must be from fancy Imperial holdin' to have those kinda comforts…though you don't got the accent from what I'm hearin'...then again, I've only met Rieklanders and Stirlanders."

"Imperials?" Lyle questioned. "Can't say I've met em'."

"... I'd ask if ye grew up in a Brettonian hovel, but you look too clean and well-bred to be one."

"You have a funny way of flirting with someone, Miss Nalga…keep going." Lyle asked with open trepidation."

"Only pointin' out the obvious, don't let your head get as big as those boar-headed knights."

Lyle's smile didn't drop. "If you insist."

The man was a mystery to Nalga…a walking contradiction. He seemed so aloof and approachable, yet the power he commanded and the kind of power he had made him something lower than dirt in her peoples' eyes. Yet he was clearly picked from a different stone, as her father would say.

Ancestors, I need to stop thinkin' on him.

Seeing a lapse in the conversation Lyle picked up from where they left off. "So I gotta ask. How is it that you guys who are half the size of those pompous assed knights got the brains to do what they can't…like making functioning plumbing, for example?"

Seeming to enjoy the change of topic, Nalga perked up slightly. "Cause unlike those pretty little knights, we got common sense between our ears…and some of the best ideas for dwarven engineering to boot, finest technology in all of the world."

"But, they live next to you guys, right? I mean, surely they could see that they're shooting guns and firing cannons at you guys. Wouldn't they wanna use that against you right back?"

"Well, why don't you tell me, Mr. Master of the Barrow Legion. You think those fancy knights are going to use guns when they love to measure their…ahem…lances against one another?"

"...well, they're certainly not afraid of using their poor peasants as cannon fodder."

Nalga couldn't help but snort. "Can't argue there. However, I don't see why you'd complain. More corpses for your army, right?"

Lyle noticeably grimaced as if the food he'd just swallowed tasted bitter. "Well, yeah, for sure, I mean, my fellow pale pals told me they got plenty of material to work with from the beastmen we'd just killed, but… I'm not exactly jumping for joy whenever we kill those peasants, y'know? It's not like I want em' dead. They're just unknowingly or forcibly fighting for plated assholes that force em' to live off the dirt they sleep on."

Aloof and empathetic to the Brettonian peasants? Nalga was starting to wonder if this man was only playing the part of a necromancer.

"You…do realize that if less of em' die, that's fewer corpses for your army, right?"

"Maybe, but I think we can make do…heh, you wouldn't believe how much I've seen people like Freddy look exasperated when I spare those guys, but they'll come around I think. I'm a pretty dashing guy, in case you didn't notice."

Taking a risk, Nalga raised an eyebrow. "If you'll forgive me for sayin' Lord Lyle, you sound like a bad necromancer."

Lyle, however, only seemed encouraged by her words. "You might think that…but can you think of any necromancers that conquered an entire dukedom in Bretonnia?"

"Hm…yeah, actually. The red duke in the North West."

"...Red Duke?"

"Hm hmm. A vampire who went mad with power centuries ago. Made a real mess of Brettoni-

"Whole up! Vampires are legit here in this world!?" Lyle suddenly screamed in shock, silver clattering around on the table as he stood up in surprise.

The dwarven guards in the room looked startled at his outburst, debating whether they should do something while their eyes darted to the unmoving skeleton warriors. Nalga, however, looking perplexed, just a raised a hand to appease them before speaking. "You… didn't know?"

"I thought it was just a joke!" Lyle admitted in utter shock. "I mean, at least that's what I thought when a…a kid told me about it!"

"Your other necromancers below you never taught you?...I mean, it's as obvious as the dirt in the ground, at least when you're a necromancer…or you live in Sylvania…I mean, what? Did your underlings never tell you about bloodsuckers before?"

"...No." Lyle admitted slowly, sitting down with a calm coming over him. "No, they did not…in fact, they also never told me that guns existed now that I think about it…something that I would have loved to know existed sooner in this world."

Once more, the rabbit hole that was Lyle the necromancer deserved digging further in Nalga's mind. What he was talking about were utter nonsense and an apparent contradiction. Yet the fact that he seemed so interested in Batgrig's rifle back when he first entered Karak Ziflin as if he was seeing something he hadn't expected to only put more fuel to the fire that was this umgi.

His not knowing…or rather believing vampires existed was also interesting. If it was some dumb, far away peasent that ate dirt, as Lyle put it, she could see it…but a clear sound of mind necromancer? That was more than a little unbelievable.

Also, what did he mean by this world? Did he mean the old world? If he was from the new world, that would explain his strange accent. She'd never been over there after all.

"Say…" Lyle broached carefully. "Vampires don't sparkle in the sun, do they?"

Nalga couldn't help but snort at how absurd it sounded, taken aback by the out-of-bounds question. "They turn to dust when the sun kisses their skin."

"Oh, thank God." The necromancer said in relief as he slumped in his seat. "There's only so much Bullshit I can take."

"Don't you mean thank Naggash in your case?"

"I barely know who that is, so uh…no…also what I have heard about him makes me not want to take his name in vain…sounds kinda weird when you put it like that.

"You barely know the name of the…beast that invented necromancy."

"I was kind of given a crash course on the magic, so I admit, my knowledge on the guy is a bit spotty."

"A bit?" Nalga wondered about that. "Do ye even know from where he came from?"

"Can't say that I do. Freddy…also failed to drop info on that little tidbit…but I mean damn…vampires being a thing. I mean, hell, the next thing you're going to tell me is that lizard people are stomping around the world."

I guess that rules him out of being from the new world. Nalga was curious now. How could someone so clueless about the old world and new find himself in charge of the Barrow Legion after Kemmler's demise? What was she missing?

Learning the piece to such a puzzle might be the difference between the demise and safety of her people, not unlike using the right cog in a gyrocopter.

To do that…she might have to swallow more of her pride and entertain this umgi's…interest in her.

Bending forward on the table a bit, the lady of Karak Ziflin flicked her hair back, hoping to accentuate her…assets, like her father constantly badgered her to do. "For someone who doesn't know much about vampires, you seem damned good at ordering the dead about, like they would. Plus, you make em' seem not so special when you've been doing what they can't."

Her words seemed to get the desired reaction. Pride made its way quickly to Lyle's face. "Well, I mean, they can't be THAT special when I made it look that easy. Plus, I'm just gettin' started, gorgeous. I'm not stoppin' with Artois. I'm gonna keep on going until one of two things happens. Until this King Louis-

"King Louen?"

"Yeah, whatever. Until he gives in to my demands and shows he gives a shit about the peasants, I'm gonna knock him, and the rest of his frog and snail sucking asses off their gilded thrones and show them how to really run things around here. I'll do it personally."

"...you really do care about the peasants, don't you?"

"Well… I don't really like callin em' peasants in the first place, but yeah. I have a soft spot for the oppressed little guy. My family was constantly goin' through that kind of Bullshit. Why should they have to deal with it!"

"Your family...approves of what you're doing?"

"Well…they don't really know I'm doin' it, but I'm sure they'd approve…most of em' anyways."

"And for the ones that don't approve?..."

"Well, they gotta deal with it. Cause well…well, quite frankly, I gotta do what I think is best, even if they disagree."

"You…make it sound so easy."

"I'm not sayin' that I don't make mistakes. I just know I gotta get better after makin' em' that's all. Speakin' of which, you mentioned me getting a beard, right?... that's a mistake I can correct in a few days if you like." Lyle said with a wink.

"Unlike your philosophy, I ain't so easy, Lord Lyle. Your limbs are still a bit too gangly and long for my tastes."

The necromancer wasn't deterred. "Please. Just call me Lyle."

"I could just call ye Umgi or Uzkul to simplify things if I like…but since your terms were generous and seem to have SOME honorable bones in your body, I'll entertain ye wants…Lyle."

"Thank you, Nalga! Also, what's an Umgi or Uzkul?"

"If I like ye enough, I might just decide to tell ye…later."

"Challenge accepted."

Nalga sighed, with a smile growing on her face. "You might give other dwarven suitors a run for their gold in sheer stubbornness."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Now, if you-

"Lord Lyle." A familiar yet dry and sandpaper-like voice cut through the dinner, the English accent immediately clueing Lyle in on who it was as he turned around. Nalga looked slightly alarmed but kept her composure, already accustomed to this particular zombie. "Lady Fredericka and the rest of the Legion requested me to raise your presence…though you need not listen to them, my lord. I was young and spry once."

"Damn…they really couldn't wait any longer, could they?"

"I could tell them that you're otherwise occupied, my lord…though that won't stop the Bretonnian Lord outside of Karak Ziflin to keep calling for your name."

That drew eyebrows from everyone living inside the room, from Nalga to her guards to Lyle himself. Nalga was remarkably animated. "B-brettonians? Here!?"

"At the front of the hold. He's just out of archer or bolter range, so firing at him is sadly not an option, my lord."

"Wait, wait, wait. You said that…by the way I never actually got your name Mr-

"Soren Sire."

"Right, thanks, Soren. Anyways, you said he was calling for me specifically?"

"Quite."

"Did he say why?"

Soren, the zombie shrugged, his rotted features not betraying any emotions. "He only kept shouting your name, not unlike an imperial town crier at a city center, though in a more threatening manner. He only kept demanding your presence as if he has any authority to demand as such…typical Brettonian arrogance."

Lyle seemed to think for the moment before giving a long-suffering sigh standing up from the table. "Looks like we'll have to continue the date another time, gorgeous. I mean for Chrissakes, it's bad enough these guys treat their peasants like dirt. Now they can't even let me treat a lady to dinner."

…

By the time Lyle had gotten to the front of the top of the wall, he was utterly perplexed at what he was seeing.

At the battlements was none other than Fredericka, standing next to acolytes and a host of undead standing guard along the wall, the latter of which seemed to be ready for any incoming threat.

A threat that didn't seem to be there. There were no Brettonians on the side of the wall and no signs of any danger that seemed present…

…well besides a giant steel spear that had stuck itself through one of the walls of the battlements.

"It seems that the Brettonians grew weary of waiting for you, Master Lyle." Soren noted blandly.

"You sure they were even here?"

"My eyes may have rotted master, but if I still had a pair, they would be rolling condescendingly."

"Your zombie isn't lying, master." Fredericka noted, moving toward Lyle with a hesitant look on her face. There was a piece of parchment in her grasp, with extensive writing on it."

"...the Duke of Bastonne was here…he called you by name Master, and when he grew tired of calling for you, he hurled…that." She pointed out the spear, looking at it warily as if it would pop out of the wall and make its way towards her. "This letter was tied to it…he said it was for you."

Lyle rose an eyebrow, amused by this turn of events. "He threw that spear?...all the way from down there?" The master of the Barrow Legion whistled in astonishment. "He'd make gold medals for days in the Olympics. He's no scrub like the last duke Krell split open."

Fredericka narrowed her eyes. "The late duke of Artois wasn't a grail knight Master Lyle. That's the difference between a mere man who fights for the lady and one who is blessed by her…I trust you remember what I told you about them."

"Well, they can drink her bath water all they want. I'm still gonna literally knock em' off their oh so expensive high horses."

"I'm being quite serious here, Master Lyle."

"Who said I'm not? Look, why don't ya read me the note already? I mean, I came all the way out here to at least hear this schmuck out."

"He's no simple schmuck as you call him master… he's the Bohemond Beastslayer, one of the most legendary and powerful Grail Knights of this age…Master Kemmler made a habit of avoiding direct combat with him, even with Krell-

"-yeah well did Kemmler ever conquer a Brettonian Duchy?"

"Well..no but that's hardly a-

"Well then fuggedaboutit! We'll kick his ass till' he's crawling back to his Lady's skirts. I mean, really, just how impressive can this guy be?"

"...he slew a dragon all by himself and constructed a mace from its thigh bone."

The Earth native's confidence immediately took a noticeable hit as Lyle winced even so slightly at that info drop. His smile faltered as he tried to swallow that claim by his #2. "...dragons exist here?"

"They do, Master."

"And…he killed one all by himself?"

"He wouldn't have that mace otherwise. Hence his title Beastslayer. The dragon was only the tip of the Gray Mountains in terms of his kills."

For a moment, Lyle tried to wrap his head around the idea of a single man trying to kill a dragon. Tried to envision just how big it was or could be. That Cygore was massive and was difficult enough to kill in its own right. The idea of giving it wings and the ability to breathe fire sent chills down his spine. Though the show was fiction, he remembered all too well how captivating it was to see Daenerys Targaryan wreak utter havoc on the Lannister army with fire alone.

It made him wonder what damage it could do in real life. "Okay, so maybe they are all that…what did the letter say?"

"I-I'm sorry master?"

"Y'know the letter you're holding…the one you told me about? What does he have to say to us…or I guess since he was calling for me, me directly? Might as well hear em' out since he's as much of a badass as you make him out to be."

To Lyle's confusion, however, Fredericka seemed to hesitate. Her eyes darted around her as if she was a trapped animal, looking for a way out, her face momentarily panicked. Lyle smiled as he made a realization. "Oh boy, lemme guess. He starts slingin' some nasty insults my way?"

"Erm…well."

"Y'know what, lemme take a look, Freddy, don't worry, I'm a big boy. I can handle some insults now and then." Lyle took the note out of Fredericka's hands without asking for her permission before she could sputter to a protest. It didn't truly matter in the end because all Lyle was greeted with was more confusion.

"The fuck? Is this French?" Lyle quite literally couldn't read what was written. Not just because it was clearly in another European-styled language. But, also because it was mostly in cursive. And he couldn't read cursive if his life depended on it. "Wait…can you read this, Freddy?"

Freddy's silence was deafening as her mouth flapped open and closed, being put on the spot so suddenly. Thankfully she was saved from having to give an answer when Soren, the zombie, shambled near Lyle and pointed at the paper. "If I may, Master Lyle. I'm quite well-versed in reading Brettonian, whether it be the low or the high form of the language."

Lyle looked impressed as he quickly handed the parchment to the zombie's cold rotted fingers. "So you mean to tell me that you can kill a Cygor with rotted limbs and speak multiple languages? Best zombie ever, my man!"

"Your far too kind, my Master. Now, if I may." The zombie then let out what appeared to be an attempt at a posh cough, only for it to come out a strangled wheeze, making Lyle wonder if this sentient-like zombie had any lungs that were still functional in his chest.

"To the man succeeding Kemmler's title of Lichmaster of the Barrow Legion. My name is Boehman De Bastonne. Duke of Bastonne and protector of its people. I have heard about how much you differ from the former Lichmaster. You may share his title, but you share nothing of his actions besides wanton slaughter and murder. I've heard from horrified survivors of your rampage, both highborn and low. Of how you freely leave the confines of your corrupted bastion of Blackstone Post. Of how you've brought terror to the people of Artois not seen since the last rise of the Red Duke. Of how you now plan to do the same to my countrymen in Bastonne."

Lyle looked unimpressed. "Is nobody noticing how I'm treating these guys with kid gloves right now? What slaughter are they talkin' about right now?"

Fredericka had an answer. "Probably survivors from your battle in Gisoreux or other Brettonians that fled the city before you invaded."

"So a bunch of liars and shit talkers tellin' him what's not what…whatever, go on, Soren, didn't mean to interrupt."

"Though you may have accomplished more terror than your predecessor, your evil is one I will proudly vanquish in The Lady's name regardless. Though any concept of Chivalry and Honor are foreign to necrotic creatures such as yourself, I will make my terms bare to you. Meet me tomorrow at the southern bridge at High Noon near my very home. You should be incapable of missing it. Should you find the courage to approach, one of two things shall occur. Bring me one of your mightiest thrallish champions to face me in single combat in which such a clash shall determine your fate. Should your creature prevail over me, I will instruct my knights to surrender the Duchy of Bastonne to your possession. Should the lady damn me in the clash, she will have damned my people and me finding our faith and service wanting and our fate shall thusly be just. Should I prevail, however, I will lead my knights and companions and go through your entire wretched hordes of macabre beasts, thralls, and acolytes to and trample you all underfoot in the grave where all of you should have stayed."

Lyle was genuinely taken aback by the bold claim that was being made. For all the shit he talked about the Brettonian knights and their so-called chivalry, a lot of it felt justified because of how little they backed it up. In fact, that was the first time he had actually been challenged, if not indirectly, to a duel. It bespoke how incredibly confidant This Boehman was or how utterly reckless it was for him to gamble his home and people in one fight.

Considering that this guy managed to kill a dragon single-handed, The leader of the Barrow Legion had to admit it may have been the former reluctantly.

"Should you decide not to arrive as I half expect a craven grave digging rapist like yourself to do, then I will know the animal that I am dealing-

"WHAT THE FUCK DID HE CALL ME!?"

All the acolytes, Fredericka included, visibly jumped or twitched at how sudden and sharp Lyle's voice had risen and how angrily it had sounded. His eyes bulged, and his jaw jutted, clearly for anyone who knew him even a little at the rapist title. Even Soren was staring, though, given the state of his facial features, it was hard to gauge his reaction to the outburst.

Lyle felt his blood pulse. Again, someone dared to call him that. Again someone dared to call him something that he wasn't. Was it a game he wondered that these Brettonians played? Call someone rapists whenever they were dealing with someone that inconvenienced them or their shit-stained, backwater feudal system? Were they that petty?

It got the Jersey native to nash his teeth for a moment before turning his eyes sharply back at Soren. "...what else did he say?" Lyle seethed the words, anger pouring through his lips.

Pausing for a moment as if to measure his words, Soren continued. "I will know the animal I am dealing with and how to put you down. I know what you committed, Lyle Spolleta. It wasn't enough that a dastard such as yourself causes misery to the people of Brettonia on such a broad scale, but you had to act on such improper urges as well. I know what did to a certain lady in Gisoreux you-

"Alright, we're going." Lyle said suddenly, ending Soren's reading one last time.

"Do you want me to finish the rest of the letter Master Lyle or-

"Burn it."

"Thy will be done."

"What the fuck is it with these Brettonians throwing around rape charges at me like it's going out of style? Who the hell even started these rumors in the first place!?"

"I believe it was the former Duke of Artois Master, who started such lowly rumors." Soren piped up, sounding unimpressed.

"Wait…Soren, you weren't around back then, how do you know that?"

The zombie seemed to stare into the distance, tilting his head utop the wall as if thinking of how to answer the question. "I'm afraid the answer eludes me on that master."

I shoulda let Krell go slowly on that plated piece o' shit. Lyle detested labels like that being placed on them. Especially the ones that weren't true, obviously! It was a smear campaign to the tenth degree, and he wasn't going to stand for it! "To hell with it! He wants a showdown at High-noon tomorrow he'll get that and more! Freddy, tell the Legion to get ready to move."

"Erm…master-

"I personally woulda liked to kick my legs up at the new digs, but I'm not gonna take slander lying down! He wants a showdown like we're gonna throw down at a western! He's gonna get it!"

"Master, Bohemond…Bohemond isn't someone I recommend taking on personally… he's a grail knight, master."

"Oh relax Freddy, I was just gonna sik Krell on him and call it a day…and then beat the piss out of the rest of his goody too shoo knights with our zombies and skeletons for good measure!"

Freddy, however, looked nervously at Lyle, as did many of the other acolytes on the wall. "Master… I'm not sure that Krell will be enough to slay the Beastslayer. Have you already forgotten how he slew a dragon?"

"Oh come on!" Lyle grunted. "We smacked em' around good enough before, we can do it again-

"We were against peasants before, Master, with very few knights, none of them Grail Knights." Freddy pointed out with further concern. "If we waited a few more days for our acolytes to make use of the beastmen's…material to enhance and create more undead, we can-

"And what? Give this self-righteous bathwater drinker more ammo so slander me with? Nah, I'm good. But, he's not gonna be tomorrow, I can promise that."

"But Master-

"We're going, Freddy. That's final. You want our acolytes to have that much more undead tell em' to kick their pale asses into high gear. Besides! Thanks to the info from our friend, we know that they're not at full strength when the beastmen had their way with em', like with the dwarfs!"

This time Soren spoke up without any of the concern or alarm in his voice that Freddy had. "You may want to err on the side of caution, Master. Grail knights truly are a terror on the open field, even if they are filled with chivalrous ideals of grandeur within their lesser smoother minds."

"Then we'll use that against em'. These guys like to have a high opinion of themselves. I'll use that to bring them off their horses and to their damned knees. We're going tomorrow, and that's final! Soren!"

"Yes, Master?"

"Get out and fetch Ru-wait. What is Rudy doing right now anyway?"

"Last I saw, he was skinning the beastmen corpses, Master."

"Ughh…why?"

"I was curious and asked him myself. He mentioned it was a tradition of manhood from his village."

Lyle blinked for a moment, digesting that little tidbit, but decided not to dwell on it too much. I mean, how the hell can I? I use literal corpses to fight my battles for me, plus it's not like he's skinning actual people or anything. "Look, just tell him to put a hold on that and help me pack my shit. This duke wants a fight. He's gonna get it and then some."

"Consider it done, Master."

…

"The boy will doom us as much as he's helped further our ambitions." Schmitz said lowly as the two stood upon the battlements, sometime later that night, far and away from any eavesdroppers. Both Fredericka and Schmitz made sure to have their own skeletal thralls patrolling the area to ensure that the conversation would remain private, for as much as she would have liked to say she could trust a fellow necromancer, to do so was to invite your peril with an unhealthy amount of Dhar.

"I'll reign him in. A few words here and there, and I'll prevent him from doing anything too overtly foolish or costly."

"And how many more times can you do this before he tires of you holding his nonexistent collar?"

"As long as it takes for you and your…friends to find out the secrets to his unusually quick growth."

Schmitz's silence was all the confirmation Fredericka needed to know how well matters were going on that front. It was genuinely frustrating at how little progress the two of them had made in rifling through Kemmler's belongings and knowledge of the ritual he left for Fredericka as a failsafe for his death, but it was inevitable to her annoyance.

The instructions were direct but ultimately left little description of how they functioned on a technical level…or why they functioned. The maddening part about all of this was, as she researched the materials and magic that she used in the ritual to summon Lyle, she came to the realization that the magic that was used was not…solely Dhar.

And the fact that she and Schmitz had yet to find out the other magic used in this summoning continued to nag and concern her even to this moment. Magic was a useful yet dangerous element, even to the most experienced practitioner of it. And she knew that someone as inexperienced as her was treading on dangerous water in trying to recreate such magic possibly.

Schmitz, however, presently had other concerns. "Perhaps…you should slacken that leash just a tad when we meet the Beastslayer. Let the boy have his way, so to speak."

Fredericka looked at the bald man as if he had declared himself a user of the lore of life. "You think Lyle can best him?"

"Not even with Krell. That beast has its limits, and the Beastslayer has a habit of slaying creatures above his helmet…then again, he could surprise us. Anything can happen."

"...yes…anything can happen from a famed Grail Knight who single-handedly killed a dragon, manticores, cygores, and so much more."

"Indeed."

It was common knowledge for Fredericka. Even when she was a peasant girl, Boehmond's legend had traveled far and wide to even the lowliest of peasants. She knew by now that while some tales of certain knights had been overblown to comic proportions, The current duke of Bastonne was not one for idle boasts.

As rapid as Lyle's magical prowess was growing, she knew that compared to a grail knight that proficient…

Then Fredericka realized something…while having Lyle alive to understand his magical proficiency would be helpful…it wasn't required. Sure him perishing would be inconvenient, but…

"It would be inconvenient." Fredericka shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant.

To her relief, Schmitz seemed to buy it. "Inconvenient, but not overtly difficult…we need only to deal with the dwarfs afterward, which can be to our benefit. That Brettonian boy will be an afterthought and, those…also have you noticed how much autonomy those undead of his are acting with?"

"It's impossible not to notice!...I never taught him how to give raised thralls that level of…free will, if it can be even called that. That hand he calls 'Thing'. The undead with the Norscan accent. Are they fragments of the souls lingering on the body…parts, or is it something that he's imprinting through himself?"

"A shame we may never find out, at least not immediately." Schmitz shrugged. "I'm sure that once we stop by Blackstone Post, we can more readily read more of Kemmler's notes and find out the nature of this spell that you used."

"They would certainly help shed light on his power." Fredericka nodded. "If there's nothing Else?"

Schmitz nodded, a rare smile finding its way to his face. "If our esteemed leader makes it through tomorrow, perhaps he can learn from his own hubris…if not…all the better." And with that, Schmitz left Frederick, climbing down the battlements with a satisfied look on his face.

Fredericka herself, however, was not as confident in this line of thinking, though she didn't show it as she stared out in the nightly sky.

If he dies, there's no telling what happens. No guarantees that the acolytes that stayed thanks to him will stick around. No guarantee that someone else may swing for the ranks of Lichemaster. No guarantees that Schmitz or I won't be knocked off the path to that…so many variables…too many variables.

It was all too soon for her liking. There was still so much that they didn't know about Lyle's power and how it grew so exponentially, or rather how he learned spells so rapidly compared to the average dhar practitioner. And there was no guarantee that they would find the answer in the case of his death.

Too many variables…too many variables.

She would never air all of these concerns to Schmitz of course. Her trust in him only extended so far, as one would trust a fellow necromancer after all.

Too many variables…

The weight of the aftermath of Lyle's death was too heavy to ignore. It was part of why she was so hesitant to assume leadership of the Barrow Legion after Kemmler's Demise. She simply didn't have the power to throw her weight around and assume leadership…at least not yet.

That...and there was the other complication to all of this.

The idea of Lyle suddenly passing into the afterlife, made her feel so...empty inside...far more empty than a necromancer such as herself had any right to feel.

"Too many damned variables." Fredericka sighed, leaning against the walls. The weight of it all was heavier than it had any right to be.

A/N: As you can see, there are a lot of elements that are going to be at play in the next chapter with a lot up in the air, with no guarantee for success for any of the parties involved. I appreciate your patience in waiting for this new chapter out and I promise you, that the next one will probably be my most eventful yet. Stay tuned.