"You see, Akkarulf, these necrotects are nothing but overpaid unskilled labor! I'd say he was born of a coupling between a jackal and an ogre, but an ogrespawn could have done it cheaper, faster and above all better!"
Akkarulf did not know why the Wolf thought it necessary to involve him in mockery of the "necrotect", whatever that was, but he understood why he could hear the Wolf speaking in Westerosi as well as the rasping hiss he had used on the wizard. The statue's rider bellowed a string of imprecations.
"Good thinking, stone-basher, your pet raising a leg over this pile of rocks is just what it needs to complete it! Trolls put more care in assembling the debris of their meals!"
The mummy screamed again, and actually whipped its stone mount in fury. The Wolf turned his back to the wight to scratch his sword over the mural again so that a procession of cows now appeared to be producing dung.
"A more accurate illustration of his skill, wouldn't you say, Akkarulf?"
Akkarulf was unsure that he was meant to answer or was just there for the Wolf to make snide comments to. The point was made moot by the charging statue, which did not check its momentum when the Wolf threw himself to the side but plowed headlong into the obelisk, shattering the mural and keeling over to the side, throwing its rider.
"Better already! What good work sand and weather have been doing over centuries your cat has done in matter of minutes! Keep at it, Amun, you'll bring down this insult to masonry yet!"
The necrotect stood up, shaking its head as a disorientated man would. It looked at the crater the lion statue had left, and immediately started thrashing it. Akkarulf glanced over at the Wolf, who made a circular motion with his hand. Akkarulf circled around the statue as slowly as he dared, then ran back for the rope, which took him behind the Wolf.
The mummy seemed to have spent his fury on the statue and remembered the true cause of the damage. The Wolf waved cheerfully at him.
"Ah, yes, punishing the underlings to hide your incompetence, always a mark of the successful leader of men. Ramhotep must have taken one look at you and decided you weren't worth impersonating!"
The necrotect jumped down, holding its whip up and lashing out at the Wolf. The giant held up his hand, letting the whip wrap itself around his arm, then jerked backwards. The mummy hurled forward, landing facedown in the sand.
"Ah, now this would make for a fine mural subject. 'The Inept Architect Bowing Before His Superior And Conqueror'. I shall have to find and commission some skilled artisan to make it. D'you know any, or did you have them murdered to claim the credit for their work?"
The mummy stood up and threw itself at the Wolf, a chisel in hand. It struck so hard Akkarulf saw a chunk of steel fly away.
"A chisel, really? You couldn't find a real weapon? A knife, a fist, your manhood, anything!"
The Wolf paused.
"Wait... Was your rod of Usirian also bitten by a fish, leaving it with such unimpressive dimensions that you felt compelled to build such an eyesore? Were I so untalented and disadvantaged I would certainly not advertise the fact to all and sundry!"
The Wolf grabbed the necrotect by the shoulders and slammed it into the obelisk. The giant jerked a thumb at a mural of a woman seated on a throne.
"Your woman in life or your mother, perhaps? A shame I cannot write your language, I'd write directions to her tomb so passersby might know where to find a good time! Does it involve the hieroglyphs for two hippos, a cave and a female dog?"
The mummy hissed something at the Wolf, but he only laughed in response.
"With what? That kitten of yours? Gnoblars take greater pains in the crafting of their weapons than you did on this spawn of a jackal and a gutter-cat! I could turn it into so much rubble without even using my sword!"
Suiting deeds to words, the Wolf sheathed his sword.
"In fact, I think I will. Akkarulf!"
Akkarulf turned to the Wolf.
"If this waste of good linen runs away, strike him down."
The Wolf ran to the statue, which was just starting to stand up. He pulled out the flask he had taken from the Silence, uncorked it, and briefly applied the mouth of the flask to the stone. Instantly smoke rose from the statue's leg. The mummy screeched again, but it seemed to Akkarulf it was in horror rather than rage this time.
The necrotect spread its arms out and chanted in a reedy tongue. The stone flowed like water and smoothed itself out, but the Wolf was already dropping more of the liquid on the statue's other hindleg.
The statue roared as if in pain and lashed about, its tail whipping the air. The Wolf lunged to the side as the skull breathed fire at him, the delicately-carved murals of the obelisk cracking under the heat. The necrotect cried out again, and this time Akkarulf was sure he had rarely heard more fury than in its voice.
"Well, builder of sandcastles? I'm still waiting for your creature to show me it was built by a master craftsman and not an apprentice barely trusted to sweep up the workshop!"
The Wolf stood with his back to the obelisk as the statue reared up on its hindlegs. For an instant it seemed frozen, then came crashing down. But the Wolf lunged straight underneath the falling statue, and the heavily-abused mural took the full brunt of its attack. Fissures exploded like lightning through the wall, chips of stone flying in all directions.
The necrotect lunged forward just as the Wolf gripped the statue's tail and started worming his way up to its back. The statue knelt down to allow its master passage and stood up. The Wolf gripped the howdah with one hand and clambered up, only to be struck in the back by the monster's tail.
"Graah!"
The Wolf seemed surprised, then annoyed.
"Too cheap to buy poison for your creations? Must I add embezzlement and avarice to your crimes against beauty and harmonious proportion?"
The Wolf rolled just as the statue's tail fell on the howdah again, cracking the stone. The statue emitted a deep roar. The giant fell to one knee, then launched himself forward, flask in hand. The necrotect was unceremoniously shoved to and off the side, then the Wolf started to drip the contents of the flask onto the statue's neck. The monster shook and squirmed, but could not rid itself of the intruder, and the cracks in its bones spread faster than its master's ability to heal them.
Finally the statue reared up once more, but the strain proved too much for its weakened and smoking neck, its head snapping off to crush the necrotect below. Instantly the stone stopped moving, but the headless statue rocked back and forth until it finally keeled over backwards, the Wolf jumping clear at the last moment.
As soon as he landed, the Wolf carefully replaced the flask's stopper and stowed it away. Then he started pushing against the oversized skull, dragging the pulverized corpse out and shaking it by the leg, dislodging a rain of amulets and jewelry from its wrappings and bandages. Akkarulf looked nonplussed. The Wolf usually performed a ritual in honor of the dark gods after his battles.
"You aren't taking his skull, yarrl?"
The Wolf looked surprised.
"Why? The gods didn't ask for it, nor was he of any difficulty to kill. Can you imagine how soon I'd run out of room if I carried the skull of every single man or beast or Kurgan I'd ever killed? This one wasn't even a warrior. A scholar, at best."
The Wolf's contempt for any life not spent fighting was visible as ever.
"What's in that bottle, yarrl?"
"Troll bile. Not much that'll stand up to it, but it's hard to get. Best to keep it for when it's needed."
Akkarulf looked queasy at the thought of having drunk the corrosive humor, even in triply diluted form. But he could not imagine gutting a troll would present any difficulty for the Wolf.
"Are trolls so hard to find, yarrl?"
"The problem isn't getting it, it's finding a bottle that'll keep it long enough. This is gromril and it still can't keep the smell in, you can imagine how well mundane materials hold up. You can clean steel with it, in the same way decapitation removes toothache."
The Wolf grabbed the rope and had one foot against the wall when Akkarulf paused.
"Aren't we staying to help?"
"Help? Help who?"
Akkarulf was about to say "the crew", when the Wolf continued.
"Are you suggesting that you and I, who have already been honored by the gods beyond what most men can only dream of, should deny others that same chance? Especially when they seem to be doing just fine on their own?"
Akkarulf turned around. His attention had been solely focused on the Wolf's duel with the necrotect, and now he looked upon a very different battlefield.
The skeletons from the tomb were no more, being beaten into the ground by the Hammerstorm's forces or fleeing his wrath. Several ran into the Ironborn, and though they showed great martial skill, parrying attacks and separating heads from bodies in single strokes, they proved just as susceptible to dragonglass as the others.
Only the spectacularly-adorned skeleton remained standing, but rather than fighting him, the Chaos warriors were restraining him as the Wolf's marauders had the wizard. The hammer rose and fell, but rather than smashing the mummy's face or body, Harald methodically snapped its limbs.
A great cheer rose up from the Norscans when Harald Hammerstorm raised his weapon in triumph, echoed by the wordless cries of the Ironborn.
"A good day's work... Akkarulf, get back to the ship and see how they're getting on up there. Once you do that, find me the least fair of the elves in the hold."
"Yes yarrl. Least fair, as in..."
"The ones least likely to fetch a good price."
"Yes yarrl."
The Wolf picked up the plunder he'd shaken free from the necrotect's corpse. Akkarulf began the slow climb up the face of the monolith.
Once the Wolf had joined the crew atop the obelisk, Akkarulf had pulled three elves out of the hold. The upper chambers had been emptied of a stunning quantity of valuables, more gold than he'd ever seen in one place in his life, and yet there seemed to be still more.
The Wolf interrogated the elves, flinging one off the obelisk for what seemed an impertinent answer. The others seemed more agreeable, for he ordered ropes to be placed around their necks, then disappeared into the obelisk with them and a score of marauders and Ironborn.
Akkarulf spent the rest of the day aiding the Ironborn and Norscans to loot the bodies of the dead. Even the great vultures had been carrying amulets and jewelry in their bandages. The temptation was great to simply put all the dead on a pyre and rake through the ashes afterwards, but he contained himself. The heat would surely damage the craftmanship, for in spite of the Wolf's comments, he had rarely seen such intricately detailed carvings.
As the sun carried on its course, immense piles of golden jewelry and precious stones lay on spare sails dropped from the Silence. Harald's warriors began dragging the undead bodies together, assembling them on the smashed form of the lion statue, then gathered their own dead along with the Ironborn's. The serpent statue that still gripped Hakkon's body was dragged by half a dozen men, one marauder prizing Hakkon's dragonglass sword and the skeleton's halberd from their lifeless hands and presenting both to Teron.
It was almost sunset when the Wolf emerged from the great doors at the base of the tomb. Both elves were still on the end of their tethers, although one was missing a hand and the other had a hideous wound running the length of his face. Akkarulf also noted that one or two of his men were missing. Those still alive were bent nearly double under the sacks of plunder they carried, two of them wheeling an ornate chariot filled with loot between them.
"A good haul, yarrl?"
"Decent enough, yes."
The elves were made to kneel in the burning sand while the Wolf made the climb back up the obelisk. The Silence was unmoored and slowly descended to the sands, where the sacks of plunder were added to the sailcloth and hauled aboard with much sweating and grunting. The last item to be hauled aboard was the Hammerstorm's victim, bound with ropes but left ungagged.
"Why didn't he kill that one, yarrl? Or you the wizard?"
"I need them for later."
"But who is he?"
"Tomb prince."
The Wolf's voice sounded more contemptuous than usual.
"I thought to face an army worthy of the name, and instead we only found this princeling Ptenisnet, the offshoot of a concubine of a minor dynasty. Small wonder he could only afford so incompetent a necrotect."
The crew gathered before the gathered corpses.
"Akkarulf, your bow. Send the dead to their ancestor's halls, and their slaves to serve them."
Akkarulf blew the firepot's embers into life, then took an arrow, rolled it in pitch, and set it ablaze. He saw the Druchii struggling as if to escape, then loosed the arrow. It was clearly visible in the darkening sky and landed at the top of the pyre. The fire spread and crackled, and soon roared as the statues had done.
The Wolf whistled, and the two marauders guarding the elves released their charges and started climbing aboard, as did the rest of the crew. The Druchii looked at each other and fled into the obelisk.
"We're leaving them?"
"Where're they going to run to? Besides, they might as well stay here now that they know where the traps are, having set most of them off. Or maybe they'll try to make babies and start a new colony in the heart of the land of the dead."
"But they were both men, yarrl!"
"I said try. Randy little buggers, are elves, be they fair or dark or ginger."
The Hammerstorm was the last to climb aboard the Morathi's Hand, calling out to the Wolf when he had done so. The Wolf and Akkarulf climbed up in turn.
"Akkarulf, make ready, we sail through the night."
"We are? Er, yes yarrl! Unfurl the sails!"
As the Silence caught the wind, and surged forward, Akkarulf went to the Wolf.
"We're not leaving these lands yet?"
"Leaving? With the Hammerstorm still aboard? You have a very strange conception of what it means to finish a task, Akkarulf."
"But... we put down all the dead. Isn't that what you brought him along for?"
"That was his payment to me. Now I must uphold my end of the bargain."
In the morning, the Silence descended. Akkarulf could not see anything of note in the sea of dunes, save for a white shape towards the horizon. Harald Hammerstorm and his men alighted from the Morathi's Hand and started marching towards it without a backwards glance.
"We're leaving him behind?"
"As per his wishes. Try to tell him to leave and he'd likely stave your head in."
Akkarulf looked doubtful.
"But..."
"The Crater of the Waking Dead is only two day's march from here. Rest assured he'll have everything he could want out of life."
"The what?"
"A hole in the ground where thousands of dead do battle every day before being brought back. Can you imagine a better place for him to be?"
Akkarulf remembered the enthusiasm with which the Hammerstorm had destroyed undead. He had to admit he could not see a better end for a warrior so favored by the gods.
"Now get everyone ready to fight. Two more stops and we head back to our task."
Akkarulf had taken a step to obey the Wolf's order when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Actually..."
As preparations were made for the voyage, the dead wizard, tomb prince and elf captain were brought before the Wolf, who ordered them tied together. The elf screamed as the flesh of the dead surrounded him in parody of a Slaaneshi ritual, the prince spitting curses and the wizard's jaw moving slowly. Then all three were tied to the mast, the wound between worlds opened, and the desert returned to its eternal silence.