Dreamer's Throne

Book 3: Chapter 20

"I'm curious," he said, "about great rulers. Perhaps you could enlighten some of my curiosity."

"What will I get in return?" Agma-Yoth asked. "Every exchange requires an equal payment."

"I might consider keeping you alive," Garrett said, taking off his hat and running his fingers through his hair. "Though, on second thought, probably not."

"You would be foolish to do so. A great ruler who is not slain will grow in power once again, returning to exert their influence on the world. This is the way of it."

"Now that is a valuable piece of information," Garrett said. "But I'm afraid I don't have anything of value to give you in return."

"That is not true," Agma-Yoth replied. "You have had contact with other great rulers, and I am curious to know what you have learned about them."

Thinking for a moment, Garrett nodded.

"Sure, I'll tell you something. Given your proximity, I'm sure you've run into the Burning Pain of Gath. But there's another great ruler who's poking around in this region, trying to see if they can gain some influence. The Crimson Eye of Shalmoroth."

Though Agma-Yoth's face was frozen in a frightening expression, Garrett could have sworn that he saw the skeletal man's eyes widen in shock.

"You have encountered the Crimson Eye of Shalmoroth?" This time, Agma-Yoth's voice was quiet and tense. "It is impressive that you are still alive. Few can look upon the Crimson Eye and survive to tell the tale."

Shrugging, Garrett casually polished his nails against his coat and then looked at it.

"Eh, it wasn't that hard," he said, lying through his teeth.

Agma-Yoth clearly didn't believe him, but didn't press the issue and instead changed the subject.

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"It is more valuable than you know to have learned that the Crimson Eye is beginning to expand her reach. So, I will share another piece of information with you. What do you wish to know?"

"How do you become a great ruler?" Garrett asked, causing Agma-Yoth to chuckle.

"A great ruler is one who owns a piece of the dream," Agma-Yoth said. "Typically, that doesn't happen to someone at your level. You might consider yourself unfortunate for having fallen into such a situation, but never fear. You shall serve me for eternity, and I will teach you the ways of the great ruler."

Shaking his head, Garrett stood up from his stool.

"That sounds like my cue to leave," he said. "Besides, there's no way you're winning this fight."

"Many have said the same thing," Agma-Yoth said, his skeletal grin somehow widening without moving. "And all of them have fallen before the might of Lesrak. You shall be no different, unless you choose to serve me of your own free will. Submit yourself to me, and I shall grant you everything you desire."

Shaking his head, Garrett let out a sigh. "I don't know what's with you megalomaniacs, but you're all the same," he said. "There's no way you can give me what I want, so don't even bother."

"Very well," Agma-Yoth rumbled. "Let us continue our war. You have done well in the first round. Let's see how you fare in the second."

Agma-Yoth's words were ominous, but Garrett didn't let them get to him as he left the great ruler's mental space. Cynen, Viper, and the others were still resting, regathering their strength before they headed further into the temple. Garrett returned his awareness to the surface, stopping briefly to check on the war of attrition in the sewers. It was proceeding as he had anticipated, though he found his forces losing ground ever so slightly. Things were still within the expected margin of error, however, so he let it be.

The flower ghouls were putting up a stiff fight, forcing more and more of the necromancers above ground. They had even managed to kill a few necromancers themselves, and hundreds and thousands of zombies fell before their claws. There was a good system, a rhythm, to their fight. Any time a zombie fell, it would be dragged back to the nearby nest stone, its body thrown onto the corpse pile. The flower ghoul who brought it over would then touch the corpse and the nest stone, splitting into two copies of itself in a flash, before hurrying back to the fight.

This allowed the flower ghouls to slow the zombie advance to a crawl, and occasionally even block it entirely. In spots where a necromancer was too strong, Garrett would have the flower ghouls collapse the passages, forcing the necromancers to go a different direction. He had considered completely sealing the entire area, but further thought had prompted him to leave things as they were. The fight in the sewers was a slow meat grinder, and it was doing much to blunt Agma-Yoth's offensive. However, the great ruler had called this part of the fight simply the opening act, and Garrett had a bad feeling about whatever surprise Agma-Yoth had in store for him.

Though his attention flickered all over the battlefield, Garrett couldn't figure out where the second stage would start. The fight in the northern part of the district was growing fiercer, and the Brass Tiger Syndicate had been forced to throw every available fighter they had at the ever-swelling horde of zombies pouring out of the royal graveyard. Even with the fierce resistance they were putting up, they were starting to lose ground. Paskal had managed to wound the pus-covered necromancer badly, but that had simply resulted in the man transforming into a monstrous slug-like creature that spewed vile bile all over the street, forcing the Brass Tiger Syndicate to withdraw their forces.

This had bought enough time for more necromancers to arrive, leading their forces into the newly vacated space. Though the bile was dangerous to living and undead alike, the undead simply didn't care and marched forward through the corrupted streets, throwing themselves against the new line that the Brass Tiger Syndicate had established.

Realizing that there was no way they were going to be able to survive the oncoming horde, Paskal swore under his breath and called one of his lieutenants over.

"Go and find out what's taking the adventurers so long," he said, "and if you see Tellson, let him know that we won't last much longer."

His face pale, the lieutenant nodded and ran off into the darkness. The fierce storm overhead made visibility hard, but thanks to his improved eyesight, Paskal could see the endless horde of zombies pressing towards them. Here and there stood the necromancers who guided them, each urging their zombies forward, eager to gain credit for their master, the Skeletal Hand of Lesrak. In a brief pause in the fierce fighting, Paskal turned and looked at his men, most of whom were practically trembling with fear. He let out a snort and a savage grin crossed his face.

"I'm surprised you cowards have stuck around," he said with a fierce glare. "I would have expected all of you to run off in the face of trouble this big, but it's good to know that you've got my back."

Turning, he faced the zombies and called out to the necromancer controlling them.

"Why don't you cowards come out and face me?" he said. "Why let the small fry settle this? Let's settle this man to man."

What answered him was a scornful laugh and a single command.

"Attack!"

Some blocks away, dancing across the rooftop, Delrisa the vampire and Isabelle the dire spirit battled fiercely. Their speed was matched, and though Delrisa was physically stronger, Isabelle was much craftier and more practiced at fighting at this level. Her hair was constantly seeking to bind Delrisa in place or transforming into a sharp weapon to try to stab through the vampire's defenses. She also used it as a shield, blocking the slashes that Delrisa attempted to unleash. Rather than stay in one place and battle it out, they were constantly on the move, racing this way and that, their feet barely touching the roofs of the houses below them.

Furious, Delrisa let out shrieks as she tried to fight free of the waves of hair that surrounded her, while Isabelle, who seemed to be having a delightful time, giggled as she attacked. Her laughter only drove Delrisa to further heights of madness. And finally, the vampire drew a dagger that glowed with sinister energy. When she saw it, Isabelle's laughter abruptly cut off, and her eyes, which could hardly be seen behind her hair, widened.

"Ooh," she said, "I want that. You should give that to me."

Instead of replying, Delrisa simply snarled and lunged forward, hacking at Isabelle's hair. The dire spirit let out a shriek that manifested in a physical wave of force, knocking Delrisa back. Lunging forward, Isabelle reached for the dagger, intending to grab it, but Delrisa opened her mouth wide and tried to bite down on the outstretched arm. Jerking her hand back, Isabelle seemed to grow irate.

"No!" she yelled, and in a flash, a needle appeared above her head.

It paused for just a moment before shooting towards Delrisa, attempting to stab into her lip. Shocked, Delrisa lifted her dagger, blocking the needle, only to see it circle around and come back. Quickly, she fled, using her fastest speed to race across the tops of the buildings. But no matter how fast she was, she couldn't out pace Isabelle's ability to move through reflective surfaces, and no matter where she went the dire spirit was there, waiting. Though vampires had higher levels of stamina than most creatures, as the fight dragged on, Delrisa noticed her speed beginning to lag. Desperate to escape, she ran with all her might, but Isabelle followed close behind.

Finally, needing to restore her energy, Delrisa decided to change her tactic. Fighting desperately against the mysterious needle artifact that kept trying to sew her mouth shut, and the hair that sought to entangle her, Delrisa raced back towards the battlefield. There, she threw herself into the mix, finding a man, one of the gang members, who was fighting against the zombies. Smashing into him in a blur, she could feel his bones snapping, but didn't care. She was after something else: his blood. Her mouth opened, and she bit down on his neck, only to feel her fangs piercing cold, slimy scales. As a disgusting taste of raw fish filled her mouth, she let out a shriek and looked in shock at her hands where a live fish squirmed, as Isabelle's playful laughter echoed in her ears.

The fight between the Brass Tiger Syndicate and the zombie horde had grown fiercer, and more and more of the gang's fighters were falling with every passing moment. Just as Paskal was beginning to lose hope, about to call for a retreat, he heard the tromp of booted feet and the blast of a trumpet from behind him.

"It's about time," he roared, smashing a zombie aside and landing a fierce blow on the greater undead who surged towards him.

Filtering through the small streets at the side came teams of armored adventurers, their swords, maces, and axes ripping apart the zombies with ease. They flooded from the north, where the adventurers' guild was located, and Arthur Tellson, the guild leader, strode at their front. He wielded a longsword in either hand, moving with tremendous precision as he cut through zombie heads one after another, carving a bloody path straight towards the necromancers.

"What took you so long?" Paskal yelled over the din of the battle.

Flashing a smile, Tellson just shrugged.

"You looked like you were doing well," he said.

As the adventurers joined the battle, the tide turned once again, swinging in the defenders' favor. With the help of the adventurers, the battle lines were quickly redrawn, and the zombie forces were pushed back to the middle of the street, buying the defenders the respite they needed. The adventurers, each highly trained and well-armored, all had the additional benefit of being awakened and fought with fierce determination. That gave the mortal members of the Brass Tiger Syndicate much-needed time to rest and regather their energy.

Garrett had been busy in this part of the battlefield, planting dream flowers in each fighter he could find. He didn't waste his time with more than one per fighter, as it was too risky that they would die, wasting his efforts. But a single flower was enough to increase the rate at which they recovered their energy and grant them the courage they needed to throw themselves back into battle once they had caught their breath. Still, zombies continued to pour out of the graveyard, and after another half an hour of fierce fighting, Tellson finally made his way towards Paskal, grudging respect in his gaze.

"You guys have been fighting like this for hours?" he asked.

"Yes," Paskal spat. "Which is why I said you're late."

"Better late than not at all," Tellson responded calmly. "We have to do something about this, though. There are still more of them coming."

"Look for somebody else," Paskal said, trying in vain to wipe the blood from his hands. "The only reason I'm fighting is because these monsters picked my territory to attack. As soon as they go somewhere else, I'm done."

Frowning, Tellson nodded. He couldn't actually blame the gang leader. He could tell that Paskal was beyond exhausted, even though the gang leader was desperately trying not to show it.

"I'll pull in any reserves we have," Tellson said, "and we'll do our best to push the wave south."

"That's my kind of plan," Paskal replied. "Let the other gangs pay some of the cost."

About to issue orders to the adventurers to begin deflecting the zombies further south, Andrew Tellson's face abruptly paled, and his head snapped to the side, staring back towards where the adventurers' guild stood. And he wasn't the only one. Every single Awakened in that part of the city felt it, as did Delrisa, who was still fighting fiercely against Isabelle. Garrett, who had been observing the situation, felt the shift and quickly took control of Isabelle, retreating and staring to the north. Delrisa laughed madly, her eyes lighting up.

"The true fight has begun," she said. "All hail Agma-Yoth, Skeletal Hand of Lesrak. All hail the Great Ruler of Bone."

Her shriek echoed over the city, picked up by the other necromancers, in a steady chant, as from in front of the adventurers' guild, a massive set of bones that had been placed there on display, began to glow with black light. Arcane runes that seemed to shift and squirm under the eye began to appear on the skeleton of the Maragoth that the adventurers had slain and dragged into the city. Surges of powerful mental energy rose through the ground, sinking deep into the bones, and the bad feeling that had been brewing in Garrett's heart ever since he had heard Agma-Yoth's declaration erupted in full force.

The bones, that had been carefully pinned in place to form an impressive-looking statue of a giant spiked creature, shook themselves free, black energy binding them into a skeletal monster that lifted its head high and let out a roar loud enough to drown out every other sound in the city. In life, the Maragoth was a shaper-level beast, and now, in death, it had been transformed into something much more. The waves of power rolling off of it were clearly beyond anything most of the shapers in the city had ever felt, and as it roared its challenge, they couldn't help but feel a seed of fear appearing in their hearts. Even Garrett felt that fear, though it was burned away under the jealous influence of the Dreamer's throne upon which he sat. Faintly, Garrett heard a mocking voice speaking in his mind.

"Allow me," Agma-Yoth said, "to introduce you to my chosen."