Chapter B4 - Prelude

Chapter B4 - Prelude

Just tell them Im writing out my notes as quickly as I can, Tyron frowned, but dont forget I have my own work to worry about.

Your work will go a lot faster if you have help, Munhilde pointed out reasonably. The people are more than willing to give you all the assistance you need, they just need to know how.

Willingness wasnt the problem. He rubbed a hand across his weary face as he tried to find a tactful way to explain that he didnt want low-skilled people interfering in his process. Hed much rather do everything himself to ensure the final outcome was something he could put his faith in than turn a single skeleton over to these amateurs.

You think I cant see what youre thinking? Munhilde observed wryly. You dont want them to help because theyre not up to scratch. Which means theyll never get up to scratch, because they dont get to practice. You see the problem?

Im doing this to repay a favour for your people, Tyron replied, irritated. I dont want or need any help, I dont care how many bone smiths you have down there. The old gods want to play with peoples fate and mess with the Awakening? Thats their business, theirs and yours.

He was perfectly capable of managing his own undead horde and didnt intend to let anyone else lay a finger on a skeletal bone.

The priestess of the dark gods, Elsbeths teacher in their ways, looked at him as if she were staring at a misbehaving child.

What? he said, begrudgingly.

Youre being stupid, she told him bluntly. You donThe source of this content no/v(el)bi((n))

She cut off with a strangled sound as Tyron crushed her mind with his own, freezing her in place. After a moment, he breathed out a long, slow breath, and tried to push the flash of violent anger that had exploded in his chest at her words. His temper appeared to have suffered lately, which wouldnt do. He couldnt afford to lose control.

Once he was sure the flash of anger was gone, he released his hold on the priestess and dipped his head.

I apologise. I must be lacking rest.

He was, but it wasnt a good excuse.

Freed from his control, Munhilde glared at him furiously, but mastered herself with effort.

As I was saying, she spat, you dont know what is happening down the mountain. The Corpse Weavers and Bone Shapers have been making expeditions down onto the plains to the east and north. They gain proficiency by working with remains, so they wanted to see if they could unearth any of the mass graves.

They found some? Tyron asked.

Theyre still carting in the bodies, she told him in clipped tones. There could be as many as a thousand in just the graves they found so far.

A thousand sets of remains Tyron could scarcely imagine it. Not that long ago, he was paying solid gold for twenty a month. This represented an unprecedented amount of wealth. What could he do with such an amount of resources?

He quickly realised the issue that Munhilde was getting at. No matter what, there was no way he could use them all. Preparing every corpse, stitching them all, even with the Ossuary, then raising them it would take an enormous amount of time. He doubted he could even support that many undead to start with.

And this was only the beginning. There were tens of thousands of dead in the wake of the rift break, entire villages, farming communities, small towns, wiped from the map by unthinking, bloodthirsty kin.

Now he began to grasp what it was that the Old Gods had arranged for. The newly Awakened had been granted many Classes hed never heard of. Among the Famers, Haulers, Coopers and Smiths, there had been so many related to the dead and the handling of corpses. The Corpse Weavers in particular were a Class which seemed to be entirely related to preparing the dead for other uses. If they reached a high level, it was possible they could significantly improve the quality of remains, well beyond even what he himself could do.

With so many recently dead, and the looming conflict ahead, these newly Awakened, along with the Bone Smiths and others, would become the craftspeople feeding a war machine of Necromancers and other dark magick users.

No need for forges, or slayer schools, bowyers and fletchers. All he needed was a steady supply of well-prepared remains and he could fuel the fighting indefinitely.

The Bone Shapers could possibly even collect the skeletons who fell in battle and repair them, something he already didnt have the time to do. Over the years, more of these Classes would appear, and there would soon be hundreds of them, collecting the dead and turning those useless bundles of flesh and bone into something so much more.

Fine. I understand what youre saying, and I see the value in it. Ill devote more time to condensing my notes.

Tomorrow? That soon?

It appears he doesnt want to waste any time, Munhilde replied wryly. Now come, we should give the lucky young ones the good news. Im sure theyll be delighted.

The younger priestess expression warped as she considered just how this news would be received. Some would be pleased but others? Not all were keen to learn from someone as feared as Tyron Steelarm. The two turned and began to walk side by side, but didnt get far before they were accosted.

Did you talk to him for us? Trenan demanded as he approached.

The Hammerman looked tired, his eyes lined with care, but beneath his fatigue there was anger.

Ive asked that you be patient, Munhilde attempted to soothe the slayer. We have many things to talk to Tyron about. You and your teams are only one of those concerns.

I have been patient. You asked us not to speak to him, and we havent. Meanwhile, the rift we depend on for levels, and for our living, is being monopolised again. Patience has a limit, and slayers are usually the kind of people you keep happy.

Munhildes eyes sharpened as Elsbeth sucked in a breath.

Is that a threat? the older Priestess asked coldly.

Not a threat, a statement. Theres unease in the barracks. Not everyone in there is as fucking patient as I am.

Elsbeth turned to Munhilde and placed a hand on her arm. The older woman drew a breath before letting it out slowly.

Fine, go speak to him. I advise you to be careful. He is irritable, at the moment.

The Hammerman snorted loudly as he turned away.

Ill be more polite than talking to my fucking mother, dont you worry.

So saying, he broke into a jog, ready to carry the good news back to his teammates in the barracks while Elsbeth and Munhilde continued on their way to speak to the newly Awakened.

Why has all this responsibility fallen on our shoulders? Munhilde muttered. There is a council, why arent they the ones making the decisions?

Because the believers far outnumber the unbelievers at this point, Elsbeth said simply. Followers of the Three will listen to us above the Council, so they are putting decisions in our hands.

Especially ones that concerned Tyron and the strange Classes of the newly Awakened. Ortan was more than willing to wash his hands of all of it.

If only the Venerable were still with us, Munhilde sighed as they entered the town centre.

There, the stone that had formed from the old man remained, an object of veneration for the people of Cragwhistle.

I think he did enough for us, Elsbeth said softly, now we need to find our way without him.

Munhilde rolled her eyes. The girl was right. She didn't like it, but she was right. There were none who had given more for the Three than the Venerable, including his life. There was literally nothing left for him to give.

The two Priestesses continued to walk, exchanging greetings and words with the people they passed, until they found the house they were looking for. One of the original buildings, made of stone and wood, it was relatively small, with a low-hanging thatched roof. Munhilde knocked on the door, which opened shortly after.

Inside, a small gathering of young people, merely eighteen years of age, revealed itself. The Priestess smiled at them.

Ive got good news, and bad news. Fair warning, theyre both the same news.