Book 3: Chapter 20

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.

"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."

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."