T Lain - The Living Dead

“If you’ll pardon me, Mialee,” Zalyn said over her shoulder, “I don’t see what the mystery is. Your old teacher was having trouble and needed your help.”

“But why me?” Mialee said. “I’m a neophyte compared to some of the mages he consorts with.”

“Perhaps he didn’t need someone powerful,” Zalyn replied gently. “Perhaps he simply needed someone he could trust.”

Trust. Mialee felt a warm wave of shame wash over her features, and she blushed. The realization of her selfishness over the past couple of days hit her full in the face like a cart full of bricks. Despite the obvious and immediate threat of the undead, she’d been more concerned with Favrid’s bad manners, the long journey he’d demanded of her, and his failure to keep a schedule.

Devis spoke next. “Well, I’ve heard enough,” he said, pushing back from the table and rising to his feet. “Mialee, you need to find this old man, and you need a guide. I told you before, I know that area, and it can be risky. Diir, are you with us?”

The elf nodded.

Mialee had a thought. “Diir, do you know if Favrid cast any other spells on you besides the one that compelled you to find me?”

“Don’t know,” the elf said in his peculiar accent, shrugging. “Didn’t know he cast the first one.”

“What are you thinking, Mialee?” Devis asked, turning back from the window. “Did Favrid enchant Diir’s sword?”

“Maybe,” Mialee said without looking at the bard. “Or maybe it’s something more than that. Diir, may I cast a simple spell of magical detection on you?”

The elf thought for a moment, then shrugged again. “Please.”

Mialee waved her hands with a brief series of sharp, quick motions and softly whispered, “Hinual, lerret.”

“Wish I’d thought of that,” Devis muttered.

The spell opened her senses gradually to the presence of magic in the area. Mialee coaxed the effect around Diir.

The elf’s short sword glowed blood red in her altered vision. Mialee did her best to explain to the others what she was seeing. “Strong conjurative magic in the sword,” she reported. “Maybe some type of bane. And something else…” she trailed off.

Another magical field, so faint she’d almost missed it, suffused the elf’s entire body. The intensity of the field was most powerful in and around Diir’s head, but traces of it glowed softly from the elf’s head to his boots.

The magic was transmutative. Something had recently altered Diir at the most basic level, but the job hadn’t quite been completed.

The elf’s head, inexplicably, was made of something different from the rest of his body.

“Mialee, what is it?” Zalyn asked.

The wizard let the spell lapse. She’d learned all she could from it.

“What did you see?” Devis asked.

Mialee ignored the bard and placed a hand on Diir’s shoulder. “Diir, I’m not sure how to explain it,” she said, “but I think part of your head is made of, well, stone.”

Devis laughed uncontrollably and had to hold himself up on a chair. “Stone is a stone? Are you serious?”

Mialee stared at him. “Completely,” she said, turning to look Diir in the eye. “I’m not saying it makes sense,” the wizard explained, “but I can only think of two possibilities—either someone or some thing is trying to turn you into your namesake—”

“Or?” Diir asked.

“Or you were once turned to stone, and whoever changed you back didn’t quite finish the transformation,” said Mialee. “I said it didn’t make much sense. I’ve seen statues come to life before, and never once has one of them demanded to know who it was.”

Mialee swept her gaze around the room and finally let her eyes meet with the bard’s. “I’ll take you up on your offer, Devis. Diir, if you’ll still join us, there’s a chance we can restore your memory, if Favrid survives. The spell is beyond my skill, but that old man has forgotten more arcane art than the Blue Order ever knew.”

Diir nodded.

Devis sobered. “It’s going to be dangerous, Mialee,” he said with no hint of teasing or jest. “Is this old man worth it?”

“I’m through worrying about myself. I’ve been doing far too much of that lately,” Mialee said, strapping her rapier to her belt. She picked up her traveling pack and slung it over her shoulders.

Zalyn emerged from the kitchen with a clank of vials and scurried about the room handing each of them a pack of still-warm rations. “We’ll need something to eat, I imagine,” she said.

“Zalyn, who will look after the temple?” said Mialee.

A flutter of wings made all of them start, and two ravens lit on Mialee. “I would be honored, Zalyn, to look after the affairs of the Temple of the Protector.” Zalyn blinked as the bird actually approximated a bow.

“Biksel, no offense, but that’s ridiculous,” said Devis. “You can’t even lift the lid on the offering box.”

“Is somebody talking?” Biksel cawed. “Mialee, Darji and I may be small, but I resent the implication that we would be unable to summon help should a gang of bandits storm the temple.” The raven cocked an eye at the gnome. “The front door, that’s a permanent spell, isn’t it?”

“What? Oh, yes. Completely automatic. Opens right up for anybody who wants to enter,” Zalyn offered. “Well, that’s not entirely true. There’s all kinds of wards and protections against ghouls, vampires, wild animals, the constable—”

“Biksel,” said Mialee, “I need you.”

“I won’t be far,” the raven said. “But you know I would be more of a hindrance than a help. I do not speak selfishly when I say my death at a critical moment could impact you strongly enough to get you killed. You may not be able to protect me, and therefore you may not be able to protect yourself.”

“He really can handle this place for a day or two, I’m sure of it, Mialee,” Zalyn said.

“Yes, you must stay here, Biksel,” said a female voice that was not Mialee’s. Darji flapped from Mialee’s shoulder and lit on the windowsill next to Devis. “And I must go with them.”

“Out of the question,” Biksel squawked.

“She’s right,” Mialee said. “She’s our connection to Favrid.”

“Mialee, I choose freely to accompany you, and in return I ask only one thing. If I become…if I revert to an animal state,” the little raven chirped, “you will turn back. We know there are things in Morkeryth worse than vultures or wolves. You warned me of the creature you faced in the tavern. If Favrid is dead….”

“If that happens, Darji, I promise I will consider it. But I’m not the only one with a voice in this.” She lifted a hand to indicate the rest of the assembled group. “Diir’s got rocks in his head. Zalyn serves the Protector. Devis will rob the temple blind if we don’t take him with us.”

“Hey,” Devis said.

“You would.”

“Oh, dear,” Zalyn said, and dropped her leather bag to the floor with a jingle of vials as she dashed back into her kitchen. The gnome began flinging cupboards open, muttering to herself.

“Zalyn?” Devis called. “I think we have plenty of rations. More than plenty,” he added. He held a hand to his stomach, where two extra helpings of pepper stew were exacting vengeance.

“No,” Zalyn shouted. “No!”

The gnome ran back into the dining room, clutching a piece of yellow parchment. “What you said about serving the Protector, it reminded me. The brothers, they left this note. ‘If something happens so disastrous that you must flee, find us in Silatham’.”

“Silatham,” Diir said. “We’ll pass right by it on the way to the mountain. I’m sure of it.”

“Yes!” Zalyn said, running over to the elf and pushing the parchment under his nose. “Like the bird said, an elf village, down south of Morsilath in the deep woods. Very mysterious. Don’t seem to like other people. But it’s just a stone’s throw from Morkeryth, as I understand. You know it?”