The Necromancer

Chapter 4, Part 2

Skip held the shovel in one hand and paused to check how that looked on her reflection in the glassy surface of the pond. Then she placed her second hand on the handle of the tool and reconsidered. Then she tried one hand again. It was clear that she'd never held a piece of farming equipment in her entire life.

"This is ridiculous," she growled. "We look ridiculous. Why would I be bringing my shovel to market anyway?" The clothes that we'd managed to steal from a nearby farmhouse were about ten sizes too large for her; the lady of the shack there was certainly a bit more plump and tall than dainty Skip. She looked like a mouse buried in a mountain of fabric, though I'd never tell her that. And the man's clothes that Skip had lifted off the clothesline didn't fit me very well either, for the exact opposite reason. My gut, normally hidden by my billowing Necromancer robes, was straining against the tight linen shirt.

"Don't overthink it. No one is even going to give us a second look," I told her, tugging at the too-tight waistband of my pants. We'd made sure to trample the clothes in the dirt for a bit to make it look like we'd really been out working in the fields. Gods, why did I always have to be dirty? I hadn't had a good bath since I was back living in my crypt. "That's the whole plan. We'll just blend in with everyone else going through the gate. And the guards will be too busy to check us."

She didn't answer right away; she was now trying to decide whether she should be carrying the shovel with the blade in the air or facing down toward the ground. She twirled it deftly between her fingers upwards, then reconsidered as she looked at her reflection again. I came to stand next to her, holding the basket of radishes that were supposed to make me look like a farmer. Given that we'd just dug all the radishes up in the forest here, I doubted that there were many farmers in the area who exclusively grew radishes. And if they did, they probably didn't bring their crops to market in a basket. But I didn't need to convince someone that I really was a farmer; I just needed to get by without a second glance.

She pulled at the dress, half of which was trailing in the dirt behind her. If it was anyone other than her, I would imagine that they'd be tripping and falling over the hem every few steps. "This is absurd." Her hand was so full of bunched cloth that it looked like she had a whole second dress.

"Come on," I told her, nodding toward the city walls just barely visible through the trees. "The sooner we get in, the sooner we can find Lamneras and change."

She turned to follow me, still shaking her head. As we emerged from the forest and out on the road, I heard her mutter under her breath: "... completely ridiculous."

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We stood in line at the East gate into Bermatora, on the opposite side of the city from that bastard who wouldn't let us in. Ahead of us, a dozen carts and groups of citizens were waiting to enter the city. Some of them were merchants, as we'd tried to pretend we were. Their wagons carried bolts of bright cloth and dark wooden chests that left lingering scents of exotic spices hanging in the air. Most of the citizens on foot were clearly farmers or local craftsmen. They were accompanied by sad-looking donkeys and mules weighed down by crates of vegetables and, in one case, two dozen tied-up chickens making loud, indignant squawks.

A group of guards stood by the wooden gate, asking them questions and 'inspecting' the goods of everyone entering. By inspecting, I mean taking bites out of carrots when they thought the merchant wasn't looking. Our little friend from earlier today was not among the guards, thankfully, but that didn't mean that Skip would be able to charm her way inside.

The ground shook, and everything seemed to fall silent; even the chickens shut their beaks for a moment. The loose pebbles in between the road's flagstones jumped up out of their cracks and onto the flat surface. My whole body tensed up in anticipation, ready to go. This was it. Skip was acting a bit too nonchalant, like she wasn't even hearing the noises.

The other merchants in line glanced around wildly, looking for the source of the disturbance. The guards stopped what they were doing and peered into the forest. The pack animals along the road whinnied and strained at their harnesses,  identifying the source of the noise and learning what was coming before their humans did. And then Mog burst through the trees just a few hundred yards from the road, so forcefully that a number of trunks snapped clean beneath his weight and went rolling down the hill. He gave an ear-splitting roar that seemed to echo through my bones, and all hell suddenly broke loose.

Animals reared up on their hind legs, sending the wares of merchants spilling into the street and overturning at least two of the carts. The guards began waving their weapons about and shouting orders at each other, though it didn't seem like a single one was in charge or knew what to do. First they tried closing the gate, but soon realized how many people would be trapped outside. The line began to surge forward despite the best efforts of one particular guard to keep order. Meanwhile, Mog slowly lumbered forward, drooling and roaring and gnashing his big teeth together in an effort to look intimidating. The panic likely would be a little less intense if everyone had known that he was a vegetarian who collected interesting-looking rocks.

Skip and I took the opportunity to run forward with everyone else, past the guards who had stopped caring about who was getting into the city. They just wanted to get the gates shut, which involved ushering everyone inside as quickly as possible. I caught one last glance of Mog as the guards managed to get their act together to fire a volley of arrows at him. Each of the projectiles landed with a solid thunk and embedded themselves in the thick wooden tree trunk that was still lashed to his arm with spiderwebs that he was now using as an improvised shield. I'd never seen him in an actual fight before, and as he swung a massive tree trunk like a club (purely for dramatic effect, of course), I was very glad to be on his side.

The gates slammed shut as the last few citizens slipped inside, and the guards down on this level rushed off to man the wall top. Mog, seeing us safely inside, stopped his roaring immediately, and ran back into the forest. Even through the gate, I could hear his loud "SORRY!" that he shouted to the guards from the trees and then disappeared.

Skip and I quickly separated ourselves from the shaking mass of terrified merchants and farmers huddled in front of the gatehouse and slipped off into a narrow, winding alley that led toward Lord Berman's palace. No one even gave us a second glance; the guards were too busy searching for Mog and loading the catapults in preparation for his return. Getting into the city was just the first challenge; now we had to find Lamneras somehow.

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