shade of yellow. “You’re a zombie Walter. No matter how well preserved your body is, it still stinks of rot; there’s no way I wouldn’t smell you from twenty yards away. Besides…” he waved a single hand.
Hidden runes on the cell floor suddenly revealed themselves.
“Even if I had done nothing, you’d have been held in place as soon as you took one more step.”
Walter’s whitish eyes widened as he saw all the trap spells that had been set for him. “How… how did I not notice?” Ordinary humans could not sense hidden wards and circles, but mages and certain monsters could.
The undead could not sense or feel magic.
Waldo Corpselover looked at his brother with sympathy. In this family death was not the ultimate tragedy; weakness was. Walter had been three years older and, for a time, the designated heir. He had been powerful, arrogant, and ruthless; in other words, a typical Dark Mage. A glorious future had stretched out before him. Everyone assumed that eventually he would replace mother and take over her position as head of the family.
Then one day grandfather ate him.
Not all of him, just his heart.
Mother had done what she could, raising him as a zombie. She had done an incredible job. He retained most of his memories and could still think and feel emotion. Walter could even still use some minor spells, with the exception of liches that was considered impossible for the undead. He was an exceptional zombie, but still only a fraction of what he’d once been.
In life Walter had always treated his younger brother with contempt. In death he openly hated him. Not simply because he was still alive, but because everything Walter had wanted and treasured had been handed over to his younger brother. Walter could no longer smell a flower or feel a warm breeze on his face, but he could still feel hatred.
“Is that pity I see in your piss colored eyes? Hah! What a joke!”
“You know I never wanted to be heir.”
“Liar,” Walter cursed. “Don’t pretend. The joke is that even like this I am still a better Dark Mage than you will ever be.”
Still pinned to the wall Walter glanced at the summoning circle Waldo had been working on. Walter could no longer perform the deeper magics, but still retained his knowledge.
“You’re trying to summon a homunculus this time? I summoned one when I was just nine. Don’t you feel pathetic that you can’t manage that when you’re sixteen?”
“Big talk from a zombie who can’t even move right now.”
“If you really are the next head of the family I weep for Corpselover.”
“Can zombies weep?” Waldo’s right hand sliced the air in front of him. “ Nunc .”
The spell ended and Walter was once more free.
“If you’ll excuse me, I still have work to do.” Waldo went back to his summoning circle.
“You’re turning your back on me?” Walter growled.
“Why not? We both know you can’t touch me.”
Waldo did not have to turn around to know that would make his brother furious.
“I really am going to kill you.”
“Yes, I know, but wait until after I am done here. Close the door on the way out.”
Still not bothering to look Waldo heard the footsteps and the door slamming shut.
XXX
In this castle there were undead servants and living slaves; the only people who were ‘free’ were the members of the family. He’d read plenty of books about the people who lived in other countries. Folk who in their whole lives never saw the dead walking, and would be terrified just by a single unarmed skeleton shuffling towards them. For Waldo dark magics and the undead were the stuff of ordinary life.
He had been born into this world and, to his eyes, it was all normal. Waldo loved Alteroth, with its volcanoes and slow flowing rivers of magma. He loved the way they glowed at night, and how they rumbled and sent ash up into the perpetually
Hidden runes on the cell floor suddenly revealed themselves.
“Even if I had done nothing, you’d have been held in place as soon as you took one more step.”
Walter’s whitish eyes widened as he saw all the trap spells that had been set for him. “How… how did I not notice?” Ordinary humans could not sense hidden wards and circles, but mages and certain monsters could.
The undead could not sense or feel magic.
Waldo Corpselover looked at his brother with sympathy. In this family death was not the ultimate tragedy; weakness was. Walter had been three years older and, for a time, the designated heir. He had been powerful, arrogant, and ruthless; in other words, a typical Dark Mage. A glorious future had stretched out before him. Everyone assumed that eventually he would replace mother and take over her position as head of the family.
Then one day grandfather ate him.
Not all of him, just his heart.
Mother had done what she could, raising him as a zombie. She had done an incredible job. He retained most of his memories and could still think and feel emotion. Walter could even still use some minor spells, with the exception of liches that was considered impossible for the undead. He was an exceptional zombie, but still only a fraction of what he’d once been.
In life Walter had always treated his younger brother with contempt. In death he openly hated him. Not simply because he was still alive, but because everything Walter had wanted and treasured had been handed over to his younger brother. Walter could no longer smell a flower or feel a warm breeze on his face, but he could still feel hatred.
“Is that pity I see in your piss colored eyes? Hah! What a joke!”
“You know I never wanted to be heir.”
“Liar,” Walter cursed. “Don’t pretend. The joke is that even like this I am still a better Dark Mage than you will ever be.”
Still pinned to the wall Walter glanced at the summoning circle Waldo had been working on. Walter could no longer perform the deeper magics, but still retained his knowledge.
“You’re trying to summon a homunculus this time? I summoned one when I was just nine. Don’t you feel pathetic that you can’t manage that when you’re sixteen?”
“Big talk from a zombie who can’t even move right now.”
“If you really are the next head of the family I weep for Corpselover.”
“Can zombies weep?” Waldo’s right hand sliced the air in front of him. “ Nunc .”
The spell ended and Walter was once more free.
“If you’ll excuse me, I still have work to do.” Waldo went back to his summoning circle.
“You’re turning your back on me?” Walter growled.
“Why not? We both know you can’t touch me.”
Waldo did not have to turn around to know that would make his brother furious.
“I really am going to kill you.”
“Yes, I know, but wait until after I am done here. Close the door on the way out.”
Still not bothering to look Waldo heard the footsteps and the door slamming shut.
XXX
In this castle there were undead servants and living slaves; the only people who were ‘free’ were the members of the family. He’d read plenty of books about the people who lived in other countries. Folk who in their whole lives never saw the dead walking, and would be terrified just by a single unarmed skeleton shuffling towards them. For Waldo dark magics and the undead were the stuff of ordinary life.
He had been born into this world and, to his eyes, it was all normal. Waldo loved Alteroth, with its volcanoes and slow flowing rivers of magma. He loved the way they glowed at night, and how they rumbled and sent ash up into the perpetually
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