'Ill-advised, priest,' Buke said, not unkindly. 'My employers-'
'Are arrogant scum!'
'That may be, but they're not ones to irritate, sir.'
'Irritate? When my master hears of this — this — insult delivered to his most valued servant, then, oh then shall the shadows flow!' With a final snarl, the priest stamped down the walkway, black robe skirling dramatically in his wake.
Buke paused for a long moment, watching until the man named Marble disappeared around a corner.
The sound of fighting was on all sides, but getting no closer. Hours earlier, in the deep of the night when Buke had been helping people from the Camps and from Daru District's tenements make their way to the Grey Swords' places of mustering — from which they would be led to the hidden tunnel entrances — the Pannions had reached all the way to the street Buke had just walked. Somehow, Capustan's motley collection of defenders had managed to drive them back. Bodies from both sides littered Kilsban Way.
Buke pushed himself into motion once more, passing beneath the scorched lintel of the entrance with a firm conviction that he would never again leave Bauchelain and Korbal Broach's estate. Even as his steps slowed to a sudden surge of self-preservation, he saw it was too late.
Bauchelain stood in the courtyard. 'Ah, my erstwhile employee. We'd wondered where you'd gone.'
Buke ducked his head. 'My apologies, sir. I'd delivered the tax exemption writ to the Daru civic authorities as requested-'
'Excellent, and was our argument well received?'
The old guard winced. 'The event of siege, alas, offers no relief from property taxes, master. The monies are due. Fortunately, with the evacuation, there is no-one at Daru House to await their arrival.'
'Yes, the evacuation. Tunnels. Very clever. We declined the offer, of course.'
'Of course.' Buke could no longer hold his gaze on the cobbles before him, and found his head turning, lifting slightly to take in the half-score Urdomen bodies lying bloodless, faces mottled black beneath their visors, on all sides.
'A precipitous rush of these misguided soldiers,' Bauchelain murmured. 'Korbal was delighted, and makes preparations to recruit them.'
'Recruit them, master? Oh, yes sir. Recruit them.'
The necromancer cocked his head. 'Odd, dear Emancipor Reese uttered those very words, in an identical tone, not half a bell ago.'
'Indeed, master.'
The two regarded each other for a brief span, then Bauchelain stroked his beard and turned away. 'The Tenescowri are coming, did you know? Among them, Children of the Dead Seed. Extraordinary, these children. A dying man's seed … Hmm. It's said that the eldest among them now commands the entire peasant horde. I look forward to meeting him.'
'Master? Uh, how, I mean-'
Bauchelain smiled. 'Korbal is most eager to conduct a thorough examination of this child named Anaster. What flavour is his biology? Even I wonder at this.'
The fallen Urdomen lurched, twitched as one, hands clawing towards dropped weapons, helmed heads lifting.
Buke stared in horror.
'Ah, you now have guards to command, Buke. I suggest you have them position themselves at the entrance. And perhaps one to each of the four corner towers. Tireless defenders, the best kind, yes?'
Emancipor Reese, clutching his mangy cat tight against his chest, stumbled out from the main house.
Bauchelain and Buke watched as the old man rushed towards one of the now standing Urdomen. Reese came up to the hulking warrior, reached out and tugged frantically at the undead's chain collar and the jerkin beneath it. The old man's hand reached down beneath both layers, down, down.
Emancipor started gibbering. He pulled his hand clear, staggered back. 'But — but-' His lined, pebbled face swung to Bauchelain. 'That. that man, Korbal — he has — he said — I saw! He has their hearts! He's sewn them together, a bloody, throbbing mass on the kitchen table! But-' He spun and thumped the Urdomen on the chest. 'No wound!'
Bauchelain raised one thin eyebrow. 'Ah, well, with you and friend Buke here interfering with Korbal Broach's normal nightly activities, my colleague was forced to modify his habits, his modus operandi, if you will. Now, you see, my friends, he has no need to leave his room in order to satisfy his needs of acquisition. None the less, it should be said, please desist in your misguided efforts.' The necromancer's flat grey eyes fixed on Buke. 'And as for the priest Keruli's peculiar sorcery now residing within you, unveil it not, dear servant. We dislike company when in our Soletaken forms.'
