Hall of the Dead Pt. 1

To celebrate Halloween, Irk and Char have written a two-part special to celebrate the reason for the season (of Goth Christmas). It's set thirteen years before the Peacock King Trilogy, which means a few characters are going to be really young or still in training. It also means you don't have to read up to the most recent PK Trilogy chapter to enjoy it! Normal Peacock King updates resume next Tuesday. Until then, have fun, and remember that reading it in the daylight won't make you any safer.

* * *
Erynn
* * *

It's a dark and stormy night, which is to say that it's dark here inside this badly-lit bar and there's so much tramping about from the dancing that it's a bit thunderous. It's a stretch as a setup, but I'm a bit bummed right now. Because of my mood, the real thunderclouds are on my face. I can tell because my friend Gerude plunks down beside me and says:

"Did one of the bartenders wipe his ass with your glass, because that's what it looks like on your face."

I blink, shake my head and look up. "What?" I check my glass reflexively. "Gerude, that didn't make any sense."

"Hey, I don't have to make sense, you're the Poet. Right?" He sees my scowl, then frowns. "Oh come on, not again."

"Oh yes," I say sulkily, then curse myself for adverb usage. After big exams I get hung up about the silliest things. "Jhe Edward's found something else to dock me for. No pass. No graduation. Again."

Gerude rolls his eyes, then calls the bartender over. The bartender's too busy to pay attention to him - or possibly just ignoring us. They do that when you had too much fun in their establishment a night or so ago. At least I can say that I learned something in Beleth - how to party.

"I can't see how this can be so hard. You write creepy stuff, he writes creepy stuff. There's really only so many times you should have to try before you get it right. Just like with puzzles." He pouts at my empty glass, then signals the bartender a little more urgently. The bartender acquiesces after drying one last already-dry glass, and soon enough we're well-equipped with one glass of night-forgetter each.

"Yeah, well. You'd think." I sigh. "But you're not a Poet, and you're not Edward Cruxradia, Master of Fear, Scholar of Horror, Laureate of... Some Scary Balderdash, and so your opinion doesn't count for parsley." I shake my head. "I just want to drink it into the past, quite honestly. Maybe I'm not cut out for a Poet. Maybe I should head back to Robinstead."

Gerude punches me gently in the side of the head, which is sort of like a hug for the Armed. "Shut up. You're being stupid." He swigs his drink, thinks on it for a few more moments, and then says, "What'd that scary old buzzard fail you on this time, anyway?"

I snort. "I didn't dress for the occasion." I wait to let Gerude regain his composure. He just spit out his liquor, after all. "I made him genuinely startled, I gave him the crawlies, I'm pretty sure I got him scared at one point with what I wrote. It was a good scenario. But once it was over and I actually walked up to him to discuss my tremendous, astounding success, he looked over me. He paused right before he was going to say I passed, I just know it! And then he gets this twinkle of bullshit in his eye that others confuse for mischief, and he tells me that I can't go through all that trouble of establishing scenario and then mess things up with my appearance. My... Gerude, my shirt was untucked."

Gerude loses another mouthful of his liquor to my oratory skills. "WHAT?!"

"He said nobody's going to take my work seriously if I don't make myself serious or... or something. Something about presenting the proper image as a Poet, so that society takes us serious-- stop laughing, Gerude, this happened. Anyway, however true it is, he's my mentor and he determines whether I graduate. Until then I'm stuck as a trainee. Probably forever, too, because I can't see how I can do this."

"Hm." Gerude seems to be seriously thinking this over. I check to see how much I've drunk, because Gerude doesn't seriously think about anything. "You know, you're not the first Poet to complain about Uncle Edward. Even Daddy has to kick him back into line sometimes. Uncle Edward gets a bit too big for his britches when someone lets him be in authority for too long. He's a bit notorious for it - Stevane's already giving him hell about it, you know." He grins. "Speaking of situations that give you the willies..."

I chew on my lip. "Well, then what keeps him in line? I can't take this to Jhe h'Akribastes. That'd be silly, and he'd probably squish me so much as look at me." I shiver. Gerude's Daddy gives most people the creeps. He definitely lives up to his reputation. I certainly learned that after moving here.

Gerude gives me a look like my nose is growing in backwards. "You nincompoop, the Judge is for keeping Armed in line. You have a King for this stuff. Jeez!"

The light of inspiration dawns on me, the light of hope. Of course! Jhe Edward has authority over my teachings, but it's Jhe h'Logos that's the final judge of whether I've surpassed the trainee level! I could talk to him. There's a way out of this, I just know it.

I down the rest of my drink and resolve to settle the matter just as soon as I've slept off tomorrow's hangover.

* * *
Edward
* * *

"'Bit? What's the matter? You sick?"

Stevane smiles without any of her usual fire. "Yeah. I mean, no! No, I'm fine." She takes a sip from her glass, the foam forming a thin line above her lip. "Maybe a little, Uncle." She pouts just a little, her finger tracing the rim of her glass. "Must be something going around."

I grunt and savor my own fermented version of the local brew. "Somethin's going around? Figures, I finally let you talk me out of my office only to be exposed to the plague."

She laughs. It's a shorter laugh, not as full and deep as her mirth ran as a small... smaller child. At nine years of age, she's already starting to show some signs of inheriting her daddy's dour personality. I far prefer the innocent, bubbly girl she was. Watching it fade into cynicism is surprisingly painful.

"I don't think it's anything as bad as that, Uncle. Probably just some kind of cold." She sneezes as if to punctuate her point and scratches her nose on the sleeve of her sweater. "Sorry. I really just wanted to visit." She glares at me. "You don't visit much anymore."

"I'm a busy man, 'Bit." I smile, but it's not enough of an apology for my little tidbit. Those gold eyes of hers stare at me over the rim of her glass as she drinks. "I have the trainee exams to proctor, and of course my own writing--"

Stevane has gone pale grey, her eyes staring at me in panic. As I watch, they roll back into her head, and she starts choking, her body arcing as she tries to draw in a breath. She slumps and begins to fall off her stool, and as I lunge to catch her, my arm sends my glass flying into hers. Mine explodes on impact; hers tips and falls, rolling off the table to shatter on the pavement below.

She gasps, and her chest rises and falls -- but it's too fast. Much too fast. Her heartbeat is erratic, and the grey cast of her skin is deepening.

Fucking plague. I knew it was the plague.

I scoop up my 'Bit and charge up the steps to the Poet Hall.

Empty.

Since when is the Poet Hall empty?

I step inside, for a moment lost in the mystery of the Hall looking so damned abandoned. Stevane coughs, then chokes. Urgency overrides my natural curiosity, and I head down the main passage to the infirmary. My own heart skips a beat when I hear a low boom behind me, and I glance back.

Just the front doors shutting. Panic is making me jumpy, but now that I'm aware of it, I can calm down and use my noggin.

The infirmary is as abandoned as the rest of the building. I lie Stevane down on one of the beds, propping pillows behind her head to keep her from drowning in her own spit, or worse. "Rest easy, 'Bit. I'm gonna find us some help." Her eyes flutter, and she manages one shaky nod. I tuck the covers around her and kiss her forehead. It's cold as death. "I'll be right back."

I fly out of the infirmary with dangerous speed. My footsteps echo sharply through the Hall and seem even louder than they should be right now. It's too quiet. Why is it so quiet? "HELLO?" I shout? No, that'll take too long. I try to search out any nearby minds and hunt them down directly - a skill that's sometimes a little iffy for me, but it certainly helps in these types of situations. But it's no good - I can't find anybody here.

Or it just might not be working.

The infirmary's placed in a less-populated area of the Hall, but it's very near the dormitories - there should be help there. I skid to a stop. I'm on the ground floor, where most of the trainees live. Well, that's no good, but I should be able to find someone qualified on the second floor. I ignore the strange smell that seems to pervade down here - regular trainee stuff, I'm sure. Damn kids. I head for the stairwell.

There is a dead body lying across the stairs.

Gray skin, drool and... something else trickling right out of his mouth. Sprawled as if the strength just went right out of him while he was climbing. He looks so happy. I think he recently graduated - Jhe Lustig, I believe?

Theos, has somebody already died of this plague? I should investigate, but a prickle goes up my spine. I turn away from the stairwell and head down the row of doors on either side of me. There's a shuffling sound before I get to the room I'm looking for - I check behind me. Is the body gone from the stairs?

Hah, it is. I start to relax. I open one of the doors and look into Jhe Erynn's room. The boy looks up from his desk, all innocence. He's writing.

"Very nice work," I say, "but you've got to keep track of your props." Of course. Everything makes sense now.

He looks back at me, perplexed. "Props, Jhe Edward?" He gets up from his desk.

I step in, closing the door behind me. It's not right to reprimand a student in front of the whole Hall. Well, maybe sometimes, but I don't want to this time. All of this should really stay private, considering the nature of Jhe Blackirons's previous failures. "Your props. The dead body on the stairs."

His eyebrows shoot up. "There's a dead body on the stairs?!" He moves toward the door with obviously feigned surprise. While he does so, I step a little closer to his desk.

"No, not anymore," I say. "That's what I said - you need to keep track of your props. There's missing on the subtleties, and then there's just shoddy attention to detail. Really, I thought I'd taught you that already, Jhe Blackirons."

He turns to me, confused. "Jhe Edward, what are you talking about?"

I open my mouth to answer as I pick up the paper on his desk. "I'm talking about what you've been writi-" I cut myself off.

This is a letter to Erynn's grandmother. I raise an eyebrow at him. "Where are you keeping the exercise? Did you already finish it?"

He looks more confused than ever, an expression that almost seems genuine. "I haven't completed another exercise, Jhe Edward. I wanted to talk to you about yesterday's results first. Was there really a body on the stairs?" He pauses. "Did you hear that?"

I listen in the silence. "Just sounds like someone walking down the hall." I sigh. "Good, I was looking for someone to help with Stevane in the infirmary. She's probably fine, but it won't hurt." Knowing Erynn's shoddy workmanship, she probably still needs help. He shows promise, that boy, but there's more than raw talent in real Poetry. It takes discipline, work! ...And discretion, sometimes.

He just stares at me as I open the door again. I look down the hall. "Ah, Elric," I say. His back is towards me, but he stops when I speak. "Could you come give me a hand with Stevane? She's probably gotten a bit of a scare by now." At least Erynn managed to scare someone.

Elric turns. He does so more slowly than I'd like, and I start to wonder if he's twisted an ankle or something, because he's standing a bit shaky. Then he faces me in full, and my mouth goes dry. That's because Elric's mouth is gone. There's a fleshy remnant of cheek on the left side of his face, but under that is just flesh, blood, and a hanging, splintered jawbone. I don't even see a tongue. He gives me one pleading look of despair and then sags to the floor.

I'm halfway to him when I realize how silly this is - just a fantasy written-up by Erynn. Sure, it's realistic and grisly, but--

"OH MY GOODNESS! ELRIC!" shouts Erynn with overdramatic surprise. He runs to the Briarseal boy's side. I roll my eyes. I don't have time to play around.

"Look, you already had your chance with the first scare - don't waste my time trying to ply for bonus points. It doesn't work that way," I say. I'm about to go on, but then I see Camden walking up from down the hall. He looks a little odd, but I'm sure it's just another one of Erynn's tropes. Strange that Camden would even play along with that, though - he doesn't really frequent the Poet Hall, and most people forget he even is a Poet as well as an Armed. He looks rather Armed, now - there's a bloody piece of flesh hanging from his fingers right now, and his mouth and teeth are coated in blood. One lens of his glasses is completely red with the stuff. I'm sure Jhe h'Akribastes would be proud. I just smile. "Nice," I say, "but I've written better." Really, the grey skin and the mucus are nice touches - definitely show a sense of continuity. But I just can't believe this is happening. It's too quiet! Besides, if they were here the whole time, I would have sensed them. I am a Poet, after all. A skillful, trained one!

Camden gives me the same deadpan he gives everyone else, and continues to walk towards me. His jaw keeps on working back and forth, back and forth. As if he's chewing on those bits of his brother. I can even hear the squeaking sound as the skin is pressed tight and ground between his molars. Not that it gives me a crawling sensation down my spine or anything. It's just this wool sweater I'm wearing. No, what's creepy is that expression - Camden doesn't blink, doesn't avert his eyes. He's not even really focused on me. It's strange, for him. There's movement behind me, but I'm keeping my eyes on Camden. It's just... even acting, I don't think he'd be able to quench the light in his eyes. To have a truly dead look...

Then Erynn screeches behind me. I whirl around to see him dodging backwards away from Elric's lunge. Erynn looks up at me in panic, and then his eyes widen. Before I know it, he's tackled me. I see Camden stumble past, then turn his head, expression finally changing to one of rage. He roars, the sound of it vibrating right through my own lungs.

"RUN!" I have just enough time to notice that Erynn's voice is higher-pitched than usual, and then I'm being yanked down the damned hallway by the tips of two fingers. Camden roars again, chunks of gore spraying with the force of his breath. One particularly large clot is caught in his teeth. It's a rather nice effect, I must admit. "EDWARD MOVE YOUR ANCIENT ASS, YOU ASS!"

"Erynn, why don't we stop this fa--" The door next to me explodes. My arm blocks most of the shrapnel from hitting my face, but I get a good nick in my ear. I lower my arm enough to look around. Erynn is on the floor across the hall, blinking in confusion and holding his hand to a scrape on his forehead. There's a low groan to my right, and I see Jhe Mithroi leaning over the ragged edge of the lower half of the door. The wood is pressing against him as he lunges for me, and as I step out of the reach of his swing, the wood finally punctures his gut with a wet tear. Something oozes down the wood, staining it a dark, clotted black. I look at his face, but he's not registering any pain. He's not registering much of anything at all, in fact, besides some sort of animal hunger to reach us. He faces me with his ruined face, one empty socket, the other filled with some manner of grey and brown jelly. Chill runs like ice water down my spine.

I'm impressed in spite of myself. Erynn has shown potential in the past, but this is showing some real growth.

I step forward to get a better look, confident that the animated remains of Jhe Mithroi are incapable of actually inflicting any damage on myself. He reaches for me with one supposedly rotting hand, thin yellow rivulets of pus breaking through his skin. Just before he can touch my shirt, his hand disappears in a roar and a thick spray of rotted tissue. The stench nearly doubles me over. A second roar sounds, and the top part of his skull disappears in a fine mist. He slumps over the door, the remaining grey matter sliding out of the skull and landing in a quivering pile on the tile.

"Jhe Cruxradia, are you alive?" One of the Akribastes boys trots down the hall towards me, his Arms held at ready. It doesn't escape my notice that one of them is very carefully Aiming at me.

"Yes, for now." I nod my head towards Erynn. "So is he, of course."

Jhe Akribastes glances in the indicated direction, then practically teleports to Erynn's side. Jhe Gerude, then.

"Erynn! Erynn?"

"'m OK, stop shakin' me..."

Jhe Gerude grins, then pulls Erynn to his feet. "Come on, man, we've gotta get back to the Armed Hall." He looks at me, his face tight with tension. "They're everywhere, Jhe Cruxradia. I don't know what's going on, but a few of us made it here and are looking for survivors."

The Armed are involved, hm? Or is it just Erynn's boyfriend? I decide to play along for just a bit. It's not often that the Poets are able to convince more than one or two Armed to join in on their shenanigans, and my curiosity is piqued. I can indulge Erynn's little rescue scenario for a while. "Jhe Stevane is in the infirmary," I say, brushing my hands on my thighs and looking about for something to use for a weapon. Jhe Gerude's face goes alarmingly pale, and in spite of myself I'm relieved that there isn't any grey cast to his features. "We'd better get to her before anything else does."

Jhe Gerude nudges Erynn, a surprisingly gentle gesture for those two. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." Erynn looks at me. "Think you can write us a clear path to the infirmary?"

I grin. "I'm sure I can manage that." After all, the place is still quiet, besides the low groans echoing through the dark corridors. There shouldn't be too much Erynn can throw my way... interesting that he'd throw down a gauntlet at this point, though. Most trainees don't think to counter by forcing their opponent to actively engage.

I try not to think too much about the low groans echoing in the halls, or the spidery sensation of being hunted. Good writing, a nice touch -- but no match for me. "Follow me," I say, taking the lead. "Keep alert, you two."

Camden roars once more as we retreat. There's a bit of a gargle to the sound. One of the Arms Aims at my ass, and I'm more than happy to take the suggestion that we pick up our pace.

***

Hall of the Dead Pt. 2

The Halloween extravaganza continues! This time Irk and Char bring you Part 2, complete with zombies, more zombies, and WAY MORE ZOMBIES! Also, you may recognize a few of the new guys in here. ^_^ We had so many people to kill off that this ran long - the third and final part will run tomorrow. Whether it'll be a trick or a treat remains to be seen... until then, enjoy today's portion!

***
Edward
***

Stevane isn't there.

I stare down at the bed. It's rumpled, like there was a struggle, and there's blood sprayed around the room. One small handprint stands out in stark crimson against the white infirmary wall, the fingerprints trailing in a smear. There's smudges of blood all over the crumpled-up pillow, and splatters trailing across the floor and out the main door.

"You, uh, you sure you left her here, Jhe Edward?" Erynn says from behind me. I whirl and grab him by the throat, giving it a pretty decent squeeze. He makes the most wonderful little gik sound in his throat, and tugs at my hand.

"What did you do to her?" My voice is even, reasonable. It's one thing to give me the runaround, and quite another to mess with my 'Bit.

"I didn't do any-gak!"

"If you've harmed her..." I say, raising my voice and shaking his head like a rattle. I'm rather enjoying this! Should have done it ages ago.

The prickling of Aim intrudes on my happy little moment. "Jhe Edward, Erynn has not done anything wrong." Jhe Gerude's quiet voice carries undertones of his Father's. I sigh, and release my trainee. Erynn rubs his throat and backs away from me, glaring at me out of the corners of his eyes.

Jhe Gerude gets that constipated Armed look on his face and mutters under his breath. Erynn snorts. "I don't know, man. I think the Judge would hand this one to them."

Ah. Well, I'm simply concerned for the welfare of my favorite niece. Of course I'm going to start losing control a bit if I see blood all over the last place I saw her. Erynn's still looking at me like I just stomped on his favorite kitten, though.

Our mutual staring contest is rudely interrupted by the ear-piercing report of a rather large set of guns. Jhe Gerude startles, somehow managing to bring his Arms up and at ready before he's even done twitching. He immediately lowers them again, and his face splits into a huge grin and he trots towards the door.

"Jhe Brauer! Over here!"

"Oh thank the blessed gods," Erynn mutters.

Just as it's occurring to me that I might want to follow Jhe Gerude, he reappears with a tall, stunning woman bearing the largest set of... pistols I've seen on an Armed. They're trailed by a shorter, meatier-looking man, casually wielding a large hammer of some sort that looks to be near as tall as he is. He gives me a casual once-over, snorts, and grins at Erynn.

"Lightweight! Fancy runnin' into you in a place like this!"

Erynn snorts. "Likewise. Come here often?"

The man shifts his hammer to his other shoulder and chuckles. "Nah, but I should, eh? I hear the ladies around these parts are mighty ta-- OOF." He rubs his forehead where one of Jhe Brauer's pistols rapped him. "'Ey."

"Have you found anyone else?" Jhe Vanessa Brauer looks around the room, one dark eyebrow raised. I open my mouth to answer. She raises that eyebrow just a touch more, but it's enough to freeze me in place. I shiver. "I wasn't talking to you," she says, the frosty contempt in her voice colored with just a touch of amusement. I feel like a mouse being eyed by a sated hawk. It's the kind of expression that says, 'I might make a snack of you yet.'

Gerude snorts. "I found these bozos, and that's it." Then he narrows his eyes. "Jhe Cruxradia managed to lose one of my little sisters in here, so we should at least look out for her. There's nothing on fire in here, though, so she's probably somewhere else by now. Daddy said to check on Jhe h'Logos as well, though he suspected that the Poet King was capable of keeping himself safe. Still..." he sighs. "Look, we'd better get goi-"

There's a crash outside the doorway into the infirmary and then several moans gargle out in unision. Eight Poets crowd into the doorway. Only one looks like he's still alive, and he's already missing flesh as if it's been peeled off of him in strips. I can't really believe I'm seeing him like this, but I'd recognize Jhe h'Logos's son Elam anywhere. He looks up through his glasses and shaggy, bloodspattered hair in panic. His vision begins to go dull, but then focuses again. He opens his mouth to cry for help, clawing along the floor to get himself out of the entwined bass of flesh and bones that used to be seven respectable poets. It looks like an orgy of the dead, with one unwilling participant.

Elam's plea for help is cut off by a hail of gunfire. In the confusion, I can only note who goes down, note the grotesque level of decay in the living corpses that surround Elam. Jhe Montevallo's neck gets blown out and blood starts gushing out of the hole that now gapes in it. His head yaws to the side when half his neck's supporting tendons are severed. He still continues to chew Elam's shoulder with the dedication that a dog gives to its favorite bone. Jhe Paige's arms explode in a spray of fine red powder, care of Jhe Brauer's guns. She buffets Elam with the ragged stumps that end at her elbows, but she can no longer grip him. That should get Elam free, but his struggles have grown weak. He's in a dazed stupor. "Elam," I roar "get out of there, you're free!"

"I'll fetch the scrawny lad," growls Jhe Gaston. He dashes forward, hammer swinging, just as I hear a clamor behind us in the infirmary. I whirl around, hoping to see Jhe Stevane running to safety - but no. Only more dead. Two corpses, so ruined by now that only shreds of flesh are strung along their bone. They may have been eating each other. I manage to identify the Jhe Miranda's perfume locket hanging from one of the corpse's necks, and can only conclude that she and Jhe Fanton have been devouring each other since they turned. The feast ends when Jhe Gerude cuts them down with more gunshots.

This is absolutely senseless. How are so many Poets unable to defend themselves from a mere trainee exercise? Of course, that only makes me think of the worst part - how am I not able to make this turn out better for them?

We manage to drag Elam out of the mess of corpses. He's frothing at the mouth. The eerie grey cast of his skin is so disturbing that I feel a little sick - or maybe it's the signs of slaughter all around me. There are piles of pulp here that used to be people. I remember talking with them, teaching some of them to write. How could this happen?

It's not real, though - it's just an exercise. I keep telling myself that. Just keep my calm, focus, and everything will be alr--

Elam lashes out at Jhe Gaston, tearing through thick bootleather and gouging into his shin. The surprise in Shawn's eyes is almost comical. Then he kicks at Elam with the damaged leg, sending the turned Poet spinning away down the floor. Jhe Brauer finishes Elam off in a combination of bullets and face that's best left undescribed. The floor under Elam's head is a bloodied crater. Elam's arms flop around limply for a few seconds until he realizes that he's dead. Then, there's just silence.

Tense, awful silence.

Everyone's looking at Jhe Gaston now for some reason, but nobody wants to say why. The stocky man looks off to the side and says in a gruff voice, "Eh. Yeh don't have tah say anythin'. I saw what happened to Jhe Elam, I know how tah put two an' two together." He looks up, locking eyes with Jhe Brauer. "'Ey, 'Nessa, you're gonna cut off my hand when it's over, right? I mean, 'Rude could do it, but I'd prefer it be you that did the rite." He gives her a broad wink. "You're a prettier lass than he is."

Jhe Brauer looks like she's going to throw up, but responds with a curt nod. This is a conversation that all Armed are trained for - they have to take back a piece to Jhe h'Akribastes. That almost consoles me. They can be brought back as long as the pieces are brought to the Judge in time.

"You're turning gray, Jhe Gaston." It's a leaden, emotionless voice. It takes me a few moments to realize that it's mine.

He laughs. His posture's lurching a bit, though, and his breaths are coming slower and slower... shaky gulps and gasps. "Hraurgh...faster than I thought. Nasty things tah fight, aren't they? Good luck teh ye all in fightin' em." He pauses, his eyes lose their light for a moment, and then he shakes his head. He hocks up a great wet wad and then spits it onto the floor. The slimy ball of yellow pus sits there, steaming. "Better get to it, then, right Harvey?" He hefts the hammer, grinning at it. "Yeh always wanted tah clobber me since the day I got yah. Righ--"

He still seems normal at that moment, but then everything changes. He drops the hammer and lunges at Jhe Blackirons. The trainee squeals and tries to dart away, but it's obvious he's going to get pinned to the wall. I'm too far away to do someting about it, but I'm a Poet - if I will it, I can move people like chesspieces. I almost think that it's a bit funny, Erynn's own trial doing him in, but the sad fact of it is that we lose a lot of trainees that way.

Jhe Brauer's closer, and on my cue she acts with the reflexes of a tiger. She springs at Jhe Gaston, swinging one pistol in a sideways arc that clocks Jhe Gaston to the side and knocks him off-course from Erynn. Then she raises her other gun to finish him off. The end is quick, though not clean. Or at least, it should be - but through some swivelling acrobatics that should be impossible to any living human, in a ripping of tendons and a twisting of bones the wrong way in their sockets, Jhe Gaston catches Jhe Brauer's wrist in his teeth. I hear bone snapping as Jhe Brauer screams.

Then the back of Jhe Gaston's head explodes outward, and I see Gerude has his pistols raised and ready to fire again. Jhe Gaston lets go of Jhe Brauer's wrist and stumbles backwards a bit, mouth working as if he's trying to excuse himself. The words begin to come out, then - an eerie echo of his earlier ones:

"Hrungh... 'Nessa... when it's over..." His voice is that of gravel and mud, but somehow still sounds sad. I wonder if he still has some intelligence or humanity left in him, even now.

The great hammer he wielded, Harvey, shifts on the floor, then through some unseen force it hurtles through the air. The hammer impacts into the upper half of Jhe Gaston's body, the bowl of it so huge that when it meets with the floor, there's only a bit of forearm, hamds, and then the lower half of Jhe Gaston left. Oozing from under the hammer there's nothing but glistening red jelly. It quivers a little.

His own Arms took him out when he turned. Good to remember.

There's a deadly click. Jhe Brauer looks back without moving her head. Gerude's pointed one of his pistols at it as he stands behind her. She snorts, says "Fine, then." She raises one hand very slowly. It's the unbitten one. "Shoot it off now, before I start turning all gray. After all there's no telling if Jhe Gaston can be brought back, with his remains looking as they are."

Indeed, Jhe Gaston's limbs are already decaying. The earlier corpses were already in advanced states of expiration. Who knows what can possibly recovered from the dead now?

"Now. Do it," she says.

There are two gunshots, one from each of Gerude's Arms. One takes off Jhe Brauer's hand, the other takes off her head. Her stump-necked corpse falls to its knees without any great show or flair, and then slumps to the floor. On the whole, she made it out easy.

Gerude collects the hand, then looks over at Jhe Gaston. There's no flesh left on his bones anymore. "There's blood on his boot. I wonder if that'll work."

"I wonder if touching it is a good idea at all," I say. "Who knows how easily this stuff can spread?"

He glares at me. "Chicken. No wonder you stayed Pure Poet." He reaches down and cuts away the boot leather from where Jhe Gaston was bitten, then wraps it in a handkerchief. He wraps Jhe Brauer's hand in another handkerchief, then stows them both away. "Let's get out of this hellhole."

I don't like what that insinuates - that I'm just a Poet who can't do anything about all of this. But how can I deny that when my attempt to save Erynn took out Jhe Brauer? I don't want to dwell on failure, but with the wretched moans around us growing louder and louder...

"You're right. Let's get moving. You said they're outside the Poet Hall as well?"

He nods, casting glances in every direction, looking out for more invaders. "Swarming. It's no man's land out there. We're better off in here, if we just stay alert. Besides..." he blanches a little. "We've still got to look for survivors."

I think of Stevane. I left her in that infirmary, sick. Her skin was already turning gray. When we came back, blood was everywhere. Did she survive? Even if the plague didn't kill her, just a little cut from one of these guys would make her one of them. One of these guys? I knew all these people, once. I've taught so many of them.

But my 'Bit is a clever girl. I'm sure she's all right.

* * *

We decide to look on the second floor for survivors. It's not so much a conscious decision as a necessity. A flood of corpses swarms up the flight of stairs behind us as we flee from their onslaught. Gerude stops at the top of the stairs, holding them all off with his two Arms and a hail of gunfire and grit. Erynn and I keep a safe distance, watching in case more dead try to sweep in on us from up here. The floor seems clear, though.

Erynn catches my eye. I inspect the young student carefully.

He looks scared.

I snort. "Nice work," I say, gesturing to the whole Hall. Even up here there's blood smeared across the tiles, footprints scattered here and there. A few doors are swinging free on their hinges. Upon further inspection, there's not just blood on the tiles. There's a stray hand, attached to a forearm that stops going anywhere right around the time it should reach an elbow. I don't want to think anymore about it, but I can't help but spy the charm bracelet on the wrist. It was Jhe Harte's favorite.

At least the flesh on the hand isn't gray or decayed. That might mean there's some hope for Jhe Brauer's revival. But it also might mean something for Jhe Harte's revival - Armed aren't the only ones who can be brought back. I walk that way so I can go pick it up and put it with Gerude's collection, but then there's a commotion behind me.

I turn towards the stairs. Gerude's cursing as the flood of dead just keep on coming.

There's a scream from upstairs, possibly from someone who was still alive. Then, several answering cries. The voices sound liquid, as if their owners are gargling while trying to shout. It sounds like a lot of them. They're coming from up there, now - down the flight of stairs. Down the hall, with Erynn and I between them and Gerude. There's nowhere to go.

"EVERYBODY GET DOWN!" roars Gerude. He keeps one of his Arms Aimed toards the corpses crawling up the stairs from the first floor, then swings the other pistol to aim down the hall. Before we know it, gunshots are ringing over our heads and people who should really learn to stay dead are exploding on top of us. At one point, something grasps for me and catches my ankle, and I shriek while flailing to escape its necrotic grip. Except that's really just Erynn, that idiot of a trainee.

He grasps for it again, and I just roll my eyes until I feel drool on my skin. A short struggle later, I'm missing a shoe and Erynn and I are scrambling away from a corpse that's missing its shins and forearms and is thus hobbling around on the floor like a dog. Gerude then takes it out with little fanfare.

Everything is quiet. They've stopped coming. There's not a spot of floor or wall that isn't covered in blood or worse - and the same can almost be said for us.

"Blood of Theos." I look around, shaking bits of wet flesh off my hands as I survey the ocean of gore before us. Behind me, Erynn whimpers, then vomits. I have to choke off my own nausea. I refuse to lower myself to his level. It's difficult, though. At least battlefields offer the comfort of having soil to soak up the blood. I feel at least a small spark of gratitude that the building is perfectly level. I'd hate to think what it would look like if the entire mess ran like a slow river.

There's a low snapping sound somewhere. Gerude fires, kicking up a small geyser of ick near the stairway, and blessed silence falls over the Hall once more. I look around anyway, making sure I don't see anything twitching.

Erynn's nervously scanning the room as well. "Think that was all of them?"

Gerude grimaces. "No. The boys say that there are more on the upper levels of the building. They're concentrating on the top floor." He bites his lip, then gags and spits. Yeah, it's probably best not to do anything like that. I bet my face is a mess, too.

... Top floor?

Erynn must have had the same thought, as he's looking at me with growing horror in his eyes. "I'm sure he'll be alright," I say, doing my best to avoid contemplating the alternative. "Jhe h'Akribastes surely would be seeing to his safety personally, and I sincerely doubt anything would get past him."

"Yeah, you're probably ri--" The rest of Erynn's words are cut off by a sudden mental shout that nearly knocks me back on my ass.

- E'WAR! E'WAR HELP! THEY GONNA GET ME! E-

I'm running towards the stairs before I've even thought of moving. Someone grabs the back of my shirt and hauls me back hard enough that my feet lose traction. I twist around, my shirt hiking up and tightening around my chest. Gerude frowns, keeping a firm grip on my shirt. "Edward?"

My voice gives away my panic, and I give up on trying to keep a calm face. "Jax is upstairs. He's trapped."

Gerude drops my shirt like it was weaved of acid. "Where?"

"I don't..." I concentrate, pushing everything I have into making that connection, praying it doesn't drop. "Got him. He's on the fourth floor." My office, in fact. Makes sense; Jax knows where it is, and next to the playroom, it's the place he spends the most time in while at the Hall. Gerude nods, and I take off up the stairs, not bothering to wait for the other two.

That proves to be a near-fatal mistake once I hit the landing on the third floor. One of the corpses grabs my foot, and I do a clumsy faceplant right into the floorboards. There's a painful crunch in my nose and a brilliant flare of pain. I try to pull my foot free, but it's held fast in the supernaturally hard grip of the creature. I start kicking at it with my free foot, forgetting that I lost my shoe downstairs and catching the damned thing in the teeth would be fatal. I hear Gerude's shout a split second before my legs are bathed in lukewarm tissue, and I can't entirely choke back a sob of relief.

Erynn hauls me up and inspects my face. "That all yours?"

"What?" I gingerly probe my nose. My fingers come away wet with blood. "Yeah, I just busted my face. I don't think it broke, though."

He squints, then shrugs. "Like I could tell either way. C'mon, we're almost there."

The floor below was dormitory rooms as well as the first. This one held rooms for older Poets who were getting post-graduate training. Offices start on the fourth floor. Considering the colossal wave of dead that flooded down on us and were subsequently dispatched, the emptiness here on the third makes sense. No, all the danger's surrounding our King and my brother...

I can't believe Erynn's gall. I can't think which is more brazen - threatening my little brother or threatening Jhe h'Logos. This has gone beyond too far. What a fucking mess. I'll just have to clean up what I can. We reach the next flight of steps, then head up to the fourth floor.

There are just a few corpses to dispatch here. Jhe Alder and Jhe Rose, I will miss you both. We reach my office, skidding to a stop and almost slipping on the blood that's puddled across the floor. Seeing the entryway to my usual hermitage damaged like this makes me sick in my gut. The door's closed. Gerude motions for us to stay back, readies his Arms, and then charges forward as his pistols roar. The door explodes into shrapnel. There's a few shrieks inside, two of which have that drowning gargle to them that's becoming far too familiar in my life. They're quickly silenced. Then there's another shriek.

"Sorry Jhe Averseen! I thought you were one of them!" There's a pause. Considering my brother is in there, it's the longest pause of my life. "Was that all of them?"

Jhe Averseen lets out a sob. "Yes! Oh thank you Jhe Gerald, I thought I was gonna die!"

I don't pay attention long enough to hear Gerude correct her on which twin he is. I'm already inside and searching for Jaxie. For some reason I can't sense him now, and I'm starting to really panic. I call out for him, then back it up with a mental yell. I can't fucking tell if I'm broadcasting, though. It's like trying to see through a damned brick wall.

"Jaxie? JAXIE?"

"E'war?"

I fall to my knees in relief. Jaxie's blue eyes peer kitten-like from under the heavy desk and widen. "'E'war!" I'm thown backwards from the impact of solid four-year-old-boy to the chest, and for once I don't care that his death-grip on my neck is making me see stars. He's sobbing so hard I can't make out what he's saying, but he's alive and unhurt and that's all that really matters right now.

* * *

Hall of the Dead Pt. 3

As we stand at the base of the grand staircase leading to the fifth floor, a thin trickle of blood cascades down the steps. We watch, silent, as the crimson beads hesitate at the lip of the last step. One fat bead finally plops down, followed by a few more in rapid succession, until it's coming down in a steady trickle.

"That's, uh... that's a lot of blood."

Gerude gives Erynn one of the most exasperated looks I've ever seen an Armed toss a Poet's way. It's rather reminiscent of the ones I see Jhe h'Akribastes level at Jhe h'Logos when my King is being particularly helpful. Erynn raises his eyebrows and shrugs. "What? It is."

"How many are up there?" I ask, heading off any lovers spat before it has a chance to start. Gerude gets that typical pinched look on his face as he consults his Arms, then shakes his head.

"The boys aren't sure. Jorhhem, Kalel, and Terrilarsta have all gone silent, and..." Gerude swallows, his face freezing in a forced lack of expression that carries shades of his Father. "And Diyn seems to have disappeared."

Shock runs through me in ice-barbed waves. I force myself to breathe evenly. "Is it possible that your Arms are being prevented from communicating by some outside force?" It takes effort not to glare at Erynn.

Gerude blinks. "I suppose it's possible. I've never heard of it, but it's possible."

I grunt, and shift Jaxie in my arms. Kid's getting a little heavy. "I suppose there's nothing we can really do than get up to Jhe h'Logos's suite and hole up there until help comes." I'd bet my life's earnings on the four of us simultaneously thinking of the thick enchanted doors that guard Jhe h'Logos's suite.

"We're gonna see Jhe h'Lete?" Jaxie blurts. I grin. Seems Stevane's little nickname is catching. I bet she'll be pissed when she finds out -- she's funny about things like that. If she finds out... no. We'll get up there and Jhe h'Logos will straighten out the mess this wayward script of Erynn's has become and everything will be just fine. I nod to myself, shift Jaxie into a better position once again, and set my mental pen firmly in hand.

I've gone up four steps before I hear the others start to move. "Jhe Edward," Gerude says from just behind me, "perhaps I should go first? Unless you were planning on throwing Jax at them."

I swear I'd knock that punk back down the steps if it weren't so important to keep the one person amongst us who actually has weapons around. I force down my bile, nod, and let him go in front of me. I hear whispering behind me, and glance back. Erynn is leading Jhe Averseen up the stairs by the hand, and she's muttering under her breath. I feel the slight current of Poetry and relax just a hair. Jhe Averseen is a quick student, and pretty fast under pressure. She'll make a wonderful Poet, once Jhe Milligan gets around to giving her a proper trial.

Loud groans at the top of the stairs distract me from questioning my comrade's competence. In a spectacular show of literary cliche, Jhe Michael Milligan is in fact at the top of the stairs, groaning and waving his one remaining stump of an arm. It's almost enough to make me donkey-kick my braindead trainee back down the steps.

Gerude takes aim and shoots, his Arms raising almost casually as he picks off Jhe Milligan in two shots. The ex-professor's body buckles under the assault, lingering on the edge of the top step before flopping forward and tumbling down the stairs like a doll. I shield Jax's face, trying not to let him see the slaughter - but I wonder how much I can really protect him from that here. There are three groans now, each distinct. They sound hungry, almost pleading. We can't see the sources yet, as we've stopped at the middle of the stairs. Gerude's inching his way forward, but what's on his mind is probably what's on mine - that we can't tell what's at the top of those stairs, and it's most likely an ambush.

As if to mock me, three dead shamble around the foot of the stairs. They stand there, waiting, staring. Gerude risks a glance down before looking back up the stairs again.

"They're acting different now," I say. "Like they're calculating."

"Jhe Gaston almost seemed like he was thinking - is it really so strange?" Gerude's voice has an odd sulk to it. I wonder how he's coping with all of this. Most of his kind are probably dead now, and if his Father is dead... who will bring anyone back?

"They attacked on sight before. This is out of the ordinary." I swallow. "It could all be a trap."

They get the impression that we're not going any farther, I suppose, because the ones at the bottom begin to ascend the stairs. It's only now that I really recognize them. Their faces have decayed so much that there's not much left to associate an identity with. Really, I almost wish I didn't recognize them. If they were just generic faces in a crowd, I wouldn't have to think of them as having once been people.

Jhe Gerude snorts, and while keeping his eyes and one gun Aimed at the top of the stairs he Aims the other gun blindly behind him. The first shot is casual, almost playing, but it makes Jhe Escobedo's head explode in a flurry of mush and bone. Jhe Lerner goes down just as easily. Jhe Lauryl Blackirons just stares up curiously at us, possibly contemplating the sound of Jhe Lerner's teeth raining down around her. Then the next bullet takes her down as well. She lets out a squeaking gurgle of a hiccup before the end. I wonder for a moment if Jhe Lauryl's a relative of Erynn's, but the Blackirons are such a widespread family that there's just no telling. Someone's grandma must have had a lot of fun in her time.

Jhe Averseen is breathing in short, gasping breaths. Erynn's patting her arm, soothing her. The second shot almost took her in the hip. "Your Aim is quite accurate," I say to Gerude. My hand's still clamped over Jaxie's eyes. My baby brother just cuddles closer to my neck. Maybe he thinks it's all a game. Wouldn't it be for the best?

"Daddy never raised a fool of a shot. Well, there was Lyric--" Gerude chokes up a bit. Jhe Lyric? He doesn't stay in the Poet Hall... but he does live in Jhe h'Akribastes's home. "I'm sure Lute's watching him," says Gerude under his breath. "Tell me if any more start coming. I need to concentrate. I'm countin'."

Gerude's face pinches in that distinct look of 'I'm talking to a pair of assholes that think they're always right and call themselves my Arms'. He's also doing math under his breath. Then he speaks more clearly. "Hey. Erynn."

Erynn looks up. "Yeah, 'Rude?"

Gerude tosses one of his pistols to Erynn, who lets out a squeak and almost drops the thing. I hear a weird clicking noise, and then Gerude snaps, "Caerig! You know he's a friend, stop it." He grins at Erynn, then quickly turns his head back to the top of the stairs. "He's just a joker, he wouldn't shoot you for real. Now, try to keep him pointed at the back of our group, okay? I can't guarantee that a shot from the front wouldn't hit any of you before taking out attackers in the bac--"

POW! The gun in Erynn's hands explodes with fury, and then another bloody mass of flesh falls in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.

"Yeah, like that. Pretty simple. Caerig knows how to shoot so you don't have to. Best not to even think about it, ya stupid Poet. Just be glad he knows you," Gerude scowls. He glances at me once before saying, "He wouldn't let just any jackass hold him."

I brush his words off with a slight shrug. "Pretty intelligent of them."

The next target appears at the top of the stairs, distracting Gerude from making any rejoinder. Jaxie buries his face in my neck, his hands clamped down over his ears. "Too loud! Too loud!" I can barely make out his plaintive wails over the thunder. I pat his back and use one hand to help cover his left ear. I watch as one, then two, then five appear at the top of the stairs. Gerude picks them off almost as fast as they appear, but the flood grows, and they begin to edge down the stairs. Jhe Averseen shrieks and backs into me, nearly knocking me off-balance. Jaxie wails, the guns' roaring quickens into a near-staccato... how are they even still firing? Neither have reloaded.

Erynn curses and comes up a couple of steps. I turn, and grunt in satisfaction. The flood behind us is finally slowing. I look up, and see Jhe Oda leap from the top of the stairs. She looks remarkably intact for a corpse, which makes Gerude's hesitation to fire completely understandable. Erynn and Caerig seem to have no such reservations; I feel the heat from Caerig's discharge, and half of Jhe Oda's head vaporizes. She tumbles, hitting the stairs just behind Gerude, and rolls past Erynn. Caerig fires twice, and her head is completely gone. One hand lies severed in the puddle of ruined flesh. Erynn steps down and gingerly picks it up, turning and dropping it into the bag of remains. Gerude glances back, and Erynn nods. "Sorry, man."

Gerude grimaces. "No, I froze. I..." His lips flatten. "Let's just get through this and get her... them back, OK?" His arm whips up and fires blind, and another corpse drops.

"Yeah, OK." Erynn looks behind us, which is now mercifully empty of moving targets. "How do you think..." BANG! "... we're going to... " BANG! "... get past that?"

I'm drawing a blank, and from the looks on the other three's faces, we're a little understocked on ideas. I open my mouth, and so does Jhe Averseen, her eyes bulging. She lets out a hoarse scream, the front of her clothing suddenly soaked in blood, and collapses.

Standing in her place is a tiny, pale corpse, almost ghostlike in presence. She looks at the entrails in her hand, takes a delicate bite, and then looks up and grins. My entire body turns to ice.

Jhe Julia Wysthaven.

She grins and crouches. I hear one of the guns fire, but it's in the wrong damn direction, and I'm going to die right here on this damned stair --

The back of her head disappears, and I would swear on the soul of my mother that she looked really damned surprised at the sneak attack.

I hazard a glance, and both of the guns are pointed in the wrong fucking direction. They're firing away up the stairs, and I know their reaction makes it physically impossible to turn, fire, and turn again in that short span of time. Poetry? It must be Poetry... but it wasn't mine. My heart speeds up. Jhe h'Logos must be helping! Either that or Erynn... no. If Erynn had that much control, he wouldn't have lost control of this wretched excuse for an exercise like this.

Jaxie lifts his head, and I tuck it back against my neck. "Don't look yet," I warn him, my voice likely a little harsher than necessary. He nods, his face still tucked away. I can't watch the top of the stairs without having him be able to see Jhe Averseen's remains.

The gunfire is speeding up again in frequency. The trickle of blood has grown to several streams, the noxious coppery smell filling the air. The flood is growing again, new bodies appearing faster than both guns together can take down. Gerude is obviously coming to the same conclusion - he keeps glancing back, taking measured steps back down the staircase.

Erynn jumps as his foot comes down on Jhe Averseen. He looks down, his eyes widening in horror. "Bronwyn?"

"Focus, asshole!" Gerude shouts. "Or I'll fucking shoot you right now!"

Erynn looks away, bringing Caerig back to bearing. Instead of firing, he swivels again, just as I catch a blur of motion on the edge of my vision.

He's too late. Jhe Averseen's teeth sink into his ankle a spare moment before he blows her head off. Her jaw hangs a moment longer, then falls down a couple of steps with a few dull knocks.

Caerig and Kennit immediately Aim at his head. Erynn mouths something, and for some reason, the guns swing away. Gerude gets that crunched look again, then his face goes slack with shock. "Are you sure?"

Erynn nods, his face already ghastly pale. "I'm sure, man. We're sure."

Gerude closes his eyes and nods. "Go."

My trainee draws a deep breath, tightens his grip on Caerig, and runs up the stairs, disappearing into the thick crowd of undead. He disappears quickly, and in his wake they turn to face the direction he's gone. There's a moment where the ones closest to us just stand there, and I hear a single muffled scream, and then the air rips in a thunderous explosion.

The force of it knocks me and Gerude backwards. I bounce painfully against the steps as I curl around Jaxie, protecting him from the tumble. As soon as I land, I uncurl again, looking around. Gerude is already rising, pistol held at ready, his face tight.

The floor above us is silent. Perfect silence.

By all rights, this should be over now. Erynn's dead. My trainee, who I mentored and groomed for years, who I coached and coddled, molded and urged forward, is dead from his trial. It happens, sometimes. We all know it happens.

It's never happened like this before.

I can't move. I can't even walk. There's no sound, anywhere, and I think that's fitting. An absence of sound, for the one who's been silenced.

Gerude curses, then chokes, hunching over again. He grasps his face, possibly to hide something that's showing on it. I can't imagine what he could be feeling right now. He's just lost one of his Arms. I've never heard directly of one self-destructing like that, though I've heard through the grapevine of a few trainees dispatching themselves instead of taming their Arms. By all rights, they're pieces of the traineees themselves, little seeds of the soul. It must be like losing a limb. Or a piece of his heart.

He looks at me, eyes glistening. He's trying not to cry, and doing, considering his situation, a fair job. "Erynn did what he could. Let's go," he says. I nod, check to make sure Jaxie's okay, and then I follow Gerude up the steps.

The Armed is tense, poised like a hawk at the top of the stairs. He doesn't take a step further. I realize why when I reach the top and survey the room up here.

The sixth and uppermost floor of the Poet Hall is mostly for the King himself, though there's also an audience chamber outside his suite. It's for recitals and lectures and whatever other sort of occasion might call for a great indoor gathering of trainees and teachers alike. There's a gallery as well, holding some permanent exhibits and also some rotating ones. It's a prize workmanship of stately marble and granite, a tasteful, subdued, and somehow still grand backdrop to showcase the art and works of the Poets against. The only room bigger than this in the Poet Hall is the Library, and it takes up a complex of its own that's so massive that I can't really count it as a room.

Everything up here is in ruins. I thought I saw blood before. I thought I saw bodies before. This goes far beyond what I have already seen tonight. The blood that ran down the stairs is from the massive pools of it that are up here. It seems to be welling up from the very floor itself.

There's no sign of Erynn at all. No sign of Caerig. They both did their last job well. I will give this to my trainee - he failed wondrously, almost beautifully. It's almost more profound in its horror than if he would have succeeded in his exercise.

Gerude motions for me to stay here a moment as he scans the room, Arms held out in front of him. Nothing among the severed limbs and jellied corpses is moving--

BANG!

--except for what once might have been Jhe Choras. Hopefully she is the last of her kind up here. Gerude walks forward to ensure that, and then motions forward for me to follow behind.

It seemed quiet up here before. Now, the silence is loud. It could be the pulse thundering in my ears, the crushing sound of blood slushing through my own brain. It's enough pressure to squeeze my own eyeballs just a little bit with every heartbeat. Thoughts themselves have their own sounds, like shouts echoing down a tunnel. Outside of my head, there's the soft wet sound of Jaxie sucking on his thumb, the splish-splish our feet make as we slush through blood, guts, and I care not to know what else, and the dripping. The dripping is everywhere. The blood is everywhere.

It feels like there's not another human being besides Gerude and I alive in this world, and that could just very well be the truth. Still, I look toward the thick double doors that enter into Jhe h'Logos's suite. If there's anyone else left alive, they could be in there. We make our way towards it.

Something keeps nagging in the back of my mind. Some niggling worry, as if I might have forgotten something very important. I brush it off when we reach the huge, thick doors. We're here. We just might be able to rest now. I hoist Jaxie up on my hip, where he's been sliding down. He's been getting heavier as I've had to carry him longer.

Gerude puts his hand on the door, feeling the wood. His face pinches up again, though the expression's different now. With just one gun, he'll never commune the same way with his Arms again. He whispers something inaudible, then nods. He looks at me. "My Arms say we should go in. Jhe h'Logos responded to him when Kennit inquired."

He raises his gun, then raps the butt of it against the door to knock. In reply, there's a loud clap of iron against wood. Then, following the smooth whisper of machinery and magic unseen, the bolts release and the doors creak inward.

Something's still nagging me, but it's time to go inside. Gerude walks in first, and I follow.

* * *

Hall of the Dead Pt. 4

It's so dark in here. Strange, usually Jhe h'Logos has enough light to write by. Still, in the low light I can make out the barest details of Jhe h'Logos's suite as Gerude scans over every inch of his surroundings, Kennit always at the ready. The hardwood floor is getting stained by our bloody footprints, but I think that's the least of anyone's worries right now. The furniture here seems relatively undisturbed, and I see no other signs of blood. Once we get past the wood flooring, its on to deep red carpets. The soft squishy feel of them is strange to my bare foot. Somehow it's reminiscent of tromping through corpses, and the similarity makes me shiver through and through.

The doors close behind us once we step all the way through, sealing together with a low boom that somehow seems utterly final. We're in complete blackness now - what I thought was low lighting was really the lighting from outside the suite, glowing through the open door. The locking mechanisms whisper, and then there's the final click that means the doors won't be opened again unless the primary resident here wills that it happen.

"Are we safe now?" whispers Jaxie as we stand there, unsure of where to go next.

"Come in," says a voice further down. I recognize the voice of my King. Even through the overwhelming relief I feel, though, something seems wrong. But what? I just can't figure it out. Still, I step forward as Gerude does. He, at least, seems to be at ease. "Jhe Edward? Is something wrong? You are in good health, are you not?" That last comment has just a slight tense note to it. I don't blame him for being wary of the ill right now.

"Yes," I say in relief. "We're just tired. Jhe h'Logos, terrible things have been happening outside-- I'm so glad that you're safe."

"Safe as can be. 'Sy's been protecting me all this time."

There's another wave of relief, flooding over me like water, a wave more immense than all the blood I've seen today could make. I see Gerude almost fall down with the revelation. Erynn really had just been blocking the Judge, which means we really can bring back the fallen. We're almost to Jhe h'Logos now, and as we approach, that niggling worry in the back of my mind is escalating into a scream of alarm. Still, everything's going to be okay. If Jhe h'Logos is alive, that means everything Erynn did wrong can be put to rights.

Wait... wait a minute... no, I lost it again. What's nagging at me?

Jhe h'Logos is sitting on his bed, the door to his bedchamber open. There's a single lamp lighting the chamber, the glow flickering and darting and causing shadows that chase each other across the wall. He looks in good health, which is a relief. His constitution is sometimes ailing, and we've often been put on watches to ensure to his continuing vitality. Jhe h'Akribastes has imparted to those of us in the know at the top that it's something passed on to Jhe h'Logos from the Xaillyndesse bloodline, and it can't be helped. It's rare to see our King looking so strong, so full of vitality. Perhaps that's what seems so strange about him. He smiles when he sees us. "Jhe Jaxhelshon? Such a relief. It's the children I worried after the most. Such a happy thing, to see another come to me safe."

My heart leaps. "Another?" I kneel down on the floor as Jaxie starts to squirm. I let him run to the King.

He smiles to me, then nods as he strokes Jaxie's hair. He gestures to someone over at the side. "Come here," he says in a soft voice, cooing. "Jhe Edward's apparently been worrying after you, dear."

Stevane comes walking up to Jhe h'Logos, all smiles, a bounce in her step, as it all comes clear in my mind. Too late, though. It all clicks right as Stevane looks up at me. She's grinning, her face framed by perfect red curls. Those curls aren't nearly as red as the blood that lines her lips and seems to fill up her very eyeballs.

Erynn's dead, you see. If this were just his exercise, and all this failure were just him trying to prove himself, then everything would have gone back to normal when he died. That's how it always works, but I was too wrapped up in our struggles to wonder about it, or even remember. Now, we're all going to die.

Jhe h'Logos smiles up at me, stroking my little brother's hair with a hand that's just a little bit paler than even our ailing King's skin should be. The grey tint is so easily concealed by the low lamplight. It's only now that I can make out the red glisten of Jhe h'Logos's eyes. But he's just so very well preserved, and... and he's articulate! My doom's crashing down all around me. This was real the whole time? Couldn't I have stopped it?

No, I still can! There's Gerude--

Gerude raises his Arms too late. They don't even fire. It's more like a dull click. He was going to shoot Jhe h'Logos, or maybe even his own little sister Stevane. I'm sure he was going to do something very valiant. But I can't blame him for not firing. I can't blame even Kennit for not firing.

For Jhe h'Akribastes is looming over him now, having risen from the shadowed corner that Stevane was sitting at before coming to join Jaxie at Jhe h'Logos's knee. The commander of the Armed is very tall, very foreboding, and very, very dead.

His expression is the same deadpan he faces every situation with, even in dead. There's a great gaping hole in his neck, but the blood's all done flowing now. There are no eyes in his sockets. I hear a slurping noise. My eyes dart over to Stevane.

She's licking one of those now-dull golden eyes as if it was a popsicle. She looks at Jaxie, then, and offers the other one to him. "Shey h'ghLete said aye cud haff em," she mumbles through a mouth that's well-preserved, but not more than than Jhe h'Logos's (or h'Lete's, if you're Stevane). Already it's beginning to rot, teeth wiggling against her tongue in the growing mush.

The former Jhe h'Logos smiles beautifically. "It's fine to stare, Jhe Stevane, but you need to eat your food a bit faster before you go bad." She nods and pops the eyeball into her mouth at the prompt. Then, before Jaxie can close his now-gaping mouth, she grabs his head and shoves the other eyeball down his throat.

My poor brother begins to gag as a shadow falls over me. The Judge has drawn closer. He's drawn his weapon. Diyn, the great Trident, which once glistened like polished silver, has a dull reddish dark tone to it, as if it were dipped in blood so long that it stained. Rust? Is the Trident rusting as the Judge rots?

Jaxie's gags are dissolving into a long gurgle. "Quick now," says Jhe h'Logos, "you must eat before you rot! The best food is hard to come by, but it's right in front of you."

My heart is hammering inside of my chest. Why can't I move? Why can't I speak? Why can't I even write in self-defense? I am a Poet, right? That's what I do - I right things by writing them!

My brother's low, long groan cuts through my thoughts. It's getting closer. All I can see is the Judge. He fills my entire field of vision. Gerude's gun is clicking, but there's no fire. It's as if his Arms are empty of bullets. Jhe h'Akribastes levels the Trident at the boy, the center tine focused right on the boy's throat. Gerude just stares up at him, eyes widened with disbelief that he could be betrayed by his own Father, by the Law itself.

Then, the boy raises his remaining Arms, closes his eyes, and blows his brains out with one final shot. His corpse slumps to the floor. The inside of his face drips down the left side of mine.

"Hrmph." The undead Judge rolls his eyes, turns, and pays me absolutely no mind as he walks to Jhe h'Logos and the two children. The Trident fades from view and then dissipates. The Judge sinks to his knees, then extends an arm. Stevane rolls up the sleeve, then guides Jaxie to begin chewing. My brother's flesh is pale and grey, his eyes dull, but other than that he's unharmed. For some reason, that makes me feel better about how things have turned out, and the fact that I do feel better disgusts me most of all. There's just the slurp-slurp sound of Jaxie's teeth sinking into too-soft flesh, just me watching this happening.

Am I a Poet? Might I just as well not be? I couldn't stop any of this, and my King... the very person that defines who we are as Poets... he's smiling at me. Smiling, this pristine corpse, and just as patient and cheerful as ever.

"I ate quickly," he explains. "'Sy was ever so close, the dear. He protected me, even to the last. And then beyond the very last, you see, dear Edward. There's something a bit magical to the original, ageless Radians such as he. There's something of a kind of preservation to the Law which he embodies. So he's been feeding us, you see. Stevane picked the eyeballs, they're her favorite."

Something turns in my stomach. I'm sure I'm going to puke.

"Won't you join us, Edward?" He smiles at me. It's such an utterly unthreatening expression, as if he's extending all the good will in the world to me through his offer. "It's ever so nice. I feel more powerful than I've ever felt in my weak, short life. I have thoughts I've never thought before. The mind is capable of so much more without all that noisome pulsing inside it drowning out all clarity. I see the world in colors that I can't even describe through paint. And oh... Edward. Just think... think of the music you'll be able to make now. Now that you'll be able to hear without your own pulse drowning out the clarity of silence..."

I can't say anything. I'm not a Poet anymore, am I? Not with a King whose seductive reasoning has me half-convinced he's right. If I couldn't stop this, then I never was a Poet. I've just been faking it all this time. If they'd given Erynn to a different Poet, all of this would have never happened. I'm the one who really failed. I think this as tiny hands curl around my wrist.

Jaxie stares up at me, eyes a little gooey, but otherwise almost as cute as ever. Stevane takes my other wrist.

"Cn eat him, Shey h'ghLete?" Stevane gives the King a pleading look.

Elete rises, replying with such a kind smile for such a dead face. "No, honey. I'll do the duty. You just hold him tight, hmm? I'm getting a little hungry." He chuckles. "You can pay tithe to your King, Jhe Edward? Just a peck... on the cheek, even..." He chuckles, the sound wandering into a gargle at the end.

I try pull away from Stevane and Jaxie's grasp, but they hold me tight. They're too damn strong now. I'm stuck. The undead King is looming over me, and all I can do is look up at him.

He takes me by the chin and tilts my head up. His cold touch is somehow gentle. "Don't you have any last words, Poet?" His voice is low, between a purr and a growl. I wonder if his throat is rotting even as he's standing there. I have an odd urge to beg him to gnaw on the Judge a little more, to preserve himself. Even in this state, I can't help but love him.

I don't reply. There are no words for this. There is only silence.

"So be it," he says, and leans forward to sink his teeth into the soft flesh of my cheek. They pinch the skin lightly, then dig in further, still not breaking it just yet. When they do, I wonder how long it will take until I'm another one of his kind... and how long before I'll be munching alongside Stevane on the Judge's cold dead bones.

Then the King licks me, says "Nom nom nom," and leans away. The lights are on. "You passed, Erynn," he says while looking over my shoulder.

* * *

I'm in the infirmary again, but this time it's me in the bed and not Stevane. She was with me for a time, reassuring me again and again that she was alright. By the look of her and Jaxie's wide eyes, and by her final question, I'm pretty sure she saw the Hall's recent events a little differently than I did.

'But wasn't it fun, Uncle Edward?'

I'm in a private room. Jhe h'Logos looks at me from his seat next to the bed. He's the only one here, though I can see the shadow of the Judge almost hanging over him, as if Jhe h'Akribastes is in the room as well. Maybe he's overlooking to ensure Jhe h'Logos's safety. After all, it's been a rough night.

Thankfully, Erynn isn't in here. I wouldn't be able to take looking at his smug, gloating expression while lying here like some sort of stroke victim.

"Is that really necessary, Jhe Cruxradia?" Jhe h'Logos is not wearing the smile that never seemed to leave his face while he was 'dead'. Instead he shows worry, spiced with what might be disappointment.

A stone sinks to the bottom of my stomach. What I feared was right, wasn't it? How can I go on like this? How can I live in disgrace? "Is what necessary, my King?"

He tilts his head to the side, prodding a little at my thoughts. "Your constant deriding of Jhe Erynn, when he has done nothing wrong as your student. Has, in fact, succeeded. He was only happy to be able to graduate and leave the trainee level. He was only happy to prove himself. Whatever else you saw in him tonight, you were reading into him. And why?"

That stone sinks further. Possibly I'm trying to digest it. I know I'll fail, which gives me even more of a sinking feeling.

"Have you been trying to hide something, Jhe Cruxradia?" He doesn't look accusatory now, only sad. That's the worst part, I think. Worse even than the fact that I can almost see Jhe h'Akribastes over his shoulder.

I shake my head. I don't want him to find it. I don't. But...

"But I already know." He sighs, rising. It's as if he's joining the Judge by the window. He keeps his back to it, though, looking at me with sympathy. "Your fear, Jhe Edward, is that you are not a proper Poet at all. Isn't it?"

I only look away.

"Tell me," he says. "Just tell me, and everything will be alright. I promise."

I bite my lip. "I'm not a proper Poet, though. It's true."

Jhe h'Logos snorts. "You're certainly not the first to let it eat away at them. I even endured my entire childhood in that fear. But I was surrounded by adults who constantly derided my efforts and aspirations, whereas you flourished in an upbringing that encouraged your art. I train you, I approve your matriculation, I request that you stay on to train others of high calibre, I give you highly skilled trainees such as Jhe Erynn, and still you doubt yourself? Shall I nominate you to be King when I pass along the crown?"

"No!" I exclaim, though the idea does have some merit to me.

"Good, because I'm not passing my crown to anyone, it is mine." Jhe h'Logos sighs, tucks away a stray strand of hair, and continues. "Jhe Erynn's exercise was necessary. It was his only available option left to prove to you that he had found your fear and could properly address and exploit it. Those are your criteria for graduation, which he met several times before addressing me regarding the problem. You have been holding him back for a reason, Jhe Edward - to hide the existence of your fear. Perhaps because you did not want others to exploit it... or perhaps because it was dangerously real to you. We all have that fear, you know. You've even taught Poets to defend against it. But when you yourself are pressed on it, you stifle the growth of your own students in favor of keeping your own comfort."

I just nod. When I blink, I see Jhe h'Akribastes behind him, and then he's gone again. It's ten times better, at least, than seeing my King as a walking corpse. That nightmare will haunt me to my dying days.

"The people who participated in Jhe Erynn's little event thought that they were scaring you through the more gory content of the masquerade. They are not aware of just what meaning might be behind all this. Even Jhe Erynn does not realize just how deep your fear runs. He was just happy to succeed. He bears you no ill will and I hope that you will remember what it was like to be a young, hopeful trainee with aspirations of grandeur." He smiles. "Surely you still have those same aspirations? I have been looking forward to seeing your final touches on your recent work."

I blink. "I... yes."

"Well, you can't very well be a Poet without aspirations of something, yes? So that is a relief. I don't worry about you, Jhe Edward. I don't worry about any of my students. Of those who come to me with potential, I rarely have to turn any away, and when I do so I do it early. Now, rest and recuperate."

I think over that as he makes the motion to leave. "Wait," I say.

He pauses, his hand on the door. "Yes?" The Judge's presence is so strong that he's semi-transparent, just barely glaring over the Poet King's shoulder.

"I'm sorry for taking my fears out on my trainee. I'm sorry for trying to defend myself through lies instead of Poetry. Thank you for taking the time to help both of us." There's more I should be saying, but I can't really get it out now. Later. There will always be a later. Everyone is alive, and there will always be a later.

He smiles. There's so much relief in that one expression. The Judge's shadow vanishes from the room completely, and then I realize that I was being held to the Law over the mistakes I was making. Perhaps, then, the Advocate herself heard my apology. One can always have hope. "Good. Get some rest. I daresay you've earned it."

He leaves. I close my eyes.

* * *
END
* * *

Hall of the Dead - Credits

 As you may have gathered, we cameoed a lot of our fellow weblit writers that we hang with on Twitter for the zombie horde.  Since we didn't exactly ask first (hey, it would have ruined what was essentially our twisted little way of saying HI WE LOVE YOU), and because they really are awesome folk who also deserve your attention, allow me to introduce (and pimp) our special guest stars (in order of appearance):

Jhe Lustig - aka dexeron on LJ - Not one of our writers, but one of the first and most enthusiastic of The Peacock King's fans. He knew us before we were internet infamous for writing gory odes to our childhoods spent reading Stephen King novels. 

Jhe Mithroi - @Mithroi - Also not a writer, but an all-around nice guy, and possessor of a neat enough name that I wanted to include him anyway.

Jhe Brauer - aka @tenaciousN and @writingnessie - She's a tribute not just to the authors of Strange Little Band, but one of the main characters, the one and only Addison Harris (@addisonharris). SLB happens to be an incredible read, and my only regret is that it (like all the others on my reading list) doesn't update nearly fast enough for my reading appetite! 

Jhe Gaston - aka @sagaston - Shawn gives the world Clockworks.  He's an incredible artist and writer, and again, just one of those likable people.  Jhe Gaston is also a tribute to Toby Chapman, one of the characters in Clockworks.

Jhe Miranda - aka @MeiLinMiranda - MeiLin is one of the heavy-hitters in the weblit community.  She is the author of An Intimate History of the Greater Kingdom, easily one of the top digital novels available online.  She runs WebLit.us for us, and also hosts DigitalNovelists.com.  MeiLin herself is a FABULOUS person and totally worth chewing on.  ... I mean, hanging out with.

Jhe Fanton - aka @FantonEsquire - If you haven't heard of The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely, you have now.  Congratulations, you no longer have an excuse for not reading this jolly good tale of the adventures of a Victorian gentle-man and legendary lover.  Mr. Fanton is also a fine example of humanity and deserves your loving attentions.

Jhe Montevallo - aka @GabrielGadfly - Gabriel is an incredibly talented writer, a valuable member of the weblit community, and just an incredible person as well.  Also, he's single and handsome!  (I said I was pimping...)

Jhe Paige - aka @rynia - She dressed up as Gerald for Halloween.  I mean, what more do you want?  

Jhe Harte - aka @am_harte - Ms. Harte is the author of Above Ground, a joyous romp through a post-apocalyptic world filled to the brim with some very... interesting characters, and also happens to be one of the best finds in online fiction, period.  She is also one of the editors at Web Fiction Guide, and a great person to follow.

Jhe Alder - aka @LynThorneAlder - If you're not reading Addergoole, you're missing out on one of the best weblits out there.  If you're not following her on Twitter, you're missing out on a very charming person.

Jhe Rose - aka @sharontherose - Sharon is the author of Space and Time as well as Swords and Sigils, a pair of damn spankin' good lit if you ask me.  If you're not following @tinyregli as well, you're missing out on a whole lot of cute.

Jhe Milligan - aka @1889ca - MCM oozes so much talent that I wish he'd get around to bottling that stuff up for the rest of us to rub all over ourselves and literally marinate in his glory.  His work can be found here.  Do be sure to check out Typhoon in particular (and buy the PDF... totally worth it for the extras).  He wrote that novel in THREE DAYS.  I was THERE.

Jhe Escobedo - aka @dannyson1 - OK, I'll admit that we mostly included Danny in here just so we could shoot him.  Don't get me wrong - his webcomic is entertaining and all, and it's not like he's mean.  He just happens to be more conservative than Rush Limbaugh on Election Day, riding an elephant to the polls while waving the American flag.  At least he's uproariously entertaining about it.

Jhe Lerner - aka @aboutskyfalls - She writes About Schuyler Falls, a highly successful web soap. She also runs EpiGuide, a massive community devoted to online entertainment.  As if that weren't enough, she's also rather awesome and a great supporter of the weblit community.

Jhe Lauryl Blackirons - aka @lauryl - Lauryl gets to join the Blackirons clan simply because she's an awesome lady and I kind of just wanted to do it.  Yay for whims!  She's also interacted with @LordWordSalad so much by now that she's practically canon anyway.

Jhe Oda - aka @janoda - She is one of the most active members of the weblit community who describes herself as a "wannabe writer".  She is one of the best supporters an author (or group of authors) could hope to have, and is a massive asset to us all.  Her bookshelf at Web Fiction Guide is a great place to start exploring online fiction.

Jhe Choras - aka @jmchoras - JM Choras is the author of Storm's Fall.  More of the quiet type, but worth paying attention to.

Please, please give our friends a visit (and hopefully stay a bit), and give them a follow on Twitter.  Their support and encouragement help keep us going, and not even killing them off in spectacularly gruesome ways could possibly communicate how much we appreciate their company, online and off.

The Halls: Erynn Part 1

He was pretty tall, as I recall.  Cheerful guy, slightly sunburned as you would expect a redhead to be, and developing a bad case of the freckles.  His curly hair was definitely looking a touch dusty and ragged from being out in the elements so long, not to mention trapped under the fading leather hat and loosely tied back with a leather thong.  His walk was so damned carefree he might has well have been skipping down the road, his horse following a few paces behind with an air of longsuffering that one would normally expect from an old whipped dog.  Not that the horse was mistreated.  I'm pretty sure that his horse was wondering what the hell his rider had laced his coffee with that morning before setting out.

The Armed clomped his way down the boardwalk, stopping occasionally to peer into windows.  I remember my grandfather muttering in his senile, stale-breathed way about the nosy damned sheriff stickin' his overbred nose into our business, but something about the man's manner suggested to me that he was more likely trying to figure out which of the identical sun-bleached buildings housed some kind of bar.  My guess was confirmed when his face lit up, and he made his merry way through the door of my grand-uncle's pub.  

I was now faced with the choice of going back to my chores or investigating this happy development further.

Being that this was a small frontier town and all, I was allowed into the pub without anyone so much as glancing my way.  Rurals tend to figure that if you're tall enough to reach the bar, you're tall enough to drink.  Besides, kids generally learn their limits from the first hangover.  I found myself wondering if the new guy got hangovers much.  Now that I was closer, I could see that he really wasn't too much older than me.  Maybe about the same age as some of the girls at Grandma's.  That didn't really mean he couldn't hold his liquor, though.  My cousin Badence can chug Uncle Kirk's worst without batting an eye or feeling the effects the next day, so there was a chance this stranger had the same iron gut.  I saw his nose wrinkle as he sniffed the highball Uncle Kirk gave him, and figured I stood a fighting chance of finding out first-hand.  The grimace he made as he swallowed didn't make his chances of being another Badence very good, though.

I swaggered over, trying to make my manliest first impression possible.  He raised an eyebrow as I approached and smiled, but never lost that approachable twinkle in his eye.  I hauled my skinny self up on the stool, gave Uncle Kirk my manliest stare, and bellowed for a stout.

Well, that was the goal, at least.  Instead, my cursed adolescent voice broke halfway through my request, and instead of a fine foaming stout I got a mug full of ginger soda.  The Armed guy never laughed, but the way his shoulders hitched gave away the fact that he had witnessed my shame.  I glared down into the gold foam, hunching my shoulders and wishing that I could disappear.  Or at least suddenly be two feet taller and a hundred pounds heavier and have a nice beard.

When I finally dared to look up, he was still grinning that welcoming, crooked grin.

"Don't worry, kid.  You'll grow up too fast anyhow."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I bit, then blushed at my own rudeness.

He laughed.  "It means when you finally start getting those funny hairs in weird places, you'll be so busy with boring shit that you'll wish you were back in the days before you had to shave to get a girl to look at you without spitting."

I wrinkled my nose.  Girls.  Who needed 'em.  I took a manly gulp of my ginger soda, and let out a somewhat manly belch.

"Whoa, impressive."  My new drinking buddy saluted me with his glass.

"Thanks."  I grinned, suddenly amused at my own antics.  What the hell, I really was just a goofy kid to this guy, and I'm sure things here looked funny.  Might as well laugh with him.  "Hey, so, what brings you way out here?"

He drained his glass, then caught Uncle Kirk's eye.  "What do you have in the neighborhood of a fine dark?"

Uncle Kirk stared at him, deadpan, then finally answered.  "One moment."

The Armed watched him lumber away, then turned and looked at me.  "He always like that?"

I nodded and grinned.  "He's an ogre, but he won't spit in your beer."

"That's nice."  Uncle Kirk lumbered back, depositing the glass of stout in front of the Armed with a solid THUNK, then trundled away.  "Does he..."

"Yeah, it's not just you.  He doesn't like outsiders, even though he likes their money."

He nodded.  "Pretty normal in towns like this, really.  There's always a few warmer souls, though."  He grinned and winked, then sampled the stout.  His face lit up, and he took a deeper swallow.  "Damn, that's good."

Uncle Kirk grunted from the far end of the bar.

"That means 'thank you'," I stage-whispered.

The Armed laughed and lifted his glass in salute to Uncle Kirk.  Uncle turned his back to us and went back to eavesdropping while cleaning glasses.

"To answer your question," the Armed continued, pausing long enough to drink that I could take a moment to cast back and recall what I had actually asked, "I've been out here on something of a mercy mission.  We've gotten a few reports of organized gangs harassing a few settlements, and Dad thought that someone should be sent out to check on things and bring it back to order, if necessary."

"Dad?"  I blinked.  "Why would your dad care what the Armed do, unless..."  My mind continued the thought, making several creative leaps in conclusion, and I felt the blood drain out of my face.

He blinked a couple of times, then sighed.  "Yes, kid.  Dad's the Judge.  No, he rarely eats babies for breakfast, and usually when he does it's because they--  Kid.  I'm joking."

I gasped a little, relieved, then stopped to consider things.  My dad could be pretty rough, too.  Maybe not as rough as the Judge was rumored to be, but my dad's fists were pretty big and mean, and he didn't even have to eat babies and cornhole grandmas to keep in shape.  Besides, this guy looked nice enough, and I was pretty sure that someone this nice couldn't be related to someone as nasty as the Judge was supposed to be.  You can tell the pups by the bitch, so Grandma says. 

The ginger soda was getting a little warm, but I took another gulp of it anyway and enjoyed an even fruiter belch.  

"What's it like?" I asked, my tongue moving ahead of my brain once more.  "I'm sorry, I mean... well, I've never been away from home, and you're kind of cool, and..."  I stopped myself and tried to find the direction my thoughts were heading again.  "Oh damn, I haven't even introduced myself and I'm being rude about you.  Sorry."  I offered a hand, which he took.  "I'm Blackirons Erynn, and in case nobody else was right mannerly enough to mention it," I said, shooting a glare at Uncle Kirk, "welcome to Robinstead."

The man's eyebrows raised slightly.  "Well, glad to meet you, Blackirons.  I'm..."  He stopped and grinned.  "Well, you did right proud by your community in greeting me.  The least I can do is return the airs, yes?"

Before I could say anything, he had risen from the stool and stood in front of me with a crisp tap of his boots on the floorboard.  He brought his hat forward from its resting place behind his head and bowed, his hat hand arcing like he was scooping water for his horse out of the river.  His eyes never left mine, though.  "On behalf of the Hall of Arms, and in the name of the Jhe o'Radia and the Jhe h'Akribastes, I greet you and humbly request good shelter and fair passage.  I am Jhedeinuos Gerude a'Radia h'Akribastes Akribastes'sen, and I thank you for your good company."

I snapped my mouth shut, until that moment unaware that it had dropped open.  Gerude laughed warmly enough that I knew he wasn't laughing at me, so I laughed too.  

"I'm sorry, sir, but I just wasn't expecting something quite that fancy."

"No matter," he said, readjusting his hat so that it was hanging down his back once again.  "Try having to memorize that speech.  Or, worse, the ones the Poets usually announce themselves with!"

"Poets?"

This time it was Gerude's mouth that dropped open.  "Wait, you people have heard of us, but you haven't heard of the Poets?"

I shook my head.  "No, sir."

"Gerude."

I shrugged and grinned.  "Most people out here can't read.  Why would anyone care about a poet?"

He tossed a few coins on the bartop, more than enough to pay for both our drinks and the few extra people in at this hour, and stood.  "I'll tell you about them if you want, kid, but I need to tend to finding a place to sleep and care for Nocturne.  Come with me?"

"Sure," I said, and trotted after him.

- - -

The Halls: Erynn Part 2

His horse looked a lot more content in the stall than he did earlier, following Gerude down the street.  As the doors opened, he tossed his shaggy head and whickered, then went back to scarfing down hay like it was something he hadn't seen in years.  Judging from the appreciable roundness of his gut, I would have to argue that the horse was a lying glutton.

Gerude strolled over and slapped Nocturne on the neck.  "Doing alright there, big fella?"

Nocturne snorted in his face, spraying chewed hay on his coat, then lowered his head and went back to eating.  Gerude brushed at the soggy clumps with cheerful dismay.  "Damned horse.  I just cleaned this coat."

"My aunt Caroline does laundry."

"Yeah, thanks, kid.  I'll look her up in a bit.  I'm only going to get it dirtier later."  He eased himself into the stall with Nocturne, running his hands over the black coat, tilting his head and running his fingers against the lay of the hair.  "Perhaps not.  Whoever brushed him down did an excellent job."

I grinned.  "Caleb takes pride in caring for the horses, si-- Gerude.  He cares for little else."

Gerude smiled, a tiny tuck of the corners of his mouth.  "Yes, I know the type."  He gave Nocturne's rump a couple of solid smacks, then let himself back out.  "Well, since I don't have to spend a couple of hours currying my horse, what say we find some food and talk over that instead?"

I really meant to turn him down politely, as Ma wasn't keen on me bumming meals off of others, but my traitorous teenage stomach overruled me.  Loudly.  Gerude laughed.  "Show me where to go, kid."

"What kind of fare do you prefer?"

"Anything that doesn't taste like trail food."

I wrinkled my nose.  "What does trail food taste like?"

Gerude sighed.  "When you travel with me?  Burned."

I frowned, thinking.  "Well, that rules out Ike's place, then.  Let's head over to Grandma Lettie's." 

He followed me out of the stable, turning one last time to look over Nocturne's accommodations. They met his approval, just as they had five minutes ago, so he planted his hat on his head and followed me into the twilight.

Robinstead looks a lot better at night, with the darkness disguising a lot of the bland shabbiness of the place as homely warmth.  It was still warm enough in early fall that people were enjoying their final meal of the day outside, bringing out their tables and chairs and lanterns.  Most waved as we walked past, calling out their "grand evenings" and, in a couple of cases, lifting their hats in greeting to Gerude.  He tipped his hat in return, whether or not they had initiated the gesture, taking care to be unfailingly polite even when the resident in question did no more than glare our way.  The yellow glow of the road-lamps made walking easy, and before long I was tromping along the boardwalk in front of Grandma Lettie's.  As I opened the door to enter, I caught Gerude looking in the window with a mild expression of shock.

"Kid, this place... this is your grandmother's?"

"Yep," I said.  "She makes a decent meal, and the entertainment isn't bad."

Gerude gave me a funny look, then laughed.  "I guess so, kid.  Just wasn't what I expected."

I shrugged as he passed me.  "Men get hungry in a place like this."

The girls looked up in unison at the sound of our boots hitting the hardwood floor, resembling for all the world a clan of painted ground dogs.  "Erynn!" they called, also in chorus.  I waved and found a small empty table.  Gerude looked around as he sat, nearly missing his chair with his lack of attention.  Rua wandered over, giving Gerude a long look-over.  "Well, Erynn, what have you dragged in with you tonight?"

"This is Gerude," I said, nodding in his direction.  "He's a guest."

Gerude stood and bowed with a flourish, introducing himself.  Unlike the speech he gave me, he ended this one by taking Rua's hand and brushing a kiss on the back of it.  Rua actually blushed, looking back at me.

"Make sure you make more friends like this, Erynn," she giggled.

"Rua," a crackly old voice snapped, "qui' until they done eat, girl!"

Rua rolled her eyes at me, and I snickered.  "Good evening, grandmother," I said, standing and hugging her.  

"Goodness, yer a tall whelp, ain't ya," she said, pinching my chin and returning the hug.  "Swear yer grown a ha'inch since las' week."  She looked me over with her sly old lady eyes.  "Gonna wet yer pricker yet, son?"

I turned beet red, and Gerude laughed.  Grandma turned her attention on him and grinned.  

"Ah, lookit the sweetmeat yer done dragged in.  Welcome, welcome!"

"And greetings to you as well, my lady," Gerude said, bowing again and brushing a kiss on the back of her gnarled hand, his eyes shining with barely-contained laughter.

Grandma chuckled, and I admit I was a little surprised she didn't blush, too.  Gerude just seemed like the kind of man to have that effect on the fairer sex.  "Make sure yer avail yerself of our hospitality, y'hear?" she said with a wink.

"We'll see," he said kindly.  "Right now, I can think of little else besides this growl in my stomach."

"Well, yer leave that to me, boy," Grandma said.  "I'll fex that right well."  She waddled back off to the kitchens, and as she disappeared we heard her barking orders.

Gerude watched as she disappeared, then looked back at me.  "That... she..."  He finally gave up and let loose his laughter, burying his face in his arms on the table.  His laughter was contagious, and soon we were both wiping tears from our eyes.  "I want to take her home and introduce her to my father."

I choked, wondering why the blazes Gerude would want to introduce a withered brothel ma'am to  the Judge, and after a moment's thought, decided to just ask.  Gerude laughed, shaking his head.  "Dad's just like that.  He..."  Gerude folded his hands under his chin, looking towards the kitchen thoughtfully.  "Dad's kind of connoisseur of women. He genuinely seems to enjoy them, even if it's a baffled sort of fascination."

"Well, isn't that true of all guys?" I asked.

"No, not really," he said, unfolding his hands and toying with the silverware. "Not to the degree my dad takes it. He really is..." His hands twirled through the air as if reaching for just the right words. I watched his fingertips, curious as to whether or not he'd actually be able to pluck them out of the air.  Halfway through the fourth twirl, he caught me watching his fingertips and, to my amusement, watched them as well through the rest of the gesture.  "That really isn't helping, is it," he muttered.

"Helping what?"

"I don't remember."  He chuckled and waggled his fingertips.  

"Weel, boy, iffen yer wantin' that kind o' company, I'm sure I ken skeer some up fer yer."

I inhaled my spit and started in on a spectacular choking fit while Grandma set down the plates. Gerude wasn't faring much better, his snort having set off his own coughing spasm.  

"No thank you, ma'am," he managed to sputter.  "I wouldn't want to put you out any."

"Oh, dint worry none 'bout it," she cackled.  "I'll be sure an' cheerge yer the price annen some."  She looked him over, her hands balled on her rather expansive hips.  "Whatcher pref'rence, boy?"

"Girls," Gerude said, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking with silent laughter.  "Truly, ma'am, I'm not looking for company tonight, although I promise you that should I change my mind on the matter, I will seek your opinion on the matter first."

"Yer better," she said, waggling a finger at him.  "I know my puss, and believe yer me I kin match yer flavor right off."  She grinned as he finally turned bright red and gave in to the laughter with his face buried in his palms.

"Please, lady, I beseech you," he cried, "I will starve to death enjoying your company."

Grandma laughed, then turned and rapped me on the head with her bony knuckles.  "Eat yer supper, pup, or yer ma will hear frem me."

"Yes 'm," I said, my mouth already working on the first mouthful of biscuits and gravy.

One last smile for Gerude and a final glare at me, and Grandma waddled her way around the corner into the back of the building.

It took Gerude several minutes of recovery to start in on his plate, but he made short work of it.

The Halls: Erynn Part 3

The Halls: Erynn Part 4

The Last of the Dhealg'seala - 1

The Last of the Dhealg'seala - 2

The Last of the Dhealg'seala - 3

The Last of the Dhealg'seala - 4

The Last of the Dhealg'seala - 5

The Last of the Dhealg'seala - 6

***
Camden
***

"Touch... touch... touch."

The child standing before Katherine wilted slightly, then pulled himself straighter, raising his wooden practice sword.  "Again."

Katherine's tounge clucked, but she shifted her feet obligingly, pulling her own practice sword up at ready.  "One."

The boy's sword came down, smartly cracking against Katherine's easy block. 

"Two."

The tip came around.  Once again, Katherine twisted, blocking the strike.

"Three."

The sword wavered halfway through the counter-strike, far enough past Katherine that she merely sidestepped the blow.

"I..."  The boy collapsed to his knees.  I noticed with approval that his weapon did not meet the earth; it was held at guard, and the child had done it instinctively.  "Jhe Katherine, I'm spent."

She waved at him, a curl to the wrist in that signal-language the Armed used.  He bowed, then turned, his tiny legs carrying him quickly out of the arena.  I grinned as I heard his high-pitched shout for freedom as he turned down the hall. 

"Weapons Room, Raven!" she called.  The footsteps abruptly reversed direction, and we caught the briefest flash of jet-black hair as he flew by the entrance to the arena once more.

She walked over to the bench I was occupying and dropped down next to me with a snort.

"Yes, just look at how tired the wee boy is."

Katherine laughed.  "He's all of six years old.  I'm impressed he paid attention as long as he did."

It was my turn to snort.  "At his age, I was learning to lead men."

She raised an eyebrow, smoothly grabbing her canteen without her eyes leaving my face.  "I can believe that, actually.  You have the manner of someone who never experienced childhood."  She laughed at the face I made, tilting the mouth of the canteen towards me.  "Camden, when did you ever play?"

"I played," I said, my voice surprisingly thin in my own ears. 

"Played at what?  Tell me about your childhood games."  She swirled the bottle and then drank, staring at me expectantly as she swallowed.

I bit my lip, suddenly shy.  "I suppose... when I was small, Elricht would play tracker-and-prey with me.  I would cover my eyes and wait a while, and then try to find where my brother was hiding."  I smiled, remembering how bloody difficult Elricht was to find.  "Sometimes it would be hours before I would so much as find a sign of his passing, and it was years before I could go much further than an acre before I'd lose his spoor." 

"Hmmm."  She set the skin down at her side once more, staring thoughtfully across the arena.  "I don't suppose Elric would be willing to take on some of the kids and play that game?"

"Elricht," I corrected.  She tossed me an annoyed glare, then rolled her eyes.  "You'll have to take it up with him, but I don't see why he wouldn't.  He's very fond of children."