a
criminal (and it took one to know one) or a hard-case which made
his enlistment in the Damned Company all the more perplexing. The
soft-spoken young man was well-rounded for someone his age,
implying education, and was slow to anger, implying his childhood
hadn’t been a near constant struggle to survive. Heinrich was
curious about him but not so curious as to raise the subject of
Critchler’s background. He minded his own business and preferred
that others do the same. Critchler seemed to subscribe to that same
philosophy which suited Heinrich just fine, and perhaps that was
why Critchler’s question caught him off guard.
“What do you suppose is on the other side?”
Critchler asked him as they stood guard at the edge of camp that
night. In the distance stood one of the massive, rune-carved
pillars which marked the outermost boundaries of the nightmare
landscape beyond. The elf-runes glowed green and fierce as they for
thousands of years, their arcane power preventing the spread of
whatever unimaginable force had created the Blight.
“The other side of what?” Heinrich asked.
“The hole.”
Heinrich raised an eyebrow. “What hole? Did
somebody dig a hole?”
Critchler smiled and shook his head. “Out
there in the middle of the Blight is a hole. Or maybe crack would
be a better word. Yes, that’s what it is. It’s a literal crack in
the sky, letting the essence of some other reality leak into our
world. I guess you could say it’s the heart of the Blight.”
Heinrich looked sideways at Critchler. “What
the gob are you talking about?”
Critchler shrugged. “It’s not a given. It’s
just something I heard at the Magicians College.”
Heinrich snorted. “And what were you doing at
the Magicians College?”
“I used to go there.”
Even Heinrich knew the Magicians College
wasn’t the most prestigious of the royal colleges (the College of
Engineering held that distinction) but it was definitely the most
expensive. Magical research wasn’t cheap and the faculty was quite
willing to grant honorary degrees not worth the vellum on which
they were written in exchange for generous donations. “Yeah, and
I’m the bloody queen.”
“Your majesty,” Critchler said with a slight
bow.
Heinrich studied the younger man’s mild
expression. “You serious?”
Critchler nodded.
“You come from money?” Heinrich asked, more
surprised at himself than at Critchler’s revelation. It was the
first time he had asked someone a personal question in almost a
decade.
Critchler shook his head. “No, my parents
were sharecroppers. After they died during the last zombie plague,
my great uncle Tobin took me in. He wasn’t rich by any stretch of
the imagination either, but he was a retired professor of alchemy
with his own laboratory and everything. He taught me to read,
instructed me in mathematics and the natural sciences, and when I
showed an aptitude for basic spellcraft used some connections to
get me into the Magicians College.”
“Huh. Okay, so do a trick. Make that rock
float or disappear or something.” Heinrich’s eyes widened. “No,
wait. I’ve got it. Turn it into gold.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Critchler said.
“It’s not like in the stories where the wizard just says some silly
words and waves a stick. Even the simple stuff takes preparation.
And even if I could turn that rock into gold, after awhile it would
just turn back into a rock.”
“Why’s that?” Heinrich asked, frowning.
“Have you ever tried telling a rock not to be
a rock?”
“Can’t say that I have,” Heinrich admitted.
He tried to bite back the next question but curiosity got the
better of him. “Okay, so how do you go from the Magicians College
to guarding the southern border from mutant rabbits? You kill
somebody with a curse or something?”
“I quit school to come here and enlist,”
Critchler said casually.
“You quit… You get a free ride to one of the
Royal Colleges then quit just so you
criminal (and it took one to know one) or a hard-case which made
his enlistment in the Damned Company all the more perplexing. The
soft-spoken young man was well-rounded for someone his age,
implying education, and was slow to anger, implying his childhood
hadn’t been a near constant struggle to survive. Heinrich was
curious about him but not so curious as to raise the subject of
Critchler’s background. He minded his own business and preferred
that others do the same. Critchler seemed to subscribe to that same
philosophy which suited Heinrich just fine, and perhaps that was
why Critchler’s question caught him off guard.
“What do you suppose is on the other side?”
Critchler asked him as they stood guard at the edge of camp that
night. In the distance stood one of the massive, rune-carved
pillars which marked the outermost boundaries of the nightmare
landscape beyond. The elf-runes glowed green and fierce as they for
thousands of years, their arcane power preventing the spread of
whatever unimaginable force had created the Blight.
“The other side of what?” Heinrich asked.
“The hole.”
Heinrich raised an eyebrow. “What hole? Did
somebody dig a hole?”
Critchler smiled and shook his head. “Out
there in the middle of the Blight is a hole. Or maybe crack would
be a better word. Yes, that’s what it is. It’s a literal crack in
the sky, letting the essence of some other reality leak into our
world. I guess you could say it’s the heart of the Blight.”
Heinrich looked sideways at Critchler. “What
the gob are you talking about?”
Critchler shrugged. “It’s not a given. It’s
just something I heard at the Magicians College.”
Heinrich snorted. “And what were you doing at
the Magicians College?”
“I used to go there.”
Even Heinrich knew the Magicians College
wasn’t the most prestigious of the royal colleges (the College of
Engineering held that distinction) but it was definitely the most
expensive. Magical research wasn’t cheap and the faculty was quite
willing to grant honorary degrees not worth the vellum on which
they were written in exchange for generous donations. “Yeah, and
I’m the bloody queen.”
“Your majesty,” Critchler said with a slight
bow.
Heinrich studied the younger man’s mild
expression. “You serious?”
Critchler nodded.
“You come from money?” Heinrich asked, more
surprised at himself than at Critchler’s revelation. It was the
first time he had asked someone a personal question in almost a
decade.
Critchler shook his head. “No, my parents
were sharecroppers. After they died during the last zombie plague,
my great uncle Tobin took me in. He wasn’t rich by any stretch of
the imagination either, but he was a retired professor of alchemy
with his own laboratory and everything. He taught me to read,
instructed me in mathematics and the natural sciences, and when I
showed an aptitude for basic spellcraft used some connections to
get me into the Magicians College.”
“Huh. Okay, so do a trick. Make that rock
float or disappear or something.” Heinrich’s eyes widened. “No,
wait. I’ve got it. Turn it into gold.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Critchler said.
“It’s not like in the stories where the wizard just says some silly
words and waves a stick. Even the simple stuff takes preparation.
And even if I could turn that rock into gold, after awhile it would
just turn back into a rock.”
“Why’s that?” Heinrich asked, frowning.
“Have you ever tried telling a rock not to be
a rock?”
“Can’t say that I have,” Heinrich admitted.
He tried to bite back the next question but curiosity got the
better of him. “Okay, so how do you go from the Magicians College
to guarding the southern border from mutant rabbits? You kill
somebody with a curse or something?”
“I quit school to come here and enlist,”
Critchler said casually.
“You quit… You get a free ride to one of the
Royal Colleges then quit just so you
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