Scream of Stone

62

6 Mirtul, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR) Second Quarter, Innarlith

Willem Korvan ate his mother’s corpse, little by little, over the course of seventeen days, not because he required sustenance, but out of some dimly-felt sense of necessity.

Marek Rymiit could feel the undead thing’s need and confusion the second he stepped into the house. It hit him just as squarely, though not quite as hard, as the stench. The smell of the rotting carcass of Thurene Korvan mixed with the dried-meat and spice smell of her son. Throughout was the tang of disease.

“Willem,” the Thayan whispered, “you poor dear.”

The creature cowered at the sight of the Red Wizard who’d created it, its dull, glassy eyes devoid of any trace of the vibrant if confused young man that had once inhabited that flesh. Willem’s refined good looks had been replaced by desiccated tissue and bulging joints, his skin like a leather cloak left on the street for a year of sun, wind, and rain.

It opened its mouth but didn’t speak. Marek’s skin crawled at the sound that came forth from it, and he cast another spell to insure his own safety. He was confident enough in the magic that gave him complete control of what was left of the creature’s will, but there were mitigating circumstances that made the wizard uneasy.

“It’s been a long time, Willem,” he said to the cowering creature.

The thing responded to Marek’s voice but showed no trace of recognition either for the Thayan or for the sound of his own name. But then it wasn’t hisitsname anymore. The creature that cowered in the corner, one foot tangled in the grisly ribcage of Willem Korvan’s mother, had no name. It didn’t need one. It had no will of its own, not really, because it didn’t need that either.

“I am sorry,” Marek told the thing, and he didn’t lie. He didn’t have to. “There are any number of other paths I wish both our lives had taken. You were beautiful, Willem, and I could have loved youif you could have loved me. But you wanted more than that, and I suppose so did I.”

The creature rolled its eyes and clacked its teeth togetherconfused, awaiting an order.

“I didn’t want to make a monster out of you, you know,” said the Thayan.

One of the monster’s arms twitched.

“But I have, haven’t I?” Marek concluded. “And I’ve set a task for you. One you have yet to complete.”

The undead thing drew its knee up to its chest, pulling the body of its mother with it. The torso came away from the limbs, the cartilage and ligaments having long since been chewed through. A fresh wave of rotting stink washed over Marek and he gagged despite himself.

“Rise,” Marek said when he’d composed himself.

Its foot still tangled in the ribs, slipping against the tattered strips of rotten flesh that dangled from the graying bones, it rose to its feet with some difficulty. Its foot finally came free and it stood slumped to one side as though the slightest breath would topple it.

“But it won’t,” Marek whispered to himself.

It would take more than thatmuch more than thatto defeat his creation. Though it looked wasted and weak, Marek knew that the creature Willem had become was possessed of strength no human could match. It could be destroyed, but not easilynot easily at all.

“You have huddled long enough, my boy,” Marek said, his voice clear and commanding, echoing in the dead space, the horrid little charnel house that Willem’s home had become. “The war has begun. You will serve now as you have before.”

The creature’s head tipped to one sidea death rattle more than a gesture.

“You still have Ivar Devorast to kill,” Marek said.

The monster’s leg shook and it lurched half a step forward. The Thayan held his ground.

“Ivar Devorast,” he said, “among others.”