B5 Chapter 14 – Vizier of Death

The lich hung silently in the air, unmoving, unblinking, unspeaking. To anyone else, it would appear as if it were simply unresponsive, but Tyron knew better. Through the connection they shared, he could feel the Lady Recilia Erryn furiously battering at the restrictions that bound her, trying to direct her thoughts as she willed. Her mind reached for vengeance, for hate and anger, but she was not allowed—the walls Tyron had built resided within her very soul.

Disloyal thoughts against her master were not permitted, and so, she hung silently in the air as she fought a futile battle.

It would end the same way it always did. This was far from the first time Tyron had witnessed this struggle, and it wouldn’t be the last. He doubted the former Noble would ever be reconciled to her enslavement. She had fallen too far to ever make peace with her new station. Not that he cared. All he needed from the demi-lich was its service, which he was guaranteed to receive. The suffering was merely a bonus.

“I am here,” Lady Erryn said eventually, when the internal battle had finally subsided.

“I can see that,” Tyron replied wryly.

When speaking to him, the demi-lich always spoke in simple terms. Too much thinking, being drawn into dialogue, would only result in the internal battle reigniting once more. It was remarkable she never seemed to grow tired of it.

“How is the camp? Enlighten me, Vizier.”

Anger surged across the mental connection once more, and Tyron waited, patiently, for it to sputter out once more.

With every wight and demi-lich Tyron had created thus far, they had been born with a new Class that somehow related to their old one. Soldiers had become Dread Knights, Undead Commanders, Skeletal Swordsmen and the like. Mages became Dark Mages, Sorcerers of Bone and Blood or similar. Filetta had gone from her thief Class to a stealthy undead variant, and Master Willhem had become an Undying Arcanist.

So far, it appeared as though his undead could only advance their Classes once, capping them at level forty. Even so, being able to tailor their abilities and feats, coupled with their already powerful base, made them far superior to the revenants who held onto a portion of their previous strength.

Which meant that the Lady Recillia Erryn was something of a special case. Her previous Class was Noble. The direct scion of an ancient house, her Class had been bestowed on her by the Divines themselves. This was not a Class just anyone could awaken, and much of its power came from the authority bestowed upon the Noble by the gods themselves.

The Divine Mandate was their particular innate gift, the ability to channel the power of The Five to force others to obey. He had questioned Recilia Erryn comprehensively on this subject, probing the nature, strengths and weaknesses of the ability, and had learned a great deal.

As he’d suspected, they weren’t able to use it however they liked, and were restricted in what, and how often, they could draw on the power of their gods.

Obviously, when raising her as a demi-lich, he hadn’t expected any of that power to carry across. As an undead servant bound to his will, being able to use the strength of The Five made no sense. If she retained a similar ability, it would be fuelled by him and not The Divines. Since he possessed no godly power of his own, such a ‘Divine Mandate’ would be severely lacking in teeth.

Instead, she had been raised as an Unliving Vizier.

As it turned out, the Noble Class was focused on two things. Firstly, domination via the mandate and strength of will. The other, administration and management.

In her human form, Recilia had been unnaturally persuasive and insightful, able to distinguish lies from truth and sense underlying motivations. Combined with abilities related to decision-making, tabulation and memory, it made sense that the Nobles were so adept at maintaining their own domains. If any of that expertise had been applied to the Province as a whole, everyone would have been significantly better off.

Although it was disappointing he didn’t create a more powerful servant, having Recilia around had proven to be surprisingly useful. By far the most socially capable of his undead, with a mind for details and a memory like a steel trap, she had been given a managerial role at which she excelled. Thankfully, she still retained some of the magicks she had gained from her Sub-Classes, so she wasn’t entirely useless in a fight.

The only problem with the arrangement was the seething hatred, despair and rage she felt in Tyron’s presence.

“We have lost six-thousand arrows since forming the camp here. Stocks are running low.”

“Six thousand?” Tyron asked, surprised. “How have we lost so many?”

“Shattered on crystal hides,” came the short answer.

Formed from smaller bones, particularly fingers and toes that had been forged and lengthened, it wasn’t hard to supply a large quantity of arrows, especially now that Bone Smiths existed, but losing so many was a not-insignificant loss of raw material. Despite the sheer weight of corpses in the Western Province, Tyron hadn’t gone back there to claim any, and he certainly wasn’t going to draw on his cache of high-quality bones for arrows.

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“I’ll have to look for a solution. What else?”

In a monotone, unemotional voice, Recilia continued her report, as if she were fighting to keep any of the boiling emotions in her soul from reaching the surface. Which was exactly what she was doing.

“A hundred and thirty-two skeletons lost fighting in the camp, over five-hundred in need of minor repairs, two-hundred and eleven in need of major repairs.”

Not unexpected. The fighting had been fierce out here.

“The wight, Brigette, is approaching her Class advancement.”

“Already?”

“Her armour is likely in need of repair.”