Chapter 19 - The Army of Dead Coryn

The envoy led them through a series of corridors that eventually led to a large hall similar to the audience halls constructed in the noble houses. At the end of this hall was a pair of seats with Calan and Tabitha Coryn seated comfortably atop them. The nobles' eyes lit up when they saw Allendrie make his entrance. They both rose from their seats and each made a dramatic bow as he approached their makeshift thrones.

"My lord," Calan said, rising from his respectful pose. "It is an honor to be in your presence once... Childe Fangora?!" Calan was confused, as the first thing he saw as he rose was a man who should be dead.

Toriban frowned. "At least someone recognizes me. Even I was starting to believe I was truly dead."

The Lord was quite flustered by this and looked to his wife as if for help. "Yes, uh... quite." He brought his full attention to the Prince. "Lord Allendrie! Did your brother cause you such disfigurement?"

Allendrie looked away uncomfortably, his right hand slowly moving to where his left once was. "It was... an unfortunate event." He shuffled nervously, changing the subject. "We have brought you a gift." Allendrie drew the canvas from the top of the cart revealing the jewels and weapons hidden beneath it.

The Coryns and their servants let out a collective gasp as they looked upon the treasures of the Fangora coffers. "My lord," Tabitha said, "we are so very gracious to you for this." She motioned to the closest three of her servants to take the cart away.

"There is so much for us to discuss, my liege." Calan rose from his chair, motioning for Allendrie to follow, which he did. When Zara and Toriban began to follow, he added, "Alone, please. Your retainers," Toriban made an annoyed cough at this, "may explore the compound and get a feel for their new home." Toriban made another cough at this.

Toriban turned around and grabbed hold of Zara's arm, dragging her with him towards the exit. Calan's voice echoed across the hall as he reached the door. "Oh, and Childe? Keep an eye out. You may find another ghost much like yourself in the halls here."

He muttered his response, quietly so the Coryns could barely make it out. "No, Calan. There couldn't be anything in this twisted world that's even close."

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"Your reaction to our hosts seemed rather... hostile," Zara said as she looked back at the door. When she looked forward again, Toriban was gone. She frowned at her abandonment, walking down the passage in search of her lost companion. Many times she passed soldiers in the Coryn colors that would stop and stare as she passed by. Some would mutter insults under their breath, others would make lewd and suggestive comments within their small group, but all of them seemed to think that their words couldn't reach her, couldn't hurt her.

There was a piece of her hidden beneath her tempered will that wanted to strangle those men, make it so they couldn't say anything hurtful again. She pushed the thoughts aside, though the look of anger remained on her face.

It made her wonder if an absence of faith caused evil and hatred in people's hearts, or, if these men were indeed believers, a corruption of faith. She wandered off aimlessly through the compound in a theology-induced haze, looking for her lost friend.

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The Coryn's base seemed to have all the comforts of a small town. There was a general store, a tailor, a blacksmith, and, most importantly (to Toriban, at least), a bar.

He walked in and sat by the only other man in the room, ordering a glass of ale and paying with coins he had kept from the Fangora coffers. He grimaced as he took a drink of the warm, watered-down brew and studied the man lying over the bar next to him. The man, dressed in dark brown, seemed to be the first in the compound Toriban had seen not wearing the purples and reds of the Coryn family.

Toriban took another drink, then said, "Am I right in assuming you are the ghost I'm supposed to be looking for, Vykk?"

The man sprawled over the bar spoke, his voice muffled by the counter and barely understandable. "Strange how the dead walk in record numbers, Toriban." He lifted his head from the bar and tilted it towards Toriban, his hair matted and his eyes half closed. "You look the same as you did when we last met. You haven't changed at all these past fifteen years."

"Ah, see that's where you're wrong," Toriban said with another sip of ale. "You seem to have taken a turn for the worst, though."

Vykk made and 'maybe' gesture by closing his eyes and tilting his head slightly to the right. "I just need to pretend to be a worthless drunkard until they find the Prince. Then I can set my plans in motion."

Toriban motioned to the empty whisky bottle lying next to Vykk. "I think you're doing a pretty fair job of 'pretending.' What importance does the Prince have?"

"For that," Vykk sat up and promptly fell off his seat. Standing shakily, he continued. "For that, I'd have to speak to you privately. Can you find my room in about an hour?"

"Most likely."

"That's good. I just hope that I can." Vykk got up and stumbled towards the hall, tipping over a stool on his way.

Toriban thought a moment, then called out after him, "Vykk. Do you mind if I bring a friend?"