“Alright, it is tied off. I can activate it when you are ready.”
“Wait, what are you doing to us? We deserve to know,” shouted one of the soldiers.
Wesson looked at the frightened faces of the men on his side of the circle. “Did your mother ever tell you not to make an ugly face because it would freeze that way?”
The one who had asked said, “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Well, that is about to happen—to your whole body.”
Rezkin grinned and said, “So strike a daring pose.”
Wesson frowned. “It will be temporary,” he said with an anxious glance at Rezkin, “but it will keep you from reporting to the fort while we go about our business. The drauglics should not even take notice of you if this works, but we do not know the circumstances in which you will find yourselves when it wears off—hence, the swords.”
“Wait, you can’t do this—”
“It is better than death,” Wesson said again, more for himself than for them, since he was uncertain they would survive the spell.
Rezkin nodded, and Wesson ignored the men’s shouts as he activated the spell. A silent concussion of power swept outward from the center and then was just as suddenly sucked inward in a bone jarring implosion. Panic surged through him as he worried over his potential mistakes. When he was not showered in gore, he finally filled his lungs with the air he so badly needed.
Wesson watched as the spell began to take hold, and the men yanked furiously at their failing limbs. “They are going to hurt themselves,” he muttered.
Rezkin glanced at the cat and then focused, pressing his will on the men who were already under the influence of a powerful spell. “Attention!” he shouted.
The combination of Wesson’s spell and whatever power was behind Rezkin’s will produced the desired effect. Like the well-trained recruits they were, their frantic motions ceased, and each of the men abruptly came to attention, a ring of soldiers bearing arms. Their skin and hair became pale and then turned white as their breathing slowed to naught. Their clothes and swords were changed as well, and within seconds, the soldiers had become phenomenally detailed statues, their exquisite forms refined by the imperfections of ten unique individuals.
Rezkin felt the spell slither over his skin, but with each grasp and tug, its tendrils failed to gain purchase, slipping away ineffectually. The stone pressed against the skin over his sternum turned cold, and a sense of alien anger invaded a small and distant part of his mind. His gaze urgently sought the cat, but it was no longer resting at Wesson’s feet. In fact, it had penetrated his space without him noticing and was sitting only a pace away, glaring. Its attention was not on him, though. It was on his chest—exactly where the stone lay hidden beneath his shirt and armor on the lace around his neck. The cat stared intently, and then its yellow eyes flashed orange. Seemingly in response, the stone heated to an uncomfortable burn. Then, the cat met his gaze and blinked, its accusatory expression becoming haughty and judgmental.
Rezkin tore his eyes from the cat to see Wesson watching the strange, silent exchange between man and tiny beast. Ignoring the cat, Rezkin dragged his fingers down the face of one of the statues and found that it felt like any natural stone carving.
“Are they aware?” he asked.
“I do not believe so,” Wesson said as he stared into one soldier’s empty gaze. They are stone throughout, mind and body.
Rezkin ran his finger along the stone that used to be a blade. “How is this temporary, then?”
Wesson’s expression was worried. “I am not sure that it is. I tried to tie the aura to the spell. I am no necromancer, but I thought maybe I had achieved a connection with the chiandre. The spell was supposed to mimic the properties of stone while maintaining the body’s ability to support the soul and also preserving the soul’s connection between the body and the Afterlife. This”—he looked deeply into the eyes of the statue—“is so complete, it is amazing. I have never heard of anyone transforming a living being into stone.” Then, remembering his subjects, his eyes began to tear. “I can no longer sense the power of the spell, though. I think I messed up. I am afraid I have killed them.”
“Time will tell, Journeyman,” Rezkin said. “The drauglics will not be interested in stone, and they will be armed when they awaken.”
“If the spell has already dissipated, then they are surely done. I designed it to become unstable as their vimara drops. When it dipped below a certain threshold, the spell would no longer receive power, and it would collapse. It is why I could not have used it on the purifiers. Their wells were deep. They would have remained embedded in stone for centuries, maybe longer. With these mundanes, it should have lasted a month or two at most. If the spell has already ceased, though, and they have not changed back, then they are dead.”
“We tried,” Rezkin said. “Remember, any one of them would have killed you had he known what you are. They would have killed the rest of us on the unfounded assumption that we killed the residents of this plantation.”
“I know,” Wesson said with a nod. “Really, I do.”
“Then what distresses you?” Rezkin asked.
Wesson turned. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words were not strong enough to pass his lips. Finally, he whispered, “Another time, perhaps.”
After days of plodding down the busy road that led from the coast through Behrglyn and Tahn to the inland capital of Drovsk, the dark smudge on the horizon took form. Orin and his men had elected to travel separately, hoping the physical distance between the two parties would be enough to detach them from the events at the plantation. Luckily, it appeared the drauglics had either avoided or had not yet reached the somewhat more populated south.
The long approach to the King’s Seat gave the travelers ample time to survey the city’s unusual architecture. For those who had been graced with the sight of it, nothing could compare to the splendor of Caellurum, but anyone besides the Gendishen would agree that Drovsk was ugly. The surrounding landscape was hidden by crops and wild fields—no mountain, forest, or sea in sight. It appeared as though some weary traveler from long ago had given up after weeks of trudging through endless plains and decided to build a city where he stood. Without the luxury of natural defenses, a monstrous wall had sprouted to surround the castle at the center. As the city grew, more walls had been built, but rather than surrounding the entire city over and again, as in Serret, each consecutive wall encapsulated only the newly built structures. Rezkin imagined that if he could view the city as a hawk, it would look like a senseless mosaic. The only entrance was through the gate at the end of the road. Once inside, travelers had to navigate a nonsensical maze of gateways, each with guards determining who was permitted into the respective sector.