Work Text:
She gave a derisive snort, looking at Volkarin’s calculations on the slate chalkboard in front of him. Trite. Conservative. Yet, she supposed begrudgingly, not without a certain elegance to them. And it had been kind of him to position the board where she could see. She did notice a small error in the resonance equation, however. A small smudge which had caused an eight to appear as a three, introducing a compounding error. Careless. It should be remedied immediately! And young Watcher Ingellvar was sleeping on the slab in the laboratory again. Impressively studious for a young necromancer. Almost reminded Hezenkoss of her younger self, were it not for the pathetic compassion which reminded her so very much of Volkarin at that age.
“Ingellvar!” she hissed. “Ingellvar! Wake up!”
Ingellvar was a frustratingly sound sleeper, and of course her volume was restricted from her skull and the wards.
“Ingellvar!” she tried again.
“Excuse me, madame,” said a cultured, if somewhat irritated voice from the urn next to her. “Some of us are enjoying the quiet.”
“I did not consult your opinion on the matter,” Hezenkoss sniffed. “There are those of us who aspire to higher pursuits.”
“I beg your pardon!” said the voice indignantly, “I am Baron Van Markham! I sought to restore the Van Markham line to the rightful throne of Nevarran, away from the Pentaghast pretender. Surely assuring the rightful governance of Nevarra is more important than any simple calculation.”
“Royalty,” said Hezenkoss dismissively. “As if bloodlines are more important that a keen mind and the willingness to dare! I am Johanna Hezenkoss! Had Volkarin and his associate Ingellvar not interfered, I would have ruled Nevarra City from within the frame of a gargantuan bone golem!”
“I respect your ambition, madame,” said Van Markham approvingly. “If only I had possessed your aid, Watcher Ingellvar would never have been able to defeat me.”
Johanna softened. At least this man was able to recognize her true brilliance.
“Well,” she said curtly, “I am glad that at least someone is able to recognize the potential. I must admit to a certain amount of admiration myself. Starting the War of the Banners in the Basalt Hypogeum to conceal the early stages of your rebellion was remarkably inspired. I used the wards on the Basalt Hypogeum myself to prevent anyone from realizing what I had constructed. How were your efforts detected?”
Van Markham sighed, a puff of dust coming from his urn.
“By accident, sadly,” he said. “As I learned later, Watcher Ingellvar was exploring the Necropolis, mapping some of the shifts in its configuration. They merely happened to come across the revolution in its infancy. Had I possessed more time, to rouse more supporters from their deathly slumber, it would have been unstoppable.”
Young Ingellvar had proved to be most fortunate and most interfering. And, she considered, rather clever. Though she would never admit it to either Ingellvar or Volkarin, she felt a certain protective fondness about Ingellvar. A protégé, perhaps, as that ridiculous walking skeleton was to Volkarin. She had, at the time, been impressed by Volkarin’s willingness to sacrifice his little pet, but she had given him too much credit. She had not realized until afterwards that the skeleton had shown initiative on its own to remove the Gloaming Lantern from the bone golem, though she was somewhat impressed that it was now showing magical ability. Perhaps Volkarin had shown some foresight in cultivating it.
“Understandable,” she said. “Young Ingellvar has proved most annoyingly fortunate and resourceful.”
“Too true,” sighed Van Markham. “It has been so difficult to rouse in my slumber, since my encounter with them. The immolation, you know. It is so difficult to focus one’s attention when one’s mortal remains are but ash.”
Cremation was deemed a terribly tragic fate for one’s mortal remains. The Watchers took such care to preserve the dead. She was begrudgingly impressed at Ingellvar’s ruthlessness. She had noticed that Ingellvar had a decided affinity for fire that was most unexpected from a Watcher. Volkarin, of course, had taken care to preserve her remains. Sentimental. Though she had found the care with which young Ingellvar had neatly severed the tissues between her occipital condyles and superior cervical vertebra to gently place her skull into the dermestid beetle enclosure for cleaning to be… oddly charming. And the technique was excellent. Though of course it was no less the respect which her brilliance was due.
“You must have a great strength of will, to be able to focus your spirit through the ash of your mortal remains,” she said with begrudging admiration. “Most would be unable to manage the feat.”
“I appreciate you saying so, madame,” said Van Markham. “I hope that I may one day find a way to possess some piece of armor, perhaps a weapon, or a coronet that another might wield in my name. Alas, I was no mage while I was living.”
“It would require a great deal of life force,” she said thoughtfully, “and an appropriately prepared focus. I have thought of it myself, of course, but I find myself terribly constrained at present. These dreadful wards.”
“Death is long,” said the Baron with the voice of experience. “Though the moment passes now, there will always come another. Even now, as I am reduced to ash. But in the mean time, I hope that I may continue to enjoy the pleasure of your company.”
She could see the potential benefits of this relationship in the future.
“I believe I would not find that unpleasant,” she said thoughtfully. “You may call me Johanna.”