After careful analysis of the array, I decided that Clover's room was going to be the nexus point.
Armed with a glass of the finest McDraven whiskey splashed over a hefty nugget of ice, I stood near the little fireplace and enjoyed the warm cheery glow while I waited.
There were two reasons necromancy was a troublesome thing for me.
One, it was smelly.
Very smelly. Decaying zombies. Fetid ghouls. Giant Graveworms. Armies of plague-bearing Rats. Putrid corpses stitched together and animated with various necromantic shenanigans.
There was literally nothing created by necromancy which didn't reek of rotting flesh.
Any normal gentleman would shudder to think about that sort of thing tramping all over his rugs. Which was why I'd had Grimsby move most of the furniture out into the hall.
The second reason was that the Old Twit refused to eat undead things.
He found them a bit too chewy and, understandably, not very tasty.
He can't be faulted for that.
This meant I needed to fight fire with fire, so to speak.
Hence the whiskey.
Which was my third of the night after a couple of gin and tonics. I swayed a little, but I promise I'd be just dandy to ride if I owned a horse.
Honestly.
I was absholutely fine, I shwear.
It was midnight when the array finally started glowing a little brighter. The runes began to spin gently. I knew the same was happening in the other two rooms, but it would be here that the gateway would form.
I admit to a bit of nail-biting before, but as soon as I saw the unpleasant green glow of a coffin-shaped doorway beginning to form, I could only roll my eyes at the melodrama of it all and prepare to do battle with the fiendish necromancer.
I heard a low moan, followed by a rattle of bones.
Perhaps a chatter of teeth.
And then a black-robed necromancer stepped into the room with his hood up and his eyes burning with evil green light. That's why so many failed mages turn to necromancy, I believe. It's for the green eyes.
Weak minds are always impressed by that sort of thing.
He staggered in surprise when he saw me leaning against the mantle above the fire. I lifted my glass in salute.
Not a respectful salute, mind you.
It was more the kind of salute you might give someone who walked into your house smelling like an ogre's arse.
"You!"
I pointed at myself. "Me?"
"You!"
"Yes, I am," I said. I'd had a few drinks, and I wasn't quite sure where he was going with that train of thought. "I'd offer you a drink, but I'm sure if you wanted a stiff one, you can make it yourself."
I was proud of that joke.
I'd been thinking about it all night and had managed to deliver it without once slurring. I deserved a pat on the back.
Excellent work, Taran. So far, so good.
"It doesn't matter," he snarled, lifting his wand. It had little skulls carved delicately into the wood. "There's nothing you can do to stop me!"
"What's with the skulls?" I asked
"What?"
"On your wand. Isn't it a bit… naff?"
He looked down at his wand and then gave me an offended look. "I'm a necromancer."
"So?" I shook my head and sipped my whiskey. "That's no excuse for poor fashion choices. And what do you need a wand for, anyway?"
"It's a focus," he hissed. "You wouldn't understand!"
"No. I suppose I wouldn't." I looked past him to the doorway. "Isn't anyone else coming? No shuffling horde of undead wretches to drip ooze all over my carpets? I mean, I'm very grateful if you decided to come alone, but that's not normally how you fellows operate, is it? Not even a couple of ghouls? Just you? I'm a bit put out by that. I went to a lot of trouble, you know."
He managed to finally recover a little and put a sneer on his face.
His nose was very long. A little too long. This chin compensated by being a bit short. He also looked to be quite old.
Pulling out a small token from his robe, he moved a little to the side to let the next member of his little circle come through.
"The void mage is restrained," the necromancer said calmly into the token. "You may all join me now."
"Restrained?" I looked down at my whiskey.
The necromancer waited.
I took a sip.
He waited a little more.
I took another sip.
He frowned.
I smiled.
He lifted a finger at me to wait.
I shrugged.
He pulled the token close to his mouth and began whispering urgently. "Will you lot hurry up? It's just me in here and he's giving me the creeps!"
He struggled to put the sneer back on.
I put my glass on the mantle.
And straightened my tie.
"Don't move!" He jabbed the wand at me. "If you move, I'll drain every ounce of your life!"
"Who are you, and why are you in my tower?"
"It's not your tower at all! It belongs to the Order of the Worm," he said, drawing himself up a little as he tried to reassert himself. "Wistandantilon was one of us."
"I knew you were a worm when I saw you," I said. "But that doesn't tell me who you are."
"I am High Grand Necromancer Reginald Finch," he said. I had a feeling he thought that should have me quivering in my boots.
"Oh?" I prodded at my memory. "I don't recall hearing your name before."
"The Mage Guild have a bounty on me."
"For how much?"
"A million gold!"
"Hmm."
"But you won't live to collect it," he hissed. "You've felt it, haven't you? You're cut off from the void. Your mana is restricted! Yes, you might be ignorant of us, but we know who you are. Around this tower is an array whose power cannot be bypassed."
"The Void Locking Array?" I asked. "From Void Hunters of the 4th Century?"
"Err… Yes."
"It's been tried before."
He blinked. "Then, you're… not able to cast… Are you?"
"It's an interesting array," I said. "It indeed can limit my mana usage. But it doesn't lock me from using the void's powers. Nothing can do that. It does itch terribly, though. Last time, I had hives for a week."
He backed away slowly towards the doorway. "It did?"
"It made me quite irritable."
"Really?" Another step towards the glowing doorway.
"Really. I wished I could have fed the little weasel to the void twice."
"Right," he said. "This has all been a terrible mistake, I think…"
"It has indeed."
Reginald lunged, diving for the doorway with a frantic little squeak which sounded like a mouse trying to escape a cat. A very large and experienced cat.
I watched as his face hit the doorway with a crunch that broke his nose.
Blood gushed from his nostrils as he reeled around, waving his arms to keep his balance. I winced as droplets spattered on the floor.
Still.
Grimsby could clean it up. He was very good at cleaning up bloodstains by now. By morning, with a little elbow grease, there'd be no trace left.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I was a bit bored and started playing with your little array here. I might have broken it. It appears it's only a one-way dimensional tear now."
He lifted the token again while scrubbing at the blood with his sleeve. "Help me, you traitorous bastards!"
"They're dead," I told him as his face went a lot paler than it already was. "As soon as I saw this array, I expected you would also attempt the Void Locking Array, so I went looking for it this afternoon. This isn't the first time a little band of ridiculous corpsediggers would try infiltrating my home, you know."
"Y-y-you k-killed…"
"Some of them, yes. My cat ate the rest. He was very hungry. Would you like to meet him?"
Reginald stared at me. His face jumping from expression to expression as he tried to keep up.
Confusion.
Grief.
Rage.
And, finally, determination.
It was time to begin the duel.
"Please be gentle," I said. I admit, I was sort of worried. Necromancy is an odd magic. "I'm a bit rusty."
Reginald Finch, the High Grand Necromancer of the Order of the Worm pointed his wand at my head. Evil green light glowed at the tip. "Die! And rise again as my puppet!"