The last time a necromancer raised a Dark Knight, it took the combined might of the Empire to stop them. The fellow had been almost about to raise an Abomination, too. Had the Abomination been raised, there would have been almost no force in the world which could have stopped him.
An Abomination is a creature sewn together from parts of Dark Knights, then merged with the soul of a Vengeful Spirit which is refined through a magical array and enhanced with dragon blood.
It's a tricky process to make an Abomination.
And when you raise them, they can be erratic to control if you weren't able to find a brain suitable for containing the boundless rivers of life energy which flow through the corpse.
It's not so much the Abomination itself which makes the necromancer unstoppable. It's that the very act of raising it can increase the necromancer's ability to use life energy. The array used to create the Abomination can be further adapted to increase the powers of other minions.
The Abomination itself acts as a nexus to lift the strength of all surrounding undead by multiple degrees. Dark Knights can do the same, of course. Any champion undead will, but the Abomination is beyond all that.
This is what makes a necromancer like Reginald Finch a terrifying potential.
And that explained the bounty on his head.
A million gold was a lot of gold.
I should let you know that the Abomination is by no means the end of the necromancer's journey.
Above that lie more sophisticated undead.
Vampires are one. They're a merging of undead and living, which is quite a feat of magical creativity, I think. And, despite their need to continually absorb life energy via the drinking of blood, they're extremely useful creatures.
Especially if you want an undead minion who doesn't smell like rot.
Then there are Arch-Wraiths, which are like banshees with far too much power. They can even use mana to cast spells and their intelligence is much higher.
If you put an Arch-Wraith inside an Abomination, you get something rather feisty indeed. And, if you merge a vampire with the corpse of a larger species, say an ogre, and then you bind it with an Arch-Wraith's soul before refining it with the blood of an eldritch creature from the void instead of a dragon?
Chaos.
Absolute chaos.
Mind you, only a complete lunatic would try doing that…
Conjecture aside, all of these creatures pale in comparison to the most elite form of undead minion one can create.
A creature whose very presence would make most necromancers fall on their face to worship the one who had created it.
A creature who stood before me right now as the Dark Knight froze in fear.
The creature turned to me slowly, bending slightly as he held out a small tray.
"Your gin and tonic, sir," Grimsby said.
"Thank you, Grimsby."
"A lich!" Reginald sputtered as he took another step back and tried to hide behind his Dark Knight. "Inconceivable!"
Grimsby arched an eyebrow at him before glancing at me. "Does sir require assistance?"
"Only with his pets," I said, sipping slowly. There's nothing like a nice icy cold gin and tonic during a duel to cool you down. "He's currently helping me practice my condensing."
"Ah. Very good idea, sir," he said.
I squinted at him. "Are you saying I need the practice?"
"I do believe it wouldn't hurt, sir."
"Well, darn you, too!" I aimed my fresh new scowl at Reginald, while pointing at my butler. "How do you stop minions from being so irritatingly condescending? Is there an array for that?"
"Lich," he rasped hoarsely. "You have a lich?"
"I do," I said. "Now. Where were we? Oh, yes."
I condensed a thick spear of life energy and threw it at him.
With a squeal, he managed to quickly throw up a condensed shield and the spear hit it with a wet hiss and shower of green sparks.
I grunted in irritation. The worm was definitely talented in the necromantic arts.
"What are you standing there for?" Reginald wailed at his minion. "Kill!"
The Dark Knight glanced at him.
Then at Grimsby.
Grimsby looked down at the Dark Knight's boots. "You are tracking mud into young Clover's room," he said. "I'm going to have to ask you to take your boots off."
The Dark Knight nodded and started taking his boots off.
"What are you doing?" Reginald shrieked, trying to block another spear. "Stop doing what he tells you to! I'm your master! Me! Listen to me!"
"Don't you have any socks?" Grimsby asked, frowning down at the Dark Knight's feet. The feet were desiccated by age. Bones were revealed under patches where the skin had completely flaked away. "You have foot dandruff. You should use lotion on them more often."
The Dark Knight let out a soft mournful moan.
Reginald shrank as another spear clipped his shield. "Kill, you stupid thing!"
"Here," Grimsby said, pulling out a thick pair of pink woollen socks. "I was going to give them to young Poppy, but it seems you need them more."
The Dark Knight took them, ignoring the hail of pellets I started shooting at Reginald's shield. I was attempting to see how many I could conjure at any given time.
So far, I managed twelve.
I was sure if I tried very hard, I could make it to thirteen.
Pulling on the socks, the Dark Knight lifted his leg and looked at his foot critically before holding it out for Grimsby's inspection.
My butler pursed his lips.
"It will have to do," he said. "In future, leave your boots in the shoe closet by the front door. I will get you some slippers for around the house. Do you have a preference in colour?"
The Dark Knight hummed thoughtfully before giving a shake of his head.
"Then I will use my own discretion," he said. Then pulled out a small jar from somewhere and handed it to the creature. "This is some lotion for your skin. Apply it twice daily for the next two weeks, then you need only put it on the evening before bed."
The Dark Knight took the jar and gave its lid a sniff before emitting a soft hollow moan which sounded like a question.
"No, it's mostly a cream made from wool grease, and oils such as coconut, castor, and jojoba. The citrus smell is from enchanted lemon and lime peels, which sir has made himself. It will eliminate your undead odour."
The Dark Knight let out a happy hum and hugged the jar tight.
"Damn you!" Reginald huffed, holding a hand out towards to the Dark Knight. "If you won't serve, I'll reinforce the bond!"
A thick green rope whipped out of his palm, aimed at the Dark Knight who instinctively flinched from it.
But before it could reach the creature, Grimsby seemed to blur and appear in front of it. He snatched the cord with a crisp flick of his arm and held onto it.
"Sir, you are a guest," he said. "An uninvited one, yes. But still a guest. Please refrain from attacking other guests."
"I did it!" I cried joyfully as the necromancer's shield splintered. I'd finally made it to thirteen at once! How thrilling. "Please hold still. I want to try for fourteen. Fifteen if you've got the energy."
"Rats," the necromancer gasped. Waving a hand towards the doorway behind him. "Come, my minions! Come!"
The doorway trembled.
"Oh," I said, wrinkling my nose.
"Your lich might be able to overpower my Dark Knight," Reginald panted. "But an army of Plague Rats is another thing!"
The doorway shuddered and suddenly rats the size of small dogs started to pour into the room, tumbling over each other as they screeched and chittered at each other in their frenzy to get inside Clover's room.
Their filthy paws made Grimsby wince.
As one, the rats turned to me, noses twitching and eyes glowing with deep red light as their hunger for flesh left them incapable of a single thought other than the one which drove them to bury their splintered teeth into my body and rend my flesh.
"At last," Reginald sighed, looking exhausted. I was feeling a little drained myself. Necromancy was an unhealthy hobby, as I think I had told you. "Now you will die. Rats! Obey your master! Kill him! Kill the void mage!"
The rats lifted their heads and let out a loud collective squeak which sounded like fingernails on a chalk board. I nibbled on my bottom lip. I wasn't sure even fifteen condensed pellets of life energy at a time would save me now.
Suddenly the door to clover's room was kicked open and a hulking mass lumbered inside. A cleaver in one hand. A bucket in the other. And a grin which made every single creature in the room shrink a little in size as they tried to avoid his attention.
"I smell rats," Mudge roared.
"Abomination!" Reginald cried, his eyes almost flying from his sockets in shock.
"Oi," Mudge said sourly. "That's a bit rude, isn't it?"
And then he barrelled into the rodents, cleaver flashing.
I shuddered.
I had a bad feeling about tomorrow's menu.
***
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