Tybalt immediately complied with the order and nodded at Mariella for her to do the same.

  The fire mage’s instinct seemed to have been, from the mana curling from her core outward, to turn and start blasting away.

  But Tybalt figured they had almost nothing to lose by complying. No beastfolk would harm ‘Lord Necromancer’ if they knew who they were dealing with. This was a simple misunderstanding born out of the fact that he had been traveling incognito.

  He and Mariella dropped to their knees and then slid onto their bellies, while Vidalia raised her hands over her head and turned around.

  “Foxgirl, step away, please,” said the voice from behind. “You’re safe now.”

  “I wasn’t being coerced,” Vidalia said loudly. “These two are friends of our people. Please don’t harm them!”

  There was a long pause from the archer.

  “Then why are they wearing the horns of ibex beastfolk?” the female voice asked. “I know they’re not actually that. They smell of human. No humans should be here…”

  Tybalt sniffed his armpit but could not detect what it was about his body odor that made him “smell of human.” He thought he was relatively clean, actually.

  Mariella quietly chuckled from beside him.

  “I’m the seer from the fox tribe,” Vidalia said. “He’s not an ordinary human. He’s the chosen High Priest of Lord Mudo.”

  “That…”

  Tybalt could hear both the archer’s voice and hand shaking on what must have been a truly massive warbow. He shifted his head to look behind them a bit, but he couldn’t see the figure. She had to still be up on the cliffside somewhere.

  “Don’t move!” the archer said. “I’m not playing games.”

  “Could you please lower your bow?” Tybalt called back. He started to relax a little, placing his hands on the ground in front of him to be ready to push himself back up. “You wouldn’t want to accidentally shoot me.”

  “Just keep your hands where I can see them… and yes, I’ll lower my bow. If you are who you say you are, perhaps I’ll owe you an apology. Wait a minute for me to get down there, and I’ll take you to the Elders. They’ll decide what to do with you.”

  She sounded a strange blend of cold and nervous the entire time she was speaking, as if she had never run into this situation before and found it extremely suspicious but was very worried about making the wrong decision.

  Tybalt injected extra calm and confidence into his own voice to compensate.

  “Excellent!” he called back. “That’s just where we were going. Thank you for the escort.”

  They heard the sound of the woman descending the cliffside, and Tybalt resisted the urge to get up until she was just behind them.

  “You can get up now,” she managed.

  Tybalt rose to his feet, turned his head, and got his first look at the archer who had been effectively holding them captive for the last few minutes.

  She had short, dark hair, reddish orange cat ears and a reddish orange tail, and she wore clothing that reminded Tybalt of a monk’s gear. Modest, with lots of coverage. She carried a bow that was almost as tall as her, with an arrow lightly touching the string that was the size of a javelin.

  She’s just a girl, she couldn’t be older than me. There was something else, too. Her entire body is reinforced with mana, but there’s something wrong with it.

  There was a red aura around the girl, and her eyes glowed red. But the aura looked unsteady, as if it might collapse at any moment.

  “Are you all right?” Tybalt asked, tilting his head slightly.

  “Time to move,” the girl replied in a firm tone of voice. “Eyes forward, please.”

  Tybalt turned obediently to face away, and the trio marched ahead of the catgirl into the Valley of Martyrs.

  “What’s your class?” Tybalt called back.

  “Did I say you could ask questions?” the girl snapped.

  “You didn’t say I couldn’t,” the necromancer replied. “Come on, talk to me. I’ve never seen someone with an aura quite like yours before.”

  Never mind the fact that he had only been able to see other people’s auras for a matter of weeks.

  The archer hesitated for a few seconds, deciding whether to answer him or not. In the end, she must have figured the question was harmless enough.

  “Well, I’m a huntress,” the catgirl said with a note of pride in her voice. “And one of the strongest fighters in my tribe!”

  “Really? Interesting. What’s your name, huntress?”

  “It’s Kistana,” she said. Her voice shook slightly as if she was suppressing a cough.

  Tybalt felt certain of it now, having seen her aura and heard her speaking. There was something more going on there than nervousness, although there was also plenty of that. He would have to investigate further to see if his theory was correct.

  As they walked into the Valley of Martyrs, some of the many caves that pitted the valley walls began to stir with life.

  Tybalt saw eyes that seemed to glow peek out of the dark holes. Cats’ eyes.

  Hopefully this tribe is capable of understanding my situation, Tybalt thought. It would be a shame to turn into a cat’s play-thing after all we’ve been through.

  They approached a single structure that stood, obstructing the central path through the valley, a small tower. It gave Tybalt a start as he looked at it. The base of the stone was carved to look like a giant skull, with the mouth serving as the front door.

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  It was as if someone had imitated the look of the Tower of Death from memory.

  No, someone definitely did that, he thought. These people really are the most devoted to the God of Death out of all the beastfolk.

  More of the catfolk began stepping out of the caves, and Tybalt could see them properly now, in the late day sunlight. It was impossible for him to miss the thing that Vidalia had hinted he and Mariella would see before.

  The catfolk were beautiful. Every single woman and every single man had attractive features. The women were curvy but athletic, with similar body types to Mariella if she was a bit taller. Dark hair, full figures, visible muscles on arms, legs, and occasionally visible abs where a few females had bare midriffs. The men were strong and well built but also beautiful; they had the sorts of looks that would be flattering on either a man or woman.

  Even the children had perfect faces, like statues of youths from an idealized artistic point of view. They all moved with excellent posture and coordination as they walked silently around the newcomers, gawking without giving away what their hidden feelings were.

  The oddity was that they were all identically beautiful.

  Every man bore a distinct, familial resemblance to every other man. Every woman looked like every other woman. The children looked like the adults. Not like their parents, but like every adult in the community.

  They’re incredibly inbred, Tybalt assessed, trying not to let the shock show on his face. They’ve been engaged in incest for such a long time that none of them look different from any others. And… how is it that they look this good? They should have horrible deformities, not look like a great big family of beautiful twins.

  His mind could piece together scenarios. Ugly ones. Carefully regimented reproductive plans. Selective breeding. Only allowing the strong and attractive to reproduce, to be seen—even to survive. There would be no room for love, for the right to refuse, in such a system.

  Vidalia’s little hints about the catfolk all made sense now. This was what she had meant by saying that they “cheat” to continue perpetuating the classes they received from Lord Mudo in the past. Incest.

  What do they do with the ones who don’t come out like this? There have to be some failures…

  The obvious conclusion disgusted him. They were probably culling the weak, perhaps killing them in infancy.

  As the group approached the Tower of Death knockoff, Tybalt refocused on what lay ahead of him. As he was trying to remember what he wanted to say, the mouth of the skull ahead opened up. Out stepped Andric and a familiar-looking harpy.

  “You,” Tybalt said, surprised, though not unpleasantly so. If the necromancer needed him to, Andric could instantly establish his identity and importance.

  “Lord Necromancer!” Andric exclaimed. “You’re awake. I’m so glad to see it!” His eyes took in the scene, and he frowned. He looked at Kistana. “Please don’t point that arrow at him. This man saved all our lives. I believe he’s… only just woken up?” He looked back to Tybalt, who nodded. “We should all thank Lord Mudo that he returned this necromancer to us safely. He will be important to keeping all four tribes safe.”

  “What exactly is all the fuss about out here?” said a voice from behind Andric and the harpy.

  The foxman turned his head, and as he did so, an older-looking version of the catmen Tybalt had seen to all sides stepped out of the Tower of Death.

  The older man’s eyes fell on Kistana, and he frowned instinctively.

  “Kistana, what have you done now?” the catman asked sharply.

  “N-nothing, Elder,” the girl said nervously, all traces of the cool, would-be killer suddenly gone. “I have… defended the border of our village, as ordered. It was my shift on guard duty, and I found these intruders.”

  “And you brought human intruders into the depth of our sanctum, instead of doing away with them?” the catman asked. “Or even simply ordering them to wait and calling over more adults to keep an eye on them, so we could go and confront them at the mouth of the valley rather than in its depths? What if they were truly enemies? If they had been trying to harm children or desecrate bodies? You’ve led them into the heart of our home.”

  “I… I didn’t think of that. And I didn’t think you would want me to do away with them, Elder. They gave the impression that they were here planning to meet with you and the rest of the Council…” Tybalt could hear the tail-between-her-legs feeling in her voice, and he felt bad for the catgirl. She hadn’t done anything wrong as far as he was concerned.

  But these people’s ways aren’t mine.

  “Enough,” said the catman. “We will discuss your punishment later. You may stand down now. No one can cause any harm with this many of our kinsmen close by, outnumbering them so severely.”

  “Yes, Elder,” she said in a small voice.

  “Well, human, forget about whatever my little troublemaker of a great-niece might have asked you, and explain yourself to me. Who are you, and why are you here?”

  “I—” Tybalt began, before Vidalia cut him off in an irritable tone.

  “He is the one who will save us all, the High Priest of Lord Mudo and destined leader of our people,” she said in a loud, imperious voice. “The disrespect he has suffered today, being repeatedly questioned and gawked at by gaping fools, will not be lightly forgotten.”

  Tybalt struggled to keep a neutral expression. He did not feel he had been especially disrespected, and for him, Vidalia’s haughty tone was more amusing than anything else. It felt like she was play-acting.

  But the catman took it very seriously.

  He bowed sharply in Tybalt’s direction and didn’t lift his head back up until Tybalt gave him a little nod in acknowledgement.

  “If you are, indeed, the chosen one, then you have my sincerest apologies, of course, Your Holiness,” the man said. “Forgive me, I have not introduced myself. I am Elder Olaf of the cat tribe.” He stepped forward, took Tybalt’s hand, and promptly pressed his lips to the ring Tybalt had received from Lord Mudo’s angel in a dry kiss. “I will have young Kistana flogged for threatening Your Holiness, if it pleases you. She always insists on being different. She should have confirmed your identity before bringing you here, and you could have been accommodated much more comfortably. Would you care for wine?”

  “I’m all right.”

  “Very well. Also… would you mind making a small demonstration to verify who you are, Your Holiness? That would make matters much easier for us.”

  “Not a problem,” Tybalt said. “Regarding Kistana, no need for flogging. She was just doing her job.” He resisted the urge to look at Vidalia for answers to the questions going through his mind.

  What kind of test is this, little vixen? he wondered. And why didn’t you tell me what to expect?

  Elder Olaf clapped his hands, and two catfolk wearing what looked like priests’ robes stepped out from among the crowd. They walked over to one of the openings that pitted the cliffside, crawled in, and then crawled back out, pulling a large bundle wrapped in bandages.

  That looks ancient.

  “Um, Elder, is this demonstration really necessary?” Andric asked. “The tribes must all assent to the raising of the dead committed to the Valley of Martyrs, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Hmph. Guarding them is our sacred charge, young man,” Elder Olaf replied stiffly. “If he is able to raise this corpse, then this human is truly the prophet sent to us by Lord Mudo. If that is the case, we’ll follow his directives over those of the other Councils. Gods overrule mortals, every time, and by extension, so do the mortals who represent the gods.”

  “I see,” Andric said.

  Looking at his expression, Tybalt noted that he appeared surprised but far from displeased.

  Maybe that was the answer he wanted to hear. Maybe Andric agrees with me and Vidalia that we need an army as soon as possible.

  The body wrapped in bandages was placed in front of Tybalt. He felt the eyes of the crowd all settle on him as he bent to touch it.

  The pressure was on—if there had been any possibility of real pressure for someone who had raised dozens of dead in the past.

  Tybalt reached down into himself, found the power where he knew it would be, and guided it out. He did put a little more thought, a little more effort into it than usual, but there was never any doubt in his mind that he would succeed.

  Generate Undead.