Lich for Hire

Ambrose didn't quite understand why the gods cared so much about mortal affairs.

They were already eternal and immortal. Why couldn't they simply do what they enjoyed? Why fixate on mortals, who were no more than ants by comparison? Sariel he could excuse: she had legitimate grievances against the infernal knights, and revenge was at least a comprehensible motive.

But what was Tiamat's excuse?

In Ambrose's experience, nine out of every ten dark cults in history could be traced back to her in some way.

What was the source of all that spite?

It was precisely because of Tiamat's irrational malice toward the mortal world that Ambrose was certain she had a scheme of her own in motion—and that her scheme was very likely different from Sariel's.

Mr. Misfortune could handle Lyon's invasion. Ambrose's task was to deal with the gods.

Asking Shara should yield some results, given that she and Tiamat had been allied. Ambrose still remembered the moment he had driven Shara's dagger into Trisna's body: a single dragon scale had vanished from the drow's body of its own accord. That had been Tiamat deliberately helping Shara complete her plan.

In other words, Tiamat had known all along that Shara was going to turn on her allies, and had probably even taken a cut of the spoils.

Given the relative warmth between those two goddesses, Shara very likely knew what Tiamat was planning.

Whether Shara would be willing to sell out a friend was simply a question of price.

Shara wasn't a goddess of any particular integrity—if she had been, she wouldn't have turned on the Spider Queen. With the right offering, Shara would sell out anyone.

The problem was that summoning her was far from easy. Ambrose didn't have a second holy artifact to defile, and he didn't command anything like Black Rose's reserves of slaves to throw hundreds of lives onto an altar at a moment's notice.

He stroked his chin and decided to ask Black Rose for help.

Time was short. He needed to get to the bottom of all of this before any surprises came to light in the coming war.

Ambrose's goal was to keep the Unholy Kingdom standing, by any means necessary, and to drag Lyon into a quagmire. If Lyon swept through the kingdom and toppled it cleanly, the morale of the other kingdoms would crater, and Lyon would pick them off one by one.

If Lyon came out of all this as the unrivaled power on the continent, the rest of them might as well start digging their own graves.

He pulled out the Necromantic Codex and sent Black Rose a message. [Megaman Tiga: Lady Rose, I need a favor. I need to summon the goddess Shara. I have business to discuss with her.]

The reply came quickly. [Black Rose: That's no trouble. But I have some bad news for you on another matter.]

Ambrose's fingers paused. Bad news? What now? Was she finally about to ask him for child support for Milena?

[Black Rose: I sent people to gather Roger Ángelo's hair, but the red strands they brought back don't all seem to come from the same person. There must be other red-haired residents in the city. Once their hair is swept up with the rest, it all gets mixed together.]

Ambrose let out a quiet breath. Not a monetary issue, then. Thank goodness.

[Megaman Tiga: Does having different strands make a difference?]

[Black Rose: It matters for timing. Casting my legendary boon at long range is slow to take hold. It requires at least a day per use, and I can't target multiple people at once. I can't tell which strand belongs to the target, so I'd have to try them one by one and send people to confirm the results. Even a few wrong guesses would lose us far too much time.]

Ambrose's original hope had been that Black Rose could buy them time by delaying Lyon's mobilization. Working through each strand individually wouldn't accomplish that.

He thought it over and replied, [Megaman Tiga: Wait for me to come to you. I have access to the teleportation arrays now.]

[Black Rose: Good. I'll be waiting.]

In the City of Mercury, deep within the Umbral Depths, Black Rose set the Necromantic Codex aside and strode briskly to her wardrobe.

As queen of the Umbral Depths, Black Rose did not own many clothes. The undead had little need for them. She had never thought much of it before; a few formal gowns were sufficient.

Now, though, she felt acutely that she didn't have nearly enough flattering options. That insufferable scoundrel had a roving eye, and her usual wardrobe wasn't going to make a strong impression.

She had never imagined she would one day dress herself to please a man. She hadn't even done so back when she was alive. Back then, her mind had been entirely occupied by her duty to the royal house of Lyon. The notion of romance hadn't existed for her.

That had changed when, at her most despairing, Ambrose had brought her a single thread of hope.

The undead were not truly heartless. Rather, only a single fixation remained deep within their souls, and they could only be moved by that single fixation.

But Ambrose, who had become bound to that fixation, was forevermore part of it. He was now someone she could not be without.

Black Rose didn't dare take long. She knew Ambrose's habits. The lich was decisive, and he would teleport over almost immediately.

Within minutes, she had changed into a magnificent white gown.

She hadn't worn white in many years. After turning into an undead, she had grown accustomed to black.

Soon afterward, the teleportation array within her palace flared with light. Ambrose had arrived once more in the Umbral Depths. When he saw Black Rose in her white gown, he stopped short. He had never seen her in white before, and the effect was striking.

Black Rose noticed his pause, and a sweet smile formed on her lips. She had chosen well.

Before she could ask his opinion, however, the unromantic lich opened his mouth and ruined the moment. "Lady Rose, hand me the strands of hair. I can divine which one belongs to Roger Ángelo."

She glanced at him sidelong. Apparently the gown wasn't pretty enough.

In a markedly worse mood, the queen led Ambrose to another wing of the palace, where the gathered strands had been carefully separated and laid out.

Ambrose didn't bother with theatrics. A roll of his dice of fate quickly identified which strands belonged to the general. Three of the dozen or so strands turned out to be his, a stroke of luck. Three strands was more than enough material to anchor a spell.

Then he paused, considering, and turned to her. "Actually, perhaps we should change the plan. We shouldn't go after Roger Ángelo directly, at least not at the start."

He picked out five other strands. "These came from his subordinates. What would happen if we strike at them instead?"

Black Rose considered the question. "You want that general to be afraid."

Ambrose nodded. "Right. Knowing Lyon, if their general is turned into an undead, they'll simply announce that he was assassinated, replace him, and move on. The result would be the same—or worse for us, since their soldiers would fight harder to avenge him.

"But if we go after the people around him, slowly, one by one, without finishing them all off, we'll leave them paranoid and confused. They won't know what's happening or who's next. That kind of dread will buy us time."

Black Rose agreed. Her hatred for Lyon ran deep, but she had never made the mistake of underestimating the empire.

"Very well. I'll be careful with how hard I push, although the delay in communication will limit the effect."

Long-distance communication had always been the bottleneck. If it weren't, the Necromantic Codex wouldn't have qualified as an artifact on the basis of its group chat functionality at all.

The most reliable method available was sending letters through teleportation arrays, an option that ordinary people could hardly afford. Gold wasn't Black Rose's problem, but getting her agents into Lyon was difficult enough on its own. They couldn't shuttle back and forth without drawing attention.

Ambrose smiled. "That's exactly what I came to help you with."

He opened his extradimensional space and snapped his fingers. A few small undead servants emerged carrying an enormous mechanical mirror between them.

Black Rose studied it with curiosity. "What is it? Some kind of alchemical device?"

Ambrose reached out and pressed a switch. The mirror hummed to life. He intoned, "Mirror, mirror, connect me to the Lady of Mists."

A moment later, the image of Leyla, the Lady of Mists, appeared on its surface.

Leyla smiled at him. "It hasn't been long since we parted. What's this? Do you miss me already?"

Black Rose's eyes narrowed. She didn't recognize this goddess, but the easy familiarity in their voices was unmistakable.

Black Rose was prepared to send Ambrose any number of slaves, but slaves were slaves. The woman on the mirror was clearly something else, and the realization unsettled her.

Ambrose hastily stepped in. "Allow me to make introductions. Lady Rose, this is Leyla, the Lady of Mists, a goddess currently residing within the Emerald Dreamwood."

Black Rose blinked. "A goddess?"

"I'll explain in detail later." He turned back to Leyla. "Goddess, this is my closest ally. I'm making the call partly so the two of you can become acquainted. Lady Rose presides over an entire underground kingdom. Her followers' faith would be of considerable benefit to you."

Leyla studied Black Rose for a moment. She could see clearly enough that the queen's feelings for Ambrose ran deeper than would be expected for an ordinary alliance, but she felt no jealousy on that account.

The values of gods diverged sharply from those of mortals. Possessiveness wasn't simply a matter of exclusivity. As long as it didn't disrupt her own connection with Ambrose, Leyla didn't mind whatever mortal lovers he might keep.

Other goddesses, however, were a different matter. Ambrose had better not get into bed with any of those, or it would set off another war among the gods.

Hearing that Black Rose ruled an entire kingdom, Leyla's interest sharpened. "You would offer me your faith?"

Black Rose hadn't expected the conversation to pivot quite so quickly. For a moment, she didn't know how to respond.

Ambrose stepped in again. "Lady Rose, I know you have no patron deity. The Lady of Mists needs our help, and she will repay us in full. Trust me on this."

Black Rose listened, then offered a small smile. "Very well. I'll defer to your judgment. Beginning today, every soul in the Umbral Depths will be a worshiper of the Lady of Mists."