“A Lich’s phylactery tethers their soul to this reality, preventing their spirit from moving on. It could be anything in the physical plane…A gemstone, a book…or even something larger.”

Chapter 82

“Wil!”

He turned, hearing a familiar voice calling out his name from behind him. It had only been a couple of months, but it felt like years since they had first met in Whitewater. He recognized them immediately, even with Gunther’s patchy beard and their new, expensive equipment.

For the first time in months, Wil felt the tension ease from his shoulders as he smiled in greeting.

Gunther was the first to reach him, lifting his friend off his feet in a bone crushing hug. Erinn was more subdued with her greeting, but it was just as warm.

They were all smiling and laughing, happy to see each other again. It was only after a few minutes that Wil realized there was another person present, standing outside their little circle, waiting to be introduced.

“It’s great to see you both again! I was starting to worry about you. Who’s this?” Wil asked, turning towards the cleric.

“Martin, from Elbing.” The cleric responded, stepping forward with his hand out to shake.

“Nice to meet you. You’re from Elbing? I just spent some time there, escorting a caravan from the east. Do you know Annabelle Quentin?” Wil said, gripping the other man’s hand firmly.

“Yes, we’ve met quite a few times. Her family and mine have several common business ventures.” Martin replied, flushing red in embarrassment. He didn’t want anyone to know that he had attempted to court Annabelle for years, but she was steadfast in her rejection of his advances.

“Enough standing around, let’s get a drink!” Gunther said, pushing the group forwards.

Wil made polite conversation with the cleric as they all traveled to a nearby tavern. Unlike the common rooms in the lodgings, the taverns served harder liquor than ale and were open late into the evenings.

Sitting around the wooden table with his friends, Wil chatted with them about their adventures in the East. After the battle of Whitewater, the trio had explored the underground city, following the trail the orcs left all the way to the Eastern Hills and Grimpen Mire.

Rather than dwell on the battles, with their heavy causalities and the sheer terror they felt in the claustrophobic underground, Wil led the conversation to their new ranks, their meeting with Martin and other ‘lighter’ topics.

He caught on pretty quickly that Gunther and Erinn were ‘together’ now. Although they didn’t outright tell him, he could spot little things that alluded to it. How they sat next to each other, their casual attitudes and inside jokes.

It didn’t take a genius to figure it out, and he was happy for them.

Gods knew they needed whatever comfort they could get, first the trek through the underground and then coming to Aachen. As happy as he was to see them, a part of him wished they hadn’t come, that they could be spared from the horrors present here.

It was late into the evening when the conversation turned to more serious topics. They had been dancing around the subject of what to expect of Aachen, and they were finally ready to face the elephant in the room.

“So, Wil. How did you manage to make Vice-Commander? From what you said about Garman, he doesn’t seem like the type of guy to make friends easily.” Gunther said, taking a sip of his whiskey.

They had just switched from ale to spirits, trying to prepare themselves for the more somber discussion.

Wil took a long pull from his own drink, thinking about how to respond. Setting the glass on the table, he let out a sigh before starting. He knew they couldn’t sit and relax all evening, he might as well get it out now.

“He’s ok, once you get to know him. After I asked him to mentor me, he started piling on as much work as I could handle. Its hard, but it keeps my mind off other…things.” Wil paused, thinking about his first night on the wall, the weight of the sword in his hand, the screaming.

He shook off the unpleasant memories, before continuing.

“Anyway, he made me his Vice once he knew I could handle it. And it’s not as if there were a lot of people clambering for the job.”

“Really? Cushy job like that, plus the extra pay, I thought people would be stabbing each other for the opportunity.” Gunther replied.

Wil burst out laughing, incredulous at the idea. Most auxiliaries transferred to safer areas in the rear or guarding the gates below the wall after their first night. Not many wanted to throw themselves against the undead horde repeatedly. Not many were as stupid and foolish as Garman and him.

“Listen…I should tell you now, about what to expect. Remember Whitewater? How we lost, what…half the auxiliaries during the fighting, so they gave us a bonus for sticking around?” Wil said, looking down at the table. He started to run his finger through a bit of spilled drink, idly drawing designs and swirls on the tabletop with the liquid.

“Yeah, why? Is Aachen going to be as bad as that?” Erinn whispered, her eyes wide at the thought that the fighting here could be that intense. Even exploring the underground months after, their causalities couldn’t compare to the assault on the town.

“Worse.” Wil said, not looking up. “I made Vice after only a couple months because I’m one of the most experienced auxiliaries left on the wall. My group…there was a couple hundred of us when I got here. We lost a few dozen on the first Night, most of the rest during the trips into the city during the day.”

“There was a big raid on a bank, most of them didn’t survive. Then some more left or transferred to a safer region. And now, here I am.” Wil said quietly, waving his hand slightly at the room.

“That’s…insane!” Erinn said, exchanging a look with Gunther. Martin was taking the information in, but he didn’t seem surprised. Growing up in Elbing, he probably heard more about the fighting in Aachen then the rest.

They thought that ‘bad’ meant losing 1 in 10, or even half, if things went terribly wrong. Wil made it seem like barely any Auxiliaries survived each month.

“How is that sustainable? They’re just throwing away hundreds of lives every month, for what? A bit of loot?” Gunther hissed out, disgusted by the entire thing.

“Yeah well, I’ve learned that if there’s something the Empire isn’t short of, its people like us.” Wil said, taking a drink of liquor. Erinn gave him a questioning look, her head slightly tilted as she watched him.

“We’re desperate. All the auxiliaries here are the same. Desperate for money, or fame or power, or…whatever!” He spat out, gesturing with his arm to everyone around him.

“This place is a gods damned meat grinder, taking in the weak and poor and grinding them up. Some months are better than others, but it’s a gods damned gamble.”

“But why? Is the Empire that desperate to keep the undead contained? It’s been years and they haven’t come close to escaping.” Martin reasoned, looking at his companions for answers.

“Yeah, I don’t think the undead are a threat to the entire empire, at least not anymore. It’s more like this place is a way to train the lower ranks. Get them experience and a swift progression. Just look at me. I’m not exactly a stellar talent, but in four short months I’ve reached Rank 4. Another couple of years here, I don’t know how far I can go. Garman’s the same, he worked on a farm before he signed up. He wasn’t even Rank 1 when he came here. Now he’s nearly Rank 6 and commanding a section of Auxiliaries.”

“So, the empire doesn’t care about the losses? All those people dying?” Gunther whispered, making sure that no one else in room could overhear them.

“A couple hundred low rankers get killed, but there’s a good chance one of them advances in the ranks? I bet they are more than happy to roll the dice on that bet. Remember, this shithole is filled with people like my Father. If he can send his own son here, why would they care about a bunch of nobodies.” Wil spat out quietly, his expression furious.

“Throw enough money around, and people will line up to fight here. Hell, look at us! We all heard that Aachen was terrible, that a lot of people die here, but we came anyway.”

“And the mage guild, the church?” Martin whispered, and Wil took in the fact of what he was saying to the cleric.

“The church is here for altruistic reasons, I’ve no doubt about it. They’ve been nothing but upfront about eliminating the undead. As for the Mage Guild, I would guess that they’re here because this place is a gods damned gold mine.” Wil took out the glass orb from his pocket, placing it on the table in front of them. He had recently returned the energy to the Spire, the common room light reflected in the clear glass.

“I wanted to ask you about that.” Erinn said, looking at the orb. “When we registered, they made sure we understood how to use it.”

“Yeah, like I said, it’s a gold mine. I don’t think the empire really cares about getting Aachen back, not when the undead are contained and they can harvest the energy from their corpses. I don’t know what they use it for, but they are paying a fortune for it.”

The group spent the rest of the evening discussing what to expect when Night fell, and the raids into the city.

Wil promised that they could accompany him into the city after their time on the wall. He also gave them a rundown of what the night fighting will be like. The Ghouls, the infectious blood, he left nothing out.

It was early in the morning before he finished, the yellow sun had long since sunk below the horizon, replaced by the blue light of Secundus.

“So...” Wil said, standing and stretching, getting ready to leave. “Don’t take this the wrong way, because I’m really happy to see you both, I just wish you hadn’t come.”