Faithful Servants Read Online Free PDF

weight behind it.
    There was a flash that wasn’t so much light as its absence, and a high, keening wail that might have been a word, or a name. Then there were only two halves of a crown, the metal seeming to shrivel and fold in on itself like burning briars. The newly rusted slag clattered to the floor and lay still.
    “Master!” Connell was past Salim and gripping Lord Mirosoy’s shoulders. The noble stood with head hung on his chest, looking ready to fall face-first into his workbench. Slowly, he raised his eyes. “Connell?”
    “Yes. Yes, Master.” The eidolon was weeping in earnest now, huge tears rolling down the reptilian face. Above them, the rune on his forehead glowed brighter than ever. “I’m back now. I knew it was the crown that sent me away, not you. And now you’re free!”
    Mirosoy straightened, shrugging off the eidolon’s steadying hands. “Yes. Well.” He looked over to Salim. “You do realize that’s a priceless artifact you just destroyed?”
    Salim marveled. Even half-dead and surrounded by his own failure, the man exuded entitlement. Salim looked down at the corpses on the floor, then back at the noble.
    “I’m sure we can arrange an accounting of debts.” His voice was soft.
    The summoner followed Salim’s gaze down, then swallowed. “No, that won’t be necessary. Clearly, the crown needed to be destroyed. You have my thanks.”
    Salim inclined his head, unconvinced. Perhaps the crown wasn’t as responsible for these atrocities as Connell wanted to think. He opened his mouth to say something—then stopped.
    There was a new sound. Salim saw the other two pick up on it as well: a low, muttering hum.
    Voices.
    Salim moved swiftly to the window. Out in the darkness, a line of torches snaked down the manor house’s long drive.
    “Damn.” Apparently Father Adibold was no longer interested in waiting until dawn.
    Salim turned back to Mirosoy. “We need to get out of here. In two minutes, their families”—he gestured to the corpses on the floor—”are going to burn this place to the ground. And you’re going to let them.”
    “Oh?” The noble’s lip twitched toward a sneer.
    Salim raised his sword suggestively.
    “Oh,” Lord Mirosoy said again, this time with considerably less vigor. “Well, you see, that may be something of a problem.” He raised a hand and gestured to his waist.
    “Oh, Master!” Connell’s voice was horrified. “What have you done?”
    And now Salim saw it. The various beakers and sealed containers on the worktable didn’t stand alone. Below the rumpled blouse, several thick tubes snaked out of Mirosoy’s abdomen and into the vessels and retorts on the table, steady streams of black and red fluids cycling through them.
    Once more, the summoner ignored his servant and spoke to Salim. This time he looked almost embarrassed.
    “The crown,” he said. “It had several suggestions as to how I might…improve my longevity.”
    “Lichdom.” Salim understood now why the man looked so hollow. He almost spat, but stopped himself for fear of hitting one of the corpses. “You were trying to turn yourself undead.”
    “Not me—the crown!”
    Salim didn’t care. “Can you stop it? Reverse it?”
    “Almost certainly,” Mirosoy said. “But it’ll take time. Days.”
    Behind Salim, the villagers were drawing closer. He could hear individual voices in the rumble of the mob. “We don’t have days.”
    Lord Mirosoy ventured a tentative smile, greasy and anxious. “If you’ll allow it, my manor has certain defenses which—”
    “No. You’ve done these people enough harm already.” Salim thought hard. “Can you teleport? Move this whole setup somewhere else with magic?”
    The noble grimaced. “My studies of late have been focused on other matters.”
    “Clearly.” Salim sized up the various tubes that nosed into Mirosoy’s clothing like hungry worms. “And I were to just pull those out?”
    “Then I would die. Likely in excruciating