The Lich Days of Summer

The Lich Days of Summer is set a century before the events of Mage Errant. 

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The last weeks of summer hang heavy in most lands, but in few more heavily than in the Ylosa river delta. The heat and humidity lurk among the mangroves, hiding from any ocean breezes that might bring relief. They weigh down on any unlucky souls foolish enough to brave them like a sodden wet blanket in a sauna. 

There is no breaking out from their grip until the autumn storms arrive to tear the blanket apart. When the last, heaviest days of summer arrive, it should be a time for rest, a time to lurk in the shade and fruitlessly try to magic away the heat.

It shouldn’t be a time for war.

And yet.

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Andros the Hairless, Chief Emissary and Ambassador of Salgos Deep-Spear, Queen of the greatest pirate fleet to ever sail the Shattered Isles, was sweating.

Admittedly, he would have been sweating regardless, thanks to the heat and humidity. But at least one in ten of the beads of sweat rolling down his bald head now came from nervousness. Maybe two in ten, even. 

He wouldn’t go as high as three in ten, though. Which was less a reflection on how nervous he was than how painfully hot it was.

Andros was used to facing bluster from the rulers of cities. He was used to threats, displays of magical might, feigned unconcern, forced mockerey, even to being seized by guards or spells.

None of those things made him sweat any longer. He’d learned, from long experience, that they almost always capitulated to Salgos’ threats sooner rather than later. 

What he wasn’t used to, however, was being asked for dating advice by one of Salgos’ targets.

“I’m not sure you understand the gravity of the situation,” Andros said.

The wooden avatar of Zophor the lich waved his hand dismissively from his lavishly draped chaise lounge. “Of course I do. The most dreadful pirate in all the seas has decided my demesne will serve as an ideal base for her and her men, and that I’m to serve as her newest servant and right-hand man, regardless of my wishes. You’re welcome to tell her I appreciate the offer, but that I have to decline. Right now, though, I’m really more interested in your advice on my situation.”

Andros wiped his forehead to keep sweat from running into his eyes— he missed his eyebrows on days like this. Eyebrows did far more work keeping sweat out of your eyes than most people realized. He scowled, his mind racing as he tried to figure out how to tell his queen about this. It wasn’t that he was worried about her taking her anger out on him— Salgos was famously fair to her sailors, and never punished them for carrying a message that angered her, no matter how badly. It was a big part of why the crews on her dozens of ships were so loyal to her.

No, it was just that Andros genuinely had no idea how to explain this whole absurd situation to his queen.

“Don’t get me wrong, I think I’m genuinely falling for him,” Zophor continued, gesturing with his wineglass. “He’s brilliant, beautiful, sophisticated, wonderfully sarcastic, and traveled half the world before settling in my demesne. His only flaw is a truly ridiculous laugh, and that just makes him more endearing. I just have some fundamental concerns about the ethics of courting one of the citizens of my city. There’s a truly colossal power imbalance there, and it makes me a bit uncomfortable.”

“I will convey your refusal to my queen,” Andros said, “but be warned— she will take it poorly, and you and your citizens will suffer for it.”

“Really? You’re not going to offer me any advice at all?” Zophor asked.

“I don’t have time for petty games and distractions,” Andros snapped. “I am here to serve my queen, not to amuse you.”

Zophor set down his wineglass on a side-table and leaned forward. “I’m not playing games, here. I’m genuinely asking for your advice. I can’t reasonably ask my citizens for advice, because they share that same power imbalance. I’d feel just plain silly going to my allies with an issue like this. But you, though- you’re my enemy. You have absolutely no reason to spare my feelings with your advice.”

Andros gave the lich a long, level look. “My advice is to start taking this situation seriously. You’ve been a lich for all of, what, two years? You don’t stand a chance against an established power like my queen. You’re going to be serving her one way or another— you should consider whether you want to so so with dignity, or as timber for her ships.”

With that, Andros turned and strode towards the door.

“It’s been three years,” Zophor said behind him, a bit petulantly.

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Andros was still scowling as he boarded his ship, mostly at the lich’s audacity.

He’d give credit where credit was due— Zophor had built an impressive demesne for a mage working on his own. Most independent liches only built demesnes the size of small fortresses, but Zophor had grown a circle of a half-dozen towering mangroves that jutted far above the rest of the trees in the tidal delta. He already had nearly twenty thousand citizens living in the trunks of his trees, with room for half again as many more. 

But that was as big and as powerful as Zophor would ever get. Once a lich transitioned from their original body to their demesne, they were trapped that way for the rest of their existence. They couldn’t grow or fundamentally alter their demesnes- even repairs were a challenge.

Of course, there were some rumored exceptions, like the Lord of Bells, or Keayda the Librarian, or a few of the Crystal Sphinx’s sponsored liches, but those were just rumors— and Zophor was assuredly not in their ranks. 

As Andros’ skiff sailed away, propelled by his three water mages through a floating mess of leaves and green sticks, he glared up at the massive copies of Zophor’s face growing out of the tree-trunks.

Even as he watched, one of the giant wooden faces winked at him.

What an infuriatingly vain creature.

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Salgos’ immense flagship, named The Queen’s Throne, had a hole in the middle of it. The whole ran all the way from the ship’s deck down through the lower hull, and seawater filled it. The Queen’s Throne was ten times the size of a normal ship, and the hole was wide enough that several full-sized ships could have floated in the middle of it.

The flagship wasn’t in any danger of sinking, though. It had been built with the hole in it.

The design and construction of the Throne had been a nightmare for the shipwrights, but they’d set to the task uncomplainingly— Salgos had paid them enough to bankrupt a city.

Handling the ship at sea was likewise a nightmare for the crew— the great hole in the middle wreaked havoc on their ability to steer, and it took a huge number of mages to manage the ship.

It wasn’t a purely vertical shaft through the ship, either— there was a huge wooden cavern jutting off the side of the shaft and taking up half the hold space of the flagship. It was Salgos’ lair, and rumors of the treasures she kept there abounded. No one had ever been in and survived, though— none of fleet’s captains, mages, or even Andros himself. 

As Andros strode out onto the platform that jutted out over the hole in the deck, he couldn’t help but notice the leaves and sticks from the mangrove swamp had somehow made it into the hole as well. It had been a persistent irritant the entire way back to the fleet.

Andros would never question his queen out loud, but part of him genuinely wondered whether the strategic location of Zophor was really worth it as a base.

The organic detritus didn’t hold his attention for long, though, when his queen began rising from the water.

It was just a single massive arm at first— a colossal scaled tentacle, covered in fanged suckers. It slowly lifted out of the sea, big enough to lift a normal ship entirely out of the water, and seized the rim of the hole. Entire waterfalls cascaded off the limb, and Andros luxuriated in the soothing spray of water cutting the heat.

Then another arm lifted out of the water, and another, and another, and soon six of his queen’s dozen armored arms had seized the edges of the hole, lifting her body and mantle out of the water.

Kraken were not, as often thought, giant squid or octopuses. They were related to both, but were far larger and more dangerous than either. Only leviathans and a few freak monstrosities in the depths grew larger than kraken, and few other creatures even rivaled their size.

One of Salgos’ gargantuan eyes peered down at Andros. It was big enough that he could fit inside it a dozen times over, so even after his long years of service, he still felt discomfited to meet the gaze of that rectangular pupil. 

As Salgos emptied her immense siphon of water, and began filling it with air, Andros’ gaze drifted down to one of his queen’s arms that wasn’t gripping the side.

There, just barely above the surface, was clutched the Deep-Spear, the weapon that gave Salgos her name. 

The Deep-Spear had been forged from the mainmast of a gargantuan warship, tipped with a dragonbone spearhead. Its enchantments were worth the flagship three times over. The weapon could hurtle through the water at thrice the speed of a sea serpent, faster than any ship in the sea. Salgos could sink an entire enemy fleet before they’d even crested the horizon. The Deep-Spear could even slaughter rival kraken with ease.

It would make short work of Zophor’s demesne, if need be.

Not that Salgos needed it— she was a fearsome foe even without it. She was huge even for a kraken, and she wielded pressure, buoyancy, and tidal magics that could force a foe down to the crushing depths of the ocean or drown a city on land.

Once Salgos had filled her siphon with air, she began to speak in her disquieting, whistle-like voice. “Report, Andros.”

That was another difference between kraken and their kin. Kraken could fill their siphons, the organs that they used to propel themselves through the sea with jets of water, with air instead of water, then force it out to imitate land-dweller language— most sounds of it, at least. 

“The lich rejected your generous offer, my queen,” Andros called. “The fool actually mocked us, and refused to speak of anything other than his petty romantic concerns.”

“Well, that’s just unfair,” a voice interjected.

Andros whirled. There, sitting a quarter of the way around the rim of the hole, was an avatar of the lich Zophor.

“I wasn’t mocking you or your queen at all,” Zophor continued. “I genuinely was hoping you could advise me on my dilemma. Maybe your queen can help me where you couldn’t.”

And, to Andros’ shock, the lich turned to Salgos and began relaying his dating concerns to the kraken.

Of course, that was a far lesser shock than seeing Zophor here at all. Lich avatars couldn’t ever leave their demesnes, and they were half a league from the edge of the mangrove swamp— and Zophor’s demesne was several leagues into the depths of the swamp. 

Andros’ queen looked to be making the same mental calculations as he was. She’d shifted her grip on the Deep-Spear, shifting it in the water to face the direction of the lich’s demesne. Great masses sticks and leaves had clumped up behind the massive spearhead, but they weren’t enough to stop or even slow the spear if the kraken threw it.

Andros’ surprise at the situation grew even more, however, when the queen actually heard out Zophor’s romantic dilemma. 

Finally, she swelled up her siphon again to speak. “If you’re concerned about the ethics of the situation, you should be speaking to the object of your affection here. It is his opinion that matters, not that of others.”

Even the lich’s wooden avatar looked surprised now.

“That… is honestly excellent advice,” he said. “Thank you. I was honestly expecting you to just bluster and offer threats of my destruction.”

Salgos’ siphon whistled in an eerie approximation of laughter. “Oh, we’re still doing the threats next. I’m guessing you grew a few roots far out to sea when you grew your demesne, to give yourself reach beyond the borders of your little town?”

Zophor nodded and leaned back. “More than a few roots. I’ve got a whole network of roots stretching for tens of leagues in every direction, and it’s still growing. I’m planning a lot of growth for the future. Give it a century or two, my demesne will be the biggest city on the continent.”

“I look forward to ruling it,” Salgos said. “Unless you force me to destroy it today.”

“Do you think I could get some wine? Tea would work as well, though it’s a bit warm out for that,” Zophor said.

“Enough games,” Salgos said. “No matter how hard you try, you will not be able to reach your roots up from the seafloor to my ships. My magic is more than enough to annihilate them before they get here. You are far from the first lich I have faced, many of them far greater than you. You land-liches are pale reflections of the truly powerful liches of the deep, and I take little notice even of them. It is time to discuss surrender.”

Zophor sighed dramatically. “If you want to be all business, I suppose we can talk surrender. Very well, if you surrender now, I’ll let you keep eight of your tentacles, one rowboat, and three crewmembers. I’ll be burying the rest in the seafloor mud to fertilize my demesne and taking the Deep-Spear for myself.”

Andros, Salgos, and the crew of The Queen’s Throne all just stared at the lich’s avatar.

“Better hope she really likes you, Andros,” Zophor said.

“You must be mad,” Andros said. “You must have broken your mind while transitioning into lichdom.”

Zophor waggled his wooden eyebrows at Andros.

“I have offered you chance after chance, and brooked your repeated disrespect,” the pirate queen hissed. “You bring this destruction upon yourself.”

Salgos lifted the Deep-Spear into the air, to prepare to throw it over the ship and towards the heart of the Lich’s demesne.

Where, however, the Deep-Spear’s spellforms would usually ignite with a glow half as bright as the sun, instead the spear remained dull and lifeless.

“That doesn’t seem good,” Zophor offered. 

“What have you done to my spear?” Salgos bellowed, deflating her siphon entirely. Andros and the rest of the crew all covered their ears in pain.

Even through his pain, Andros noticed that his queen was refilling her siphon with water, not with air. The kraken was preparing for battle, not more talk.

Zophor reached out, and one of the green sticks floating in the water levitated up to his hand. “Do you know how mangroves reproduce?” he asked. “Mangrove trees don’t drop seeds— they drop whole saplings, which then drift about at sea for months or years until they find a good place to root. They’re known as propagules, if you want to get technical, and I can control them just as well as any other mangrove inside my demesne.”

He tossed the stick to Andros, who caught it automatically. To his horror, he realized that what he’d mistaken for a stick was, in fact, a mangrove sapling.

And there were thousands more coating the water all around the fleet.

His gaze drifted to the Deep-Spear. He realized that the sticks he’d mistaken for detritus there weren’t just sticking to the spear— their roots were growing into the spear’s spellforms.

Zophor laughed, and kicked his feet like a delighted child. “I’m a better enchanter than anyone you’ve ever met, Salgos. It was child’s play for me to deactivate the Deep-Spear’s enchantment, and it will make an excellent addition to my armory after you’re dead. Which, fair warning, is about to happen in short order, because I do believe you just inhaled a couple of propagules into your siphon.”

Salgos froze, not twitching a single one of her arms, then began frantically trying to empty her siphon.

A moment later, however, she started thrashing in pain. Her arms began hammering against the walls of the hole, several of them ripping apart the wood of the ship in her agony.

“You know, I’m not even going to tell people how I defeated you and destroyed your fleet,” Zophor said. “I won’t brag about it, I won’t spread rumors about it— I’m just going to let you fade into history as yet another rampaging monster, and there are too many of those in history for anyone to care.  I’ll treat this whole episode as mere pest control, and my fame will grow as your memory will shrivel away.”

To Andros’ shock, a mangrove stem ruptured out of one wall of his queen’s siphon, sprouting leaves as it grew.

A throne of mangrove sprouts had grown out of the deck behind Zophor, and his avatar leaned back into it. “And you know what? Even with this hideous summer heat, people are going to flood to my demesne to live there, just like they’re moving in huge numbers to nearly every other large lich city on the continent. We are the city of the future, Salgos. Wandering monsters like you and Dorsas Ine are on your way out. The world is running out of room for you.”

Andros could see trees erupting out of decks and hulls across the fleet. Several ships appeared to have sprouted entirely new mangrove masts, and even as he watched, one of the fleet’s small scout cutters tore in half entirely as mangroves ripped its planking apart.

“Really, though,” Zophor started, only to be interrupted by one of Salgos’ arms smashing down on his avatar so hard that it the pirate queen’s arm tore through several levels of decking as well, enough that water started rushing inside the ship in a huge waterfall.

The growth of a new mangrove forest atop the fleet didn’t stop or slow, however, and neither did Salgos’ agonized thrashing. An avatar was just a puppet for a lich to interact with the world, and destroying one was only a minor annoyance for a lich. 

Andros could only stand there helplessly as ship after ship in the fleet tore itself apart. As little floating mangrove saplings tangled themselves around swimming sailors and began to strangle them. As branch after branch tore out of his queen’s flesh, and she writhed in her death throes.

He was, at least, spared the sight of Zophor’s colossal roots, each far larger than his queen’s arms, reaching up from the seabed and dragging the fleet down to the mud. 

Of course, he was spared that sight only because the final thing Andros the Hairless saw was one of his queen’s flailing arms as it descended down on him in her blind thrashing.

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Not even a half hour later, the only things on the surface were mangrove propagules and the Deep-Spear.

The summer air hung heavy and humid over the seawater, giving one the sense that the world had given up and stopped breathing, and was content to cook itself in its own heat.

The only thing that disturbed that heavy quiet was a single one of Zophor’s roots, rising above the gentle swell next to the Deep-Spear.

The lich stared at the enchanted weapon for a long time before he finally spoke. “Just talk to him? Don’t I feel like a fool now? I almost feel a little bad for killing you, Salgos.”

He paused, as if to consider. “Well, not really, but I appreciate the advice.”

Zophor let the quiet return, enjoying the peaceful moment.

Then his head lifted in surprise, and he smiled.

He could feel just a faint whisper of cool wind coming from the southeast, and there was just a hint of dark cloud on the horizon.

There was a storm coming to break the heat.

Summer was finally ending.

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A note on science in this story: Mangroves, like coconut trees, depend on the sea to spread their offspring. Most mangrove saplings, or propagules, which are germinated on the tree, end up rooting near their parents, but some can travel for years, rooting thousands of miles away from their parent tree.