Free Dirge for a Necromancer by Ash Stinson

goblin,” the other centaur said.
    “Deggho dek’Kariss?” Raettonus said, and the pair nodded. He hadn’t thought much about Deggho since meeting him that day. He thought for a moment about the conversation they had had. “I think I’ll accompany you, gentlemen—if you don’t mind.”
    “Of course not, Magician,” said one of them, hesitating just a bit, and they started down the hall together.
    When they reached the foot of the stairs that led into the hostage’s domain, Raettonus relieved them of the tray and bid them a curt farewell before walking into the darkness. He could hear something moving around at the other end of the chamber in the impenetrable shadow, but this time he knew it was only the goblin creeping about. They met in the middle of the grimy hall.
    “Magician Raettonus,” said Deggho. It was too dark for Raettonus to see him. “I—I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back. Actually, I was beginning to think that I maybe imagined our whole conversation. I do that sometimes. I get to thinking how quiet it is down here, and how lonely, and I imagine someone’s down here with me and we talk about all kinds of things… Is that my dinner?”
    “It is,” Raettonus said, holding it out. The goblin took it from him.
    “Are you here to be painted? I have a canvas set up in another room,” Deggho said. He locked his arm around Raettonus’, and the magician flinched.
    “Sure. Why not?” said Raettonus, letting Deggho lead him to the room he’d spoken of.
    To Raettonus’ relief, the room was well lit with torches blazing on the walls. It was a medium-sized room, messy with painting supplies, with a couch, a chair, a table, and an easel with a blank canvas board set upon it. Deggho set the tray down on the table and led Raettonus to the couch before rearranging the easel and the chair so he could look past the canvas at Raettonus.
    Raettonus sat uneasily on the stained couch. “How have you been?” Deggho asked him, taking up a paintbrush and seating himself behind the easel.
    “Better than you, I imagine.”
    Deggho smiled crookedly. “Well, that’s not too hard to manage,” he said as he began to paint.
    “Why do you paint so many pictures of gods?” Raettonus asked after a moment. “Doesn’t that get tedious after a while?”
    “Not really,” said Deggho. “There are so many scenes I can think of to make into pictures. I think that even if I spent the rest of my life painting, I still wouldn’t have painted one image from every story that I know. Besides, the gods like to be honored. I’m not allowed to leave this floor, so I can’t honor them in the shrine. This is all I can do.”
    “Your gods are vain.”
    Deggho chuckled. “Well, maybe,” he said. “But they’re gods—isn’t it their right? I’d be proud too, if I were a god.”
    “You’re a chief’s son,” Raettonus said. “You don’t seem particularly proud of that.”
    “I’m not a great man, Magician,” said the goblin, frowning. “You know how I got captured by these centaurs? I was asleep. I didn’t even put up a fight when I woke up. What should I be proud about? I’m a shame to my father, and my brothers, and the Kariss in general.”
    They sat in a stiff silence, and Raettonus began to regret coming down there. The torches flickered on the walls, and Raettonus stared into them absently. Finally, Deggho started the conversation up again. “You don’t worship our gods, do you?” he asked. “You have your own gods from the Other Realm.”
    “I don’t keep any gods at all,” Raettonus answered. “I used to. But that’s neither here nor there. I wouldn’t have taken you for a religious man, Deggho, I must admit.”
    Deggho smiled. “I like to pretend that I talk to the gods when I’m all alone,” he said. “It helps pass the time. That and painting them, of course.”
    “I take it Kaeriaht’s your favorite to paint,” Raettonus said. “I see a lot of paintings of him on