by Gareth Lewis
*
The restored flesh continued to lose its hold on the animate body. The second one had lasted over a day now. Restoring life to a larger area of the body allowed it to hold on longer than the first, but it was diminishing.
While Lyrem still hoped revitalising the complete body might achieve ongoing results, the power required to achieve this much had been taxing.
A yelp from the treatment room drew his gaze, his nerves already on edge. Lyrem was treating a knife wound. While Necromancy wasn’t considered respectable, its practitioners had a fair idea of repairing the human body, so their skills gained them a degree of acceptance among those who couldn’t afford proper physicians. In Skerin’s experience they tended to be more reliable than physicians, anyway. Not that people liked having Necromancers as neighbours, since noxious aromas often accompanied them, but in a city bereft of physicians they were treated with respect.
It might give Brak a moment’s pause before bursting in. Not much more than a moment, though.
Whimpers continued from the open door leading to the treatment room, but the worst seemed done. Even if there’d been more patients waiting below, the door would still be open. Lyrem didn’t concern himself with, or possibly even consider, the effects such noises had on guests, and seemed to prefer doors left open.
Apart from the one at the back of the room, that Skerin knew better than to approach. He had only faint memories of Lyrem’s wife, having been young when she’d died. He hadn’t seen her since, but knew she lay behind that door, as well-preserved as Lyrem’s skills allowed. His life since, and his studies, had been devoted to restoring her, so he’d leapt at the opportunity Skerin offered with the Floromancy secrets.
Guilt niggled Skerin at what might happen if he failed. While Lyrem’s position offered protection, would it protect him from Brak? He didn’t pay the feeling too much attention, since he couldn’t allow himself doubt. He knew what he was doing. It had gone according to plan so far. This was simply anticipation.
The patient emerged, sending a brief glance Skerin’s way before scurrying out. Lyrem emerged, dumping his payment in a nearby bowl as he rejoined Skerin.
“Continuing its retreat,” Lyrem said with dismay, if not surprise, as he examined the restored section.
Skerin nodded, glancing after the departed patient. “One of Brak’s?”
“Probably,” said Lyrem. “Not the kind to get in a knife fight. Not the kind to get away with just that if he did, anyway.”
“They’ll be here soon,” said Skerin.
“Guess so. Still time to run.”
“No. They’ll be watching.”
“You used to be a scientist,” Lyrem said with irritation. “Why don’t you consider the subject with your head rather than your spleen? Stop letting your anger guide you.”
“I am thinking. Everything’s planned. Unless you’d rather I did it elsewhere?”
“Bit late for that, isn’t it?” barked Lyrem.
“I should prepare.”
Lyrem muttered and waved him away as he focussed on his work.
