by AC Cobble
“Interesting. So how did you—”
Rew waved away her coming question and kept talking, hoping she’d forget she meant to ask it. “Low magic, high magic, it all improves with practice. Low magic is like exercising your body, where high magic is like reading a book. Everyone knows instinctually how to move their arm, but a skilled woodworker achieves mastery after many years of practice. Not everyone knows the knowledge contained in books, though. That requires great minds sharing their learnings through the years, and it is in only rare cases that someone new can add to the corpus of general knowledge. That’s why you’re special, lass. You’ve the talent to bring something new,” continued Rew. He nodded to where Raif and Zaine where working through their routine. “That should give you some idea of the difference, but it’s not a perfect analogy. Just like soldiers strengthen their bodies, casters of high magic can do the same. They should do the same.”
He peered at her over his cup of coffee.
“I don’t see you out there training,” complained Cinda.
“I’m supervising.”
“I don’t even know how to practice necromancy.”
“There’s been little death, but that doesn’t mean there’s been no death in this place,” said Rew. “At some point through all of the years, I’m certain that someone has died here. And if not on this exact ground, then nearby on the road. It’s safe, this close to Spinesend, but nowhere is completely safe. If all nobles drive carriages like our lady with the baby and her footman, for example, then surely a few of them have perished on the highway.”
Cinda grinned.
“Close your eyes, see what you can feel,” suggested Rew, “and then feel for the echoes. Not just what’s here in front of you like it was during the battle, but what has been here before. It’s easy when you get the hang of it. Here, let me hold your coffee.”
3
While they were stuck at the way station waiting for the noblewoman’s footman to return with transportation, Rew and the children spent as much time as they could outdoors. The ranger walked Raif and Zaine through complicated sparring exercises then wore them out with demanding fitness training. Cinda sat quietly, practicing drawing power from the world around her. At first, she could sense hardly anything, but by the next morning, she’d found something there, though it was not strong enough for her to cast any spells with it.
“You’re moving back through time,” said Rew, “through years and ages. Necromancers can pull echoes of power that way. In most cases, the farther back you go, the less you can pull from a death. What you’re tapping into is the power released when the soul transitions, and that power dissipates over time. It is different from the wraiths. In their case, the necromancer is assuming control over power that is still on this plane, and that power has accumulated the longer the souls have been trapped here. Make sense? No, it will, eventually. For now, just know you’ll be strongest around recent death, like the battle. The more people that die…”
Cinda, her face pale, did not respond.
Rew knew it made her uncomfortable. Necromancy, by blood and by choice, was not a common form of high magic. Between the necromancers Baron Fedgley had recruited for work in the barrowlands and the three they’d faced when Worgon was ambushed, Rew thought it might be all of the necromancers in the province. It was a shame, as Cinda could use instruction from someone who knew what they were talking about. Though, none of the necromancers they had encountered—except Fedgley himself—had been very talented. Even in the midst of hundreds of deaths, the power of the ones he and Cinda had killed had been paltry. Minor cousins of a minor noble, guessed Rew. In the right circumstances hey could still be dangerous, though, which is why he suspected Duke Eeron utilized them for the ambush of Worgon. On a wave of hundreds of recent deaths all around them, even pathetic necromancers could manage significant feats.
That was the problem with necromancers. For them to obtain the power of a soul’s transition, they had to engage in behaviors that were distasteful. No one wanted to be the noble who flocked to recent battlefields to harvest the power of the dead. Few wanted to locate one’s keep over an ancient crypt or to stroll graveyards every evening looking for where fresh earth had been laid. And there was always the overhanging suspicion that the necromancers themselves were behind every odd death that occurred anywhere near them. They lived beneath a cloud of fear and distrust, because throughout history, plenty of necromancers had earned that fear. Not to mention, the totems of necromancy—bones, skulls, flesh-bound books, and other arcane paraphernalia—fit poorly with the stylish noblewoman’s decor.
But it’s what Cinda was. By blood and by talent, she was a necromancer. While most nobles with the affinity shunned that side of themselves, chose to focus on different magical skills, or to ignore high magic altogether, Cinda did not have a choice if she was going to survive.
She’d been marked by the princes and their minions, and living through the next months would require every bit of power she could pull together. Still, it made the other children nervous around her when she was practicing, and none of them wanted to mention it to the new mother inside of the way station.
When he wasn’t observing Raif and Zaine flail at each other with linen-wrapped sticks, Rew spent hours talking Cinda through tapping into the thin power that surrounded them. He spoke to Cinda calmly, giving what little advice he could, serving more as a comforting presence than a helpful guide. With Raif and Cinda, he was stricter and frequently found himself barking instructions at them. The fighter took it easy on the thief, and she kept shooting glances at Cinda, who ignored them both. The unspoken, subtle tension and looks between the three made Rew grind his teeth and push them harder.
They needed it. The fighter and the thief had been practicing too much together and no longer felt the hammering excitement of combat. Rew knew he ought to spar with them himself, but he also knew that if Cinda did not gain control of her powers, then everything else they were doing was a complete waste of time.
Luckily, trapped in the small way station with nowhere to go for privacy, Rew did not have to worry about any other complications arising from all of the secretive, yearning looks. He hoped. Rubbing his face in his hands as the sun rose to mid-morning brilliance, Rew couldn’t wait to get moving again, or if not moving, maybe he and Anne could swap. He sighed and discarded that thought. He’d rather be out with the children than in with the infant and its sharp-tongued mother, no matter how long they were stuck there.
It was with relief that at midday, Rew saw the footman coming down the road accompanied by a mounted soldier and a man with a cart and a donkey. It seemed the next town didn’t have a proper carriage to spare, or perhaps the footman didn’t have coin to hire it. They’d never learned why the woman was traveling alone so close to term, and she patently ignored any attempt to ask her. In Rew’s experience, such things always came with a secret attached, and when it came to nobles, those secrets were rarely benign.
The soldier rode up first, looking over the party outside as if they were a bandit crew. Evidently deciding Rew was in charge, he raised his voice to speak to the ranger. “I’m told you are sheltering Lady Oswald?”
Rew nodded and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. The footman, not waiting for the soldier, had already directed the cart and its driver toward the way station.
“You came upon the lady by pure chance, I am told?” inquired the soldier.
Rew blinked up at the man. “Yes…”
The soldier grunted then glanced at where Raif was still sparring with Zaine. Beside the fighter, propped against a tree, was his huge greatsword. “Adventurers, are you? Mercenaries? Plenty of your kind on the road, these days.”
“We’re simple travelers,” replied Rew.
“Coming from Spinesend?”
Rew nodded slowly.
“There are no simple travelers coming from Spinesend,” said the soldier, his legs tightening reflexively on his horse, the beast shuffling closer to Rew.
Shaking his head, the ranger replied, “We left Spinesend over a week ago. We spent several days at Bressan’s inn. Are you familiar with it? It must be quite popular in the region. We waited out the storms there until the roads were suitable for travel. If your lady came direct from Spinesend, she must have left days after us. She was in a carriage, after all, and we are on foot. What is it you’re accusing us of?”
The soldier drew himself up, his leather armor creaking with the motion. “Nothing, nothing at all. One cannot be too cautious these days.”
“What happened in Spinesend?” asked Cinda.
The man looked at her sharply but did not reply.
Behind them at the way station, Rew could hear Anne’s voice as she helped the Lady Oswald out and into the cart, which the Lady Oswald had plenty to say about. The soldier’s lips tightened, but he did not comment.
Rew saw the soldier wore no livery, but his armor and his weapons showed wear. Rew questioned him, “You asked if we were mercenaries, yet I see no colors on your attire. Are you in service of the lady?”
“I’m no mercenary,” spat the soldier.
Rew looked over his shoulder at where the noblewoman and the infant were being loaded into the cart. “Does the lady know you? We went to great effort to care for her these last two days, and I’m not willing to waste that work.”
The soldier shifted in his saddle again then replied, “She does not know me. Look, I am sorry I approached you so brusquely, but you understand I’m right to be cautious about strangers on the road? I’m in the service of Lord Hamring, who has an interest in Lady Oswald and their—ah, her child. The lord felt it best to evacuate her from the city and arranged for it to happen. When she did not arrive as expected, he sent me to find her. You’ve heard the rumors of Dark Kind, no? They’re not the only danger on this highway. These are grim times, and the lord was worried, so worried in fact, he asked me to remove his colors for this mission. Fortunately, I found her footman—who does know me, if you care to ask him—and he brought me here, where all seems well. Ask her man if you doubt my story. I encourage your caution.”
Rew nodded, thinking that some gratitude was in order as well, but not believing he’d hear it. “I don’t mean to doubt you, but as you say, it’s a time for care. Tell me, why did Lord Hamring want the lady out of Spinesend? If it’s a personal matter…”
The soldier fiddled awkwardly with the reins of his horse, and Rew scratched his beard. A baby the lord had an interest in… Of course it was a personal matter. He opened his mouth to apologize when the soldier spoke up. “The news will be all over the highway in days, if not already, so I suppose there’s no harm. A week ago, there was a confrontation in Duke Eeron’s keep. The stories are confused, but we believe that a high profile prisoner was broken out of Duke Eeron’s dungeon and then assassinated the duke. Lord Hamring thinks that Spinesend is no longer safe for the nobility. I don’t know if he’s right or wrong, but the duke… I agreed it was best to move the lady and the child as quickly as possible.”
Rew blinked. “Wait, the prisoner assassinated the duke?”
The soldier nodded. “The person in custody was broken out, and that very night, the duke was found dead in his throne room. He was seated on his chair as if he meant to hold court, but his head was sitting in his lap. There wasn’t a drop of blood anywhere except for on the man himself. How does a man come to be holding his own head, and without a mess? Spellcasting, friend. The prisoner was a spellcaster, and they’ve had their revenge.”
“Oh my,” murmured Cinda.
The soldier nodded. “Indeed. Even stranger, the arcanists who ought to have been investigating the matter are dead as well. Killed in their beds, presumably so the spellcaster could cover his tracks. One got away, a man by the name of Salwart, or maybe he was taken captive, I don’t know. If they can find him, perhaps he can tell what happened. If not, I don’t think we’ll ever know.”
“What was Prince Valchon’s response to the attack?” wondered Rew, unsurprised Arcanist Salwart was missing. The arcanist would have known his time was up, and he would have been out of the keep nearly as quickly as Rew if Duke Eeron hadn’t immediately ordered the arcanist’s arrest.
“Nothing yet,” complained the soldier, shrugging. “At least, nothing that we’ve heard. Duke Eeron killed, obviously by high magic, though there are few in the territory who could challenge the duke’s strength. Baron Fedgley gone missing after the Dark Kind assaulted Falvar. Baron Worgon rebelling against Duke Eeron and getting felled on the field of battle… You see why my lord wanted the Lady Oswald out of Spinesend, eh? Dangerous times, it is, and we’re all waiting on Prince Valchon to come and sort it. Until he does… All I can offer is my sincere advice to watch your backs.”
“We’re ready,” called the footman from where he’d settled his mistress into the cart.
The soldier offered a curt wave. The footman clambered awkwardly onto the back of his horse, and the cart driver flapped the reins, getting the donkey walking.
Rew’s party gathered together and watched as Lady Oswald, her wailing baby, and the others rolled back to the road, headed away from Spinesend.
“Well,” said Anne, rubbing her hands together as if to wash the presence of the noblewoman off of them. “Shall we get packed and moving again?”
“We should,” said Rew, “but first there’s something I’ve got to tell you.”
For a week, they hiked south, following the highway toward Carff. The terrain was easy. Gentle hills, isolated stands of trees, and small settlements speckled a day or two apart. In peaceful times, Duke Eeron would send the occasional patrol along with a magistrate, checking in with each community, settling any disputes the village councils could not, and rooting out bandits that sought to establish themselves along the road where village militias were unable to handle them. For locals, travelers, and the bandits that preyed on both, it wasn’t so much the patrols that kept order but the threat of what would happen if they did not. No one, no matter what side of the law they were on, wanted to earn the duke’s full attention.
Because it wasn’t peaceful times, and there were no patrols keeping the bandits in check, there was a risk they would flourish. It was in the back of Rew’s head as they walked, but he found it difficult to focus on such an unknown risk. When he allowed himself to look ahead, he knew what waited for them in Carff, and that was enough to keep him tossing fitfully in his bedroll each night.
But when he kept himself in the present, it was impossible to ignore the lightness of the children’s footsteps and their easy smiles. Their buoyant attitudes annoyed him, but after a few days, he had to admit he’d been annoyed by their frantic demands of justice for their father as well. After a few more days, he began to envy them. They seemed to dance across the highway because they weren’t weighed by the same concerns that burdened him. They still believed their lot in life might be improving.
True, Zaine had nothing but the thieves’ guild behind her, and by now, she knew she could never return to that life, at least not in the Eastern Territory. Raif and Cinda had lost both of their parents—their mother in front of them in Falvar and their father in front of them at the hands of their sister in Spinesend. Their lives had been upended, and they were traveling far from anything they’d ever known. They’d lost the security that a privileged childhood brought. That didn’t mean the future was going to be better.
One evening, after they’d settled camp beneath a towering oak, fifty paces from a bubbling stream, Rew had taken one of the bottles Bressan had given him and sat down on the banks of the water. He pulled out a length of thread and a pin he’d stolen from Anne’s pack. Rew dug up several worms and skewered one of them on the pin, bending the thin metal into a hook. He tossed the line into the stream, letting the thread drift along the surface of an eddying pool of water while the worm dangled beneath. He unstopped the bottle and sipped the fiery liquor inside.
Anne, after starting a pot of soup for their supper
, came to join him. “Think you’ll have enough luck I can throw something in with the stew? I’ve had my fill of the salted meats we brought.”
Rew shrugged and pointed up at the sky. “I think it’ll be an hour before they start to bite. Right at sunset.”
“Then why are you fishing now?”
He smiled and did not respond.
Anne sat with him, enjoying his company.
After half an hour of silence, he told her, “I’m worried about the children.”
“More so than usual?” she replied with a grin.
He glanced back where Raif and Cinda were encouraging Zaine as she fired arrows at a series of targets they’d set up. “They seem… happy.”
Anne waited.
He looked at her.
“Is that it?” she asked.
“They’ve lost everything they ever knew. King’s Sake, Raif and Cinda lost both of their parents in front of their eyes. How can they not feel sorrow at that? But look at them. They’re laughing like they’re flirting at a feast day.”
“Rew, they are flirting.”
“That’s my point!”
Anne studied him for a time and then asked, “Rew, you haven’t told me much of your upbringing, but did you cry when your father passed away?”
He shook his head. “He’s not dead.”
Anne frowned at him.
“It’s different,” said Rew before she could think that through. “I—My father was never really a father to me. Fedgley, though, you heard him at the end. He cared for his children. Or, their legacy, at least. That’s something.”
“He cared only for his legacy,” corrected Anne flatly, “and if you recall, they both were rather upset when he died. But Rew, Baron Fedgley was no kind of father to those two. Not like what they deserved. He sent them away to Yarrow for three years, and they only returned to Falvar when they fled. Do you think Worgon showed the kind affection that any child craves? Cinda left Falvar when she was thirteen winters. Before that, she spent more time with Arcanist Ralcrist than Baron Fedgley. Think about this—Cinda would have barely flowered as a woman when she left for Yarrow. That’s a difficult time for a girl, and her parents sent her away in the middle of it.”
