Awakening Camelot: A Wizard's Quest (Awakening Camelot Duology Book 1)

by Dan Wingreen

  Eallair studied him in confusion for a moment, then his eyes widened in surprise. "You're scared!" He grinned.

  The necromancer glared.

  "You're not even denyin’ it!" Eallair said with delight. "I don't even believe it. A necromancer that's too bloody scared to turn himself into a lich. Is it the pain? Because I've heard it hurts a lot when you rip your soul out your body and shove it into—"

  "He is not scared!"

  Aidan blinked in confusion. The voice had come from the necromancer's mouth, but it was harsh and strong and slightly sibilant, nothing like the jagged, labored voice he'd been using.

  "He is the greatest practitioner of the necromantic arts the tribes have seen in centuries and you will treat him with respect!"

  It was definitely the necromancer speaking. His lips moved and his face contorted with anger, but why did it suddenly seem so much easier for him to speak?

  And why in the ancient hells is he talking in the third person?

  "Oh, I get it," Eallair said, nodding. "You're insane, then?"

  The necromancer snorted in contempt. "Insane? The pale devil from the east doesn't know as much as he claims if insanity is where his mind goes when confronted with our magnificence. Disappointing. Take what we need from him and be done with it."

  Aside from rapid blinking, there was no change in the necromancer that Aidan could see, but when he spoke again, it was with the voice they'd first heard.

  "You promised…you would ask…before taking over."

  "He was insulting you."

  "Does it matter?"

  "Of course it matters."

  The necromancer sighed. "It does not. You are still…upset…that it failed."

  "Of course I am! It almost killed you, and if you die…"

  "You don't need…to remind me. I'm in…no hurry…for either of us…to die."

  The necromancer's lips pulled into a thoughtful frown. "After we take him…we could always try again—"

  "No!" The necromancer shook his head forcefully. "We can't…risk it. He is right… the power…is burning up…my body. If we…fail again…we might die. And even if…we don't…we will not run…into someone…like him again. We would burn…out…within days. We must…grow strong."

  "We are strong." It sounded like a reflexive denial though.

  "We are not," the necromancer said gently. He looked at Eallair and Aidan, seeming to see them for the first time since he started talking to himself. He smiled slowly. "But we will be."

  That sounds ominous.

  Eallair must have thought so, too, because he tensed up next to Aidan.

  "Grab them."

  It took Aidan a second to realize he wasn't talking to "himself", but by then it didn't matter. The undead that must have sneaked up behind them while they were focused on the necromancer—since when are they that silent?—reached through the "bars" of their cage, and took hold of them. Two hands gripped each one of Aidan's arms and pulled him so his back was against the stone. Another hand reached in and grabbed him tightly around the throat. It was cold and clammy and disgusting and Aidan wished with everything he was that the last touch he was ever going to feel was Eallair and not some dead thing.

  It didn't choke him to death like he'd expected though. The hand held him just tight enough to keep his neck against the spikes, but not enough so that he couldn't breathe. Eallair was similarly trapped. They must have gotten him before he could put a shield up. He was struggling, but the undead were deceptively strong and even Eallair couldn't break free.

  He did, however, have one palm facing outwards.

  And that was all he needed.

  A white-hot stream of fire flew from his hand, not towards the undead holding him but through the cage and right towards the necromancer, directly in front of them and so stupidly close—

  Only to hit a shield.

  The fire died and the necromancer lowered his outstretched hand.

  "Try that…again…and I'll have them…break his neck."

  Eallair's jaw clenched. He looked at Aidan, pained apology flashing in his eyes.

  I should be the one apologizing. He could probably do something if it wasn't for me.

  But, now wasn't the time for the pity parade. Aidan had promised himself if they were ever in this kind of situation he wouldn't be a burden. He'd be useful.

  So, be useful, idiot.

  He gave Eallair a reassuring smile. Unfortunately, that was the best he could do. If only he'd learned how to use his magic before they…

  But you can't, so think of something else.

  "Are you…going…to behave?" the necromancer asked.

  Eallair's eyes narrowed as he looked back at him, but he nodded jerkily.

  "Say it," the necromancer snapped, his other voice dripping with satisfaction.

  "I'll behave," Eallair said through gritted teeth.

  The necromancer smirked. "Just like an eastern dog. Snapping and biting until we find the right leash. Stay still, dog, this won't take long."

  The necromancer closed his eyes and started muttering under his breath.

  That can't be good.

  Aidan looked around, as much as he could, trying to find any way he could get them out of this. Unfortunately, unless he wanted to use his magic—which would kill the necromancer and a good number of the undead but would also have the less than ideal side effect of killing Eallair and probably Aidan as well—he couldn't see any way out. He couldn't even move. All he could do was breathe and talk—

  Oh. That might work.

  "Why are you doing this?" Aidan asked.

  "Don't," Eallair said under his breath.

  "Shh!" Aidan hissed. He didn't dare try to say anything else.

  The necromancer didn't even open his eyes. "Be…quiet." He went back to muttering.

  Dammit. No, don't give up, try again. The second voice seemed much more talkative, maybe if he could get that one out again?

  "But, you're a Shaman, right? You're already powerful. I've seen Shamans work, and they can do amazing things…so why be a necromancer? Especially since you don't seem like you want to turn into one of those lich things."

  The necromancer paused, opening his eyes. "I am…a very powerful…Shaman."

  "Then why be a necromancer, too?"

  "I'm not…powerful…enough," he said quietly.

  Aidan licked his lips nervously, but pushed on. "Then why not be a lich? They sound pretty powerful. Unless…are you scared?"

  "He is not scared!" the necromancer snarled.

  Aidan had to fight the urge to let out a triumphant laugh. It was working. Maybe if he kept him talking long enough Eallair could figure out a way to get out of this. It wasn't one of the best plans, and it definitely relied on way too much "somehow", but Eallair seemed to thrive on "somehow", so it had a good chance of working. Aidan hoped.

  "Okay," Aidan said. "You're not scared. Then…why? Why do you even need to be more powerful?"

  "To take revenge on the eastern devils for what they did to us. To take revenge on the tribes for what they did to me. So the world will know our glory and tremble at our names—"

  The necromancer cut himself off with a sigh. "You're doing…it again. Stop getting…carried away. We need…to concentrate."

  No you don't!

  "But what did the People do to you? Did they try to kick you out of being Shaman or something?"

  "Don't call us that! We are not a 'People'! We are tribes. Separate! Not one. With history and culture and blood feuds that cannot be ignored just because we're too scared to do what needs to be done!"

  The necromancer's enraged snarl melted into another sigh, this one of resignation. He gestured with his hand and the floor just behind him rose up and formed into a rock chair. He sat down in it wearily.

  "I am not…standing up…for this," he muttered.

  Almost immediately, he went from resignation to barely contained energy.

  "The power of death would have saved us! Raised us up an
d destroyed the eastern devils under our feet. You wouldn't even be alive if they had listened to me."

  "What are you talking about?" Aidan asked, pushing down his own uneasiness. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to antagonize someone who was this obviously crazy, but now that he'd started, he couldn't exactly stop. "Is that why your…tribe, kicked you out? Because you wanted to start the war again?"

  "Start it again? I wanted to win it back when it first began!"

  Aidan blinked. "But…that was hundreds of years ago. You can't even be more than forty. And you aren't a lich, so you can't live forever."

  Actually, Aidan wasn't sure about that, he was just guessing based on what Eallair said. He hoped Eallair's silence meant Aidan was right, or better yet, that he was trusting Aidan to do what he was doing and working on a way to escape.

  "Willfully blind and ignorant, just like the other one. No doubt you think us insane as well."

  "I am not…a lich," the necromancer cut himself off again. "But he was."

  "Who was?" Aidan asked hesitantly, even though he thought he was starting to understand.

  "Me," said the second voice. It sounded satisfied and smug.

  Aidan licked his lips, suddenly wondering whether the necromancer was insane. If he was, it seemed to be a very specific kind of insanity.

  "And who are you?"

  "I am the last Shaman of the Paiute tribe. The one who would have wiped out the eastern invaders. Murdered and hidden, found and risen; I have returned to deliver my revenge upon the world."

  "Always…so dramatic," the necromancer said fondly.

  "Important events should be spoken of with gravity."

  "Bloody hell," Eallair said under his breath. "There are really two people in there."

  "Yes…there are," the necromancer said, obviously having heard him.

  "How is that even possible?" Eallair asked in fascination, apparently assuming that being acknowledged meant he didn't need to keep quiet anymore. "You should be dead."

  The necromancer's lips quirked into a wry smile. "Do I look…healthy…to you?"

  "But how did it happen?" Eallair didn't seem to be worried about pressing his luck, so Aidan kept quiet. It was what he would have asked and it seemed to be working, he just had to hope Eallair was still trying to figure out a way to get free and wasn't just caught up in his usual fascination with something new.

  The necromancer didn't say anything after that; neither of them did. He just looked off into the distance, not really focusing on anything, seemingly lost in thought. It would have been a great opportunity to do something, but Aidan still had no idea what to do. After a few moments, the necromancer started to speak, and Aidan decided the best thing he could do was listen. Maybe he'd say something that would give them some idea of how to get out of this.

  "I was…the Shaman…for the village…to the east…of the one…you came from—"

  "—they don't even name their villages. They're all 'the village over here' or 'to the east of that one'; they have no name, no pride, no sense of self—"

  "—and it is…killing us." He let out a hacking cough. It didn't last as long as the last one, but it shook his whole body and when he was done the dark circles under his eyes were even darker. "We have…nothing. We shut…ourselves off…from the world…that was ours. Bound ourselves…to the deserts…and unwanted plains…and told…ourselves that…we were safe. All while…you…infest the world…that we lost. That we should…be taking back."

  "But they're weak. They've bound themselves to barren lands. Too many living in an area that is only meant to support a few. They die, more and more each year. They lack the strength and the will to take what they never should have given up! If your king knew the truth of the 'great shaman horde', the weakness and the rot, he would blow through these lands and wipe them out in under a month."

  "We need…power. But we are…unwilling to do…what must be done."

  "Nothing ever changes. Idiots breed and pass their idiocy on to their children and spawn an entire culture of idiots!"

  "I turned…to necromancy. But even that…wasn't enough. We are too few…we die too slow…our corpses…rot…useless in the ground. But then…I found…a scroll. Passed down…in my family. It spoke…of a great…and powerful Shaman…"

  "It spoke of me, and my betrayal. Four hundred years ago my tribe ruled this desert, with me as Shaman at the head of our war host. I was there when the other tribes came, battered and broken at the hands of the eastern invaders; but instead of slaughtering them and using their corpses to destroy the foreign taint, our chief welcomed them. He gave up our identity and history and had the effrontery to say that I was an insane relic, that my arts, which had protected our tribe for over a hundred years, were foul and tainted!" The necromancer shook with anger. "He was weak, and scared, and not fit to rule. Yet the rest of the tribe sided with him. I tried to kill them, to raise them as my immortal army and sweep the eastern devils from our continent, but they were too many. They killed me…but they could not destroy this."

  He reached into the collar of his shirt and pulled out a small token that was attached to the end of a leather cord around his neck. It was a piece of what looked like bone, carved into the snarling face of a coyote.

  "Your phylactery," Eallair breathed.

  "Yes," he hissed, not even trying to hide it. Aidan felt his heart speed up as he remembered what Eallair said before. You could kill a lich by destroying its phylactery. The idiot had just told them exactly how to kill him!

  "They burned my body, but they could not burn this. So instead they buried it. They used the magic of the surviving tribes' weak Shamans to put it deep within the earth where no one would ever find it and where I could not reform my body."

  "And that is…where I…found it. My ancestor…kept records…of everything…that happened during…the forming…of the People. I found…the location. I unearthed…the phylactery. And I used…my powers…to raise him. A teacher…who could make us…strong again. To wage a war…that should…have been won…centuries ago." He sighed. "But I…made a mistake."

  "It wasn't your fault," the necromancer said harshly. "The ritual is complex and dangerous, and you were performing it for the first time without knowing what you were doing. A lesser necromancer would have killed us both."

  The necromancer's fierce expression melted into a small smile. With sudden insight Aidan realized, in some kind of twisted way, they actually liked each other.

  "Instead…of reviving him…in his own body…I bound…our souls…together…in mine. We tried…to separate them—"

  "But we're stronger together."

  "We tried…to turn ourselves…into a lich—"

  "But the spell failed—"

  "And almost…killed us."

  "Bloody hell…" Eallair said. "That…should have killed you. Both of them things should have killed you." He cocked his head thoughtfully. "But, it is killing you, isn't it? I mean, necromancy slowly kills the user on its own, but if you bound yourselves together and failed a liching spell, it has to be drainin’ you constantly."

  "It is," the necromancer said. "We are…dying."

  "And that"—the necromancer smiled; it was a cruel, avaricious smile—"is why we need you."

  "You…are different," he said. "We have never…sensed anything…like you…before."

  "The magic in you is powerful and old, and if you won't use it then we will. We will bind your soul with ours, heal ourselves with your essence, and then the kingdom of the eastern devils will know our wrath! We will slaughter the weak People and use their corpses as our army, killing and reaping until there is nothing left but us standing atop an empire of the dead that will spread across the entire world! We will be eternal, and not even the mad god that rules your kingdom can stop us!"

  Aidan stared at him in horror. No, I was right, definitely insane. They're both definitely insane.

  "Right then," Eallair said. "Um, before you get on with the reapin’, can you answer me
one question?"

  "No!"

  Eallair's mouth dropped open slightly. "Seriously?" he asked. "No one ever says 'no' there. That's a load of crap, that is. Had a good one lined up, too."

  The second he was done speaking a stream of fire shot out from his fingers. It was thin but even hotter than before, blistering Aidan's exposed skin on the hand nearest Eallair. The necromancer's eyes widened in surprise. He tried to raise a shield, but he was caught off guard and it was too late. Enough of the fire got through and struck the bone charm hanging over the necromancer's chest, incinerating it instantly. He threw himself off the chair and out of the path of the fire, but the damage was already done.

  The phylactery was destroyed.

  Go Lee!

  "Fun fact about bone," Eallair said cheerfully. "It don’t actually burn. Just sorta cracks into a million different pieces under extreme heat. Kinda interesting, yeah?"

  The necromancer pushed himself to his feet, staring in disbelief at the spot where the phylactery used to be.

  Then, instead of dying, he began to laugh.

  "You wasted…your chance…to kill us…on a bone…carving?" His laughter quickly turned into another coughing fit.

  "But…but that's your phylactery!" Eallair gaped. "Destroyin’ that’s supposed to kill you!"

  "Idiot! This body is the phylactery! Did you think I would be stupid enough to show you the necklace if you could use it to harm us?"

  "No…that's…it doesn't work that way! You can't make a body a phylactery! It needs to be somethin’ inanimate.” Eallair was frantic, eyes wide, veins building in his neck as he strained to get away from the iron grip of the undead. “It don’t work that way!"

  "It does…for us," the necromancer said.

  "How!?"

  "We have answered more than enough questions for one day. Perhaps when you join with us, in the instant before we devour your soul, you will see into ours and know all you wish to know. But for now…" He glanced at Aidan.

  Oh, shit…

  "Your punishment."

  "No!"

  Eallair had barely gotten the word out when the hand around Aidan's neck started to squeeze. He struggled, but it was pointless. The other hands were holding him too tightly; he couldn't do anything but kick his feet uselessly. His vision started to swim as his throat desperately tried to choke down air that wouldn't come.