The Morality of A Necromancer

by Elizabeth Guizzetti

  Byronia looked at her, opened her mouth and sat beside her. In her lyrical voice, she said, “I offer the bulk price of eight-seven Sovereigns of all four elfkin plus Balrea’s offspring.”

  The husband and wife stammered, their soft, delicate hands pleaded. The man made out, “Eighty-seven, but…”

  “Fine. An even hundred. Eighty-seven today and I’ll have my Great and Wise Sister send another thirteen upon delivery. Though I’d like to watch you bleed for what you have done.” Turning to Alana, Byronia said, still in the human tongue, “Our Empress would let them bleed for what they have done to our people.” Using Empress instead of Doyenne. The girl was smart.

  Since Byronia threatened them openly, Alana allowed the danger to linger in the air.

  The humans leaned back on their embroidered divan cushions, not moving. Their eyes opened wide. Sweat drew trails in their powdered brows.

  “My cousin is correct. We don’t want to cheat you, nor did I come to open your flesh, though I have every right to do so,” Alana said. “You may not buy or sell or keep any elfkin. Our people don’t condone slavery,” she lied. Plenty of the elfkin still condoned slavery.

  The woman glanced at her husband and took his hand.

  He opened his mouth, but only a panicked wheeze and spittle emerged.

  “A hundred and forty is a fair price. It’s a bulk purchase,” the mistress of the house said quickly. “We will take the eighty-seven today, and I expect fifty-three in short order. And a ten percent late fee if I don’t receive payment in, shall I say thirty days?”

  “You will receive the second payment, once we land upon our shores. Thirty days should be sufficient,” Alana said.

  *

  Chapter 7

  Daubmor Village in the Realm of Daouail

  Eohan slapped a mosquito which bit the bare flesh of his neck as he rode Cloudy up the rocky sun-dappled hillside. Cloudy swished her tail and neighed as Roark and Jaci got farther away. Though Cloudy was a large mare, she was carrying two riders and couldn’t keep up with Jaci’s pace.

  Behind him, Kian clenched Eohan’s waist a little tighter.

  Eohan patted his brother’s hand. “Remember what we taught you. Cloudy is a good horse.”

  “Yes, I remember,” but Kian did not let go. Eohan pushed down his annoyance be remembering when he met Cloudy he was terrified of her too. And he had been a youth of eighteen, not a boy of eleven.

  The wind carried the scent of smoke and elfkin over the rocks and into the valley. They had to pass through a village. An hour climb to the Guild, then they would be safe to rest before they would take a finely-kept Guild road to the Guild-controlled port on the other side of the mountain.

  Roark pointed at the three and four-story stucco buildings perched upon the hillside. He gestured to Eohan. “There is no more cover -- we might as well ride in the open.”

  Roark led them around a large rock to ensure he was out of sight of the washer women standing upon the low red tile roof, lying laundry on iron railings enclosing a private courtyard.

  On top of the hill, several white stucco buildings gleaming in the sun. Next, to the town gate, they passed a smaller building, smelling of feces and urine that people wearing ragged clothing entered and exited. The public latrine. The young men stopped to relieve themselves.

  They moved to the nearby public fountain from which barefoot Daosith, Fairsinge and Fate women and children carried buckets of water into and up the stairs of the buildings. A drooling old Daosith man stared out into space, but his eyes followed the passers-by as they dropped coins into his cup.

  The young men led the horses to the trough where the animals drank deeply. Roark and Eohan wiped down the mares as well as they could while still saddled. Kian hurried to the fountain again to refill the water sacks.

  Four Daosiths -- a woman and three men -- stepped in front of Kian.

  Eohan dropped the rag to the ground as the woman commanded in broken Fairsinger. “Name yourself, boy.”

  Kian cried out, “Han!”

  Only seconds passed, but time slowed. The distance between Kian himself seemed insurmountable. Eohan knew he would never forget his little brother screaming his name.

  Eohan said, “Roark!” as he dashed toward his brother.

  “Looks like the little thief from the bounty to me,” one of the men growled.

  Eohan rushed towards the Daosith, drawing his claymore. Roark was behind him. Barefoot women and children raced away from the fountain carrying whatever water they had collected, blocking a clear path to Kian.

  The first man lunged at Kian and caught hold of the loose tunic. The boy slipped to the ground and threw it off. The waterskins fell to the ground. The man reached for Kian again but never reached him as Eohan barreled into him. They tumbled onto the dirt road.

  “Only injure!” Roark shouted. It didn’t matter what Roark said, Eohan ensured the man who touched his brother never took another breath as his heavy blade entered his chest, crashing against his ribs and hitting his lungs.

  “For the love of the Goddess!” Roark cried. His companion might be annoyed Eohan killed someone, but there was no time to think that now. He sized up the next three opponents. They didn’t seem experienced enough to be from Guild though they were probably hired as muscle from time to time.

  The woman grabbed hold of Kian and pulled him off his feet. Careful not to hit Kian, Roark slashed his sword down in front of her, forcing her to stop short. With the knowledge Roark would protect Kian, Eohan took on the other two.

  Eohan punched his next opponent to the dirt. The man staggered back from the blow.

  His fist slammed into his opponent’s face again. His knuckles felt the bones underneath flesh give.

  *

  With one hand on the scruff of Kian’s tunic, the woman and pulled an iron cudgel from her belt. Kian tried to swing a fist at her, but, dancing on his tiptoes, he couldn’t get power. He tried to kick. “Thieves! Murderer!” she screamed.

  Roark never looked towards Kian; his eyes were focused only on his opponents, yet the look of determination as he advanced washed the terror from Kian’s heart.

  The woman swung her cudgel through the air forcing Roark to retreat two steps.

  Another man flanked Roark, but faster than Kian could see, the older apprentice spun, sliced an arch through the air and cut low towards the man’s thigh who fell to the ground screaming.

  Roark’s back was to her; the woman swung again.

  Kian realized each attack towards Roark pushed his captor off-balance. He waited until the correct moment. He kicked her in the knee. She crumpled onto the dirt, losing her weapon and her hold on him. He was free!

  With his unburdened hand, Roark shoved Kian towards Cloudy. “Run!”

  Quicker than expected, the woman clambered to her feet and pushed Roark onto the ground. Dust rose as he hit the road. She buried his head in the dirt with her knee in his back. He spat out muddy spit. Roark yanked his elbow back, rolled until her weight lifted off of him.

  Kian was supposed to run but saw an abandoned ceramic pot. He hauled it up in the air.

  Kian dashed the pot to the woman’s head. With a loud crash, ceramic shattered. The woman fell to the ground.

  Stunned, Kian didn’t move.

  “Go,” Roark shouted.

  “Did you see what I did!”

  “Yes! Go.”

  The boy grabbed the dropped water skins and raced to Cloudy. Roark hurried to aid Eohan who was still fighting the last man. He didn’t make it there when Eohan’s huge fist hit the temple of his opponent, and the man fell into the dirt.

  “Go, go.”

  Roark turned toward Kian and lifted him onto Jaci’s back. He leapt up behind him.

  Jaci reared. Kian feared falling but tried to hold tight. One of the men, now recovering, threw a stone towards them. Before it hit Kian, Roark blocked it with his arm.

  Eohan was on Cloudy. She scurried down the road.

  Like the nob
le Martlets in one of Pa’s old stories, Roark tossed three coppers in the air, they landed with a plink, plink, plink in the old man’s cup.

  Ahead of him, Cloudy cantered down the dirt road, and Eohan was forced to make a wide turn to miss a woman scolding her child.

  “Lowest Realm!” Roark’s turn was not as clean, but the child’s scream and the mother’s swear let him know that they were unhurt by his closeness.

  Kian glanced back to be sure. He wasn’t sure he’d ever forget the horrible open-jawed look of absolute terror on the woman’s face though she screamed obscenities after them. It reminded him too much of the look on his mother’s face when she tried to hold him tight, while the slavers ripped them apart.

  “Don’t worry, they were scared, but not hurt.”

  Behind them, three out of the four were getting to their feet.

  He didn’t know if they had horses. And Jaci carried two.

  Roark centered their balance by moving his feet directly below his hips and pulled Kian closer to his chest. Kian glanced up, but Roark’s eyes focused on the open road. He squeezed Jaci. She raced towards Cloudy and easily overtook the other horse.

  The road became a blur beneath their feet.

  As Jaci jumped over a log, a small whimper escaped his lips, but he refused to complain. He squeezed his eyes shut. Roark, please don’t let me fall.

  *

  The Guild House of Laithmor in the Realm of Daouail

  The horse’s hooves pounded the dirt road —only wide enough for a single cart. At times, Roark felt Jaci slipping in the loose soil, but his mare pushed on without his prodding. It was only another twenty miles or so, and they would be at the Guild House of Laithmor. Behind him, Cloudy, unburdened, kept pace.

  They crested a small plateau. Looking at the sweat on Jaci’s neck, he worried about Daouails’ two suns beating down upon them. After this temporary leveling, the road would still climb. “Ho there, girl.”

  In response, Eohan stopped Cloudy.

  “We ought to slow the pace,” Roark dismounted and helped Kian to the ground. “We’re safe enough. I’m worried for the mares.”

  “Agreed,” Eohan said.

  “Agreed,” Kian repeated.

  Roark scanned the hillside with his eyeglass. Below there was still no one following. The villagers who attacked them must not have the means to care for horses. That meant they were not members of the Guild. Thank the Goddess for that. Eohan would never forgive Roark if his little brother were killed.

  Above, Guild harvesters were collecting the dubfeid’s shedding on the open hillside as the herd of long-haired black deer with golden antlers grazed.

  The three picked their way up the hillside to the valley. Used to the Guild presence, the dubfeid ignored the young men and their horses as they ignored the harvesters. After a few hundred feet, Kian gasped with every step and fell slightly behind, but he did not complain even as damp sweat coated his tunic and his head drooped. The youngest apprentice kept shuffling forward until the ground leveled again.

  Roark led the way to the keep built into a rocky hillside of black and white speckled granite. Larger than the Guild House at Olentir, unbroken spires of the keep reached towards the heavens slicing the larger of the two suns in half. It seemed peaceful, but Roark knew within tiny unseen holes, guards watched for approaching violence. They crossed under the first gate where the party was welcomed by the hooded sentries.

  Cupping his hand, Roark touched his thumb to his forefinger and gestured across his chest. “We’re the apprentices of War Ender Alana, seeking shelter and audience with Guild Surgeon Seweryn if he’s here. Or another surgeon if he’s not.”

  The guard gestured in kind and opened the door. Another saluted and asked if he could care for the horses.

  “Indeed.”

  He wrote out numbers on a slip of paper and said, “Stables fifteen and sixteen.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jaci neighed until Roark patted her nose. Cloudy nuzzled her way in too. Then followed the Guild Stablehand towards the stables. They knew the routine.

  Once inside, Roark winced at the sound of Kian’s footsteps on the stone floor. He didn’t want to embarrass the boy, so he said nothing, though he imagined Eohan carrying him on his back. He led them first into the refectory where chefs moved between the long heavy wooden tables with platters of food. However, he didn’t want to draw more attention to himself, he nodded his head to the music. Candles flickered in overhead lanterns casting moving shadows on the bright-limed plaster which covered most of the walls.

  They slipped onto wooden stools before an empty table. A group of Daosith men sang a traditional song in the corner. He listened to the story and wondered if he should translate it for Eohan’s whose Daosithian was still shoddy -- except the few words of love he had picked up from Nalla. From the little he had heard, Kian knew some Daosithian as was necessary for his former situation.

  Roark gestured at a server and in Daosithian, said, “Food, water only please.”

  Quickly, a server dropped off cups of crystal clear water. Another dropped off bread and ceramic bowls each with a young hen stewed with sour fruit.

  Roark couldn’t relax. A guild member was supposed to be above nationality, Great House, or species, but rules don’t follow an intelligent species heart. He didn’t even know if he could trust Lord Seweryn if he learned Roark committed a regicide amongst the Daosithians. As with the Fairsinge Guild Members, most Guild members in Daouail were nobleborn. Eohan blended in somewhat, but it was obvious. Kian ate too quickly. His fingers kept fidgeting over the cutlery as if it burned him.

  Across the table, a Daosithian woman whispered to a man. Her tawny eyes did not move from Roark’s face. He didn’t think he knew her.

  “Let’s find a free cabinet. They’re this way.”

  They crossed stone pavers in the open yard to the barracks. Roark still felt as if everyone was looking at them.

  They entered the long hallway. Most of the doors were marked with a symbol. Roark led them to a blank door, knocked just in case, then opened the door. It whined on its hinges. He peeked inside. The room was empty except the large bed and trunk. The stone floor is covered by a jute carpet which thankfully would muffle any sound Kian made. He took the chalk and drew the eagle in a diamond for House Eyreid. He mimicked Alana’s hand, hoping everyone would assume the War Ender was with them.

  “Let’s get a few hours sleep and get out of here,” Eohan said softly.

  “You notice the couple?”

  “Yes.”

  Roark pressed his ear to the wooden door and listened for footsteps in the hallway. There were none to be heard -- not that meant anything -- nearly all Guild members walked in silence after their first month of training -- even the stewards. He slipped a mirror under the door, the hallways were crowded, but silent. He was in a Guild House, surrounded by assassins, intelligent surveyors, surgeons, guards, War Enders -- all walking without sound. Alana trusted me, and I failed her, it was a mistake to come here with Kian. I took the wrong path.

  “But we’re here,” Eohan said from the bed behind him. “We all need sleep, and the horses need to be rested.”

  As he turned around, Roark realized Eohan had read his mind.

  “I don’t need to read your mind to see what you are thinking,” the older apprentice said.

  Roark smiled wanly. “And if they come for us?”

  “Being unrested won’t help.”

  Roark lay on the other side of Kian who had already fallen asleep. He whispered, “I thought taking a Guild ship was best, but now …” He looked up towards the bare ceiling and tried to come up with something. “Since they are looking for an arena prizefighter, maybe your body is giving us away.”

  “I can slouch more.”

  “Yes! And what if we padded your stomach? Give you a paunch? With cosmetics, I can make you look older. You can pretend to be the master.” Roark’s thought was interrupted by a letter slipped under the door. Roa
rk went to retrieve it.

  You want to see me? Kajsa holds Chamber 17. It was reported the person who killed the Empress also stole the ruby around her throat -- or if they didn’t, they are fools.

  S

  “We’re saved or sarded. Unsure which,” Roark said. “Seweryn and Kajsa are here.”

  “Doriel, too?” Eohan shook his brother’s shoulder.

  “I’d assume so.”

  “But I just fell asleep,” Kian muttered, then sat up straight and jumped off the bed, close to his brother.

  “We’re still safe, I think,” Roark said. “But we need to see some people.”

  The three apprentices emptied the trunk of extra bedding and stuffed it under the blankets, so it looked as if they were still under the covers, carefully gathered their gear and crept down the long hallway to one of the larger chambers. They passed an old woman sweeping the floor. They could not see her dark skin under her hood, but her silver eyes watched them.

  Roark knocked on the door of Chamber 17.

  “Roark, Eohan, it’s good to see you, and you must be Kian. Your brother spoke of you often.” Lord Seweryn, said, standing and opening his arms wide. His silver hair was freshly washed, and laundry hung on the line. His obsidian skin caught the light and Roark was surprised Seweryn was sort of handsome when he wasn’t struggling with the Soldier’s Melancholy. Though she was nearly twenty years his senior, Seweryn, and Alana even had a short love affair, he could almost see what his aunt had seen in him.

  Behind him at the table sat Lady Kajsa, a dwarf swordswoman and by her side as always was Doriel Angrock: her brother-in-law and brother-in-arms. Their golden hair and full beards were neatly plaited. Doriel was shining armor, and Kajsa was sharpening her claymore. Though unsure of their intentions, Roark was glad to see them. Kajsa was once Alana’s apprentice.

  “Don’t haunt a doorway, come inside,” Kajsa said. Her rich blue eyes glimmered in the candlelight, and her cheeks looked rosy, but the shriek of the whetstone against the long blade unnerved him.