The Necromancer Series Box Set

by Deck Davis

  So, he’d take whatever punishment they wanted to give him. He just hoped it wouldn’t be more than a few months before they let him go out into the field again.

  “Come in, Jakub,” said a voice.

  Pushing back the dread in his stomach, Jakub went back into the room and faced his three judges.

  Madam Lolo shuffled the papers in front of her, but Irvine and Henwright stared at him, their gazes cold.

  “Novice Russo,” said Irvine. “This inquiry finds that not only did you fail in your field assignment, but you derelicted duty, broke the codes of our academy, and worse, put the queendom in unnecessary danger. We hereby expel you from service to the academy.”

  The words bore deep into him, down into the pit of his stomach.

  He sank back into the chair, cold, unable to believe it.

  Not just punished, but expelled. How? How could they do this?

  “Get Kortho here. He’ll tell you-”

  “Enough. You will be escorted to the dorms to collect your belongings. Hand your soul necklace and academy robes to the quartermaster,” said Irvine.

  Madam Lolo looked up. He saw pity in her eyes again. “You can take whatever gold and items you looted in the field,” she said. “That will get you a room in town, until you find work.”

  The three spoke at him, but he didn’t hear their words anymore. Instead, all he heard was expelled, expelled, expelled.

  He took out his soul necklace and threw it to the floor. The crystal shattered, and the precious essence dispersed into the air.

  As Irvine shouted something to him, Jakub left the room.

  CHAPTER 6

  Ten years of work and study taken away in an hour. They hadn’t been interested in what he had to say; the whole thing was a pre-determined slapfest the second they invited him to it. They’d drawn him down a dark alley and then leapt out of the shadows, knives drawn.

  It had all happened so quickly, too. It took time to get anything worthwhile. Study, practice, work. It didn’t matter if you were training as a blacksmith or nurturing a relationship, it took persistence, and things didn’t come quickly.

  But when they were taken away from you, it was barely a blink.

  One sudden injury to his hands could end a blacksmith’s career. An accident or an illness could take away your relationship.

  Anything worth having was hard to get, and anything worth having could be lost so easily.

  He shouldn’t have thrown his soul necklace, he knew that. It was petty behavior, and it’d hardly make Lolo and Henwright look at him better.

  Irvine, though, well he didn’t care about Irvine. The guy had taught Jakub a lot over the years, but he’d only done that for Kortho’s sake. He’d had it out for Jakub from the start.

  He needed a beer. Ten beers. Maybe a bottle of whiskey. He’d looted a fine vintage of Gremlin Lout whiskey on his mission, but he’d given it away to a teen named Rud.

  Rud…he hoped he was okay.

  Probably doing better than me.

  The necromancy hall door opened and the three instructors strode out. Lolo and Henwright looked surprised to see him; maybe they’d expected him to have left by now, and they had waited in the hall just long enough to avoid an awkward encounter.

  Lolo and Henwright went down the opposite side of the hallway, away from Jakub. Irvine, though, approached him. Wearing his denim and his shirt, if you took Irvine out of the academy he’d look like a regular guy. No way you’d think he was a master necromancer.

  Jakub had to clench his fist inside his pocket as Irvine approached. This man had put a stick of dynamite up his ass and blown his future to a thousand pieces, all because he’d failed an assignment.

  He turned away and started to walk. There was no telling what he’d say to Irvine right now, and he didn’t want to lose his cool again. One act of petulance was enough for today. He was at least mature enough to know that was what throwing his soul necklace had been – something a child would do.

  Kortho would have chewed him out until he was all gristle and crumbs.

  “Jakub,” said Irvine.

  Irvine had bags under his eyes, and his breath smelled like tobacco.

  “What is it?” said Jakub.

  “Best not to leave with anger churning in your gut. Sometimes the sun peaks from behind the darkest clouds, and you just have to wait for them to move a little.”

  “I need to think about where I’m going to stay tonight, otherwise those clouds are going to piss all over me.”

  Irvine held out his hand. There was a rectangular glass token in it.

  “Give this to quartermaster Tomkins. Instructors get one of these a month; just a perk of the job. It will get you a few coins from my expense allowance.”

  Jakub wanted so badly to take it, because it would help. But if he did, he’d be reaching up to grab the hand of the man that had pushed him off the cliff in the first place.

  Although he wanted to leave the academy with as much dignity as he could, the academy lessons of practicality were still deep in him. These were the same practicalities that said there was nothing immoral about drawing soul essence from the dead, nor from looting possessions from a corpse.

  The same lessons would surely say taking the token was more important than his dignity.

  He took it. “Thanks,” he said.

  “Some things are personal, but others are just business. I hope you see that, Jakub. With the queendom the way it is, standards have to change around here. Failure used to be tolerated a learning exercise. Now, when one institution fails, another sees its chance to gain favor. Gold answers a lot of questions, so the academy can’t afford to be seen in a lesser light.”

  “This was about money?”

  “We take in twenty or so children a year. Some of them with families, but many without. Or, at least, without families who care for them; a family living hand-to-mouth will gladly sell their fourth child to ease the upbringing of their other three. So many children each year, it isn’t easy. They must be fed, given equipment, taught. That means more space, it means buying food, paying instructors, and sometimes, we must resort to employing men like Mason D’Angelt. Sometimes I feel more like an accountant than an instructor.”

  “I don’t see how spending money on training me for ten years and then expelling me on my first failing is cost effective.”

  “Where failure was once known simply a means of improvement, it is now seen as intolerable. The more assignments that are completed as the queen wishes, the more bargaining chips we have at the table of the nobles where gold is coveted and fought over.”

  “Good to know I was chosen to set an example. Thanks for the token, Irvine, but I better pack my shit up.”

  “The academy is open to you when times are rough. Come and see us if you are in trouble.”

  “It warms my heart to know the academy always has my back.”

  Irvine put his hand on Jakub’s shoulder. “They say that Ms. Marsh’s resurrection was a success,” he said. “But I wouldn’t advise anyone to try and sneak to the resurrection chambers, because it will be a while before she wants company.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “There’s a lot in the air. Truths, half-truths, suppositions. We’ll get the rest of it when the girl can speak. I only tell you this, Jakub, to warn anyone already in trouble from getting into more of it. Perhaps if such a person knew Abbie was back with us, they might not feel the need to break into a necromancy chamber.”

  “Supposing a person just lost their access to the academy? How would they find out more about Abie’s recovery?”

  “The Queen’s mail carriers visit the academy twice a day, and I usually complete my correspondence in the evenings. Take care,” said Irvine. He gave Jakub’s shoulder a squeeze and then left.

  Alone, Jakub felt his throat dry up. It wasn’t the most necromancial thing, to get sad like that, but it was down to Irvine.

  He’d been kind - that was the kicker. Jakub could dea
l with him being a bastard, but not with him being reasonable. That was what it was; his words made a horrible kind of sense. How broke the academy was, how the nobles in the queen’s palace bickered over funds. It was just a pity that a rookie necromancer had to take a slap in the face to spare the academy pain of its own.

  No use dwelling. It was mid-afternoon now, so he needed to find a place to stay for tonight. He was going to have to head to the capital city of Dispolis, or maybe stop in a tavern on the way.

  For that, he needed to go get his coins and his loot, and see how far it would take him.

  That was only the short term, though. What was he going to do after that? What about the rest of his life?

  Ever since he came to the academy, his future had always been so sure, so mapped out. It was a bridge stretching from his life to his death, hopefully years from now, and all he had to do was walk across it. He’d trained as a necromancer in the Queen’s academy, and that was what he’d be until his skin sagged and his hair began to grey. Now the bridge was falling apart, and he didn’t know which way to go.

  Maybe he could go and see Kortho. Go to the Racken Hills and see his mentor and friend, and decide from there. Kortho’s wife, Wersini, said Jakub was always welcome, and she made the most amazing beef pies. There’d be a fire and beer, and he could listen to Kortho’s stories and let his mind wander until he knew what to do with his future.

  Yeah, that was what he would do. First, he needed to grab his things.

  CHAPTER 7

  Luckily for Jakub, he’d been given a private room in the academy back when he was a kid and he’d first described some of his nightmares to Irvine.

  These were nighttime visages of his family and of the things he’d seen them do. Whether he really believed it or just said it for show, Irvine thought it made Jakub dangerous, and he’d told him to move to a private room.

  Where once it had isolated him from the other students, now it meant he could leave without having to see them, without needing to answer their questions or react to their gossip.

  There would be a lot of that – with nothing better to do when classes were over, the students who didn’t care about practice or extra study loved to talk crap about the rest of them.

  He opened his private bedroom door only to stare at a fleshy, pale arse.

  There was a guy getting undressed in there.

  “The hell?” said Jakub.

  The boy turned, his eyes lit in shock. He grabbed a pair of trousers and tried to put his leg in, but missed and then lurched forward, smashing his head into the wall.

  “What the fuck is going on?” said Jakub.

  “Oh, gods. My head.”

  Jakub looked around. He saw a mage staff – the cheap oak kind they issued to novices – propped up by the bed, a stack of spell scrolls on the floor, and paper posters of a mage with red eyes and a thick beard on the walls.

  Jakub knew the mage in the posters – he was Mage Wyrecast, a pretty famous mage, actually. That wasn’t the point, though.

  “You’ve got the wrong room. Where’s all my stuff?”

  “In your own room, maybe? You tried looking there?” said the boy.

  He was an undergraduate by the looks of him, since his eyes were free from the black rings most graduates had after years of study. He was pale as hell, which meant a lot coming from a necromancer. His hair was short and looked like he’d cut it himself with scissors, and a faint coating of stubble covered his cheeks and jaws. It was patchy, the kind of two-day beard a teen would grow before he matured enough for a full one.

  “I’ve had the worst day,” said Jakub. “How about you tell me what the hell you are doing in my room?”

  “Huh? I just got transferred from Templeton Academy for Mages. They moved me in here today.”

  “Who told you this was your room?”

  “Quartermaster Tomkins.”

  “Damn it. Inquiry, my ass. They’d already decided I was leaving before I even set foot in there.”

  “I’m sorry if-”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Jakub. “It’s not your fault. This used to be my room, that’s all.”

  “You’re a necromancer, aren’t you?”

  “How do you know?”

  “You have that look.”

  “Grumpy? Pissed off? That’s the look of someone who’s had a gods-awful day.”

  “I’m Troutan Wyrecast,” said the boy. “They call me Trout back at Templeton. But I prefer it if people around here didn’t, actually. So I don’t know why I just told you that…”

  “Trout Wyrecast?”

  “Not Trout. Damn it, shouldn’t have said anything…”

  “The beauty of nicknames is you never know when you’re gonna get ‘em, or who’ll give them to you. Sometimes, Trout, you give them yourself. So you’re related to Mage Wyrecast?”

  “He’s my grandfather. Hell of a legacy to live up to, huh? I guess that’s why they transferred me here. I was failing at Templeton, so they thought the Queen’s Academy might make me get my shit together.”

  “It’d be good to have met you on a different day, Trout, but you’ve caught me at the wrong time. Did they say where they were moving my stuff?” asked Jakub.

  He shook his head. “Sorry.”

  “Well, enjoy the room, and enjoy the view,” he said, nodding at the window. “You get a good view of the constellations at night. Either that, or you can see the horse dung heap just past the courtyard.”

  He left the room. He wanted to be annoyed at Trout, but it wasn’t his fault. Any anger Jakub had needed to be directed at Irvine, Henwright, and Lolo, because they’d already given up Jakub’s room before he’d even gone into his inquiry meeting.

  First they’d made Kortho retire, and now this. It was a sham start to finish, and no matter what he’d said in his inquiry he was always destined to be leaving the academy tonight. He was only surprised they even went through with the charade.

  Well, he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him upset about it. It was time to find his stuff and hit the road. He needed to see Kortho.

  As he walked to quartermaster Tomkins’ office, he turned the token Irvine had given him over in his hand. It was then that he realized there was a paper note stuck to it.

  He took it out and unraveled it, and there, in Irvine’s handwriting, were some words.

  Find the Black Cleric in Dispolis if you need work.

  Get rid of this note.

  The Black Cleric? Jakub had never heard of him, but at least it was a start. Maybe he’d misjudged Irvine, after all. Sure, they’d already decided what was going to happen to him before the inquiry, but at least Irvine had tried to help. Madam Lolo, who he’d always thought of as his second favorite instructor after Kortho, had just walked away.

  He navigated the winding halls of the academy, getting to Tomkins’ office just as the quartermaster was locking up.

  “Jakey,” Tomkins said, smiling. It was what he’d always called him, and was the only nickname Jakub had earned in his ten years in the academy.

  There were worse nicknames to get, he supposed, but there was always a twinge of sadness when he heard it. Tomkins’ son had been called Jakey, and Tomkins had never been the same after he died, and Kortho failed in his resurrection ritual.

  Having a dead boy’s nickname never sat well with him, but Jakub had always tried to ignore it. He’d spent a lot of time with Tomkins in the evenings when the other students were playing games and stuff. The old quartermaster just needed a kid his son’s age to talk to, so Jakub had given him that.

  Jakub offered the quartermaster his hand to shake. “I guess you’ve heard,” he said. “This is it.”

  Tomkins pulled him into a hug, squeezing him hard against his chest.

  Jakub felt his eyes sting then, but he pushed the feeling back.

  “A damn shitshow,” said Tomkins. “Corrupt to the core, the lot of them. It’s not right, Jakey. One mistake, and you’re out? Is that an example
to set?”

  “I think an example is exactly what they were looking for.”

  “Might be time for me to leave, too. First Kortho’s gone, then you. The nights are getting lonelier.”

  “Irvine said I can still come by, time to time.”

  “Where are you gonna go?” said Tomkins.

  “Thought I might see Kortho, but I don’t know after that. I need to collect my gear, and then I’m gonna see Abbie. They won’t tell me anything about her.”

  “I heard. Those rituals…”

  Tomkins drifted off then, his eyes glazed. Jakub wanted to kick himself for bringing up the rituals. He wanted to ask the quartermaster more about it, but that would just be a knife in the gut for a man who had lost his son and couldn’t even have him brought back.

  He changed the subject. “Some chubby mage kid told me that you’d know where my gear is.”

  “Mage Wyrecast’s grandson? Yeah, we’ve got a real celebrity in our halls, ain’t we? That family is mage royalty. I don’t see him living up to the name, though. Hold on, Jakey.”

  Tomkins unlocked the quartermaster office and fetched a box. Jakub took it from him.

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s all there; I packed it up myself. I put a little extra surprise in there for you, too.”

  That was just like Tomkins; always thinking of other people.

  “Don’t leave me in suspense…what is it?”

  Tomkins scratched his ear. “When I heard about your inquiry, I guessed you might need a new soul necklace. I found one ages ago and left it in lost property, but nobody came back for it. It’s broke, so you’ll have to get it fixed before you can use it, but after that it’ll be good enough.”

  In a place where everyone walked around with a detached, academic cool, gestures like this tugged on Jakub’s emotions. It made his throat dry up a little.

  “You’re a saint, you know that? You’re wasted in this place. Thanks for everything,” said Jakub. “Listen, Irvine gave me this token…”