by Deck Davis
“Have you counted the necromancer and the old man?”
Helena prodded the paper. “Written and writ.” She stood up and looked from face to face, suspicion creeping into her expression.
And then a man stood up. He drew a young boy up with him, holding him by the throat.
The man’s sleeve fell to his elbow, revealing a slaver tattoo on his forearm.
“One squeeze and his throat will burst like an overripe tomato,” he said.
“It seems some of our former hosts have decided to travel with us,” said Helena. “I want every single person on this wagon to raise both their arms in the air and show me bare skin.”
“If a single arm gets raised I'll crush this little bastard’s bones.”
Jakub, watching through the wooden slats in the driver compartment, couldn’t believe the gall of the slaver. He’d stowed away, hiding his tattoo and hoping to pass as one of the caravaners until they reached Sanzance. And now, after everything, he wouldn’t give up.
Incensed, Jakub slowly pushed his hand through the slats. He did this with as much stealth as he could. Then, with the slaver backed up close to him, he placed his hand on the man’s shoulder.
A noxious green light and an aroma of rot spread from Jakub’s fingertips and onto the slaver’s shoulder. It drifted until it found bare skin, spreading over his neck and down his sleeves to his hand.
The slaver cried in pain as Wilting Touch corrupted him. His affected flesh turned grey and then black, and the wagon filled with the smell of singed hair and rotten skin.
A mother grabbed her little boy and the folks gathered together, away from the slaver who now slouched down onto his arse and held his blackened hand against his chest and mumbled to himself like a child. A teenage boy, the one who had helped Jakub get York free, gagged on the smell.
Stop, commanded Jakub to his undead slavers, and the wagon wheels ceased turning.
“Helena’s going to see all of your arms,” he said. “Anyone who resists gets the same touch as this man.”
There was no resistance after that, and remaining rogue slavers were found. An old sailor-turned-wagon-driver named Wagner tied their hands and feet and then Jakub set the wagon rolling again.
One evening, when the rocky hills that hid New Sanzance finally appeared in the distance, the wagon stopped to rest.
Jakub and York had talked together every day now, sharing stories with each mile they traveled. It was a stupid thought to have, but he almost didn’t want the trek through Toil to end, because he knew their paths would split once they left the desert behind.
“Had any thoughts about what’s next?” said Jakub.
York stoked his stubbled face. “I reckon I’d get a good price for my house and all my trophies. Skulls, bones, furs, teeth. Don’t need any of those prizes anymore, and I’ve got a feeling I can get enough of a bounty to reach the Peppen Isles.”
“Across the sea? Why the hell would you want there?”
“Got family who want me there. Course they don’t know they want me there yet, but I’m hoping a little persistence will change that. I’ll be heading’ Dispolis way if you want to travel together some. We’ll have to give our goodbyes when the road splits at Malakai’s Creek. You can take it north to the academy, and I’ll be goin’ south.”
“I’m not headed back to…”
Jakub paused then. For the last few months, whenever anyone learned he was a necromancer and asked if he served the queen’s academy, it had become a reflex to deny any association with them.
People always asked if he’d ever served on the queen’s lines like some of the necromancers that bards sang about. When people met soldiers they usually asked them “So, have you ever killed anyone?” When they met a necromancer, the question always became “So, have you ever resurrected anyone?”
But you had to earn the master rank to be able to resurrect a person. Since leaving the academy, Jakub had just accepted that would never happen.
“There’s a college near Sanzance,” said York. “Might be worth you taking a look. It’s queendom affiliated, so I hear, but not funded like your academy. Might be a good place to find work.”
“Perhaps.”
“Unless, of course, you want to carry on traveling around the queendom and lying to yourself.”
York was right. Jakub knew that now. Necromancy, as corrupted as his spellbook was becoming, was a gift. Some would have given their souls to have his gift, and others that would have begged to be able to wield his spells for good. Maybe Jakub owed it to the queendom to learn to use it properly.
He was about to reply when a voice cried out.
“Sanzance! There she is! That’s one bronze you all owe me.”
Jakub recognized the face that owned the voice; it was one of the spotters from the caravan, a young lad with a cheerful disposition and who had first pointed out Equipoint Rock in what seemed like another age.
Seeing the towers of Sanzance peak over the hills broke something in the travelers. It was a torrent of water that washed away the tension and the horror, and one man began to sing in a low voice.
“Oh give me a whore from New Sanzance,
I’ll sup and joke and watch her dance…”
Someone threw a scattering of grain at him. “Shut up, Matthias,” said a woman.
The caravaners were silent then, each of them staring out, some at the desert and others at the settlement ahead of them.
CHAPTER 42
New Sanzance was built on the ruins of Old Sanzance, yet the townsfolk kept part of their old, ruined settlement excavated. They displayed it for the travelers that rarely visited, along with plaques explaining how dry lightning had once ignited a sulfur deposit below the ground, killing hundreds and burying them in rocks. It made for a cheerful place.
Memories of their fallen ancestors seemed to permeate the Sanzancers’ moods and Jakub found them to be a somber but helpful people. At first sight of the wagon, they had sent riders out on two-humped horses to meet them and see their identities and condition.
Once those facts were established, two dozen riders came and took each caravaners into town on horseback, and there they were given food, water, and a bed. No questions were asked at all, and Helena’s people slept soundly for the first time in weeks.
The Sanzancers lived in strange dwellings. Some were homes sculpted from clay and blasted with heat to harden them, others were places they carved out of the surrounding rocky hills. At night lamp lights glowed from these alcoves and it made the place look magical.
There was many a night that Jakub sat under the stars with a wine or a beer and he’d soak in the atmosphere and tell himself that he would leave in the morning, that he’d set back to the academy at first light. And then dawn broke and he bargained with himself, promising just one more night in this beautiful place and he would go.
Some of the townsfolk here took a while to warm to him, others never did. At first, Jakub thought it was because he was a stranger, but Helena’s people seemed to fit in so that couldn’t have been it. It was only when he asked York about it that the hunter said, “Go find a mirror.”
Lacking an actual mirror, Jakub found the most reflective metal tray he could, and he polished it until he saw a warped version of his own reflection.
He dropped the tray, and the clatter brought a worried Sanzancer in to check on him. “Everything okay, mancer, sir?”
Jakub could hardly answer. His reflection stole his words from him. First, his nose was a mess from where the coyote had caught him weeks ago. Looks had never been all that important to him, and that was a good thing now.
But his nose wasn’t the worst.
He knew that using his Raiser shade spells had corrupted him; he’d read the text in his level up and knew he had changed, but he wasn’t prepared for the reality.
His pale skin and his dim red eyes. He looked like the night stalkers drawn in adventure books, the people of the moonlight and shadows who would scour city stree
ts at night and search for blood.
He could only begin to comprehend what this would mean to his life now. He was marked, and some people would act just like a scattering of the Sanzancers had; with suspicion and fear.
The academy instructors would be disappointed, but at least they would listen to his explanations. Who knew, maybe there was a way to balance the corruption? If he used his lighter necromancy powers, if he used them to help, perhaps that would change it.
Questions for another day, in another place. He told himself that again and again, and he tried to let his mind rest a little.
During the days he would help out around the village wherever he could, and this rarely involved necromancy. Mostly he helped the townsfolk fish from the dockside, mine rocks in a nearby quarry, or chop wood and carry the lumber to a mill outside of town.
Every so often one of Helena’s people asked to speak with him, and they’d thank him for how he’d helped them. Jakub told them there was no need for thanks, but inside each word of appreciation made him glow, and he felt surer now that going back to the academy was the right thing, that his necromancy had better uses than resurrecting a trader’s bison. Helena was the only one of the caravaners who never approached him.
Those days of labor and nights under the stars were precious to Jakub, all the more so because he knew it couldn’t last forever no matter how much he kept making bargains with himself.
It was York who finally broke these incessant internal negotiations. The hunter sold his crossbow to a trader and bought two mules with the gold, along with enough dry supplies and water to make the journey away from Sanzance. They would go far around the edges of Suntoil, and then onto Queen’s Head Road which would eventually lead to the queen’s roadways.
He woke Jakub up by splashing him with water. “Up and dressed,” he said. “We leave in an hour.”
Jakub was glad to be given the order because he felt like he might never leave Sanzance otherwise. He dressed in a new shirt, trousers, and a pair of leather gloves he’d bought from Sanzance market, gathered his things, and then stepped out of his alcove and looked at the town, wishing he could have just one more night to sit under the stars with a cold ale.
After giving his thanks to the Sanzancers who’d shown him hospitality he walked to the edges of town where York and the mules waited. He’d almost reached him when he heard a voice.
“Jakub.”
It was Helena. Like the rest of the caravaners, she’d gladly accepted clothes from some of the Sanzancers, she now wore a dress laced to let more of the eastern sea breeze soothe her skin. Her waist, just above her right hip, bulged a little from the bandages she had on.
Jakub held his hand up to York to acknowledge him and tell him he wouldn’t be long, and the hunter nodded.
Approaching Helena, he didn’t know what to say, He’d thought about it a lot, and he knew why she had barely spoken to him since leaving the slaver camp.
“When I cast myself into his body,” he began, “I didn’t know it was Gunar. I was too far away to see, and it was dark. I just saw…”
“You just saw a body, and saw a way to use it. Because it’s your nature, it’s everything you’ve learned to be for years. I was pissed with you, but that was mostly because being pissed was easier than getting upset about Gunar. I was thinking about it. I could no more be angry at you using necromancy than be angry at a lusk hunting for meat.”
“Not the most heat warming comparison.”
“If you hadn’t…used…Gunar like that, chances are we’d all be dead. And Gunar was already gone, so what was his body? Just flesh with the life gone from it.”
“You don’t believe that,” said Jakub.
“No, but I’m trying to. Because I like you, Jakub. You were good to Beate, and you came back for us when it would have been easier to try and ride your way out of Toil. Every single person owes you a debt.”
She took hold of string around her neck and she lifted it over her head, and there was a coin purse attached to the end.
“The slavers didn’t take that from you?” said Jakub.
“They took everything. I got this from the Sanzancers. You know the slavers who stowed away on the wagon with us? Turns out every one of those slaver bastards had a gold bounty on their head, dead or alive. The Sanzancers have been trying to stop slavery or years. We brought three of them in, so we get the bounty.”
“What about the undead?” said Jakub.
“They’re yours. Your bounty.”
Sensing a way to start balancing his corruption, Jakub shook his head. “You’ve got families to feed, funerals to arrange. Some of these kids are alone now. I don’t want to see a single coin of that gold.”
Helen nodded. “Thank you.”
“Where are you going to go?” he asked.
“Gunar always wanted to see the Peppen isles. I thought I might take a ship. See some of the queendom.”
“York’s going that way eventually. His son just moved there.”
“He’s a nice guy. Reminds me of my grandpa. But it’ll just be me and Beate for a while. I need some time away from people.”
“I know the feeling. Knew the feeling, at least. This is it, then. Take care, Helena.”
He was just going to leave when Helena grabbed him and hugged him tight enough that it was a struggle to breathe. Jakub had always been aware of his deficiency in that vital social skill called hugging, so he tried his best now, glad that his new gloves blocked his Wilting Touch power.
When they finally separated, he joined York and the mules. York struggled onto his saddle, while Jakub climbed onto his. The mule was a deep chestnut brown with a calm temperament that reminded him of poor old Albin.
Jakub checked his soul necklace and saw how full it was, and decided that after all the hell he’d been through maybe he could treat himself.
After he spoke a spellword under his breath, a circular portal of light opened on the ground.
It wasn’t long before a familiar four-legged friend leaped out of it, mouth open, eyes wild.
“Jakub!” cried a voice.
York flinched at the sight of Ludwig, and Jakub supposed it was natural for a hunter to get tense in the presence of a lion-like demon. He patted York’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry. He’s a friend. He’s going to travel with us for a little while; I owe him that.”
“It’s been years, Jakub,” said Ludwig. “Decades, maybe. You look so much older. You look…”
Jakub felt himself smile as Ludwig verbally assaulted his appearance. A flicker of sadness spread in him because he knew that this time, Ludwig was right about how much he had changed. His corruption saw to that.
But Ludwig wouldn’t care, the only thing he ever cared about was seeing Jakub and knowing he was okay, and so he just enjoyed his friend’s excitement and concern, and he closed his eyes and listened to his voice.
“Better go,” said York, breaking the spell.
York gave his mule a tap and Jakub did likewise, and necromancer and hunter rode away from Sanzance, making sure to keep Sun Toil way, way on their west side. Far enough away that they couldn’t stay into it, but close enough that the desert couldn’t creep up on them.
“Let’s get these mules on a gallop,” said York, looking and sounding years younger. “First to see the Rampant Lion tavern wins five gold.”
THE END OF BOOK 3
Note from Deck:
Thanks for reading!
If you want to know when book 4 of the Necromancer series is out, you can join my newsletter list here: http://eepurl.com/gjWw6j
e(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
