Necromancer's Curse

by D. M. Almond

  Isaac beamed. “A true technological feat in this day and age.”

  Logan couldn’t agree with him more. From the first time he had set eyes on Dudje, he knew it was a place where he might be happy living.

  At the top of a steep street, they came to the town hall. The rounded building was larger than any other structure around, carved out of a single massive block of stone. Guards watched them from jutting towers topped with mushroom caps. On either side of the main entrance stood twin basilisk statues, as if they were the true guardians.

  Armored gnomes stepped to either side to allow them admittance, standing at attention with spears in hand. They were led into a sharply curved hallway that Logan imagined must circle the entire perimeter of the building. The hall’s high arched ceiling was decorated with an intricate fresco. Small alcoves dotted the woodwork that lined the walls, each of them filled with statues of different gnome heroes and gods.

  Bipp led them toward the tall wooden doors that marked Fimbas’s inner chamber.

  A guard stepped forward with his hand raised. “Uh uh. Only these two can accompany you, on order of the mayor.” The soldier pointed at Logan and Isaac.

  Corbin started to object, but Logan, who understood the gnome customs, stepped in front of him. “My friends don’t have a problem waiting out here. Do you, Corbin?” Logan turned and threw him a wink.

  “Um, no, not at all,” Corbin said.

  “That’s the spirit,” Logan said, tapping his temple. “Way to use your head, brother.” He saw a look of recognition wash over Corbin.

  The guard opened a hidden door, which was considerably smaller than the large one presented to them, and gestured for Bipp to enter. Mayor Fimbas’s office was much as Logan remembered. It was a small room with a low ceiling. One side of the room was lined with bookshelves, the mayor’s private library, and the other side had a rolling red carpet with flowers stitched into it and a squat desk where the mayor sat waiting for them.

  “Morning, Mayor,” Bipp said with a bow.

  “Afternoon,” Fimbas said.

  Isaac grinned.

  “Tell me, Bipp,” Fimbas said, “how did Grubble die?”

  “We were deep in battle with the cobold army. It took twenty or so arrows to stop him, but not before he beheaded the cobold king,” Bipp said somberly.

  Fimbas snorted, shaking his head. “The old grump always was a stubborn one.” The mayor motioned for them to follow and walked across the room, positioning himself behind a table covered in maps. “And exactly when did this occur?”

  Bipp looked up in the air, trying to calculate how much time had passed. He sighed deeply. “Oh, I don’t know…say about six months ago.”

  Fimbas frowned. “And you are only now returning?”

  “I sort of blew up our path back,” Logan said.

  “Huh?”

  “And then we went up to the surface,” Bipp said.

  “You what?”

  “We found all these humans frozen and woke them up. Kyra, their queen, needed our help, so we protected her and sought out Isaac here, ‘cause Corbin’s lady ghost sent him to fetch the mage, and then we fought this big war against the ice giants and won, which I still can’t believe we managed, freeing a whole city of humans.”

  The rims of Fimbas’s bulging eyes were red, and he looked completely bewildered. The mayor absently walked over to an armchair and plopped himself down. A small decanter of red liquor rested on the reading table beside him, and Fimbas uncorked it and took a deep draught, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

  “Don’t worry,” Bipp said, “none of them giants know where we came from, and they definitely did not follow us. Isaac saw to that.”

  Fimbas looked to the mage.

  “The lad is quite right, Mayor. I cast several tracking spells during our journey and feel quite certain we were not followed in any way.”

  “Well, there’s some small measure of relief,” Fimbas said. “Anyway, it’s not that I’m worried about. Your tale is just so fantastical…it makes me realize the truth in Uncle Beauford’s words. The coming of the Fourth Age of Acadia is truly at hand, and I don’t mind telling you the idea of it leaves me unsettled.”

  Fimbas leaned forward in his seat. “But what of the ruins? What of your quest? Did you find the truth, as Beauford put it?”

  “We did, Mayor,” Bipp said.

  “And?”

  “I’m not sure most people are going to like it,” Bipp said.

  “Whether the news be good or bad, it be what happened, and our people have a right to know after all these years.”

  “Well, there was definitely a great war in Ul’kor. My guess is it was the largest ever fought in Vanidriell. The ruins are completely overrun with cobolds now. The mongrels have crept into every nook and cranny they can get their greedy paws on. And that’s not all…other things live there too, lurking in the shadows.” Bipp shuddered as he recalled the bonestalker that had almost pulled him into a black hole in the wall.

  “So the rumors are true then?” Fimbas said. “The cobolds have taken roost in Ul’kor.”

  “But that’s not the strangest part. There weren’t just gnome and cobold skeletons there.”

  “Humans?” Fimbas asked.

  “Yes, but not how you think. The few human remains we found were clearly there fighting side by side with our ancestors, as allies against the cobold horde. And something large was also there, which we know only by the damage done.”

  “Amazing,” Fimbas said, licking his lips and taking another long swig of his liquor. “To think after all these years…”

  “That it wasn’t my people who drove the gnomes out of Ul’kor?” Logan said.

  Fimbas pursed his lips and nodded slightly. The stalwart gnome suddenly looked very lost, and Logan felt for him. To be brought up believing humans were the enemy and now be forced to reconcile those prejudices with the cold hard truth was no easy pill to swallow. He had to admire the way the mayor was handling it though, and felt more than a little ashamed over goading the man like an indignant child.

  “That’s not all we found,” Logan said, eager to move past the awkward moment. “In the King’s Hall, there was evidence that the Great Crystal in New Fal is actually a living being, created through a partnership between the gnomes and High Elder Zacharia, who presides to this day over the Council of Twelve. Except the crystal is sentient and knowingly feeds off my people, slowly leeching away their life force and consuming their souls upon death.”

  “Interesting…Ul’kor was abandoned centuries ago,” Fimbas thought out loud. When he turned to eye Logan, he could see the skepticism in the mayor’s eyes. “And you say this Zacharia is still alive today?”

  “Yes sir. Without a doubt it’s the same man. Either that or he has an identical twin.”

  “One of your kind, perhaps?” Fimbas asked Isaac.

  The mage contemplated the idea. “It is possible. However, I won’t know for sure until we make it to New Fal.”

  “What in Ferrigan’s name are you going back there for?” Fimbas asked.

  “We have to destroy the crystal,” Logan said.

  “After everything those people did to you, you’re going back to save them?” Fimbas asked. Logan nodded grimly. “Well, I don’t mind telling you that you’re a better man than I.”

  “I don’t believe that for one second,” Logan said.

  Fimbas betrayed himself with a smirk. “And Bipp, do you intend to follow the Falian into the lion’s den once more?”

  “I do,” Bipp said. “But before we make that journey, we need to go back to Ul’kor.”

  That caught Fimbas completely off guard. “What?”

  “The Gladewarren, Siribel, had a vision that the power we need to overthrow Baetylus is locked within those ruins,” Isaac said. “Something we did not know until we made our way back into Vanidriell. But now that we do know, we were hoping you could help us.”

  “Me?”

  “There is a
magical seal…like a barrier blocking off the inner part of the castle. We will need to take it down to explore the ruins further and find this Healer’s stone. Have you ever heard of a gnome named Hublin?” Logan asked. “We believe he may have been somebody of significance, back before Ul’kor was cursed.”

  “Hublin…?” Fimbas looked sideways, searching his memory. “No, can’t say that name rings any bells.”

  Logan deflated, and Bipp’s shoulders sagged. Fimbas was their best possible resource, and without his lead they had no idea where to start.

  “Though there might be something in the catacombs,” Fimbas offered.

  “That doesn’t sound like a pleasant place,” Logan said.

  “Huh? Don’t be silly, Falian,” Fimbas said. “It’s just where we store all our old scrolls and tomes and whatnot.”

  “Oh, so it’s like a library?” Logan brightened up at the prospect.

  “Hardly,” Bipp groaned. “The place is in complete disarray. It’s impossible to find anything down there.”

  “Quit your moaning, Bettie,” Fimbas chuckled. “You might be fooling these fellas with that nonsense, but I remember full well when we couldn’t pry you from the catacombs during your summers away from Pomk University.”

  Bipp smiled sheepishly.

  “You’re such a nerd,” Logan laughed.

  “Hey, my being a nerd has saved our cans enough times that you should be offering to buy me a whole library out of gratitude,” Bipp said.

  Logan smiled and bowed graciously to him.

  “Where did you hear this gnome Hublin’s name anyhow?” Fimbas asked.

  “It was etched into a seal we found. We think he might hold some clues as to why Ul’kor was cursed,” Bipp said with a wide grin. “And also the key to destroying Baetylus.”

  “You know, Bipp,” Fimbas said, “you may yet go down in the history books as a legendary explorer from Dudje, but you can be quite thickheaded sometimes.”

  Bipp wiped the smile from his face.

  Fimbas shook his head and grunted. “Never mind. I’ll send a dispatch to allow you and Isaac into the catacombs. Logan, why don’t you accompany me?”

  “Uh, sure,” Logan said. “Where we going?”

  “To talk to the oldest gnome alive.”

  Chapter 9

  “I don’t see why I can’t accompany you,” Corbin said.

  “They don’t want a bunch of humans swarming around the mayor,” Logan explained.

  Corbin lowered his voice, looking over Logan’s shoulder at the armed guards waiting for him. “I don’t like it one bit, being split up like this.”

  Logan felt for his little brother. Not too long ago, it was he who was forced to sit in the lobby of the town hall under the withering glare of the mayor’s men. He sighed and rested a hand on Corbin’s shoulder, steeling his gaze. “Look, you’re just going to have to trust me on this one. I’ll be fine. Just wait here and keep out of trouble, okay?”

  “Like I’m the one who finds trouble everywhere he goes?” Corbin said.

  Logan knew he did not need to press the matter any further, but he leaned forward and whispered in Corbin’s ear anyhow. “Just be cool, man. It’s not like you can’t keep tabs using your telepathy.”

  A troubled look washed over Corbin. “That’s just it. I knew what you were trying to say earlier, before you went in, but I agree with Isaac. It’s too dangerous to use my telepathic powers now that we are back in Vanidriell. I spent so much time with Baetylus…it’s just not worth the risk of alerting him to our return.”

  Logan had not thought of that. He had assumed Corbin was eavesdropping on their conversation with the mayor through his telepathic link. He bit his lip and shook his head. The only thing they had going for them in this whole crazy plan was the element of surprise, and they would be crazy to risk it just for the sake of easing Corbin’s nerves.

  “Then you’re just going to have to stay patient,” Logan whispered.

  Corbin nodded and made his way back toward Nero, who was answering a litany of questions from a group of scholarly gnomes who circled around him.

  The soldiers parted to let Logan pass. When he exited the town hall, Fimbas was waiting for him at the base of the marble steps with two rough-looking gnome warriors.

  “Took you long enough,” Fimbas said, motioning for Logan to hurry up as he turned and walked down the cobblestone path to the right. Logan’s legs were a lot longer than the gnomes’, and he caught up in a couple easy strides.

  “Sorry, Mayor,” Logan said. “My brother gets lonely without me around.”

  Fimbas snorted. “I’ll bet.” He turned his attention to the warriors, motioning for them to fall back.

  “But Mayor—” one of them began to object.

  “That’s an order,” Fimbas said. “Or do you think I’m so over the hill I can’t handle one Falian on my own?”

  The soldier sputtered for a moment under Fimbas’s glare then fell back a couple steps. Fimbas looked straight ahead and snickered.

  “They don’t seem too happy about me walking with you,” Logan said, checking over his shoulder. The soldiers were throwing him glances that could melt ice.

  “You seem surprised,” Fimbas said as they walked downhill on the winding path.

  “I guess I shouldn’t be. It’s hard to remember the deep rift between our people, especially after forming friendships with Bipp and Grubble.”

  Fimbas arched his eyebrows. Logan could see the idea that Grubble, who was a renowned human hater, formed a bond with Logan was something of a surprise for the mayor.

  “I’m not saying Grubble wasn’t a pain in the arse,” Logan said. “But in the end, he was as dear a friend to me as any other I’ve had the misfortune to lose.”

  “You are an odd one, Logan Walker, I’ll give you that.” Fimbas pointed ahead to a rickety building. “This is our stop. Ah, and it looks like Gophlin’s great-grandson is ready to greet us.”

  A small gnome that looked older than Fimbas by a few decades stood in the open doorway, watching them. He leaned on the stair rail and adjusted his spectacles as they approached. When Fimbas raised his hand in greeting, the old gnome straightened and threw on a nervous grin.

  “Ho there, Hablson,” Fimbas said. “How’ve you been holding up?”

  “Oh…quite well, M-Mayor, sir, and w-what an honor it is to see you on this fine afternoon,” Hablson said, doing his best to smooth back his hair and stand upright. Whether it was the idea of unexpected company that caused the gnome to be so nervous or the presence of Dudje’s esteemed mayor, Logan wasn’t sure.

  “And how’s good ole Gophlin been doing these days?” Fimbas said, planting his knuckles on his hips.

  “Well, you know Great-grand Pappy,” Hablson said. “If he isn’t fit to chew leather, he’s ready to spit acid.”

  Fimbas laughed at the old gnome saying and bowed his head politely. When he climbed the three steps to stand before Hablson, the gnome blanched. “Well, we’ve come by to have a word with Gophlin, if he’s up for it.”

  “Right now?” the old gnome practically squeaked. Logan thought he looked like he had just been told he was being sent for execution. “B-but M-Mayor…I haven’t had time to prepare. I’ve no cakes made, the larder is only filled with first ‘uns. Why I haven’t even got a drop of mint tea for you.” He retreated into the doorway, blocking their path and shaking his head. “No, no, this will not do. Best you come back on Saturday, yes, or maybe Monday after. By then we’ll be all ready to host your visit proper, sir.”

  “Don’t be a daft mule,” Fimbas said sternly. “I haven’t come by for a tea social and you needn’t worry about feeding me. I’ve already had my second lunch. Now step aside and show us to Gophlin so we might have a talk with him.”

  Though he looked mortified, Hablson took a wide step inside his front hall and waved them inside with a shaking hand. Fimbas motioned for his men to wait beside the front door.

  One of the soldiers stuck out hi
s bottom lip and glared at Logan.“Send me to the stockade if you like, Mayor, but over my dead body are we letting you go inside without us there to keep an eye on the Falian.”

  Logan scowled at the soldier. “Who pissed in your oatmeal?”

  Fimbas sighed. “Very well, but you will have to wait outside Gophlin’s room. I’ll not have us crowding around the old man.”

  The soldiers seemed to settle for that, and together they all headed inside. The floorboards groaned when Logan came through the doorway, crouching low. It was the first time he had been allowed in another gnome’s abode, and he found it to be quite cramped. Arched doorways and a myriad of small rooms, no larger than an alcove to him, branched off the main hall, which in itself was short. He was relieved when Hablson led them past the curved stairwell, as it looked like he might get himself wedged if he tried to climb it.

  As they crossed the main parlor, two things struck Logan. The first was that Hablson was a liar. Something positively delicious was cooking in the kitchen, filling the home with scents of roasting meat and rosemary. Secondly, his home was the most confusing, disorganized mess Logan had ever seen. Elder Morgana would be twisting in her grave if she could see how this gnome lived. Hablson was a packrat, there was no other way to put it.

  Mounds of dirty clothing could be seen between stacks of books that had seen better days. Stacks of wooden chairs rested against a wall beside scrolls, and everywhere Logan looked it was mess, mess, mess. Used plates with dried food on them could be seen, and he was sure he saw something the size of a cat but with a long fleshy tail scurry under a sofa surrounded by newspapers. Now he understood Hablson’s embarrassed reaction at the door.

  Hablson turned on his heel in front of a curtained doorway. “Wait right here while I tell Grandpappy you’ve come calling,” he said before disappearing behind the floor-length curtain. Logan stared at the dark splotches on the fabric, wondering if at one time they were actually some pleasing pattern or if they were just stains.

  He could hear Hablson murmuring inside the room, no doubt apologizing to his great-granddaddy for bringing guests through the squalor.