by Rosie Scott
In the presence of armed mercenaries, openly carrying a scythe no longer called attention to me. I headed past the corner of an enormous marketplace to finally find the source of the vast blue glow radiating over the buildings and onto the cavern walls. Flowing south from a deep breach in the northern cavern wall was an underground river. Like the fungi, the river glowed a bright neon turquoise, acting like the lower city's beacon. The water etched a path in the rock from north to southwest and disappeared beneath the western wall. Nearby its exit was a tunnel leading farther underground, but Chairel soldiers blocked it off. A large group of mercenaries sauntered up to these guards before unfolding parchment and handing it over. After considering its contents, the guards let the mercenaries through, and they disappeared into the tunnel's shadow.
Just across the street was a combination inn and tavern that appeared to be a popular spot for mercenaries looking to face whatever was in that tunnel, so I headed there. The business took up most of a city block, but its entrance held back from the street corner to allow for an extended patio. Mercenaries lounged while eating or drinking at tables and chairs, and a few showed sloppy affections for one another as onlookers leered. Though the patio was outside the tavern, it was shrouded in shadow like everything else in these depths, only lit up in splotches of cool fluorescent glows of patches of fungi and flickering orange from lamps that aided them. The combination of shadow and rainbow glows was oddly beautiful for being so simple.
Harsh heavy drum beats resounded through the inn's walls even before I opened its door, releasing a scent wave of roasting venison and ale that intermingled with jovial arguments and conversations. Immediately, I was bathed in the orange light of fire from sconces, lamps, and a giant fireplace that took up the right wall. A few dwarven musicians rested to the side of the fireplace, creating music far harsher than anything I'd heard in Sera, for it relied on the bass of drum beats and the rough strikes of percussion instruments rather than the lutes and flutes dominant in most of Chairel. Despite the music's harshness, multiple people danced together before the fire, many of them seeming to find the rougher flow of the music sensual given their movements.
The rest of the floor was set-up like a full-service restaurant and bar. In the shadowed back and left corners of the far walls were two staircases leading up to the higher floors, presumably where the lodging rooms were located. Between the stairwells stretched a long bar and open kitchen where a handful of overworked employees scrambled around. One dwarf tore into roasted venison with a butcher knife and arranged the resulting slices on a decorative bed of greens. Excess saliva escaped my glands and drenched my tongue before I swallowed hard. I hadn't eaten a hot meal since fleeing Sera.
I made my way around tables and patrons to the right end of the bar. The dwarf behind it hastily shifted through orders on parchment before my taller form placed a shadow over them.
She glanced up. Thankfully, my youthful appearance didn't seem to faze her. “Aye, how can I help ya?”
“I need lodging,” I replied, getting straight to the point. My eyes wandered to the venison on a counter behind her. “And a hot meal if I can afford both.”
“Small one bedroom?” After I affirmed, she said, “That'll be ten gold a night. If ya stay at least five nights and pay in advance, all yer meals are free.”
“What?” I blurted in sudden elation, and the woman chuckled in response.
“Aye. Within reason,” she explained. “We keep our mercenaries well-fed for up to three meals a day. Any more than that, ya have to pay like the rest. Ain't no free ale or room service. Ya have to boil yer bath water yerself and request to change yer linens.”
After so long with no amenities at all, this sounded like a dream come true. “I'll take your smallest room for a fortnight.”
She lifted an eyebrow, happy with the promise of a good sale, and grabbed a book from beneath the counter. “Aye, then. Here for work?”
“Yes.”
The dwarf opened the book to the latest page of listed patrons. I noticed the names and signatures and mentally merged my mother and father's first names to come up with an alias. “If ya have the time, take a look at our contract board,” she suggested, dipping a quill in an inkwell as she nodded toward the front door. I glanced back to see a giant pegboard on the wall absolutely covered in overlapping parchment. The sketched faces of wanted criminals stood out to me most. I hoped to the gods my warrant wasn't among them.
“Name?”
I turned back to her and replied, “Cerin Luna.”
“Beautiful name,” she complimented.
“Thank you.” I watched as she wrote the rest of my lodging details down and spun the book to face me.
“That'll be one hundred forty gold,” she declared. After I counted it out to her, I went to sign my name. I realized with gratefulness that she misspelled Cerin as Searin, perhaps due to its pronunciation and her familiarity with searing meat. I allowed the mistake to flourish, further protecting my identity by signing it that way without a word.
“Ya look hungry,” the employee went on as she gave me my half of the bill. “I can put in an order of venison for ya. We also have a menu, but orderin' off that costs extra.”
“Venison is fine,” I replied. “Thank you.”
“Aye. Any spirits?”
“No.” I thought of the mercenaries outside and asked, “I can eat outside?”
“Aye. Give me a few minutes to get ya a plate. Bring it back in with ya or else we'll have to charge.”
I wandered over to the mercenary contract pegboard as I waited for my meal. Sheets of parchment overlapped from ceiling to floor, and before them all stood a single dwarf looking for work. She nursed a mug of ale in one hand and kept walking up to the board to lift up contracts and read the ones beneath.
I stood two steps behind her and to the side, not wishing to call attention to myself as I searched through the papers for my warrant. It surprised me to see so many non-combat contracts in the mix.
Strong arms wanted to move furniture. I am elderly and can no longer afford my home. Need to move by 1st of Red Moon. Lost all children to the tunnels. Will pay 10 gold per day and am more than willing to trade.
I wondered if the tunnels mentioned were the same ones guarded by Chairel soldiers outside. Skimming over the text contracts, I focused only on the warrants with sketches. One warrant set up like mine had the drawing of a young human woman on it.
WANTED: Lisha Foyer.
Charges: Practice of magic without a proper license, evading the law, seven counts of civilian murder, seven counts of torture.
Notes: Lisha is an illusionist with access to illegal spells such as invisibility, charm, and fear. While her origins are in Dagmar, Lisha has been sighted in Comercio and may be moving east. Lisha's first victim was her lover of seven years. Claims of prior domestic violence were investigated but never confirmed. Witness accounts state she offers to kill for a fee and only takes hits on men. Lisha uses illusion magic to aid in her entry and escape, but she kills with a blade. Victims are always male and found gutted and castrated. Cause of victim deaths is blood loss.
REWARD: 3,000 gold offered for proof of death. 1,500 gold offered for her capture. 100 gold offered for substantiated tips.
“There are rumors that she charms the men with her magic so they don't run when she castrates 'em,” the dwarf nearby spoke up after noticing my presence and stare.
“Lovely,” I said dryly, and she laughed.
“Aye. Ya gotta love it, too.” She strode up to the contract and pointed at the charges. “They listed her illegal magic use first and her worst crimes last, like usin' magic is more offensive than castratin' a man until he bleeds out.”
I frowned as I realized she was right. “Maybe it is to them,” I commented. “Perhaps they care more about controlling the masses than caring for their well-being.”
“Perhaps?” The dwarf laughed. “Nah, that's just how it is. Get used to it now. Good thing yer already wo
rkin' on yer own. Learn to take care of yerself, and you'll never have to worry about political bullshit.”
I said nothing for the moment, only scanning over the rest of the contracts and feeling overwhelming relief that my warrant wasn't among them.
“Yer a quiet type,” the dwarf mused after a moment.
“I'm just glad you didn't call me kid,” I replied, and she chortled.
“Aye, well, ya look like one, but callin' ya that seems disrespectful. Ya got that look in yer eyes.”
“What look?” I inquired, glancing over.
The dwarf shrugged and huffed. “Ya've seen some shit.”
I didn't argue. We looked over the pegboard together in silence until she spoke again. “Ya lookin' for anything in particular for work?”
“No. I'm just curious about the lack of warrants for necromancers,” I said nonchalantly, motioning to the giant board. “Everyone fears them, but why? They must be rare.”
The dwarf laughed nervously, as if just the mention of death magic bothered her. “Ya gotta have a lotta pull with the government if yer wantin' to hunt down necromancers. They keep all that under wraps, like.”
“Why?”
“Don't know, truly,” she admitted. “Guess it's a combination of things. They don't want the commonfolk to panic or get any naughty ideas, maybe. It's like they just want us to forget necromancy's a thing at all. But it don't work. Not when rumors run amok because they're such good fighters.”
“How do you know that?”
“I had a friend who came across a necromancer right in these mountains,” she reminisced. “They fought for a bit. My friend's group was almost wiped out. The necromancer claimed she didn't wanna kill anyone, but that's kinda hard to say when surrounded by bodies, innit?” The dwarf sniffled as I marveled at the similarities between this necromancer and me. “The necromancer eventually fled, and my friend made it out with a few injuries. Ya wanna know the scariest part of it?”
“Sure.”
“My friend said he got a few hits in on the necromancer, and that the blade barely hurt her. He said it was like her skin was made of wood. She barely bled. Now, what manner of sorcery is that?”
“That's what makes necromancers so powerful,” I replied. “Valerius the Undying was much the same. Years and years of harvesting life force grew his strength until even his flesh seemed impenetrable.”
The dwarf shivered with fear beside me. “I heard Valerius was over four hundred years old when he was killed. And he was human. It ain't natural.”
“No,” I agreed. “Many things aren't.”
An employee came up to me then to deliver my meal, and I took it gratefully outside after saying a friendly goodbye to the dwarven mercenary. I headed over to a small two-seater table beside the barrier fence separating the patio from the road. The aroma of venison teased my nostrils until I swallowed down excess saliva. When I finally took the first bite and the perfect mixture of oil, salt, and savory meat settled on my tongue in a rush of warmth, I closed my eyes with pleasure and promised myself I'd find fire-making materials while in Brognel. My gold reserves from trading were almost out, but surely I could find some way to trade for matches or flint and steel.
As I ate, I watched the tunnel across the street. Groups of soldiers and mercenaries loitered around outside, but none of them seemed keen on venturing in. Thankfully, I wasn't the only one who noticed. A diverse party of mercenaries one table over was a wealth of information about the mysterious tunnel.
“Fuckin' tunnel rats, man,” a human mused, leaning back with both boots on the table as he picked bits of food out of his teeth with a dirty fingernail. At first, I wondered if Brognel's troubles really centered on underground rodents. “If they weren't so gods damn sneaky and lethal, there'd be so many I'd want to fuck.”
Now I really hoped he wasn't talking about rodents.
“Bein' sneaky and lethal is part of the appeal for me,” a dwarven comrade replied. “But not when they're attackin' like this is their land. The gall of these women enrages me.”
“Brognel is the aggressor here,” a Celd spoke up, his voice calmer than the others. “The Alderi might simply believe they're protecting what is theirs. We have no idea how large the underground truly is—”
“Oh, please,” the dwarf retorted. “Our miners didn't know they'd break through to that tunnel. They tested the rock beforehand. That excavation was as harmless as any other.”
“Evidently not,” the Celd replied. The dwarf snorted in response.
A female human next to the Celd nodded to the dwarf and asked, “When you went there, what did you see? Is it true the Alderi have no males?”
“I don't know if it's true or not,” the dwarf replied. “But all I saw was dark-skinned women. All the shades of a bruise. Blues, purples, blacks, grays. Shapely, too. Like Mikael said, they would'a been beautiful if it weren't for the bloodlust in their eyes.”
“That was the fight that lost you your ear,” the Celd surmised, motioning to the dwarf's mutilated left ear.
“Aye,” he replied. “Pissed me right off, it did. There I was, my big hammer in my hands, and the bitch sidesteps me so quick she was barely a blur. Next thing I know, my ear's on the ground and Peggy's intestines are leakin' out of her gut. Them tunnel rats are fast and brutal. They bested me, and that ain't an easy thing to do.”
“Pretty sure it only makes you harder, though,” Mikael jested, and the dwarf flipped him off.
“I think Alderi men exist,” the woman interjected, a whimsical tilt to her tone.
“Oh?” Mikael huffed. “Why?”
“Bridget told me that during her stay in Hammerton, she heard rumors about two Alderi men who came to Olympia by ship years earlier. Escapees of the underground, apparently.”
“Why in the world is that newsworthy enough to keep being talked about for years?” Mikael asked, unconvinced.
A gleam lit up the woman's eyes, and she replied, “Because the Alderi are rumored to be magnificent lovers. These men had a lot to work with in their drawers and their drives were so high they didn't even charge the women for a good time. The sex was that memorable.”
“I don't recall such rumors being said about you, Mikael,” the Celd teased the male human, and the woman laughed.
“And that's all they are,” Mikael retorted. “Rumors. According to the story, Bridget didn't even see these mysterious men. She only heard rumors. The women in Olympia must be starved.”
“They are starved,” the dwarf commented. “Ya know how dwarven women are. They could have a line of men takin' turns and they'd still never be satisfied.”
“Sounds like the Alderi and dwarves would get along famously if they weren't always bickering over land,” the Celd pointed out.
“Aye, but bicker is what we do,” the dwarf replied. He took a sloppy bite of meat and nodded toward the tunnel. “All I know is that when ya dare to attack my hometown en masse, I ain't takin' it easy. Tunnel rats are gettin' serious about startin' a little war with all these damn attacks, and I'll be on the frontlines to meet 'em.”
I finished my meal while watching the tunnel, trying to file away as much information as I could about the Alderi. At some point, between Sirius and the Icilic wanting me dead, I would face assassins. It was only a matter of time. Oddly, such a prospect wasn't as intimidating to me as it had been just a season ago. After all, I'd managed to slay a vampire wearing no armor, and I would be even more prepared to face any pursuers by the time I left Brognel.
I felt grateful for that, for I knew that by the time I re-entered the Seran Forest, enough time would have passed for any pursuers to be hot on my trail.
Sixteen
I left Brognel looking like a new man. Instead of shivering perpetually in double layers of cream-colored clothing acquired from Whispermere, I now wore multiple layers of black. All the undershirts I'd bought from Maude had hoods, ensuring I could always hide my face in shadow even when the weather didn't require wearing the heavy cloak
. Over my underclothes was the armor Beshil made and taught me to care for. It was a sharp mixture of dark-stained leather and silver buckles and rings with which to help me store and carry excess supplies or belongings. Such accoutrements meant that I jingled as I walked, but I'd never been one for stealth and didn't plan on doing much hiding.
Beshil gave me supplies with which to take care of my equipment as part of my order: oil and sealing to care for the soft leather armor, filler with which to repair it, and a file to sharpen my scythe. I'd spent most my remaining time in Brognel trading my healing abilities for gold and supplies from those desperate enough to risk the illegal exchange. With the gold I made from healing I was able to buy fire-making tools, books including those to expand my knowledge in anatomy and alchemy, and camping supplies like blankets and waterproof tarps. I also bought a chain necklace on which to hang the sentimental ring from my parents, for my growth the past year ensured it no longer fit and I wanted to keep it close to me forever. Official life mages were so rare in Brognel that I could have stayed there to make a decent living by illicitly healing the populace, but my past would catch up with me eventually. Besides, I'd already set my mind on building defenses in the Seran Forest.
I caught glimpses of the woodland as I descended the same mountain I climbed weeks ago. The fields of pines and conifers lightened since I last saw them, for the hot season of High Star handed off its reins to Red Moon. Once deep green needles shone gold and copper in the overhead sun, and in the mornings a fine mist often rose from the trees after rains that became more common with each passing day.
As I traveled back to the forest, I wondered if it would be my final resting place. I felt peace knowing that it likely would be, for at least it was a beautiful place to die. I wouldn't allow myself to be defeated easily, of course, but there came a day when every necromancer met their end. Surviving alone and in the wild was already a hard life, and adding to that the fact that many wanted me dead made the idea that I'd survive more than a handful of years laughable. For as much as I took inspiration from Valerius the Undying, he did in fact die. Even the most legendary necromancers hadn't lasted forever. But just as I sought to learn from his successes, I could do my best to learn from his failures so I wouldn't recreate them.
