Rise of a Necromancer

by Rosie Scott

  I remembered chasing after Kenady as he ran from me like a coward. It'd been daylight then. Night had fallen, and the pale moonlight illuminated the surrounding greenery with a silvery glow. I breathed shallowly with anxiety as I tried to figure out why twelve people watched me sleep in the darkness. Then I realized that I stood against a tree, and even more confusion settled in.

  Piecing events together, I tried willing the bodies before me to back away. The shadows stepped back in unison, and I breathed a sigh of relief. These were the corpses that had made it through the battle. With no foes remaining, they simply returned to me for further instructions. I left them there for the moment; I desired company while out in complete darkness in a section of the woods I didn't know well.

  I tried to take a step away from the tree, but a piercing pain shattered through my left side. I gasped for breath with sudden agony. When I gathered my bearings, I slowly felt around the area with a hand.

  Dear gods. No wonder I'd passed out while standing; Kenady shot a metal shard through my side until it impaled me to the trunk.

  Stay calm. Assess. Deal. Overcome. I forced my breaths to regulate. I reached for my satchel to grab a match so I could see the wound, but it wasn't there. I remembered I'd left it hanging on a tree near the stream.

  While enduring a lot of pain and fear, I somehow managed to figure out my wound using nothing but softly prodding fingers and my knowledge of anatomy. The metal shard lodged in a groove of my lowest rib. The bone took the brunt of the damage, leaving all my internal organs safe. It was still a severe wound, but it didn't have to be fatal.

  I shimmied as slowly as I could off the metal shard, biting my lip until it bled to keep from screaming with the intensity of the resulting pain. When the blade released me, I fell abruptly in a lump on the forest floor, shaking profusely while listening to the trickle of my own blood.

  I undressed as best as I could with only one good arm, and then I healed. I started with the rib first, using life magic to rebuild the compact bone until it felt smooth to the touch. I worked my way out of the wound, mending muscle and flesh. Because it had been injured for sometime, I would be swollen and sore for a while yet, but at least I would live.

  I healed the puncture wounds in my arm from Kenady's flail next, but I waited to pop my elbow back in socket. I'd gone through enough pain healing thus far and couldn't stomach more, and I also wasn't certain what angle was best for mending it. Most of the alchemical anatomy book's knowledge was now my own from memorization and use, but I couldn't memorize sketches as well as words.

  By the time I headed back to the location of the initial battle, the forest glowed pink and yellow-orange from the rising sun. I used it as a guide, keeping the light on my left since I needed to head south. The battlefield was an interesting juxtaposition of a colorful early morning woodland and a bloody murder scene. Mutilated bodies cooled in puddles of blood so thick it appeared gelatinous over soft beds of pine needles and rich green mosses. Birds tweeted happily, their shadows fluttering over dropped weapons crusted with fluids. Bright yellow flowers sprouted out of moist soil near the descending stream bank, shattered bone sprinkled around their roots like an unhelpful fertilizer.

  I passed the scene and headed straight for my hanging satchel, grabbing the anatomy book and rereading the section on dislocations. Since the book focused on alchemy, it wasn't the most thorough, but it would have to do. I laid on the ground to try to relax, and when I realigned the bone, I muffled my pained protests behind closed lips.

  I looted the mercenaries, using one man's extra shirt as a makeshift sling for my recovering arm by strategically tearing it and hanging it over my neck. I found all the usual goods: jewelry, toiletries, some pieces of gold, dried food, a few labeled potions, and supplies like blade files and leather oil. Most interestingly, I found an updated warrant:

  WANTED: Cerin Heliot.

  Charges: Necromancy, 19 counts of murder of Seran armed forces, evading the law, practice of magic without a proper license

  Notes: Cerin has access to necromancy and life magic. Survivors claim he wields a shortened scythe in melee (both one and two-handed). BEWARE: Cerin's listed counts of murder only include official forces. Including officially commissioned mercenaries, we believe Cerin is responsible for the deaths of nearly five hundred men. Cerin openly invites conflict. Earlier reports of him possibly returning to Thornwell are outdated; Cerin has been sighted camping in every known section of the Seran Forest, though most notably in the northwest and central locations. No bodies have ever been recovered; we believe Cerin collects them for his horde.

  Official Acknowledgments: In response to the collective rising concern of this necromancer, Sirius Sera has moved Cerin from a level 2 threat to a level 1. Queen Edrys has been informed, and Sera has requested approval to consider a military response. We have told civilians that the central Seran Forest is restricted, but under NO circumstance is the nature of the threat to spread. Nevertheless, we have doubled the reward. If any mercenaries want a place in the Seran Army, fulfillment of this contract guarantees acceptance, and Sirius will also seriously consider further military awards and promotions.

  REWARD: 10,000 gold offered for death. Body required. 500 gold offered for substantiated tips.

  “No bodies have ever been recovered,” I mocked in an exaggerated official-sounding voice, folding up the warrant and adding it to the rest in my collection. “We believe Cerin collects them for his horde.” I turned to face the dozens of corpses splayed out in the forest and threw death magic at the ground, waiting as the tendrils slithered off and recruited new minions. “Obviously. Fucking idiots.”

  I waited patiently as corpses new and old gathered before me. I glanced at the nearest mercenary and asked, “What do they think I am?”

  He didn't respond, only glaring back at me with a blank expression on his severed head. I pretended that meant he was just as unimpressed and spun to lead my small army north.

  I had seriously injured Kenady last I saw him, and now that I hadn't found his body, I worried he'd made it out alive. The corpses that gathered around me while I was pinned to the tree should have killed him if they sensed him.

  Of course, it was possible they didn't. Most corpses were fighting the other mercenaries when I fought Kenady. He'd defeated the only one I called over to me to help. By the time the others were dead and the remaining minions came to find me, Kenady might have been long gone.

  Panic rose in my throat, but I swallowed hard to keep it at bay. I couldn't have had the chance to kill the bastard just to squander it, especially now that he'd destroyed the last two things most important to me. I'd fought well. Other than forgetting to refresh my defenses, I made good strategic choices. Kenady had simply been my match.

  And I hated that fact more than I'd hated anything in a long while.

  I refused to think of anything other than catching up to Kenady and finishing him off. Allowing the new information about Kai and Sirius's escalating plans for my demise to distract me was not an option.

  The dozen corpses I'd dispelled by the tree and metal shard were still in a pile of gear and flesh, so I raised them and continued north, scanning the foliage for clues. The air still smelled faintly of Kenady's digestive acids. Only a few meters north of where he impaled me, I found a few dried droplets of blood sprinkled over a bed of moss. I followed the zigzagged blood trail north until the heavy stench of urine replaced the acidity in the air. Glancing around, I noticed blood on a tree trunk only a few feet up from the ground. It appeared Kenady stopped to lean against it and heal. His wound had punctured all the way through his torso, after all; it likely bled out onto the tree from the back as he mended the front. Moisture darkened the bark at the base of the same trunk where he'd relieved himself, and in a pile nearby were the unmistakable stems of gotton berries.

  It appeared Kenady fully healed himself before urinating, refueling with food, and moving on to Sera. Just to confirm this theory, I searched the forest
just north of Kenady's resting point for an hour, looking for more blood or signs of trouble. When I found none, I laughed humorlessly with overwhelming disappointment.

  The one man I wanted dead most in the world managed to re-enter my life, destroy the last two things important to me in a fury of hatred, and escape unscathed. My whole body trembled with anger and mourning, but I didn't have my nemesis here to take it out on. I remembered the fear in Kenady's eyes when he realized I pursued him and wondered if I'd scared him off forever. Gods, I hoped not. I couldn't just waltz in to Sera any time I wanted to; killing Kenady required him to pursue me.

  That was likely, I decided. After all, he'd left me alive. Considering the whole situation, I realized Kenady mistakenly believed he'd killed me. The last thing he saw was me getting impaled to a tree trunk and going limp. Perhaps he thought that by bringing something of mine back to Sirius, he'd have proof of my death without my body. But showing my ring to Sirius wouldn't satiate him no matter how prestigious of a position Kenady's family had in Sera. Even if Kenady wasn't reprimanded for not following protocol, he would likely try to vindicate himself by agreeing to hunt me down and finish the job. Maybe he would come back just to restore his everlasting pride after learning I made it out alive.

  I would be ready for him, and I would show him no mercy.

  Twenty-one

  13th of Red Moon, 413

  In the season following my spat with Kenady, I went through my final metamorphosis leading into adulthood. All the events of the worst years of my life formed my personal perspective. Rather than be bothered by the brutality I displayed to my pursuers, I accepted it as a fact of life. Rising to become as cruel as the rest of the world seemed to be the only thing I'd truly succeeded at. I no longer trusted anyone because of John's betrayal and Kenady's everlasting sadism. When a stray civilian wandered through the forest, I did not spark conversation or even offer to trade. I didn't kill them unless they hunted me, but I wanted nothing to do with them. No longer did I wish for companionship; as lonely as I was, I could only trust myself.

  With Kai's note destroyed and my childhood ring stolen, I had nothing from my old life with which to comfort me. I looked at my past not with hope, but with bitterness; my good memories were surely egregious lies. Kenady's cruel words about how Kai forgot about me and moved on with another royal didn't even anger me because I expected it. At one time my world revolved around my attraction to Kai like I was some type of lovestruck idiot. I felt dumb for it now. People had proved to only show compassion to others if it could selfishly serve them, and as a poor outcast child I could offer Kai nothing. Nothing developed between us because it couldn't. She'd only befriended me to quell her own profound loneliness.

  I couldn't blame her. Loneliness was a mind-breaking and painful thing to endure. But when Kai inevitably hunted me down like all the rest, I would show her no mercy. I expected the worst out of people now; I predicted that Kai would try to use the friendship we'd shared to taunt me or weaken my morale in battle. Even if I committed suicide from the guilt after killing her, at least I would die knowing I hadn't shown weakness in the face of another cruel manipulation.

  Despite Sirius escalating my threat level, little changed. Civilians passed through from time to time, either ignoring the forest restrictions or having not heard of them yet. Mercenary parties grew larger and more varied, like the high-reward contract on my life now attracted seasoned warriors from outside Chairel. Dwarves from Hammerton with accents heavier than most accepted the hit with glee, eager to hunt a necromancer. Dark-complected humans from Nahara tested their might against me with all kinds of foreign weapons, from curved swords to varieties of whips, chains, and arbalests. I hated killing the Naharans the most. The dwarves harbored a special hatred for necromancers, so they mocked and cursed me in battle. By the time I killed them, I enjoyed it. Contrarily, it seemed most Naharan warriors simply desperately needed gold, for they wore little to no armor and owned nothing of value when I looted their corpses.

  My army of the dead grew ever larger. Hundreds of corpses littered the forest surrounding the cabin, all in strategically placed mass graves. No matter which direction attacks came from, I had a defense force. It would take swarming numbers or a new strategy to surprise me.

  Just a fortnight into Red Moon, I spent the morning fending off a particularly proficient mercenary party before going through the motions of the aftermath: looting corpses, healing wounds, mending my armor. Despite the excess energy of battle exertions lingering in the air, the forest seemed peaceful. The stench of blood and displaced organs existed like a lie alongside tweeting birds and rustling trees. A cool breeze whistled through the forest, picking up my long black hair and carrying it across my face until I had to finger-comb it back to see. Though the corpses in the mass grave before me were only partially covered by soil, I struck my shovel in the ground so I could lean on it and scan my surroundings.

  An eerie tingle pricked the back of my neck as my gaze swept through the trees. I'd lived in this cabin for a year, so I could tell when something was out of place. Mercenaries sometimes attempted to take the stealthy approach and catch me off guard, but I knew this forest by heart. Few details got by me unnoticed.

  That made this intuition that someone watched me all the scarier. Nothing was out of place. No logs had been strategically placed to allow for easy cover for archers, as had happened before. No noises alerted me to whispered orders. I took special notice of the tweeting birds. Once, I'd anticipated a stealthy attack simply because the birds quieted their singing. Wildlife was a terrific indicator of trouble.

  Today, however, intuition was all the proof I had that something was wrong.

  I jammed the shovel further in the soil with a boot so it could stand alone. Then I stalked off through the trees, following my gut. I passed by puddles of blood still soaking into the detritus until I crossed over the border of twigs I used as an extra alarm. At one point when passing a notably wide pine, my chest ached like my body anticipated sudden trouble, so I spun around.

  Nothing was there.

  I stood still for a moment, listening to the sounds of the forest and searching my surroundings. Buzzing flies directed my attention west. With my hands on my scythe, I followed the noise until I stumbled upon something odd.

  A pile of scat sat just beside a tree trunk, serving as a feast for flies. The excrement couldn't have been more than a few hours old, for it still glistened with moisture and gave off a potent smell. I looked for footprints or signs of someone nearby but came up empty.

  As amusing as I found the thought, it was unlikely that one of the mercenaries I'd bested today had taken the time to relieve themselves behind a tree before returning to battle. A random traveler may have passed by and left this, but I doubted it. Who would stop to defecate while a battle between mercenaries and the undead raged within viewing distance?

  No—someone followed me. Spied on me. Whether to wait for the opportune moment to attack or gather information, I couldn't know. I still felt eyes on me as I walked back to the cabin to finish burying the dead, but with no evidence of the culprit, I could do nothing but wait.

  I finished burying the corpses with barely an effort. It amazed me just how easy battling and physical labor became after building significant muscle from doing both all the time. By the time evening fell, all evidence of the morning's fight disappeared.

  The last remnants of a leeching high pumped alongside the blood in my veins when I crawled into bed to sleep, keeping me energized. While I could stay awake due to the excess energy, I didn't want to get into the bad habit of sleeping in late each morning. Such decisions could mean death.

  My head sunk into the pathetically flat pillow to the thin mattress beneath. Behind closed eyes, I imagined Thornwell and its view of the ocean. Smelling the salt of its water. The tense muscles in my upper back relaxed just a bit. It didn't matter how separated I felt from early memories of Thornwell, my parents, and Kai; against my better judgment,
they were always what I used to lull my brain to sleep.

  The memories progressed in order to Kai. Her smile, her laugh, the way her golden eyes would linger on my upper neck and long fingers when she thought I wouldn't notice. The intense eye contact she'd given me whenever I spoke, like she respected me enough to listen intently to everything I said.

  A dull ache spread through my heart, an irritating reminder that despite everything, I still loved her. I didn't want to, but I couldn't help it.

  I shoved thoughts of Kai from my mind and settled on something related but simpler: the view of the ocean from Sera's northeastern wall the night I'd fallen in love with her. The soft yellow sunlight evolved to an orange-pink that announced the setting sun as Kai and I talked for hours, replacing the day's warmth with the ardor of friendship. My contented mind finally slipped into the state of welcome grogginess just before slumber.

  Crrr...

  My eyes snapped open. Blood rushed through my veins with adrenaline, encouraged by a racing heart. Still lying down, I lifted my head slightly to stare at the door where a soft scraping noise sounded out from its broken lock.

  Quietly, I summoned a leeching funnel in both hands, deciding not to risk going for my scythe.

  When the perpetrator realized the door was unlocked, they tried the handle. It squeaked softly as it spun and then pressure applied to the door. The chair holding it upright jerked, but it refused them access.

  The door settled back in its frame without tension, and all went quiet. I listened intently for sounds of movement outside but heard nothing. Whoever it was must have been alone, and they worked so silently I wondered if some form of magic I couldn't understand aided them.

  Swwff!

  The chair leaning against the door flew back legs first, wood scraping against wood until the long angle forced the furniture's back to unlock from beneath the handle and fall on the floor, useless. I jumped to my feet with extreme bewilderment as the chair clattered noisily over wood. I'd heard no gusts of wind, or else I might have believed the perpetrator sent air magic under the door.