Necromancer's Gambit (The Flesh & Bone Trilogy Book 1)

by A J Dalton

  ***

  The Scourge adopted his grimmest mask and stomped up the stairs to the Guildhouse. The guards at the door did not accost him as he stepped into the main lobby of the ridiculously grand, stone building at the centre of the city. The average house in Corinus would have fit in just this room of Holter’s Cross administrative hub.

  White, marble columns supported an unnecessarily high ceiling, but one that added to the sense of space, excessive wealth and, of course, power. The lobby was flooded with coloured light coming through rare, tinted windows. The glass was cut and engraved to create pictures from the Guild’s inevitably glorious martial history. The scenes depicted had little impact upon the Scourge, since he was used to the tapestries in the royal palace in Corinus, but he knew they would overawe the majority and manage their expectation of being charged high fees by the Guild.

  He cast his eyes around the large room and tried to ascertain how he could most quickly navigate his way to the heart of the Guild, where the real business was done. There were long benches upon which mercenary captains, merchants and various attaches waited. The benches lined the room all the way to the far side, where some of the occupants appeared to be sleeping.

  ‘You’ll need a number!’ came a quiet voice to his left.

  He looked down and saw an inconspicuous clerk at a small desk. The man shrugged apologetically and held out a piece of parchment with the number 392 on it.

  ‘They’ll call you when it’s your turn. There might be quite a delay, since there’s only one master on business-duty today. If you’re not available to wait yourself, we provide a surrogate service where you can pay a nominal amount for one of our people to wait on your behalf. Otherwise, you can try to trade your number with someone else’s.’

  ‘I am the Scourge,’ the King’s Guardian said in his most gravely voice.

  The clerk gulped.

  ‘You will have heard stories about me.’

  The clerk nodded.

  ‘You are an educated and intelligent man, yes?’

  The clerk whimpered, ‘We have a fast-track for such situations, sir,’ and raised a small, red flag off his desk. Immediately, two overly-developed guards came forwards from the shadows where they had been waiting unobtrusively. They gestured at the Scourge to walk ahead of them and the small group of three walked across the floor of the lobby to the sturdy doors that led to one of the inner sanctums of the Guild.

  At the doors was another clerk, this one less timid. ‘State your business and remove all your weapons.’

  ‘King’s business with the Guild. I am the Scourge. These are all the blades I have or need.’

  ‘The Scourge, eh?’ the clerk echoed without blinking. ‘If you are found to be a fraud, you will be guilty of wasting the Guild’s time, which is the same as theft. Your fighting hand will be cut from your person in punishment. No, don’t take umbrage! That is the standard warning that is issued to those that are fast-tracked. Do you still wish to enter?’

  The Scourge nodded, not trusting himself to speak civilly. The clerk opened one of the pair of doors and the Scourge stepped through, a glance over his shoulder telling him the guards followed.

  Inside, he was confronted with a much less ornate, but equally impressive room. Giant, wooden shelves took up every inch of wall space and owlish clerks perched on ladders around the place preening the feathered documents that festooned everything. In the middle of the capacious room was a desk littered with scrolls and piled with ledgers. In a large chair behind it, a portly Guildmaster used a chop to stamp what looked like some recently drawn up documents. In each corner of the room slouched a bored but quick-eyed guard. The Scourge realised he had better handle things a bit more delicately from here on in because he doubted he’s get out alive if he upset this powerful man.

  ‘Well!’ came the deep vibration from the occupied Guildmaster. ‘It’s been a while since we’ve had a visitor who warranted extra guards. You must be a magician, notorious murderer, fanatic or mix of all those. Which is it?’

  ‘King’s Guardian.’

  ‘Ah! A fanatic!’ the Guildmaster rumbled and leaned back in his chair to survey the Scourge. ‘And no green youth at that. You would be the King’s Scourge then, if you are indeed a Guardian as you claim.’ He clicked his fingers suddenly and a clerk hurried over with a thick file.

  The Scourge inclined his head. ‘And how is Guildmaster Pasternos?’

  The business-duty Guildmaster leafed through the first few pages of the file, murmuring to himself. ‘It appears you are who you claim to be. It also appears you caused no little trouble the last time you were in Holter’s Cross. Something about…’ and here his eyebrows rose, ‘you finding illegal egress to the city and Guildmaster Pasternos refusing to receive a message-tube from the King himself. Oh, my! Apparently, you insisted quite forcefully… and Guildmaster Pasternos has not been able to sit comfortably since.’

  ‘A small misunderstanding,’ the Scourge said with a straight face.

  ‘Well, what can the Guild do for the King’s Scourge upon this occasion, to speed his departure from Holter’s Cross?’

  ‘I am hunting a particular necromancer.’

  ‘Yes, I believe that is one of the duties a King’s Guardian performs,’ the Guildmaster responded redundantly.

  ‘His name is Mordius. I have reason to believe he contracted mercenaries via the Guild to steal the body of a King’s hero. His Majesty, needless to say, is keen to retrieve His property.’

  ‘I see!’ the Guildmaster breathed out slowly and ran a hand across the top of his thinning hair. ‘You must understand it is our policy to keep our clients’ details, and the details of their commissions, confidential.’

  The Scourge allowed the silence to stretch uncomfortably. ‘The Guild does very well out of the war, Guildmaster. I believe the Crown is one of the Guild’s largest clients, is it not?’

  The Guildmaster blanched. ‘Now, Guardian, there’s no need to…’

  ‘Guildmaster, what would happen if the war were to be over? The Guild really only exists because of the war after all. Were the conflict to end, there would be far fewer commissions and the decline of the Guild would begin. I do not think it would be a slow decline either, given the opportunistic nature of mercenaries.’

  The Guildmaster leaned forward and looked at the Scourge intently. ‘But the war is all we’ve ever known. Are you saying you have reason to believe that might change? Does the Crown have information it would be prepared to share in the interests of the future stability of Dur Memnos?’

  ‘What I am saying, Guildmaster, is that the Guild would do well to position itself so that it was looked upon favourably by the imminent victors of the war. That is all I am prepared to say for now… unless I were to be convinced of your good faith.’

  The Guildmaster plastered a smile across his face. ‘As I was saying, we keep our clients’ details confidential unless we subsequently discover that the position of the Guild is threatened by any arrangements that the Guild may have made, in all good faith, with that client. I believe we find ourselves in just such a situation. Mordius, you say?’ and he clicked his fingers.

  A ledger came and the now slightly sweating Guildmaster opened it. ‘Let me see, let me see. No name given, but this might be it. A month or so ago, we had a private commission to procure the body of a hero. The client seems to have been quite specific about the body needing to be fresh and in relatively good condition. Paid extra, all in advance. Quite a large sum for a private commission, actually. The client claimed the body was for medical research. It is not the Guild’s policy to challenge clients’ reasons too deeply. Were it to do otherwise, the Guild would start getting dragged into all sorts of moral and political wrangles and would lose its much valued neutrality.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ the Scourge said impatiently. ‘And the Guild would lose itself much of its business. Never mind that! Who was the mercenary captain who took on the commission? Is there any record of which hero was stolen?
Or a record of what the client may have looked like? Where was the body to be delivered once stolen?’

  The Guildmaster wiped his brow. ‘Yes, let me see. Er… Maktar’s Crew took the commission. You’re in luck, I think. They’re still in the city somewhere.’

  A nearby clerk nodded confirmation.

  ‘You’ll have to find them to get answers to your other questions. Now, the Guild has demonstrated its good faith with regard to the most esteemed client that you represent. Perhaps the King’s Scourge, therefore, might be prepared to hypothesise about how quickly the war might be over.’

  The Scourge allowed a pause. ‘Six months.’

  ‘What?!’ screeched the administrator and actually lurched to his feet. ‘Months! Surely, you mean years?’

  ‘Six months, Guildmaster. And do not expect any sort of commission or warning for the end, when it comes, will come quickly. I suggest you start readying the city. And I would advise having an organised, mobile force ready to join the final strike.’

  ‘But half of our members are out in the field. There are commissions scheduled for at least a year…’

  ‘Guildmaster!’ the Scourge all but shouted to pre-empt and silence a lengthy, verbal calculation of all the implications, permutations and ramifications. ‘You are getting six months’ notice more than anyone else. Make the most of it and remember you owe me a favour so large you could never hope to repay it without the power of the gods.’

  ‘I… I… it’s unprecedented. All the Guildmasters will consult to… to… a convocation is required. Yes, that’s what’s required.’

  ‘Just don’t take too long about it.’

  There was a rapid knock at the door and the clerk came in without waiting. He looked as discomposed as the Guildmaster.

  ‘Forgive the interruption, gentlemen, but something urgent requires the Guildmaster’s attention.’ He beckoned someone forward and a mercenary clutching at a crossbow bolt buried in his shoulder entered the room.

  ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ the Guildmaster asked and lowered himself back into his seat. ‘Speak up, man. You’re dripping blood on one of the Guild’s assets.’

  ‘Guildmaster, my patrol was attacked on the road to the south. They’re all dead!’

  The Scourge looked the man up and down and decided he didn’t like the fellow. It was nothing to do with the hare lip or ratty eyes; it was more to do with the inappropriately pugnacious stance and trophy notches on the wooden handle on the knife in his belt.

  ‘Who would dare?’ the Guildmaster puffed. ‘They have earned themselves an immediate death sentence!’

  The mercenary smiled smugly, confirming the Scourge’s suspicion that the man was little more than a local bully. ‘A harpy dressed in green leather and two others.’

  Kate! What was she doing here? ‘Only three?’ the Scourge asked softly.

  The captain’s eyes flicked warily to the Scourge and then back to the Guildmaster. Clearly, the Guildmaster was not going to overrule the stranger’s question. ‘They took us by surprise. The green witch hit me with this bolt before we even knew they were upon us. And then she set some possessed maniac on us. We were not equipped to deal with magic. We should send the watch out immediately, Guildmaster, to hunt them down and execute them. The Guild’s authority must be shown respect!’

  The Scourge moved across to the captain and clapped a friendly hand on his injured shoulder and squeezed. The mercenary stifled a cry and found he couldn’t stand up straight.

  ‘Are you sure that’s how it was? Did the green witch not say anything at all, not even to taunt you?’

  Gasping through the pain, the captain groaned, ‘Claimed she was a Guardian, but there’s no way the two travelling with her were Guardians. Called one of ’em Saltar. Deserter, by his clothing.’

  ‘And the other?’ with another firm squeeze.

  ‘Argh! Nothing to tell. Bit of a runt. Eager to please. Tried to bribe us, which is a crime, you know.’

  The Scourge let him go with a last friendly punch to the shoulder. When the mercenary had had a few moments to recover from his agony, he instinctively went for his knife, only to find the stranger had dispossessed him of it during their contact.

  The Scourge dropped the blade on the table. ‘Guildmaster, men such as this will lose you friends and clients at a time when you most need them.’

  The administrator’s shoulders bowed and he nodded. ‘His membership of the Guild is forfeit. It is a negligent captain that loses his band and returns home alone. Furthermore, it is an abuse of Guild assets. He is exiled from Holter’s Cross and its environs forthwith.’

  ‘What? No! I’m not the criminal here!’

  ‘Guards, expel him from the city at once. Do not allow him any medical attention. I will not have any further Guild resources wasted on him. Seize his mount, for the Guild must be compensated for its losses.’

  ‘You can’t do this! I’ll die out there. You haven’t heard the last of this!’

  The guards seized him and bundled him from the room.

  The Guildmaster shook his head tiredly and massaged his temples before addressing the Scourge again. ‘My apologies, Guardian, for the unfortunate incident. Yet it is the Guild that seems to have suffered most because of it. How do you wish to proceed?’

  ‘Leave the tracking of the three individuals to me, that is all. Otherwise, I believe our business is done for now. It just remains for me to thank you on behalf of the Crown for your co-operation in all the matters we have touched on today. I look forward to our future business dealings and wish you a prosperous six months ahead.’

  ‘Very good. On your way out, remind the clerk to furnish you with documents so that you may leave the city without interference. Also, would you be so kind as to ask him to bring me a restorative tonic before I see any further clients? Thank you and good day, Guardian.’

  The Scourge strode from the building on wobbly legs and headed directly for the inn. The bump at the back of his head was itching, telling him they should waste no time in getting after the three people the mercenary captain had encountered to the south. The woman had to be Kate; he’s told her often enough that her green leather outfit made her too distinctive and easy for a fugitive to avoid; and he knew the crossbow was one of her favoured weapons. But who were the other two? One of them was a soldier who had pretty much taken out the entire patrol. He sounded more like a King’s hero, the missing hero, but that had to be coincidence. Kate was one of the best: she would not have hesitated to deal with an undead hero and the attendant necromancer.

  Something didn’t add up. After all, he had tasked Kate with a reconnaissance mission to Accritania and she should have been all but there by now. Maybe someone had stolen Kate’s armour and was now wearing it. Maybe Kate had been killed and raised by the necromancer! What was clear was that there was something remarkable about these three and he should investigate it while he had the chance. Maktar’s Crew could wait, especially as it sounded like they’d earnt so much from their last job that it would be some while before their funds ran out and they needed to look for a new commission.

  He still couldn’t believe the risks he had taken back at the Guildhouse and the precipitous claim he had made about the war coming to an end. What was I thinking back there? I must be mad, he castigated himself. Perhaps it was that madness that had won him the fickle god Wim’s favour. How else would news of the three travellers on the south road have come to him when and where it did? It was all too coincidental to be purely coincidental, if that made any sense. And if it wasn’t down to Wim then there was only one other divine entity who would delight in such interference.

  ‘Shakri, you’ve got a lot to answer for. You owe me for this.’

  Now, what were Young Strap and Nostracles up to to make his life even more difficult and perilous?

  ***

  The inn was quiet, which may have been normal for the time of day or an indication that it served poor quality fare. Young Strap wasn’t sure which
, but the few occupants that there were seemed to have coin enough to suggest that they could have afforded to go elsewhere if they were dissatisfied with the ale. Besides, the Scourge had been quite clear that he didn’t want them venturing far.

  They took a small table near the fire and relaxed into their chairs. It had been a while since either of them had experienced anything more comfortable than a cold saddle of a body-length of stony ground.

  ‘Ahh! This is nice,’ Young Strap sighed, stretching his boots out to rest on the bricks at the edge of the hearth. ‘Better not let me doze off, Nostracles. Not until we’ve obtained enough information to satisfy the Old Hound, anyway. I’m not exactly sure how we’re going to manage that in a place like this, but I’ll worry about that once I’m a hot meal and a mug of ale to the good. Are priests of Shakri allowed to drink ale? It wouldn’t be very companionable if you weren’t.’

  ‘Quite so. I may drink in as far as it brings me closer to my fellow man. Those who follow Shakri seek to embrace and love their fellows. I may not drink to excess for then the mind becomes vulnerable to negative suggestion and a man can be set against his fellows.’

  Young Strap grinned. ‘Yes, I’ve got myself into a few scrapes drinking too much. So, the priests of Shakri like to love their fellows, eh? I’ve heard tell that there are rituals that involve nudity… and…’

  Nostracles gazed at the Guardian expectantly.

  ‘Yes, well, never mind!’ Young Strap gave up.

  ‘If you are interested in our rituals, I am happy to answer all your questions.’

  ‘Let’s get that ale, shall we? Ah, innkeeper! Two ales, please. And what victuals do you have?’

  The innkeeper was a red-faced, barrel-chested man. His physique was intimidating, but his open features gave him the look of a gentle giant. He was the sort of man people instantly warmed to and would tell their troubles. He was the sort of man who had information.

  ‘Welcome to the Stuck Pig, good sir and priest. My boy says you have stabled your horses in the back. Is this your first visit here? We have rich, foaming beer and a generous beef stew.’