The Rune Knight

by Jonathan Moeller

  “The third one,” murmured Mazael, looking at the stone piers, the Riversteel lapping at their base. “Monchard said the third one.”

  “Nothing there,” said Atalia, pointing. The third pier was in better shape than the others, a mass of gray stone rising from the river. At the bank stood a crumbling stone wall and a few piles of loose stone, all that remained of the warehouse that had once stood there.

  Mazael took a few steps forward, scanning the ground, and stopped.

  “Look at that,” he said.

  Most of the flagstone floor of the warehouse was still intact, and upon one of the flagstones, he saw a dark reddish-brown stain.

  “Blood,” said Atalia. “And it only rained two days ago. That would have washed away anything older. This is recent.”

  “Remember what Mandor said about prostitutes going missing from the Fair?” said Mazael.

  They shared a look.

  “Necromancers need corpses for their work,” said Atalia, her disgust plain. “I suppose this fellow has decided fresh corpses work best.”

  “Aye,” said Mazael, remembering the horrors they had seen in Father Colchard’s hidden laboratory. “Well, if this necromancer has been murdering people, he’ll regret it soon enough.”

  He walked over the flagstone floor, looking around. A glint of metal behind a pile of rubble caught his eye. Mazael circled around the heap of broken stone and found a trapdoor on the ground. The trapdoor was old, the wood weathered and moss-spotted, but the hinges were new and gleamed with oil.

  “Our rat’s nest,” said Atalia.

  “Can you conjure some light?” said Mazael, drawing his sword with a steely hiss. The longsword glinted in the sunlight. Atalia nodded and flexed her free hand. “Good. Then stand back.” She took a few quick steps back, and Mazael stooped and opened the trapdoor. It swung open without a sound, revealing damp stone stairs descending into the earth. In the distance, Mazael saw a flickering green glow.

  “Guess we won’t need that light,” whispered Atalia.

  Mazael nodded. “Follow me. Try to keep quiet.”

  He descended the stairs, Atalia following him. To his annoyance, she did a better job of keeping quiet, but she was smaller than he was and wasn’t wearing armor. The stairs opened into a large rectangular chamber, the ceiling supported by thick brick pillars. The debris of old barrels and crates lay scattered upon the floor, the wood moldering. The air was damp and heavy with the smell of decay.

  It also smelled of fresh blood and rotting meat.

  The green glow came from several wooden tables at the far end of the vault. Mazael glimpsed a figure in a rough brown robe walking back and forth, and heard the voices of two men raised in argument. Mazael turned to Atalia and put one finger to his lips, and she nodded. They moved along the right-hand wall in silence, closer to the source of the green light and the arguing voices. They ducked behind a pillar, and Mazael gestured for Atalia to remain still.

  The edge of the room looked similar to Father Colchard’s workshop. Mazael saw a long wooden table laden with books and scrolls and glass jars and bottles holding various fluids. Some of the jars glowed with eerie green light. Three more tables held three fresh corpses, all of them of young women.

  They had found the missing whores from the Fair.

  Thick rows of black stitches marked their stomachs and chests and necks, a strong chemical reek rising from them, and Mazael scowled as he considered their deaths.

  Before the day was out, they would be avenged.

  A gaunt, ascetic-looking man with graying black hair stood by the worktable, clad in a monk’s robe. Dark stains marked the robe, and his expression was irritated. He was looking at someone outside of Mazael’s field of vision, someone obscured by another pillar.

  “This price is unreasonable,” said the robed man. “I asked for live specimens, yes, but it cannot have been that much work to kidnap them from the Fair. All you need to do is wave a coin in front of their eyes, and they will follow you anywhere.”

  “Come now, Kolmard,” said the second voice, and with a jolt Mazael recognized it.

  Sir Calvin Astarre came into sight, smiling at the man he had called Kolmard. One hand rested on his sword hilt. The other held a rope that had been tied around the neck of a young woman with black hair. She wore a faded blue dress, and her wrists had been tied together behind her back, her ankles hobbled. A gag had been shoved into her mouth, and her eyes were bloodshot with tears, her terror evident.

  Atalia glared at Calvin, her hand curling into a fist.

  “The price is unreasonable,” said Kolmard again. “The School’s funds are not unlimited.”

  Calvin smiled. “Do you want to go collect specimens yourself?”

  “Do not be absurd,” said Kolmard. “You know that Trocend has been looking for us ever since one of our masters got himself killed in Castle Town. The School requires secrecy to carry out our studies.”

  “And secrecy you shall have,” said Calvin, “if you are willing to spend the coin to buy it.”

  Kolmard sighed, defeated, and reached for his belt pouch. “Very well. But I will not go any higher than this price.”

  “You will once you hear what I have to offer,” said Calvin.

  “And what is that?” said Kolmard.

  “I’ve seen your work,” said Calvin, gesturing at the corpses upon the table. “Impressive creatures, once they’re finished, but you’re working with poor materials. What kind of undead could you raise from a woman with magical abilities?”

  Kolmard blinked, and Atalia stiffened next to Mazael.

  “You can obtain such a woman?” said Kolmard.

  “Easily, and with little risk,” said Calvin. “Her name is Atalia, and she was thrown out of the wizards’ brotherhood for impudence. She has magic, but she has to keep it quiet. Looks like she’s sharing the bed of one of Lord Malden’s household knights right now, some thuggish brute without a thought in his skull. Luring her away from him will be easy. Then I can bring her here, and you can do as you wish with her.”

  “An intriguing possibility,” said Kolmard. “Many powerful undead can be created from a woman possessing even rudimentary magical skill. How quickly can you obtain her? I will pay a good price for this woman if she is everything that you say.”

  “This very afternoon,” said Calvin. “She betrayed me, but I shall claim that I will give her some of her money from when we were bandits together. She was always greedy and stupid, and her lust for money will override her thinking. From there it will be a simple matter to bring her here, and she will be yours. I will expect five times the regular price.”

  “You shall have it,” said Kolmard. “If you are telling the truth. Tell me, is she a virgin? A virgin’s blood has more uses for necromantic magic than you might expect.”

  Calvin let out a nasty laugh. “I can tell you firsthand that she is not.”

  Kolmard scoffed. “You nobles are ever enslaved to the lusts of the flesh. None of the women you brought me were virgins, either, and I could have created powerful creatures from virgins.”

  “It is easy to make whores disappear,” said Calvin. “No one cares. If we start making the daughters of respectable townsmen and merchants disappear, that will draw notice, and I understand your School wishes to avoid notice.”

  “The common rabble is not ready for the truth of our knowledge,” said Kolmard. “Not yet. Someday, perhaps, the glory of the School and the truths we have discovered will be made public, but not yet. For now, we must work in secrecy. Someday...”

  “Yes, I’ve heard your little sermons before,” said Calvin. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring Atalia, and you can preach to her all you wish before you kill her.” He jerked his head at the bound woman behind him. “But what about this one?”

  “Your payment,” said Kolmard, passing some coins to Calvin. The knight made them disappear. “My servants will attend to her.” He clapped his hands. “Smell her blood, my servants. Take her and bind her. S
he will join your ranks soon enough.”

  Green fire flickered around his fingers as he clapped, and the dead women upon the tables rose, moving with jerky, twitching movements. Green fire pulsed through their veins as the necromancy upon their bodies animated their dead flesh. The creatures rose, and the living woman screamed into her gag.

  “How do they see, by the way?” said Calvin. “You stitched their eyes shut.”

  “They sense living blood,” said Kolmard, “the way that you and I sense heat.”

  As one, the undead things turned towards Mazael and Atalia.

  Mazael blinked, lifting his sword, and Atalia gave him an alarmed glance. Could the creatures have sensed them? Belatedly he realized that he and Atalia were closer to the undead things than the captive woman was. Kolmard had told the creatures to head towards the nearest source of living blood.

  That was Mazael and Atalia.

  “Hell,” he muttered.

  Kolmard frowned. “What’s that? Is someone there?”

  Mazael looked at Atalia. “Go left,” he hissed. “I’ll go right.”

  She nodded and raised her staff.

  “I say, is someone there?” said Kolmard, raising his hands as green fire started to play around his fingers again. Calvin frowned, stepped to the side, and drew his longsword.

  Mazael heaved around the pillar and charged forward, and Atalia followed a second later. Kolmard’s creatures were strong, but they were not fast, and Mazael had faced such things before. He swung his sword in a two-handed grip, the honed blade a blur. It bit through the first creature’s neck and took off its head in a spurt of chemical-smelling black slime. The creature staggered and collapsed to its knees.

  Atalia cast a spell as she swung around the pillar from the left, pointing her staff. The length of wood flared with blue light, the sigils glowing, and the blue light seemed to spear one of the undead creatures. The animated corpse went motionless, and then collapsed as Atalia’s magic overwhelmed the spells binding the creature. Her skills had improved over the last year under Trocend’s tutelage. Mazael doubted she could have managed such a feat of magic when he had first met her in the Stormvales.

  The last of the creatures came at him, and Mazael sidestepped, slashing his blade across the back of the creature’s legs. The undead thing fell to its knees, hamstrung. Once it must have been a woman of remarkable beauty, but now it was a horror, gray-skinned and glistening, the bare limbs and torso covered with stitches, black slime pulsing through the veins.

  He took off the creature’s head and then recovered his balance just in time to intercept Sir Calvin’s attack. Their swords crashed together a dozen times in as many heartbeats, steel ringing on steel. Calvin’s face was a grim mask in the green light, and Mazael realized that the knight was a capable swordsman.

  “Hold!” said Kolmard.

  Calvin stepped back, raising his sword in guard. Atalia paused, more blue light flashing around her staff as she readied another spell.

  “How?” snapped Calvin. “How did you follow me?”

  “You’re rather less clever than you think you are,” said Atalia. “But you always have been. Haven’t gotten yourself hanged yet, Calvin? Well, today’s your lucky day. What do you think Lord Malden will do once he finds out you’re consorting with necromancers? You’ll be doing a dance at the end of a rope by the end of the day.”

  Calvin let out a sneering laugh. “You think so? You think your petty little magic tricks can stand against the power of a necromancer of the School? Or that your trained thug can stand against a knight of the Whitewood? You think...”

  “Enough!” said Kolmard, his voice booming like a thunderclap. It was surprising to hear such a loud voice come from the ascetic-looking man. “This need not end in violence.”

  “I think it does,” said Mazael. “Your friend Colchard? I was the one who killed him. Lord Malden will not let necromancers practice in his lands. You can discuss the matter with Colchard when you see him in hell in a few moments.”

  It was a bit of a bluff. They were evenly matched, with Mazael’s sword against Calvin’s and Atalia’s magic against Kolmard’s. Yet Mazael suspected that Kolmard’s magic would prove the stronger, and he didn’t know how good Calvin was with his sword. Perhaps the best thing to do was to stall and wait for Trocend to arrive with help.

  “It will end in violence for you,” said Kolmard, “but it need not end in violence for you, Atalia.”

  She let out a derisive laugh. “Really? I heard you two fools discussing me as if I was a cow you were buying at market. You planned to turn me into one of your dead puppets. Yes, I think this will end in violence.”

  “You dispelled one of my puppets,” said Kolmard, ignoring Calvin and Mazael as if they were of no importance. “That takes considerable skill. More skill than a failed novice ought to manage. You possess considerable potential.”

  “Care to test that?” said Atalia.

  “I would rather mold it,” said Kolmard. “You should join the School.”

  Atalia laughed again. “So you can turn me into one of your rotting puppets?”

  “Not at all,” said Kolmard. “We recognize talent when we find it. The School is interested in recruiting wizards with the wisdom to recognize the importance of our mission.”

  “Of murdering whores and turning them into undead?” said Mazael, making no effort to hide his scorn.

  “Necessary sacrifices,” said Kolmard. “We shall find a way to make mankind immortal. We shall sweep aside the corrupt lords and the superstitious church, and build an empire that will make Old Dracaryl look like the petty fiefdom of a bandit chief.”

  “Old Dracaryl collapsed,” said Mazael. “Their pet dragons ate them, or the Old Demon corrupted them. You won’t even make it that far.”

  “The decision is not yours,” said Kolmard. “It is Atalia’s. We offer you something great – a noble mission and power beyond your imagination. You are wasting your talent here. Do you want to spend your life as the mistress of a minor knight, squandering your magical power in petty intrigues? Or do you wish to achieve true power?”

  “Colchard made the same offer,” said Mazael. “It was ridiculous then, and it is ridiculous now.”

  “Yes,” said Atalia.

  Mazael glanced at her. Her eyes were hooded, her face shadowed.

  “Maybe...it isn’t as ridiculous as that,” said Atalia.

  Kolmard inclined his head in a slow nod. “You begin to see wisdom.”

  “Listening to that man isn’t wisdom,” said Mazael.

  “What will happen to me if I stay here?” said Atalia. “They’re not wrong.” Blue light glimmered up and down her staff. “Sooner or later I’ll step wrong, and I’ll be killed. No one will lift a finger to save me. Not you, not anyone. I have to look to my future. I have to look out for myself.”

  “This is madness,” said Mazael, surprised. He knew she loved power, that she wanted more magic, but he had never thought her capable of listening to a bloody-handed wielder of dark magic like Kolmard.

  “Is it?” she whispered.

  “Listen to me,” said Mazael. “You told me your mother was a whore. Those dead women on the floor were whores.” He nodded towards the terrified young woman with the rope around her neck. “She is likely a whore as well. If you didn’t have magical power, Kolmard would do the same thing to you without blinking an eye.”

  “Yes,” said Kolmard without shame. “But you do have magical power, and you can have more.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” said Atalia, taking a step towards him. Mazael shifted, keeping his sword raised, trying to keep an eye on everyone at once. “Maybe it’s time that I joined the School and learned true power. And maybe I’ve just been talking so I can get this ready.”

  She thrust her staff and shouted. Blue light blazed, and a rippling distortion of the air seemed to leap from the end of the staff and hurtle towards Kolmard. The necromancer’s eyes widened, and he crossed his arms before him and
started casting a spell, but not before Atalia’s spell slammed into him. The rippling distortion picked him up and flung him into the wall.

  Atalia started to turn, but Calvin was faster. He punched her in the face, her head snapping back, and she overbalanced and landed on her back. The knight sprang after her, raising his sword for the kill.

  Mazael roared in fury, rage erupting through him, and charged. Calvin reacted with admirable speed, his sword blurring in a parry. Steel clanged, and Mazael shoved, knocking the older man back. Calvin riposted, and Mazael beat aside the thrust.

  Atalia groaned on the floor, trying to rise, and Mazael looked at her with concern.

  The distraction almost killed him. Calvin’s sword stabbed forward with the speed of a serpent’s tongue, and Mazael realized the danger at the last possible instant. He twisted aside, but not before Calvin’s sword ripped a painful gash on his left leg. Mazael stumbled, and Calvin laughed in triumph and swung his sword at Mazael’s neck. Mazael managed to get his own blade up in time to parry, but only partially, and the sword hammered at his chest, biting through the mail links to draw a cut along his ribs.

  Fury and pain exploded through him, and Mazael seized Calvin’s wrist with his free hand and twisted. He punched before the older knight could react, and the pommel of his sword hit Calvin in the nose with a crunch of breaking bone. The knight’s head snapped back with a flash of blood, and Mazael kicked with his injured leg, ignoring the pain. His heavy boot caught Calvin in the knee, and the knight stumbled, hit one of the tables, and fell to the ground.

  Mazael raised his sword for the kill, and a flare of light caught his attention.

  A half-dozen yards away Kolmard had risen to one knee, green fire flaring around his fingers as he began a spell. The necromancer’s face was bruised, his eyes tight with pain. Mazael sprinted at him and raised his sword, bringing the blade plunging down. Atalia’s attack must have broken the necromancer’s magical defenses because the sword sank into Kolmard’s chest. Kolmard’s mouth opened in a silent scream, blood falling from his lips.