by Layton Green
“And a necromancer?” Val said. He thought he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from Alexander. Know thy enemy.
“A necromancer lives among the dead, studies the dead, summons the dead, works with the dead. He walks in shadow and eschews the light.”
“Do you know of a necromancer named Zedock?”
Alexander’s face darkened. “Mala told me of your predicament. Zedock is one of the more powerful necromancers in New Victoria.”
“Is he stronger than the ogre-mage?”
Alexander’s laughter had a rough edge. “Much.”
“But what makes one wizard stronger than another?”
“Innate talent, of course, though rigorous training is essential to reach full application of one’s power.”
A vein along Val’s neck started to pulse. “What if I were to learn? Do you think I have enough power to defeat Zedock?”
“Your demonstration in the tunnel was impressive, but magic is a tricky thing. Perhaps you will never be able to harness such power under normal circumstances. Even if you could, I fear it would take years to learn enough wizardry to deal with Zedock.”
“Years?”
“Magic is studied and refined over a lifetime.” He smiled thinly. “Sometimes many.”
Val had a sudden thought. “Would a necromancer be able to travel between worlds?”
He asked the question expecting Alexander to laugh, but instead he looked at Val with arched eyebrows. “Why do you ask?”
Val forced a worried expression. “Just wondering if Zedock can find us if we managed to escape to another world.”
“The idea is not devoid of merit,” Alexander said, and Val could tell he wasn’t joking. “Though finding a way to do that would be as difficult as dealing with Zedock. You’d have to find a spirit mage willing to send you, or an artifact capable of such a feat.”
“What kind of artifact?” Val said, on instant alert.
“One that facilitates travel among worlds. Not many exist, and I wouldn’t know where to start looking.”
“Do necromancers typically consort with spirit mages?”
“No. Spiritmancy, in general, is viewed as a discipline for those with a keen interest in humankind and its place in the cosmos. Necromancers are solitary wizards. Let us just say they are not known for their civic manner.”
“If a wizard had an artifact capable of transport between worlds,” Val asked, “where would it be kept? In his stronghold?”
“Almost assuredly.” He narrowed his eyes at Val. “Is there something you wish to discuss?”
Not yet, Val thought, but I think I might have found our way home.
“Just taking it all in,” Val said. “Based on what I’ve seen, I’m guessing wizards can perform only one spell at a time, because of the mental concentration involved. Flying, for example.”
Alexander’s stare lingered, letting Val know he was aware something was up and that he was letting him change the topic. “Very good. Wizards almost never fly in battle. We can only focus our will on one task at a time.”
“But you can, ah, tie things off. Like the earthen platform you raised.”
“Exactly,” Alexander said. “I used magic to create a tangible thing.”
You manipulated reality, is what you did, Val thought.
Val realized that the “one spell at a time” rule was an important limitation, but he also thought about how Zedock had animated the manticore and then used other spells. There were, he supposed, clever ways to circumvent the restriction.
“Does distance matter?” Val said.
“It depends on the spell.” Alexander laughed and clapped Val on the shoulder. “Why don’t we start with the basics? It will start to become clearer after a few lessons.” He snatched another leaf and handed it to Val. “Focusing the will requires extreme concentration, but magic also requires release. The balance between the two is the key, and the hardest lesson to learn. But once you sort it out, the magic begins to flow.”
Val let out a breath. He wasn’t very good at starting with the basics.
“One must still conscious thought in order to let the magical energy pour forth,” Alexander continued. “Your mind must move inward and access another state of existence, or another plane. We don’t really know.” He smiled. “That’s why they call it magic.”
Val stared for long minutes at the leaf Alexander had given him. Finally he let it drop, then concentrated on not letting it fall to the ground.
It fluttered straight down.
Val’s voice was stiff. “As I said, I have no talent.”
Alexander threw back his head with laughter. “Not even Myrddin succeeded on the first try. It takes time, weeks or even months, to learn to harness one’s magic. Focus, forget, find, and control. Those are the keys. More complicated spells require far more study, of course.”
Val grew cold at the memory of how easily Zedock had stopped the bullets and tossed the dumpster. Even if Val had the talent, he didn’t have time to learn.
Mala approached and noticed the leaf in Val’s hand. She raised her eyebrows, then said, “There’s something you both should know. Something’s been following us. Both Hashi and I have sensed it since we entered the Southern.”
“What kind of something?” Val said.
“At first I suspected a normal predator, but now I’m not so sure. How many game animals track human parties of this size, for this long?”
“I would say none,” Alexander said.
Mala’s mouth was grim. “I would agree.”
Val felt his stomach tighten. “What, then?”
“I’m uncertain,” Mala said, but the worried look she exchanged with Alexander spoke volumes.
“So?” Val said. “What do we do about it?”
“Nothing, for now,” Mala said. “I hope it’s just a party of interest, keeping stock on who enters its territory.”
“And if it’s not?”
She rubbed her thumb against the hilt of her dagger, glancing back at the path. “Then we do what we must. There’s no other way through.”
-31-
The party stopped for the night on a raised earthen mound just off the path, the light from the waning sun smoldering in the trees like the dying embers of a fire. The cooler dusk air brought insects, and Allira handed out liberal amounts of her paste.
After they set camp, Will decided to find out more about their enigmatic healer. He approached Allira while she was partaking in her ritual, sipping tea from her gourd at the edge of camp.
He sat cross-legged next to her. “How’s your tea?”
She cradled her gourd and smiled.
“There’s a type of tea back home called yerba mate. People in South America drink it out of gourds like that.”
She looked at him blankly.
I’m babbling, he thought. She’s never heard of South America.
He tried to think of a way to ask about her past, or even her present, but he couldn’t think of a way to do it without embarrassing her. “I appreciate everything you’ve done,” he said finally. “Your calming presence and all the healing. I just wanted you to know.”
Her warm brown eyes met his, and he sensed her gratitude.
He started to tell her that if she ever needed anything, she could come to him, and then realized he had nothing to offer. She was the protector, not he. After struggling to think of something more to say, he rose. “Have a good night,” he muttered.
She laid her hand on his arm before he left. Somehow Will understood that she appreciated him coming over, and that should he ever need anything, he could ask her.
For some reason, he also got the feeling that she could speak but chose not to. As if some unspeakable tragedy had arrested her ability to communicate. Or maybe she had simply decided she no longer wanted to use words.
With darkness came the sounds of the night, crickets and owls and frogs, the occasional growl of a panther. But then came stranger things, new to their journey: shriek
s and eerie howls whose origin Will shuddered to think about.
After the wards were set, Alexander returned to the flat-topped mound. Even Hashi and Fochik joined the tight circle of sleeping rolls. The horses had been secured on the path below.
Hashi passed around a canteen of his foul brew, to which Will was growing more accustomed. The Chickasaw leader was surprisingly talkative when drinking, though Will didn’t understand anything he said.
Will noticed Mala staring into the darkness more than usual. “What’s out there?” he asked.
Val and Mala exchanged a glance. “We think something is tracking us,” Mala said. “But we’re safe behind the wards.”
“You mean like we were safe when the bandits attacked?”
“This path is the only way through this portion of the Southern Protectorate. Rest assured no bandits are savvy or brave enough to approach us here.”
“What about the other things?” Caleb said, his head in Marguerite’s lap. “The . . . creatures you told us about?”
Mala took a swig of grog. “Pockets of the Southern are controlled by renegade mages, primitive tribes, bog hags, and other sentient creatures. But those pockets are to the south or along the coast. This area is a wild no-man’s land, yet to be explored or mapped. The chances we’re being followed by a true sentient creature are remote.”
“I don’t understand the distinction,” Val said.
“There are monsters who use magic innately, on instinct. And, of course, there are plenty of non-magical creatures that could pose a threat. But for the most part, only sentient creatures—beings able to consciously employ magic, like the ogre-mage—could break down Alexander’s wards. It’s highly unlikely that whatever’s tracking us is such a creature.”
“Then why is everyone so jumpy?” Will asked.
Mala’s smile was thin. “Because one never knows.”
Later in the night, after everyone except Hashi had turned in, Will lay on his back, struggling to find sleep. He turned his head to the side and saw Val lying awake next to him.
“It’s tough to sleep when some unidentifiable creature makes a frightening sound every few seconds,” Will said.
“You know sleep and I have never gotten along.”
“That’s why you’re one of those successful, sleep four hours a night CEO types.”
“Listen,” Val said. “I may have stumbled upon something useful. Alexander claims necromancers aren’t the traveling-between-worlds types. Zedock likely used some type of magical artifact to travel to Earth.”
“Okay . . . how does that help us?”
“I suppose he could have taken the artifact with him,” Val mused, “but Alexander made it sound like it was a fixed object. And that any such object would almost certainly be kept at his stronghold.”
Will moved to his elbows. “Do you know where that is?”
“I bet we can find out.”
“It’s something.” Will let out a slow breath. “I just hope we’re not too late for Charlie. It’s been two weeks since we left. I know with the time differential we should have six weeks left, but . . . it feels wrong, somehow. Like he’s already lost to us.”
“Don’t even think that way.”
“I can’t stop thinking about it. So you’re finally off the Charlie as bad guy bandwagon?”
“I was never on it, Will,” he said softly. “Charlie helped raise us. I’m just not a very trusting person. The facts at the time were suspicious and that was the logical conclusion. But after what we’ve been through, I don’t doubt Charlie had our best interests at heart.”
“Has,” Will said.
“I’m sorry. You’re right.”
“I wish he was here.”
“I wish Dad were here,” Val said.
Will caught his breath. That was as much an admission of insecurity as he had ever heard from his older brother.
“How’s the magic going?” Will said.
Val grimaced. “Not very well. As in, nonexistent.”
“It’s your first day. Keep at it. I’ve never seen you fail at anything.”
Val didn’t respond.
One of the horses whinnied and snorted, louder than usual. Will moved to a crouch.
“Relax,” Val said. “It probably smells a cat on the prowl.”
Another horse chimed in, and then another, until a crescendo of frightened equine sounds stole whatever calm was left. Will heard the sound of a rope snapping, the rapid clomp of hoof beats, a sizzling sound, and then a long, disturbing equine scream that ended abruptly.
“Still think it’s a cat?” Will said, as the entire camp jumped to their feet.
With a wave of his hand, Alexander lit the earthen mound with a glow of concentrated moonlight. Hashi and Mala followed him as he rushed towards the horses on the path below. They returned a few minutes later, the rest of the party waiting nervously on the mound.
Mala was in the lead, her sash and short sword in hand. “One of the horses broke tether and ran away. Ten feet past the wards the hoof prints disappeared. And there were no other tracks.”
“What was the sizzling sound?” Val asked. “The horse running through the wards?”
“The wards, yes,” Alexander said, “the horse, no. The wards are ineffective from the inside out, and constructed to paralyze humans or anything larger coming in. The wards can be fatal to smaller creatures, unfortunately, though their instincts usually warn them away.”
Will wondered if the wards were some type of magical electricity.
“The sizzling sound was a squirrel caught by the wards,” Alexander continued. “We think someone or something frightened the horses, and forced or lured the squirrel into the wards.”
“Testing our defenses,” Mala said grimly.
-32-
When the sun roused him at dawn, Will felt as if he had barely slept. The mood of the party was grim, the scenery grimmer. By midmorning they were tramping along a barely visible path that cut through a dismal wetland. Fog hovered over the marsh, the trunks of dead trees rose like ghostly limbs from the water, vultures clustered on branches, and the ridged backs of crocosaurs cut through the swamp.
Flamingos and roseate spoonbills added spots of color, but the overwhelming aura was one of danger and decay. The stench of rotten eggs filled the humid air, and Will longed for drier land.
The path disappeared altogether, and Will had no idea how Hashi and Fochik made their way through the calf-high swamp. All he knew was that without them, they would be hopelessly lost.
The bugs were so bad even Allira’s foul concoction failed to corral them. Will slapped and scratched as he rode, and he saw Caleb flagging in the heat. After watching his middle brother labor for a few more minutes, Will spurred his horse next to him.
“Gonna make it?” Will asked.
Caleb flicked away a line of sweat. “I don’t have a choice.” He inclined his head towards the front of the party, where Lance and Hashi rode side by side. “Wesson’s gone native on us.”
“We haven’t talked much since the bandits attacked. I’m a little worried about him.”
“He’s just surviving how he knows best,” Caleb said.
“I guess.”
Will updated him on Zedock and the potential bridge between worlds. When Caleb didn’t respond, Will said, “We are going home.”
“Remind me why didn’t I stay at that casino we saw on Bourbon?” Caleb muttered. “The one with the top-notch talent hanging off the balcony?”
Will clapped him on the shoulder. “A bender in that place probably would’ve killed you quicker than this journey.”
Caleb winced and rubbed the place where Will had slapped him. “Watch the heavy hand, big guy. I don’t think you realize how much stronger you’ve gotten. You’re whipping that sword around like a toothpick now.”
Will flexed his hands and noticed his forearms rippling with muscle. If only those muscles would obey him during battle. “I didn’t realize you were paying attention,”
Will said, “in between those late night ‘training’ sessions with Marguerite.”
Caleb opened a palm and grinned, showcasing a dagger he had concealed along his forearm. “That’s not all we do.”
Caleb didn’t carry a dagger. Will’s hand went to the empty notch on his own belt, his eyebrows lifting in respect.
It took most of the day to clear the bog. When they left the murky waters behind, Mala and Hashi relaxed a fraction. Alexander speculated the horse might have satisfied the hunger of whatever had been following them.
The terrain dried out, and they wove through a thicket of pine before picking up a dirt path on the other side. Will looked at Hashi and could only shake his head.
Will thought he smelled brine, and the faint sound of crashing waves soon confirmed his suspicion. When they finally exited the pine forest, they found themselves looking at a line of sea oats waving in the breeze. Behind the oats, a teal sea lapped against a beach the color of vanilla ice cream.
Mala took in the condition of the group, her gaze lingering on Val and then Caleb, who was stumbling along with a drooping head.
“This is as good a spot as any,” Mala said. “The beach is defensible, and we should be through the Southern by nightfall tomorrow. Once the wards are set, you can wash if you wish. Alexander, can you soundproof the wards?”
“It’ll take some time, but since we’re stopping early, I can manage.”
“If you don’t mind. How large of a creature will the wards impede?”
“I would say up to the dimensions of a mountain troll, perhaps a small dragon.”
“Nothing that large in here,” she mused, “or at least not that was tracking us with such finesse. And numbers are irrelevant?”
