The Necrosopher’s Apprentice

by Lilith Hope Milam

  "Greetings Primus and welcome to our lowly ward! I received your summons this morning and came here with haste to attend to you!” Lore watched as the old man bowed and scraped before his superior.

  Sharpe stared at the groveling Warden and, to Lore, the look of revulsion was obvious on his face as was the sound of regret in his voice. "Ah, yes, Wulfgust, I did command your presence."

  Sharpe reached into the folds of his robe and withdrew a scroll. "You and your Ward served the Assembly well and with distinction during this year's winter recovery."

  Warden Wulfgust blinked in surprise and smiled. It was obvious that he hadn't expected the Primus to honor him as he straightened his shoulders then caught himself and bowed again "The honor was all ours, Primus. If ever the Fifth Ward can serve the Assembly and His Holiness the Primus, please feel free to call upon those you deem Pure in the Human Spirit!" He sneered over his shoulder at Lore and Gansel.

  Lore's stomach quivered in fear and she fought to keep breathing.

  The Primus extended the scroll to Wulfgust. "Yes. Indeed. That is why I have called you here."

  Lore saw the smile grow even wider on the Warden's face. She thought the top of his wretched head might fall off if it stretched any further.

  "However may we serve the Spirit, Primus?” He took the scroll and cracked the seal. As his eyes scanned across the page, his smug features smeared into confusion.

  "Are you sure about this order Primus Sharpe?” he contested, "You surely don't mean this?"

  Sharpe's eyes bore down on the old man, "Is there a problem, Warden? Are you questioning my wisdom?"

  "N-no, Primus!” he stammered. "It's just that..."

  His voice trailed off and Sharpe's patience was clearly wearing thin, "Speak plainly, old man. I haven't the time for your pathetic chicanery."

  Wulfgust, humiliated by the unexpected condemnation from the Primus, hissed out, "These females are of Questionable Purity in the Faith and of the Spirit."

  The Primus raised his chin and stared down at him. "This is of my will and of the Assembly, and therefore it is the will of the Wardens. If you have any concerns about our will, I'm sure we can address them from within the Temple."

  Wulfgust's skin went pale and he lowered his head, cowed. "No, Primus, I have no concerns."

  Sharpe moved his piercing gaze from the old man to Lore and Gansel. "Continue then."

  A shiver went up Lore’s spine and she held her daughter close.

  Gansel whispered, "Mama, what...?” But Lore shushed her before she could make another sound. She couldn't lose both her daughter and her husband to the Assembly! She'd tried so hard since Gansel had come into the world to fit in and not be noticed.

  Warden Wulfgust took a deep breath and read from the scroll, "By the Pure Human Spirit, I, Primus Morrow Sharpe, Upmost Curate of the Assembly, do Proffer Collegiate Pupilage unto one Gansel Alterblum of the Fifth Ward, hereby she shall attend the Eldervost Maiden’s League Academy for Young Ladies."

  Sweat beaded on the Warden's brow and his cheeks bloomed ruddy in his runny oatmeal complexion. "Said Gansel Alterblum shall present this Appointment to the Duchess Herzogina at the Academy within two weeks, where she will Commence her Training and Matriculation in the Various Scientific and Technological Disciplines Required of Young Ladies who are to Be Of Good Use to the Pure Human Spirit and the Grand Duchy of Eldervost."

  When the Warden had finished, it appeared as if both he and Lore would faint, albeit for different reasons. Primus Sharpe turned to mount his horse.

  Gansel spoke up, "Does that mean I get to go to school? Please, mama! May I go?"

  From his saddle, Sharpe confirmed, "Aye little one, our land needs children, keen of eye like you, to learn and grow. I'm sure you will serve the Spirit well!" His eyes bore into Lore’s, and she had never felt a compliment to be so dangerous before.

  Lore’s heart froze. This was what she feared would happen all along. She was losing her only daughter.

  Wulfgust's hand went slack as he watched the Primus as he rode off. The scroll drifted to the ground before Lore's feet. He shot her a look of burning hatred before he stormed away.

  8

  Looking up from the entrance to the valley, Buchak saw the abandoned halls and lodges spreading away across the valley floor. The disused relics left empty since the Nirana wars.

  Faded flags and tattered banners hung from the elder lodge door frames. But those honored halls were not his destination. Tonight, he would trek up the arduous side paths into the honeycomb of caves where the shamed uyatluk bugbears slept between patrols.

  It was well into the second watch of the night and gusts of cold mountain air buffeted up the valley. Even though winter was gone, the snows of the Outereach kept the nights here ice cold.

  Buchak looked up the path and could see the single watch fire burning along the escarpment. He edged along the path and made his way to the bailuk hall entrance.

  Standing outside the cave, he saw only a single bugbear guard, asleep.

  Buchak looked down at the snoring form and wondered what he would find further inside the mountain. He had no idea what to expect. His family had never been rich enough to send their eldest out to serve with the honored bailuk warriors. The only reason he was even here was that he had lost his own honored status. Now, he had no choice but to rehabilitate himself like so many of the young bugbears that were up in those caves.

  ‘Like Asman.’ thought the bugbear.

  The thought of how he interfered with his nephew’s initiation made his belly squirm with shame.

  And just like Asman, he now lived his life at the behest of the tribal council and its commanders to atone for his mistakes.

  He arrived at the camp that evening at Baltar’s command.

  Baltar’s briefing had been simple. “Someone in Eldervost wants our blackweed. Find out who and why. Sell off your shipment and gather information. Then report back to me on your return.”

  It meant that he would remain separated from his only nephew for a little while longer. But at least this time it was due to Buchak's sins alone. If the mission was successful, neither he nor Asman would continue to bear their stigma. Baltar had promised full amnesty and their honors restored.

  Echoes of a raucous crowd rang out from the wide hall. Buchak entered and made his way through a throng of warriors gathered around a fight. He pushed his way to the front and in the center of the crowd stood a stooped, white-haired bugbear. The old one was defending himself from a younger, faster opponent.

  Buchak's mouth fell open and his ears drooped in shock. The opponent was Asman!

  "Asman!” he cried, “What are you doing?”

  Asman flinched at the sound of his name. Taking his attention from the challenge before him, he turned towards his uncle’s voice. Embarrassment washed over his face, realizing who was watching him.

  Buchak stared at his nephew standing in the fight circle. He wore only a loincloth and head bandage. Both hung loose on the young bugbear. The eye patch had fallen around Asman's neck, his hollow socket, puckered and appalling, where his left eye had once been.

  Being seen by his family for the first time since his injury, Asman was uncomfortably aware of his disfigurement and tried to cover his shame.

  The old, white-furred bugbear, seeing Asman's attention diverted, snapped towards his opponent, exploiting Asman's enlarged blind spot.

  Buchak’s eyes widened as his nephew’s opponent slid in unseen for the attack.

  His intent was to jab Asman’s leg with such force that the younger bugbear would return to the hospital yurt and remain there for quite some time. But Asman read the expression on his uncle’s face and dropped to a crouched prone position. His fingers were pulled back like eagle's talons and his claws anchored into the dry packed soil. He pushed his arms out and donkey kicked his legs back with all his might.

  Asman planted his flat, wide feet into his caretaker's stomach, using his still traveling inertia to send the
Kinnoo head over heels and onto his back, with Asman's cyclopean gaze appearing quickly after to leer down at him.

  To Buchak's surprise, the old bugbear began to laugh and rolled over cackling with joy. Asman reached down and helped him up.

  "Do not worry," said the elder bugbear, "Asman has well earned the right to knock me on my ass!"

  Buchak was shocked at the elder's abruptness and candor towards the situation, he had heard that the camp was a strange place, shaped by the continuous competition and brutality.

  He looked at his nephew, appalled to see bruises all over his exposed flesh, proving that the elder was indeed speaking the truth about his condition. Looking at his legs, feet, arms and around his skull, he knew then that Asman had earned more than his fair share of free hits.

  Buchak gasped, unused to seeing anyone in such a state, "Asman! You are obviously too injured to train like this, perhaps you should go rest. Should I get your doctor?”

  Asman looked over his shoulder at his sparring partner.

  “Stop worrying uncle,” he said, brushing off his former guardian’s concerns, “You more than anyone should know that it would take more than a few ill-timed shots to best me."

  Buchak felt the barbs of his nephew's goad and looked away in embarrassment. "You may think my love has shamed you, I still stand by my choice." He looked back at his nephew. “I would do it again, without hesitation."

  Asman fumed and snapped, “Why are you here? Did they finally sentence you to cobold patrols like me?”

  "I've been sent here by the Council, yes." Buchak said with a grunt, "but, I’ve been given a mission that will hopefully make up for my sins during your initiation. To fulfill our family's honor debt, I am being sent to conduct a trade mission between our tribes and the humans in Eldervost."

  Asman’s tufted eyebrows shot up, “Take me with you!"

  Buchak frowned at him. "No, you may not come," he said gravely. "Even if you were physically able, your own debt does not allow you to leave."

  Asman's frustration swelled again. He reached into his blackweed pouch and pinched some leaf into a wad, shoving it into his mouth.

  "Uncle" he argued, "shamed or restored, you will soon have to deal with the fact that I am no longer a child."

  Buchak grimaced. "Nephew, the best thing for everyone is for you to remain here with the uyatluk."

  The younger bugbear was about to object, but Buchak raised his large hand in peace. "There is nothing out there for you at this moment, and even though you have no way to win your honor back now, injured as you are, you will not be cast out from here.

  As part of my agreement to conduct this mission, I have secured a place for you to work on the farms. You will be able to work there until I have returned from my mission. I hope that once I am finished, we will, at last, be free of our honor debts.”

  Asman remained silent and glared at his uncle.

  Buchak sighed and turned away. It was evident that he wouldn’t be able to reach his nephew’s heart through the wall of anger.

  Asman crossed his arms and snarled at his old guardian’s back, “Uncle, I’m not sure I want your help. The last time you interfered, I wound up here.”

  9

  Gansel stood on the riverbank, on the opposite shore the city walls towered over her. She planted one foot on a slick rock, while her other was deep in the lapping water. She could feel her toes growing wet and cold through her woolen socks. She wasn't alone on the steep bank. With the warmer weather, river-ramps were sprouting on the shoreline and everyone from Frogtown was filling their baskets.

  She couldn't keep her mind on the task though, continuously catching herself daydreaming about being at the Academy next week. What would it be like? She'd heard about the three schools and their subjects: steam sciences at the Ingenerium, biology at the Viva Sectorium, and surveying at the Lustra-Geomatria.

  She'd been riding in the clouds for days. For the first time in her life, she was seeing the future open up before her and she loved not knowing what to expect out of life. Her mother had the opposite reaction and she didn't understand it. How could she not love the fact that, for once, life wasn't predictable?

  Her wistful state broke as two dwarf children ran across the top of the bank, laughing and trundling hoops along the towpath. She smiled and looked up the path from where they came. Following at a distance was Tymuld carrying her own full ramp basket. Gansel smiled and waved at her friend, then climbed up the slick grass bank, slipping a few times in the mud.

  She greeted her friend breathlessly, "Tymuld! Where have you been? I haven't seen you out all spring!"

  The young dwarf looked at the children running with the hoops and kept walking, "I'm sorry Ganny, I've got to keep an eye on these two."

  Gansel hurried to stay beside her, curious. "Are they your family? You've never mentioned having any brothers or sisters."

  Tymuld looked annoyed at the question. "No, my Uncle Thorley’s grandkids are visiting from Earst-ethus."

  "They're your cousins! That's great! No one ever visits from my mother's village." Gansel smiled at the thought of Tymuld as small as the younglings.

  Tymuld picked up her pace, her short legs pegging along.

  "Hey! Slow down! Why are you going so fast?" Gansel demanded as she began to lose her breath.

  Tymuld stopped and spun around, the anger on her face shocked Gansel to a halt. "Because I don't want my cousins to wind up like Tar'dur!"

  Gansel swallowed hard, feeling stones drop into her stomach at the mention of her goblin friend "Tymuld, what do you mean? What's wrong with Tar'dur?"

  The dwarf closed her eyes.

  "The Underkeepers broke his jaw that day Gansel. He couldn’t open his mouth! For a month he couldn’t eat solid food!" Her voice kept rising in pitch and volume making Gansel wince, shrinking into her shawl. Tears ran down the dwarf’s face.

  "He’s dead Ganny. He just wasted away from not being able to eat. Where were you?!"

  "I'm sorry Tymuld," Gansel’s voice grew small, "I didn't know."

  "Of course you didn't know! You don't live out here! You don't have to run inside whenever the Underkeepers patrol! You don’t have to worry about them punching you in your pretty little human face!" Furious tears streamed down Tymuld's freckled cheeks.

  The two children had stopped their play and were staring at them, "Where have you been anyway?!"

  "I've, uh..." she hesitated, afraid of how her friend would react to the one bit of good news she possessed. "Just home mostly… I… I've been invited to attend the Assembly's Academy."

  Tymuld's face went inert, her green eyes burned a hole into Gansel, "Oh, of course, you were. And I bet you’re going?"

  "Um, yes. Tymuld, why are you so angry?" Gansel pleaded, "Forgive me, I'm sorry I didn't come to check on Tar'dur."

  Tymuld took a few deep breaths, "I just thought you were different Gansel, my mistake. You want to sell yourself out to the Assembly like every other human in this appalling country, go ahead!"

  She took a step away from Gansel. "But stop coming around here. I don't want to see you anymore. The Underkeepers have only just stopped bothering the folks in Frogtown since they caught us with you and I don't want to be responsible for them hurting anyone else!"

  Tymuld turned and shooed her cousins along at ar un, leaving Gansel standing on the riverbank. An ache grew inside her. Hot tears pricked her eyes.

  She turned and ran the opposite way, through Giggers Gate and deep into the city, her basket bumping against her hip as she raced through the crowded streets. Eyes blurred from crying, through loud tented markets and across the vaulted bridge of the Grand Canal, she didn't stop until her legs turned to lead beneath her.

  Wiping the tears from her eyes she finally looked around her. It was getting dark and she was in an empty square with a simple fountain. She was so tired and had no idea where she was. The Temple District? She looked down at her basket, most of the ramps were gone. She lost her family's food and he
r friend today.

  ‘Pathetic, useless, worthless.’ her mind whispered over and over.

  “Tar’dur!” She wept and covered her eyes. Collapsing by the fountain, weeping. All the time watched and unaware.

  The old thief stood in the shadows of an alley across from the fountain, leaning against a rough cobblestone wall and eating an apple. Waiting, he stared at the little girl bawling her eyes out for a moment, shrugged and looked away. It wasn’t any of his business. Kids today needed to toughen up, do what needed to be done. Stop melting like snowflakes or there wouldn’t be food for the table.

  He wasn’t soft, no sir. He’d about done all. Cheats, scams, cons, theft, and lots and lots of theft. He'd burgled, converted, deceived, and embezzled until time and consequences would have caught up with him, even if the Underkeepers hadn’t. Gael knew he had no skills for commonplace work at this age, so why even pretend? Smuggling met his needs these days.

  Horns blared across the Temple District. Eighteen blasts echoed off the spires that heralded the passing of the day. Gael heard the little girl give a little squeal and a final sob, then run out of the square. It was only an hour until curfew.

  ‘Bugbear better get his mangy arse here before the Underkeepers start poking around,’ he thought.

  One of his connections in Frogtown had sent word that a bugbear sailed in earlier this week with a grand load of blackweed. Gael’s patron instructed him to arrange the meeting here and now with haste.

  He frowned, that is if the stinking golliwog even showed his dog face. He shuddered. Why were they so damned ugly? Gael looked out of the alley and across the plaza, where was that bugbear?

  A splash came from the plaza fountain, dark water, iridescent in the light from the waning moon, seemed to pour over the side of the fountain and settle in the shadows.

  Gael strained his ears, to see if he could hear more, but to no avail.

  ‘Must’ve been a rat,’ he thought.