The Necrosopher’s Apprentice

by Lilith Hope Milam

  The humans behind Asman noticed it too and began to murmur among themselves. The vicar's guards pulled out their crossbows and wound them up, scanning the dark woods around them.

  Asman heard the sound of horns as torches lit up along the top ridge of the dark mass.

  They had arrived at the entrance to Kazan-on-the-Water, a trade and shipping settlement that grew by Lake Jalpak.

  The shape of the outer wall became more distinct as they drifted closer and he could see the portcullis of a large gate that spanned the river. This was the Toll Gate that would allow them to pass into Lake Jalpak.

  The brothers punted the raft over to the dock of a small shack on the north shore. Sitting outside were three bugbears operating this toll-booth. The black and white striped fur that grew on each of their bodies in a variety of patterns indicated they were locals from the Garund tribe.

  Bakcha tied off the raft while Jigach looked away from the dock. Asman stood next to him and asked, "Do you know them?"

  Jigach nodded and said, "Yeah, they were there the day that guild pilot tried to cheat us."

  Baumwolle walked across the raft and stood on top of the bales of blackweed, looking down at Asman he asked, "The vicar would know why we have stopped, have we arrived at Kazan?"

  "Not yet, Warden, we have to pay a toll to enter the lake."

  The human pursed his lips and said, "I suppose they do not take coin either?"

  "Asking is the only way to find out," Asman replied as he jumped up onto the dock and walked over to the guard shack.

  The head guard looked up at Asman. He was a particularly grizzled old bugbear with a chest covered in the ritual scars found on those of his generation, relics gained from kills in the old battles fought during the Niraana Wars. He crossed his gray, furry arms as Asman approached.

  "Greetings honorable akjoon." Asman said reverently.

  The old bugbear looked at his fellow guards and chuckled, "Heh, someone who knows the old words and how to speak with respect!"

  He turned his gaze back to Asman, who could see that the old bugbear's right eye was dead gray and blind. Asman touched his own eye patch without thinking. In awe of the old one's self-display, he wondered for the first time about his own modesty.

  The old guard spoke again, scratching his chin, "Well, what's a uyatluk doing so far from the valley?"

  He peered over Asman's shoulder and blinked with surprise at the humans, "And that's an even odder sight. You don't look like you're trying to escape your honor debt, where are you off to boy?"

  Asman was shocked at the old bugbear's conclusion, but he didn’t want to reveal what his mission was, "Your wisdom exceeds your years venerable akjoon. How did you know I’ve come from the camps?"

  "Every few years, we get someone who doesn’t want to meet their obligation and don't want to return to Camp Tereng-Kondoy,", he replied, “and, you certainly don’t look like someone from Parom Town.”

  "So, what do you do?” Asman asked, "Capture them and send them back?"

  All the guards laughed at Asman's guess. "No boy! We happily oblige them and make sure they never have to return again in their lives. But seeing as they often don't have payment for the toll, they don't go further either." The guards laughed too hard at that.

  "So, uyatluk, what are you doing out?” the old bugbear asked once again.

  Asman motioned with his thumb towards the humans. "My commander charged me with escorting these round ears and their property to Port Myskatol," he said, omitting any mention of his uncle.

  "Really now? They look like they can take care of themselves, why would they need you?” the old guard asked with a suspicious glance at the cargo. "What they got on the raft that they need you to watch over them for?”

  The guard to the right of the old bugbear straightened up and began sniffing the air. "That's blackweed that is!” He took a deep whiff and Asman could see his eyelids flicker and his knees sway a little. "So. Much. Blackweed! The whole raft!"

  Now Asman was not a well-traveled bugbear, but he still understood some basic elements about how the world worked. There's no such thing as a male elf, every cobold is a filthy rat, and the longer a bugbear was away from his chew the more dangerous he was.

  The older guard took to the smell and Asman saw the old bugbear’s brow furrow and teeth bared. "Boys! Don’t open the gate just yet! Come on out, we’ve got a treat!”

  Six more guards came out of the shack immediately sniffing the air. "The monthly rations are finally here,” he finished darkly. "A month late, but we'll no doubt take it!"

  Before Asman could even draw his weapons, one bugbear rushed out of the guardhouse and tackled him, knocking him flat on his back.

  Pinned and trying to breathe, Asman struggled to dislodge the guard. He looked back towards the rafts and saw the human guards stand up in one synchronized motion. Pulling out their strange crossbows, taking aim at a bugbear. On the docks. And on the rafts. With an audible thwack, three bugbears flew back from where they stood.

  Jigach flew into the water as if shoved by an unseen force, a spray of blood tracing an arc in the air. Bakcha watched his brother go under and screamed out for him.

  A toll guard was pinned to the shack, one of the heavy bolts pierced his throat, nailing him to the siding.

  Asman felt the guard on his chest get knocked off by the last shot. He flew off of Asman and hit the water beyond. The sound of whirring gears thrummed and the thud of crossbow bolts filled the air again as he struggled to get to his feet.

  Standing, Asman looked around at the carnage, every bugbear lay pierced with bolts so deep in their chests and heads that only the fletching could be seen sticking out. He looked up at the humans, incredulous, and saw the crossbows now pointed at him.

  Without looking back, the guard on the left called out a simple question, “Vicar?”

  Baumwolle was about to object, however, the vicar spoke out for the first time since the start of their journey, “Yes, dispose of them all, we have no further need of their disgusting subhuman presence, our vessel awaits us on the Lake.”

  Asman turned to run and made it to the end of the dock before the guards let fly. He felt the bolts enter his back, their force throwing him into the air before he plunged headlong into the river.

  Pain filled his head and tore open his back.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  He had to breathe.

  He had to…

  Relax Asman.

  It was that voice again!

  The voice from his dream.

  Was he dreaming?

  He jammed his fists over his eyes and pushed the pain back.

  He kept his eyes closed.

  Even thought of opening them, and the pain threatened to return.

  Light shone through his eyelids though, purple and pink.

  He could hear water flowing around him as if he were wading.

  Was he in the river?

  He remembered falling from the docks.

  Why had he been on the docks?

  The wind blew against his fur and a gentle ringing like a small bell rose and fell, rose and fell.

  ‘It is time for you to see your true honor. It is time for you to be the Root.’

  The voice soothed the pain.

  He felt something brush his forehead.

  A branch?

  Had he floated to shore?

  The questions distracted him and lifting his hand to brush whatever it was away, he opened his eyes.

  Afraid of the pain he threw his hands up, fists pressed against sockets.

  When he opened his hands, he could see again.

  It was blurry at first, his vision rocking as he moved his arms.

  Each eye seemed to move independently, swinging around like it was on the end of a cat-tail swaying in a marsh breeze.

  He tried to steady himself, but his sight continued to waver.

  He put both hands out to find something to hold onto and then his world split in two.
<
br />   He saw the world split in two.

  The swaying stayed constant though and his divided sight came into focus.

  He saw two ponds.

  Two trees.

  Hundreds upon hundreds of purple motes of light floating around him.

  They zipped to and fro, creating streaks of light all around.

  He could no longer bear the vertigo and collapsed.

  The ground rushing up to hit him in the face.

  But, no, that wasn’t right, he could tell he had landed hard on his hands and knees.

  His face was nowhere near the ground.

  Why couldn’t he get his bearings?

  He lifted his hands again and put them on either side of his buzzing head and the world went dark again.

  “What’s happening to me?” Asman groaned.

  He opened his eyes and looked down at his palms.

  The world split again, but this time instead of double vision, he saw in triplicate.

  He was looking at his hands and his own face.

  In horror, he saw large green eyes in the center of each of his palms.

  They were staring at him.

  Staring up at his face through his eyes.

  His face?

  But what happened to his face?

  Scarred and disfigured, looking back at him with hollow eyes, he barely recognized himself.

  His mind entered a fugue state.

  It reminded him of the time Uncle Buchak brought home two silver mirrors from a voyage abroad.

  He showed their flat reflective surfaces to the young bugbear.

  Asman had never seen his face before like that, only as a reflection in the dark waters of the swamp he grew up in.

  Then his uncle showed him the magic of the mirrors.

  He put them on either side of Asman’s head, their reflections facing each other.

  Asman stared into one of the mirrors and could see the eternally reflecting space that existed inside these enchanted objects.

  His mind had become like that eternal space, reflecting back upon itself forever.

  He could not look away.

  He felt as if he were falling into himself over and over.

  He felt his body elongate and flow down into himself as he sank deeper and deeper into darkness.

  Then there was peace.

  He felt as if he were floating in midair.

  He couldn’t see.

  But as soon as that thought crossed his mind, sight came to him.

  He didn’t open his eyes.

  In fact, he was sure that he didn’t have any eyes.

  But he saw!

  Everything!

  Standing around him, hands joined in a circle, were three young girls with eyes as black as night.

  They stared at him with those dark round pools, a golden red reflection shimmering in their eyes.

  One smiled at him.

  Another looked confused while the last sneered at his presence.

  The smiling one spoke into his mind, ‘Find us, Asman. My sisters and I need your help. Find us. Become the Root!’

  They then stepped forward as one, closing the circle tightly around him, pressing their faces into his body.

  He felt them enter him!

  Time stretched out until it felt like an eternity.

  He could feel their minds within him, splitting and multiplying, taking his own along with them.

  Until he was no longer himself.

  He was as they were, everything.

  Everyone.

  It was then that blessed darkness overtook him.

  12

  Captain Rhuur Hel’duur leaned on the railing of the Zeedrak watching the residents of Zaghekan swaying and swaggering along the catwalks and amongst the stilt-houses overlapping the delta off which he was anchored. The goblin-town straddled a narrow strip of land that separated the Saagar Sea from the waters of Lake Jalpak. All cargo from approaching ships, rafts, and lake barges had to pass through its custom. Despite the tariffs and levies enforced by the goblin trade-meisters, Zagekhan remained a ramshackle town built from the flotsam and jetsam of vessels who failed to pay their dues.

  The familiar sense of kinship with the odd, little, whatever-it-takes town brought a smile to the Captain’s face. They would transport almost anything that came their way. He'd hauled dwarven ore and weapons from Suverterotai, Eldervost grain, Saagardell smoked fish, even the occasional cobold jewelry. But his preferred cargo was bugbear blackweed and he hoped that they could fill the hold with it and resell the weed in Saagardell for a windfall. Maybe triple his investment! He didn’t understand why humans everywhere demanded such quantities of the herb and he didn't care.

  They had completed their tenth trade haul this season and were anchored lakeside enjoying a brief rest preparing for the coming keelharvest. Everyone on board was eager for Captain Hel'duur to announce the harvest and today was likely the day.

  For the past week, Cookie Shuulec Shuulaar had been checking and feeding the encrustations with table scraps, fattening them in their final days. Every day after lunch he would heave the sealed slop bucket topside and lower it beneath the keel. From there, gobs of pap swirled up and nourished the barnacles that clung to the ship's hull.

  But today, he came up after lunch and with little show, stripped off his apron and dove naked overboard with an empty bucket. That was over a bell ago and almost all activity had halted as the crew milled about looking over the rails.

  From the port side, one of the human crewmen called out, "There he is!” and they rushed to watch Cookie’s head bob to the surface with the bucket's rope handle in his mouth.

  Cookie slapped one of his webbed hands on the slick wood of the hull. Fingers adhering and popping off, one hand over the other, he hauled himself out of the water and up over the rails. Walking over to the captain, the crew parting before him, he presented his prize for inspection.

  Captain Hel'duur reached into the bucket and pulled out a nodule of twelve barnacles. Sky blue heads spurting and snapping in the sun, he held the phallic mollusks at an arm’s length.

  The captain smiled and nodded. "It's time boys! Go get 'em!”

  Every goblin member of the crew and several of the dwarves ululated happily and scrambled to gather as many buckets as they could muster. One after the other they dove overboard. The goblins, with their natural advantages, quickly got into place and began to free the barnacles from the hull with their daggers.

  Djippe Kleau, the ship's dwarven engineer, signaled to his kin. They had prepared for today in their own creative way. From below deck, they brought up a strange contrivance looking like a heavy sack festooned with brass fittings and lead weights. Djippe stood still as the other dwarves fastened pieces of metal and leather on him like a Krichshear paladin donning his armor for battle.

  A few minutes later, they lowered a large glass bowl, encircled with a brass lattice, over his head and bolted it to a collar. He gave them the thumbs up and they wheeled him to the rail and pushed him over into the lake.

  While the crew scrambled to fill their buckets for the night’s feast, Captain Hel’duur looked across the cove at an Eldervost frigate he'd seen before along the Kazan trade routes. The new Grand Duke had negotiated with his leader, High Trade-Meister Ghuukaan Ghakarlaan, to access trade at areas in and around goblin ports.

  Rhuur had felt bitter about the increased competition for such a lucrative income stream, but the unspoken alternative had been the decimation and destruction of Zagekhan. Eldervost was well known for its cleansing pogroms.

  There was a sudden splashing off the port-side and Rhuur saw his bosun run across the deck to shout down at the crew. From where he stood, he could see them all clustered in the water pushing a large, floating, brown shape towards the boat.

  Bosun Shorec ran next to the davits crane and swung out the dinghy, lowering it into the water below. A few deck hands climbed their way back on board and assisted in cranking the little boat back up. By the time they
had it hauled up, Captain Hel’duur and the rest of the crew had gathered around.

  The captain shouted, “Quiet! What in darkness is that?”

  They rolled the dripping mass out of the dinghy and onto the deck. It was an enormous bugbear with two crossbow bolts in his back. “Get the surgeon from below!” shouted the captain.

  One of the dwarves was already bringing Doctor Shokhaar from his quarters. The old goblin waddled up to the bugbear and stood up on his webbed toes to see better. “This doesn’t look like dinner captain, what has your crew caught today?”

  The crew laughed and one of the dwarves lifted the doctor up so that he could inspect the body.

  Doctor Shokhaar climbed up on the bugbear’s chest and began to poke in the wounds.

  He pulled out a pair of forceps from his vest, sunk them into one of the holes and yanked out a bolt. The crew leaped back amidst shocked cries as the now open wound spewed a dark gout of thick blood. The bugbear thrashed and spat out green lake water. The sputtering receded and quickly turned into roaring.

  The huge creature rolled over on its good side, throwing the small doctor off, and rose up. Chest heaving and eyes glaring with one good eye at the motley gathering of goblins, dwarves, and humans. The bugbear reached across its body to draw its weapon, only find it missing. The entire crew as one drew whatever weapon they had on hand and encircled him.

  Captain Hel’duur stepped forward with his hands raised, palms out, gesturing for his crew to calm down. “Hold up big guy! We’ve only just pulled you out of the lake, no need for you to have to go back in! Besides, we still need to get you unstuck!” he said with a smile that did not seem to go far towards calming the bugbear down or putting him at ease.

  The bugbear coughed up another lungful of lake water, swayed back and forth, then spat out some blood. “The humans! Filthy murderers, where did they go?! Do not side with them goblin, I will kill them for their betrayal!”

  “Relax big guy, no humans here but a few of my crew. The only other ones around are on the Eldervost ship, Rainmere, heading up into Zagekhan’s channel,” he explained, pointing across the water towards the back end of the frigate.

  The bugbear spun around, clutched at the railing for balance, and roared with a might that shook the planks beneath the crew’s feet as he watched the ship disappear into the town. He slammed his huge fist into the railing and began to pant like an overheated bull, sagging against the wood, close to falling overboard back into the lake. The doctor and a few of the crew ran up and righted him as much as they could, leading him down into the surgery.