by Graeme Ing
I shook my head and looked out the window. “Nothing. A bad dream, that’s all.”
“You look like you’ve fought an army of demons. You’re shivering.”
She stepped forward, then leaned into me and draped her arms around my bare torso. I stiffened momentarily at her touch and then relaxed, letting her head settle against my chest. Her soft hands moved rapidly up and down my back, and her warmth was like a stove. I breathed deep of fresh lavender.
I wrapped my arms tentatively around her and settled into her unexpected embrace. She pushed tighter and murmured softly. Her touch grew lighter and more sensual as she trailed her fingers this way and that across my back. It was like magic tingling across my skin. Then she pushed away enough to look into my face. She placed her hands against my chest and held us a few inches apart. I wanted to pull her back.
“What nightmares could a necromancer possibly have?” She smiled, teeth white in the gray gloom.
“I was dreaming of Caradan.” I shuddered.
Her smile vanished. “It makes me nervous to see you so scared.”
Despite her petite size, the tantalizing glimpses through her thin garment reminded me that she was a woman, not a girl. Part of her bangs dropped over her cheek, so I gently tucked the loose hair behind her ear. My touch lingered on her cheek and she pressed against my hand, uttering a tiny murmur. Her head tilted back and her eyes flicked rapidly between my own. She slipped her arms around my neck and pulled my head down, her lips moving straight for mine.
She tasted like oranges. I squeezed her tight against me, her breasts pushing against my chest, our lips working a different kind of magic than I was used to, but no less potent. I teased her lips with my tongue and became totally lost in the hunger of her kisses. I stroked her hair and the tickle of static sent tingles through me.
Without warning, she pulled back. Such a beautiful smile. Another detail that I only now fully appreciated. Her fingers traced the light hair on my chest and it ignited a fire within me that burned like the elemental. My breathing quickened, and I tugged her toward the bed. She tensed and searched my face, her eyes dilated. I gave another gentle pull, but she broke free and retreated to the door.
“I…” she began.
In the first rays of Solas through my window, her chemise did nothing to hide her figure. How blind had I been to miss such a woman right under my nose?
She smiled bashfully and then slipped out of the room.
I collapsed onto the bed and stared at the closed door. I thought that was what she’d wanted. Her body had quivered with passion. What had I done wrong?
The water in my bath was cold, but I didn’t care. It helped me forget the fire burning through Ayla’s chemise and into my body. I’d come on too strong. I’d misread the signs. How could I have misread? She’d thrown herself at me. Had she just wanted to tease me?
I leaped up, splashing water everywhere, and dressed.
Lupan was nowhere to be found but I paid his cook to make me a breakfast tray. I carried it upstairs and rapped on Ayla’s door.
“It’s me,” I said, and then added, “With breakfast.”
The door snapped open and she grinned at me. Well at least she wasn’t mad at me. She took the tray and placed it on her neatly made bed.
“Come on.” She patted the bed beside her. “I’m starving. You take longer in the bath than I do.”
She had dressed in a bright blue dress and looked very different out of her plain, commoner clothes. The dress was probably closer to what she’d wear in her own world. It was all too easy to forget her upbringing after all that we had been through together.
I eyed the plate of pulta hash and spread some on a hunk of warm bread. There was fruit and steaming karaa too. I caught her staring at me. Now what? Another change in her mood?
“You look so different without your Guild robe.”
I glanced down, forgetting that I’d donned only my trousers and shirt.
“You seem more approachable like this. Don’t get me wrong. You look very dashing in your regalia, but it feels more intimate when…” Her cheeks reddened. That seemed to happen a lot lately. “I’m a lousy apprentice, aren’t I? I shouldn’t be so informal with my teacher.”
“You’re not a typical apprentice, no.”
She flinched. Smooth, Maldren, real smooth.
“But then these aren’t typical times. I’m not excelling as the teacher. I haven’t taught you much.” I put down my fork. “Ah, to The Deep with master and apprentice and all that pompous trash. I like you, Ayla. A lot.”
I cupped her chin gently in one hand. Her hair smelled of sweet yibar blossom. She’d cut it shorter and shaped the way it fell to her shoulders. The burned ends had gone too.
“I love how you styled your hair. The length suits you, and it looks darker, more like your eyes.”
“You’re so sweet for noticing,” she whispered.
Such gorgeous chestnut eyes. Lak, take my soul now!
I slid my hand along her cheek and she leaned into it. I kissed her lightly, glad that she didn’t recoil. Instead, she slipped her hands around my neck and deepened the kiss. My insides flipped. We were both breathing heavily when we drew apart. Her hands slipped down my torso to find and hold mine. Our fingers locked together, and I continued to lose myself in her eyes. Maybe I hadn’t blown it between us, after all.
“I feel like I’ve been so mean to you,” I whispered.
“The Guild is a man’s world,” she said. “I get that. You didn’t want a female apprentice.”
“I didn’t want any apprentice.”
“Then I hope I’m proving you wrong.”
After planting a swift kiss on my lips, she pulled away.
“We should focus on the creature,” she said. “Did you find out anything at the Guild?”
I grunted. “Caradan holds the secret.” The pieces clicked into place even as I spoke. “We need something far more powerful than the soul wraith. There has never been a greater necromancer. For a hundred solars his ghost has been brooding and seething in his tower, defying even Lak’s attempt to drag him into The Deep. Imagine his pent-up anger and bitterness.”
Ayla recoiled.
“Everything I’ve heard, everything I’ve read…damn, even my dreams have been pulling me in his direction.” I gulped down my karaa. “Evil abhors evil. We’re going over there right now to summon him, persuade him to help us.”
She stared at me with puffed-out cheeks. Then she exhaled and burst out laughing.
“What?” I scowled at her.
“You’re adorable when you’re so confident.” Her eyes sparkled. “It’s not going to be that easy, is it?”
“I don’t do easy anymore.”
She laughed again and I joined in.
We ate the now-cold food in silence for a few moments, and then she asked, “When we went after the soul wraith you said it was easier to interact with spirits at night, so why are we going during the day?”
“Time’s running out. Besides, Caradan at night will make that soul wraith look like a puppy.”
I put on my robe. In my mind, lochtars and revenants swirled around Caradan’s great hall, viciously dispatching some of the best necromancers and sorcerers the city had known.
We returned the breakfast tray to Lupan. No sense in giving him an excuse to evict us. The taproom was empty except for two undernourished barmaids balancing dozens of dirty breakfast plates. We’d languished upstairs longer than I’d planned, not that I was complaining. Lupan stood up from behind the bar and held out a callused palm, into which I dropped a silver Mikk. His food was worth it. I glanced at the shelf of liquor bottles and considered one for the road. Maybe later, when we’d earned it.
“This came for you.” He tossed a folded note onto the scratched and pitted bar.
I recognized the Duke’s seal and snatched it up. Ayla shot me a sideways glance. I couldn’t believe his spies had found us here. Did I have no secrets anymore? Only Kolta was
supposed to know. I broke the seal. It was the same handwriting as before.
Dawn. Same place.
“When did this arrive?” I asked Lupan.
“Late last night. While yous were no doubt creaking me bed frames.” He leered at Ayla.
She winked at him, causing him to frown. Oh, she was good.
“You didn’t think to send a messenger up?” I snapped.
“And disturb yer fun?” He attempted to lay his hand on hers, but she slapped his and stepped away.
It was too late to argue, so I headed for the door. A carriage rattled its way up Wall Street from the south. I stepped into the road to flag it down.
“Temple Plaza’s an easy walk,” Ayla said.
“We need to meet your father first. Let’s hope he’s still waiting.”
The carriage pulled up beside us and I opened the door, nudging Ayla’s back with one hand.
She hesitated on the step and her eyes narrowed. “I thought we didn’t have time for this?”
“Get in. Please.”
I climbed up beside her and slammed the door. Then I gave the driver the address of an inn two blocks from The Stout and Puke. Ayla fumed, making a show of smoothing out her dress. I let her get it out of her system, speaking only when the carriage crossed the river.
“I’m not going to let him take you, I promise. You’re my apprentice. I need you.”
She eyed me suspiciously.
“It’ll be helpful for him to see you safe and happy. We need him as an ally, remember that.”
She nodded and watched the city go by outside the window as we moved into the more constricted and windy streets of the eastern city.
“I know, but can’t we see him later, after going to the tower?”
“His news has always been important. Perhaps we won’t have to pay Caradan a visit.”
In less time than I’d expected, the carriage drew to a stop. We jumped out and I paid the driver, slipping him an extra coin along with the finger-on-finger gesture universally accepted as “stay quiet.” He bobbed his head, shook the reins, and the carriage clattered off along the narrow cobbled street. I grabbed Ayla’s hand and steered her into a side alley, leading her on the back-alley shuffle to The Stout and Puke.
At the door, she dragged her heels. “I’ll wait out here until you’re done.”
I tugged her forward.
“It’s too dangerous and I don’t want you out of my sight. You’re my apprentice, so you have to obey.” I winked.
She rolled her eyes but followed me into the dark taproom. I separated our hands as we crossed the threshold. Necromancers don’t hold hands.
The dregs of society were already congregating, weaving drunkenly among stable boys scattering fresh straw. True to the inn’s name, the stench of old vomit mixed with that of stale beer. Arms reached out to paw at Ayla, but when they saw my robe they slunk away into dark corners. I stood tall. Yes, you lecherous mob, the necromancer just stepped into your sleazy world.
There was no sign of the Duke’s men, or anyone else trying to catch my attention. The back stairs creaked and bowed as we ascended, and I didn’t risk putting weight on the unsteady banister. The upstairs hallway was empty, so we strode past several doors that muffled ecstatic cries or snores, and I knocked on the rearmost door.
No answer. Kristach, he’d left.
I pushed it open and froze.
I tried to block Ayla’s view but she slipped past me into the room. She gasped and her hands flew to her mouth. Then she doubled over in a crouch and threw up, spraying her breakfast all over her feet. I hurried inside and shut the door. Thank Belaya she hadn’t screamed, but she uttered a low, haunting moan, at the same time clutching her abdomen and trembling.
Duke Imarian’s corpse slumped in the same armchair as when we had last met. His head drooped at an impossible angle to one side. His throat was a ragged mess, slashed more than once, and I saw right through to the white of the spine. A crimson tide had soaked his shirt and pants before pooling on the rug. The grievous wound still dripped.
No one should discover his or her father like this. I shouldn’t have insisted she come up.
I helped her into a side chair, turning it away from the carnage, and knelt beside her, one hand on her arm and the other stroking her hair. She wiped the tears brimming in her eyes, and then spat chunks of sick from her mouth. Not at all ladylike, but who cared right now. The poor thing.
“Why?” was all she managed.
“We should leave.”
She pushed me away and stood. “No, I want to see him.”
“That’s not a good idea. Let me buy you a stiff drink.”
“I’m not a baby.” She slipped under my arm and past me.
I put my head in my hands and stayed put, giving her space.
“I would have gone home to see him,” she murmured.
“I know. He was a good man.”
I had nothing else. I’d become numb to death. Funerals only made me awkward and embarrassed to be the only one bored and not crying. Her initial reaction had been visceral and very normal. It saddened me that as a necromancer, in time the numbness would take her too.
“I’m sorry for the anguish I caused you, Father. Everything you did for me, and all I brought you was grief.”
Tears flooded her eyes. She knelt on the dry boards and uttered a quiet prayer.
“I forgive you for taking Mother from me.”
She stood and caught me watching her. I shrugged in what I hoped was my best “none of business” manner, and turned to the window. A folded note lay on the side table. I opened the window as a ruse, palmed the note, and quietly broke the seal as I watched two carts trying to pass in the busy road. The note bore a Guild seal, but I’d already guessed its author.
“Read it aloud,” Ayla said, her tone as cold as steel.
I sighed and did so.
“‘I warned you. Cease your meddling or I shall kill every ally, everyone you hold dear.’”
The last line I kept to myself.
The girl dies next.
She gave no reaction, simply wrestled her father’s ring from his finger. Then she reverently lowered a lap blanket over his head and chest. Her eyes were slits, her nostrils flared and her breasts heaved with forced breathing. I half expected her eyes to whirl with fiery reds.
“Let’s finish this,” she said. “I’ll kill Caradan…again…with my bare hands if he doesn’t aid us. With his support, your Guildmaster will pay for this.”
She threw open the door and stomped into the hallway, and I had to run to catch up. At the bottom of the stairs, a pair of sailors intercepted her, bushy bearded with close-cropped scalps seemingly competing for the most scars.
“What’s the rush, missy?” the fatter man asked. “Yer can’t be off duty so early.”
His muscled arm snaked around her waist.
“Purdy dress,” the other said, gawking at her cleavage.
She tore free and punched the man in the face. No girlie punch, either. Bones cracked and blood spurted.
“Get away from me,” she said, “or I’ll tear off this railing and neuter you both. And I suspect my master won’t be as gentle.”
I descended the stairs to join her, seemingly right on cue. My face itched to grin inanely, but that would have ruined the effect.
The men backed off, grumbling and averting their eyes from me, but Ayla didn’t stay still. She shoved another man out of her path, sloshing his beer everywhere, and marched right up to the bar. The crowds parted like ghosts from a Dispel. I followed to see how far the fun would take us.
“Innkeep,” she yelled until he came into view. “My father, the Duke Imarian, is dead in a room upstairs.”
Murmurs rippled through the taproom and all eyes settled upon us.
“Return his body to the manor, and show it every respect. If it’s not there by day’s end, your new clientele will become a horde of Black and Reds. Clear?”
Kristach!
; The innkeep opened his mouth but no sound came out. He tried again. “That’s gonna cost me—”
“Collect your blood money when you deliver his body. Don’t make me hold a grudge.”
“All right, all right, little lady. I’s an honest man. I’ll do it, I’ll do it.”
“See that you do.”
She swept out into the street like the ebbing of the tide. I hurried after her, not sure that I liked this new game of me leading from the rear. She whistled for a carriage and we jumped in.
“Temple Plaza,” she told the driver.
“Are you sure you’re up to this? We could delay and let your feelings catch up.” I touched her hand. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
Her anger had turned to shivering, so I slipped my arm around her.
“You’re magnificent when you’re angry,” I whispered, leaning closer. So like Phyxia. My hand settled gently on her knee.
She pushed me away. “You’re sweet to me, but I want to stay angry.”
I nodded. Saving the city had given way to vengeance. For both of us.
There was a theater on Curd Street famous for cheesy productions. The opening line from its most recent performance popped into my mind as we climbed through the broken wall that surrounded Caradan’s Tower: “Oh woe, for I have a clammy feeling of impending doom!” I couldn’t get the image of me stabbing Phyxia on the bed out of my mind. Distracted, I stumbled over a hole in the ground and fell flat on my face. Caradan had gotten inside my head. This trip would end badly.
I took a deep breath. Get a grip. Fear is for the weak.
I led Ayla to the line of trees and thick undergrowth, and we studied the tower across the half-sunken necropolis. The very air oozed malice.
“It looks so menacing,” she whispered. “I’d expected something like Father’s manor.”
“It was originally built as a fortress.”
“Why has it sunk into the ground?” She cocked her head back and forth, as if unable to believe what she was seeing. “It leans too.”
“After the massacre, Caradan ran the Guild for over a decade. Then his curse caught up with him. Rumor has it something nasty crawled out of The Deep.” I remembered what I’d read in the library. “He fought back so hard that the ground shook, and the tower sank into the swamp.”
