Necromancer

by Graeme Ing

  Witnessing the primordial chaos overhead sharpened my resolve. I was so sick of this elemental. I would destroy it or die trying.

  Master Begara stumbled forward to deflect Fortak’s arm. A sharp burst of purple shot from Begara’s hands, ripping the tornado to shreds. Fortak spun and backhanded Begara, flinging him to the ground.

  “Help that man,” I said. “He’s trying to save us.”

  I straightened my shoulders with newfound pride that my Guild had not entirely deserted me.

  Though I’d directed my plea to the mob, Kolta rushed forward. I covered him by sending a twin blast of Death’s Spark into the heart of the elemental. The lightning from my spell stabbed and flickered through the boiling clouds. The pitch of the creature’s roar rose to a screech.

  Fortak’s narrowed gaze sought me out through the throng of fleeing people. Barely twenty feet of empty space separated us. His fingers sparked with readied magic as he extended one arm in my direction.

  “Maldren, watch out,” Ayla screamed.

  I stared into Fortak’s cold eyes and the entire plaza faded into the background. The world shrunk to only us. I understood the ethical dilemma that betrayed itself in his face. I had no protection against his spells. A single thought and I was dead, and his soul damned for eternity. If it wasn’t already. I shivered. Ayla tugged at me. I resisted.

  His expression softened and his arm drooped. He still paid obedience to Guild law. He turned away and barked at his men to intercept Kolta.

  My tiny victory was short-lived. Repeated bursts of power radiated from Fortak’s body, absorbed greedily by the elemental. The ground shook under the force of his magic. I stumbled. The extent of the man’s power was insane.

  The dark, gutted remnants of buildings erupted into flames once more. Timber frames buckled and cascaded into the scattering crowd, littering the plaza with bricks and burning timber. The faces of the clock tower shattered into a million shards, and fire erupted inside.

  A motion to my left seized my attention. The Wynarian stepped from the crowd just six feet away, a vicious blade in each hand. He crouched like a predator about to pounce. He said nothing but his expression spoke of murder.

  I gasped and froze.

  Two men tackled him from behind. He ducked out of their grasp, pivoted on one foot, and drove a blade into each of their hearts. Blood sprayed in all directions. People edged away, wobbling with conflicting urges to flee or stay and watch like ghouls.

  Move, Maldren, move!

  A snarl deformed the Wynarian’s thick lips. He closed the gap between us in a single stride, and I had no time to reach my knife.

  It couldn’t end like this, not at the blade of an assassin. I sidestepped to shield Ayla, pushing her behind me. My breath stuck in my throat, my stomach lurched, and I fought to picture her face, to hold it in my mind’s eye. We’d had so little time together.

  Loss stabbed my heart. I waited for the two blades to do the same.

  A metal pipe smashed into the Wynarian assassin’s shoulder, making him stumble. I shuddered at the horrific crunching of bones. His arm flopped limply to his side and the knife fell from his hand. I stared in disbelief as Targ hefted the pipe for another attack, but the Wynarian was faster. Without turning, he thrust backward and pierced his remaining blade right through Targ’s throat.

  “Damn it, no!” I leaped forward.

  Targ gurgled, coughing up a fountain of blood before crumpling to his knees. The Wynarian tugged at his blade, which had lodged in Targ’s spine. You bastard! I grabbed the assassin and yanked his dislocated arm. He cried out, let go of the knife in Targ’s throat, and dived for the one he had dropped, barging me aside.

  I tumbled next to Targ. His eyes bulged while blood spurted from his throat with every strangled, desperate breath. My hands shook. What do I do? One of his trembling hands reached up, gripped the knife stuck in his own neck, and wrenched it free. Hot blood gushed over me. I jerked my head aside and hated myself for flinching. He uttered a drawn-out wheeze and toppled over, dead. Something slippery lay in my hand—he had placed the knife there.

  The crowd’s movement gave warning of the assassin’s next attack. I rolled aside and he pounced into the empty space I had occupied, grunting as he jarred his arm. He swung wildly at me. I dodged him, climbed onto his back, and jammed his knife up to its hilt between his shoulder blades. Ugh, it felt like cutting a steak. I hadn’t expected that. He flopped to the ground and moaned, his limbs twitching uncontrollably.

  I’d knifed a man in the back. I’d killed a living person. My stomach seized control and I puked all over him, retching and coughing. After making the mistake of looking at the blood-drenched Targ, I threw up again.

  Another plume of fire erupted from the burning sky, aimed directly for the royal party. The steward knocked the Crown Prince to the ground and threw his body on top. The fiery lick of the elemental ignited several soldiers into human candles. They screamed and flailed before collapsing to the ground.

  “Ayla,” I yelled, spinning about, peering into the thick smoke drifting across the plaza.

  To my right, another building caved in, four floors pancaking atop each other. It tilted precariously for a long moment before crashing down, burying a couple dozen people. Their cries ended abruptly, replaced by an ominous keening. Hordes of pale spirits spiraled up from the rubble toward the beast above.

  Help us. Save us.

  My eyes teared. Probably from the soot.

  Hands grabbed me from behind. I spun and lashed out. My fist crashed into Ayla’s cheek, knocking her down atop a smoldering corpse.

  “I’m sorry.” I sank beside her and cradled her head. “Stop creeping up on me like that.”

  She sat up, nursing her inflamed cheek. Ash dappled her hair. Her wide, violet eyes stared past me.

  The devastation had removed all traces of Market Plaza, leveling it and the surrounding streets to heaps of smoking rubble. Ink-black tendrils of smoke prowled the wasteland, weaving left and right, hugging the ground, splitting and hunting survivors. Above, the elemental’s roar changed pitch defiantly.

  Fortak had gone too far. Hadn’t he made his point? Belaya, is it your will that Lak claim so many innocents this day?

  Ayla and I stood. She gripped my hand but I shook mine free and turned my attention to the elemental. I was so done with this thing.

  I drew power from my core and launched Dispel after Dispel into the creature. Purple flares flickered across the sky. I gritted my teeth, dug deep, and sent the biggest Deathwall I could muster to rip a hole in the elemental’s underside. We cried out in unison, it in rage and I at the magic melting my veins. More magic than my body could handle. I needed to rest.

  Caradan! Have I not earned your respect yet? I can’t keep this up. You’ve made me suffer by waiting, now show yourself.

  I stumbled and Ayla caught me.

  “Stop it. You’re killing yourself.” Her sweaty hands touched the blisters bubbling on my arms.

  I doubled over, panting. Kolta had dragged Master Begara to safety. The crowd had thinned and I caught sight of Fortak again, less than fifty feet away. He stooped low, clutching his stomach. With his withered, strained face he looked as bad as I felt. I gave a grim laugh.

  A petite figure in an emerald-green cloak stepped forward to help him.

  “Phyxia!”

  I hadn’t meant to call her name.

  She turned. Her ears stood erect from her silver hair, twitching erratically. Orange and yellow flecks whirled in her eyes. I’d expected anger or at least surprise, but her face sagged with sadness. What did that mean?

  Fortak dropped to his knees. Though he hung his head, his hands stretched high, sparking and glowing with magic. Phyxia remained standing, and when she looked skyward I swore that the elemental shied away from her. I perceived an invisible, but incredible mesh of power stretching from her petite body up and around the creature. It resembled a magical net.

  Scattered groups of survivors fl
ed from the smoke that darted after them, overrunning the stragglers and coiling tightly around their bodies. I’d dared to hope it wouldn’t come to this. The victims spasmed and turned on each other, snatching up rubble or scratching with fingernails. Fireballs rained down, exploding on impact and splashing fire across a wide area. A never-ending rain of ash washed out the whole macabre scene.

  “Summon Caradan,” Ayla said. “Before it’s too late.”

  Kolta appeared beside us and I shivered with an intense cold. Our breath froze in the air. I’d forgotten to raise my own Cleansing Shield. Stupid. I was letting my obsession blind my sensibilities.

  “Caradan and I are going to end this,” I said. “Neither of you have to stay.”

  They remained at my side. My heart thumped and I felt renewed. I was tired of working alone. I needed help.

  “Hold it off,” I said to Kolta.

  He nodded grimly and his face scrunched with intense concentration. I felt the pulse of power within him.

  Since my legs insisted on trembling, I knelt on the ground. The irony of Fortak and I dueling from such a position hadn’t escaped me.

  I pulled every last flicker of energy from my core, stretching inside until my gut ached, then reached some more. Satisfied with the intensity of my Summoning spell, I fought to ignore the screaming around me, the wails of pain, the ragged panting of our breaths.

  My spell faltered. Kristach! Why had I left it so late? Everything hinged on this spell. I should have cast it straight away. I shook my head. Concentrate, damn it!

  I renewed my efforts. Thunderous pain trampled through my skull. My limbs turned to jelly. I fought to breathe.

  “Stop,” Ayla yelled. “Maldren, please. You can’t take any more.”

  I couldn’t stop. Not now.

  Something incorporeal touched my legs. Cling spirits poured from the ground, enveloping Ayla, cocooning her body. Pulsing blue threads crawled over me and my skin tingled. I felt the familiar rush of cool power filling my gut.

  Kolta dropped beside me, but the luminescent tendrils avoided him. “What in Lak’s name is she doing?”

  Every corpse within a hundred-foot radius glowed, brighter and brighter until trickles of energy rushed out of them, arrowing across the ground to merge with her blinding, pulsating web.

  A whooshing sound drowned out everything. A fireball the size of a tenement building ejected from the elemental, aimed right at us. Ayla transformed into a beacon of blinding white light. Its blaze moved outward from her, enveloping Kolta and me, crushing our shields. My every nerve ending jangled with the raw power.

  Lak and all his demons!

  The fireball impacted her white halo, splashing flames in all directions and turning the air to steam. Our bodies went from shivering to sweating, and we cowered under the might of a primeval force that would have incinerated us.

  “Finish the Summoning,” Ayla said.

  “How are you doing that?” Fortak asked.

  He got to his feet and shambled awkwardly toward us, leaving Phyxia staring after him.

  “The last of you died decades ago.” He stabbed a finger at Ayla, squinting against her blazing light. “Not you. That’s impossible.”

  What was he talking about? What did he know about the cling spirits?

  “Fool of a child,” he said to me. “You can’t control this…abomination of a woman. Their line was destroyed.”

  He straightened and the air quivered under the might of his magic. I stiffened. I’d thought he was spent.

  “Enough from you,” Ayla said.

  Though her blazing light dimmed, she seemed to grow in stature. Her hair fluttered in the breeze like blue flames. Her robe of luminescent threads pulsed angrily. The entire plaza glowed blue and green, dulling the color of the fires. Lines of energy zipped across the ground toward her from the distant buildings and from the piles of rubble. Street lantern poles bent effortlessly toward her, melting, radiating power that she harvested.

  Kolta cried in pain. I fell beside him, clutching my head. How did she command such power?

  Then I understood what Fortak had already.

  Ayla was an Elik Magi.

  My mind raced, desperate to understand the reality of that.

  Behind Fortak, Phyxia stumbled. Her ears were bent over, her fists clenched. I remembered her prediction. Fortak had lost control of the elemental and even Phyxia was struggling with it. The strands of her magical net was unraveling. My gaze flicked between her and the flaming blue torch that was Ayla. Both women weaved tremendous power, and in that moment I felt insignificant. I wondered fleetingly if Fortak did too. Despite Ayla’s power flooding through me, I realized that our fate was bound to Phyxia’s now. Why had she broken her immortal oath not to intervene? Where did her loyalties lie now? If the elemental wrestled free of her tenuous grip then the city was doomed.

  Phyxia knelt, draped in ash, head doubled over. I’d never seen her like this, disheveled and beaten down. Despite everything, I pitied her.

  Fortak groaned, clapped his hands, and yellow magic oozed from every pore, coating him in a sickly sheen. He spun a single finger in the air and the oily surface transformed into a garish fog that whirled around him. The faster his finger moved, the quicker it whipped about and spread outward like a hurricane.

  I relived my nightmare. Visions of Guild fighting Elik Magi played in my head.

  “Stop this madness, Fortak. This isn’t some age-old battle. Ayla isn’t the Guild’s enemy.”

  His spell moved through me and the hairs on my skin stood erect. Static crackled across my scalp. I had expected a blast of air but its resemblance to a storm was purely visual.

  The instant the yellow fog touched Ayla, it neutralized her web of power. Her light extinguished and she crumpled to the ground. I tried to go to her but my weary legs gave way.

  “What do you know, boy?” Fortak asked. “You always lacked the imagination to become a true master.”

  “No, you kept me down because I threatened your petty reign of tyranny.”

  He laughed, which turned into a bout of coughing. His maelstrom spread across the plaza, blighting everything yellow like a fungus.

  “You’re no threat to anything except yourself,” he said.

  “Speaking of threats, you’re losing control of yours.” I pointed to the elemental expanding outward into the city. “But then you never did have control. Only she did.”

  I glanced at Phyxia and saw a glimmer of hope—a twitch of her ears, the way the flecks in her eyes changed from blue to green, a tiny rise in one corner of her mouth.

  “I have full control.” Blood splattered his lips and chin and he coughed into a handkerchief.

  He waved his hands and the maelstrom picked up speed. The sound of crashing buildings and wailing people dulled to a hiss. Colors faded to gray. Everything around me shimmered and turned hazy. A thick mist formed out of the very air itself.

  Phyxia stared directly at me. “All that remains are your choices.”

  What did that mean? Life is full of choices.

  “Let go of what cannot be.”

  Kristach! This is no time for cryptic mumbo-jumbo, woman.

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  The mist enveloped me.

  At first, I thought myself alone in the void. A diffuse light emanated from everywhere at once, and slowly the gray shroud rolled back. Hazy forms wavered in and out of view. Spirits lurked, whimpering and agitated, but keeping their distance. Their hair had been burned to the roots. Blisters speckled their skin, which peeled and flaked away as they shambled back and forth.

  Ghostlike structures materialized—crumbling buildings with gaping maws for windows and doors. The walls oozed a viscous, gray fluid, and they throbbed in and out as if sobbing. The decapitated stump of the clock tower cowered beneath a seething, bubbling overcast. Even in monochrome, I recognized the amorphous elemental smothering the plaza.

  My second time in The Gray.

  As
the mists and spirits retreated, I realized I was not alone. Kolta limped to my side, his bug eyes darting back and forth. We clung to each other. Where was Ayla?

  At the sound of a half laugh, half cough, I whirled about. Fortak stood thirty feet away, his legs apart and back straight, the strongest I had seen him since the battle for the plaza began.

  The spirits retreated further, revealing Phyxia several steps behind him. She was on her knees, head in her hands. Her ears spasmed repeatedly and her chest heaved with her labored breathing. She resembled a beaten dog cringing before its master. Her magic net hung overhead, crumpled and torn, barely holding the bloated elemental.

  I hung my head. I’d doubted her intentions. She never had been my enemy.

  “Ayla?” My voice sounded flat and dead.

  “Her kind has no power in this place,” Fortak said. “I have the upper hand once more.”

  Of course. That was why he’d brought us here. But I still didn’t understand. Caradan wasn’t the Elik Magi, his wife was. Had he woven a curse upon Ayla in the tower, or simply awoken her true nature? I shook my head. It was too much to piece together. Where was he, anyway? It was time he made an appearance and owned up to his part of this mess.

  “Looking for this?” Fortak dispelled the mist swimming around his legs.

  Pale spirits encircled Ayla where she lay at his feet. Their long dresses and hair billowed in an unfelt breeze and their hands pawed at the air, seemingly unable to reach her. One of them turned and hissed. Worms devoured its face until a fleshless, cackling skull remained.

  I flinched, then gritted my teeth and started toward Ayla.

  Fortak raised his hand. “Don’t. I need only release the protection circle…”

  The lochtars keened loudly and their talons inched toward Ayla.

  I halted. Was this what Phyxia meant by letting go? I’d never let go of Ayla.

  A standoff. Only the five of us, segregated from the havoc and destruction still being wrought by the elemental in the real world.

  “What happened to your oath to protect the city?” I asked. “‘Bring no harm to the living.’ Are your teachings of no consequence now?” I growled. “Leave her alone. Punish me.”