by Deck Davis
The logical side of his brain told him that it was owls taking flight, but the fear centre of his mind conjured all manner of hidden dangers.
Ludwig would tell me if he sensed anything, he reminded himself.
After cutting a trail through the overgrowth, he finally reached the edge of the thornweeds. He stopped for a second, resting his forearm on his sword hilt. His arms ached so much he could barely lift them.
“It’s making my nose go crazy,” said Ludwig. “We aren’t far away.”
“Give me a second,” said Jakub. He looked at the boy. “You okay?”
He nodded.
Looks like it’s only me who’s tired, thought Jakub.
Not wanting to be outdone by a demonic hound and an undead boy, he forced himself to go on.
They followed Ludwig deeper still into the Killeshi lands, travelling over plains of grass covered in a sheet of nighttime darkness. It was nature everywhere, and too much of it for him. He was used to living in the academy, which was a castle-sized sprawl of stone. He liked having walls on all sides of him, and absence of them, as well as the absence of the other students, made him uneasy.
That was another thing he hadn’t expected; he’d never gotten on with most of the students, but nobody told him how much he’d miss academy noises when he went on the road for the first time. Field assignments were lonely.
He was glad to have Ludwig with him.
When Ludwig finally stopped walking, Jakub’s lungs were glad for that too.
“It’s here,” said Ludwig.
Five hundred meters north of them there was a steep hill which spread for miles, blocking most of the horizon. From this side, they were looking at the flattened edge of the hill, which rose so high that Jakub had to crane his neck to look up at the top of it. It was made from either compacted mud or clay, and there was something unnatural about it.
“This isn’t really a hill,” he said. “Someone made this. It’s more like a wall.”
“Over there,” said Ludwig, jerking his head right. “See?”
“Great; there are people patrolling it.”
His awareness of the figures walking across the top of the man-made hill changed things. He was exposed out there.
No, that was an illogical thought. His necromancer overcoat was black and it melded perfectly into the night landscape, so they wouldn’t be able to see him from here.
Below the hilltop patrollers, cut into the sheer edge, was a wooden gate with a guard station by it. The only thing Jakub could think was that this hillside served as a wall, protecting whatever was on the other side.
“The smell stops not far away,” said Ludwig. “Over the hill, I expect, to whatever is beyond it.”
Jakub badly wanted to know what was over the hill. At least then, he could go back to Kortho with more information. The problem were the patrollers atop of it; counting the glow of the lamps they carried, there were half a dozen men or women.
“Whatever is behind that hill is worth protecting, and I expect more people will be waiting beyond the wall. Lud, can you get closer?”
“You want me to go in there?” said Ludwig.
“Only for a bit. A few minutes.”
“Thirty seconds. That’s my last offer.”
“Two minutes and I’ll take you for the longest walk ever when we get back to the academy. That’s my last offer.”
“Done,” said Ludwig.
He swirled his tail in excitement, and Jakub could tell from the grin on his face that the demonic hound thought he’d got the better of him in that deal. The truth was, Jakub loved going for walks with his pal. The longer the better. It was win-win.
“Get far enough over the hill so that I can see everything, but stay in the shadows. Last thing we need is someone to see you.”
“That’s unlikely,” said Ludwig.
“All the same, you never know who’s been in the Greylands and who hasn’t. The academy only employs people who’ve died at least once to guard the watchtowers so they can see if anything from the Greylands approaches. These guys might do something similar.”
“Fair point, but I’ll see them before they see me. I’ll be careful.”
“Okay, boy. Go for it. I’ll be out here watching through your eyes, do don’t mess around.”
“You spoil all my fun.”
“That’s my job.”
As Ludwig bounded off, Jakub walked closer to the hill. A further thirty paces was as much as he dared push it, but it gave Ludwig enough boundary freedom to approach it.
When the hound slipped through the wooden arch doors and slunk passed a guard, Jakub faced the boy. He put his hand on his shoulder.
“You’re going to see the whites of my eyes now,” Jakub said. “It will look strange, but it’s how I see through Ludwig’s eyes, okay? It’s how our binding works. Just stay down. If anything comes toward us, touch my shoulder, and that will bring me out of it.”
The boy nodded and then settled onto the grass.
Jakub joined him, sitting so that the high weeds were above and around him. He closed his eyes now and let his mind float into Ludwig’s, carried by the Death Binding they shared.
17 – Necromancer Renault
Necromancer Renault was sitting at a table in his artificed tent, adding his name to the bottom of a letter. The text of the letter took up a quarter of the page, and his swirled signature filled the rest. Yours impatiently, Ryden Renault.
Of course, Ryden wasn’t his real name – his real name was Andrew, but Ryden always sounded better.
He put the letter to one side and then got back to work, because he had a hell of a lot to do before sundown. He had four books spread out in front of him, a pile of six by his bed, one on his pillow, and at least a dozen more scattered around the rest of his domicile. They were all about death in its various guises, as well as what came after death. It was nice reading.
He wouldn’t have it any other way, though. Even after thirty years of necromancy he needed to keep studying, like a doctor straining to keep on top of the latest in the medical world. The trouble was, the older you got, the harder your brain had to work to keep up.
He heard a noise outside, and turned to see the silhouette of a figure standing outside his tent. From their point of view, the tent would look tiny. They’d only see the glow from Ryden’s lamps, and maybe the silhouette of his figure. He loved to invite them in, because it usually blew their little brains to see an artificed tent at work.
Not tonight, though. Books, books, books – that was all he had time for.
The person outside the tent coughed. “Mr. Renault?”
“I’m asleep.”
“I can see your lamp, Mr. Renault. And you just spoke to me.”
Ryden unzipped the tent to find Rud, one of the teenage camp louts, standing there. Where most of the people looked on Ryden with mixtures of fear and gratitude – the gratitude part coming from what he did for them in camp – Rud had never showed much emotion around him. It was hard to know what to make of someone whose feelings you couldn’t read.
“What?” he said, putting sufficient amount of haughtiness into his tone. Being mean to people didn’t come naturally to him, and it never had. It was a talent he’d really had to work on over the years, because it was preferable to the opposite - people bothering you because they thought you were nice.
“I know Gregor and my mum said not to bother you, but I was hoping you’d help me,” said Rud.
“I’m up to my arse in books right now. The corpses are ready, so what more is there to do? Even necromancers deserve some time off, you know. It’s your initiation in two days’ time, isn’t it?”
“It’s not about my initiation. It’s my dog, Mr. Renault. She got hit by a bolt.”
“Dead?”
The boys eyes reddened, his lips trembled., He was fighting with every scrap of strength he had not to cry in front of Ryden.
Damn it if that didn’t put Ryden on the edge of a tear, too.
He pulled his soul necklace out from under his shirt. It was three-quarts full, which for a necromancer on his level meant a lot; the full resurrection of a person, or around fifty animal resurrections.
If he didn’t want to bring back humans or critters, he could always conjure another Binded animal from the Greylands. He had a spare summon slot, after all. With his Death Bind glyphline, it was easy for him to keep one of his binded in the world permanently, and still summon two others when he needed.
Even so, did he want to waste essence on a dead dog?
Another misjudged look at Rud and his quivering lip made his mind up.
Damn it to hell. With so much spare essence and a pang in his stomach, there wasn’t much choice.
He sighed. “Take me to the damn dog.”
“Thank you Mr. Renault.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank the hive of wyrms that I killed for their essence. Come on, hurry it up.”
Rud led the way through camp and toward his dead pooch. Ryden pulled the hood of his robe over his head, even though since everyone in camp knew him, it was a worse disguise than a goblin wearing a goblin mask. At least it made him unapproachable, though.
Coupled with the mean glare he’d been working on, it had stopped anyone except the boy asking him for favors. Once people knew you were a necromancer, they always wanted something.
The fact was, everyone had someone or something close to them die, eventually. Their first reaction was always the same – denial. Then, a sense they could change it.
It just so happened that Ryden was an instrument of that change, but it was wrong to wield his powers like that; death was a balance, and if you took too much, death would work like hell to restore the scales.
That was why the academy used its soul essence system, and why Ryden carried on doing so even after they parted ways.
There were other ways of using necromancy, ones that didn’t require essence, but if you resurrected a person without giving their worth in soul essence back, death pursued you in its physical guise.
Ryden knew from experience that death was a mean, mean bastard.
So, this was a rare thing; him agreeing to help the boy’s dead pet. Then again, Ryden had always had a thing for dogs.
“Thank you so much for this,” said Rud, walking around the bonfire in the centre of the hamlet.
“Let me give you some advice,” said Ryden. “Never show that kind of gratitude to anyone ever again. You know what you just told me? That you’re so far in my debt you’ll do anything I ask. Never beholden yourself to someone like that.”
“You can’t fool me. You’re not like everyone says,” said Rud.
“There’s such a thing as speaking your mind too much, you know,” he said, thinking about Clarence, his binded animal. “What do they say about me?”
“That you’re a piece of shit.”
“Heh. They might be right.”
“I’ll owe you one forever for this, Ryden. She’s over here.”
They went by the latrines and then right, taking an arc beyond the passageway where they stored the corpses. After that, Rud stopped a dozen meters away from the timber stockpile.
The dog was next to the hill wall. A snow-white snip of a thing, all fur and no teeth. The kind of dog that stared up at you with all-too adoring eyes. The one that he’d seen follow Rud around camp.
The pang hit Ryden again. He kneeled by the dog and brushed her fur. “What’s her name?”
“Do you need to know that to bring her back?”
“I’d just like to hear it.”
“Chaser,” said Rud.
“Poor Chaser. It’s a shitty world.”
Ryden touched the wound where the bolt was driven through her. It had hit her hind quarters, meaning death wouldn’t have come instantly. Poor thing probably dragged herself over to the wall to die alone, because that was what dogs did. They didn’t want their owners to see them at their worst, they didn’t want them to be sad.
It was a cruel rule of death that said a dog’s soul was worth less than a man’s. The truth was, they were worth much more.
“Who shot her?” asked Ryden.
Rud looked on the verge of tears again, but did an excellent job of holding them back. “Everyone on the guard schedule practices with crossbows every morning. They need to start being more careful.”
“An accident, then.”
Rud nodded. “Can you bring her back?”
“This was your best friend, yes?”
“Mum got her for me when my dad died. She was too busy trying to help with the camp, so I guess there’s not a lot of time left for other people when you’re hunting and stuff.”
“Little Chaser helped you through that, I suppose. An animal can do that so much better than a person.”
“It’s too soon for her to go. I mean, I knew it was going to happen someday; she was 12 after all, but I thought I had a few years to try and say goodbye.”
“Death isn’t to be taken lightly, Rud, I hope you understand that.”
“I do.”
“When I bring back your Chaser, I will be using the souls of other dead beings. Some essence in this necklace is human; parts of human souls are in the blend that brings Chaser back.”
“How did they die?”
“I visit the hospice for the terminally ill in the Furlough Valley. Some of the poor bastards agree to let me take their souls, and in exchange I promise to set up a séance with them after their passing, so that they can speak to their relatives from beyond. These people, and the animals I take souls from, mix together in my necklace. Do you think Chaser is worth part of a human soul?”
Rud stared at his pet, his eyes clouded in thought. Finally, he looked at Ryden. “She was kinder than most people I met. She was a good soul, all gentleness, none of the other, bad shit. She would have followed me anywhere.”
“Then she sounds worthy to me. I’ll bring her back.”
Rud opened his mouth, probably to say thanks in his enthusiastic way, but stopped. He nodded instead.
So Ryden set to work, focusing on the dead dog and teasing essence from his soul necklace before sending it outwards. It was a minor spell for him, and it was only seconds before the animal stirred.
She blinked, looked around. She tried to stand, stumbled, then tried again. When she saw Rud, she let out a bark of delight and leapt up at him.
Rud opened his arms wide and let her jump into his arms, and he suffered through the dog attacking his face with its tongue.
“Good girl! Who’s a good girl?”
Ryden walked away from the boy, eyeing up the bonfire a head. He’d sit a little and speak to Hilda, if she passed by. The old broad always had good stories. Screw the books - it was too nice a night to sit in his tent reading.
“Wait,” said Rud.
“What is it?”
“You’re not as bad as they say,” said Rud.
“Oh? What else do they say, other than I’m a piece of shit?”
“You were banished from the Queen’s academy for using forbidden spells.”
“Forbidden spells? Hardly.”
“So they were lying?”
“Not in so much that I left the academy, but I wasn’t banished, and I didn’t use any dark magic. At least, not back then.”
“What happened?”
“I have helped you now, boy. You don’t need to feign curiosity.”
“I really want to know,” said Rud.
Ryden composed himself. It wasn’t often that people asked about him; when they learned that he was a necromancer, they usually did one of two things. Either they got away from him as soon as they could, or they asked him for a favor. To hear genuine curiosity about himself was a novelty.
“In what was to be my last year in the academy,” he said, “though I didn’t know it would be my last then, I finally earned the rank of master. People often say that we necromancers are a gloomy bunch
, and I suppose some of us do ham it up with our attire, but I was the opposite. I was the happiest practitioner of the dead you could ever meet.
I had just earned the master rank, and that was the pinnacle of my professional career. Even better for me was who waited for me at home; Clare, my wife. She was a journeyman alchemist, and together we earned enough gold to have a house outside of the academy grounds, and we had a dog named Shelbert, who’d just given birth to a litter of pups. Eight of them, and we were going to keep them all.
I was on an assignment when I got the news; it was to be my last assignment, because earning the master rank entitles a person to give up field work and become an instructor, if they wish. I wanted a peaceful, happy life where I didn’t have to travel, and kept regular hours so I could get home to my family.
It was on my last field assignment that they told me Clare had died. She was working alongside a novice alchemist, and Clare being Clare, she’d allowed the lad to use chemicals far beyond his expertise. The explosion took out half of the alchemist wing in the academy, and I believe they still haven’t gotten the funds to rebuild it, even to this day.
Another perk of attaining mastery of necromancy was this; each master had the privilege of requesting a full necklace of soul essence in the event of a loved one’s death, and they could use this to resurrect them.
You see, soul essence is easy to get in small doses. To bring back your Chaser, for example, probably cost the souls of a few wild foxes. Not a like for like exchange, but not enormous.
But to bring back a person…many souls must account for the resurrection of just one. That is the balance.
We prepared Clare’s body with goodlight, and I was given permission to perform the resurrection myself. She had suffered damage to her face and she would live with that when we resurrected her, but it didn’t matter; all that mattered was bringing her back.
Then, I received yet more news. Assassins had infiltrated the Queen’s palace and poisoned the pheasant that her cooks prepared for a grand banquet. Five of the Queen’s brothers, two generals, and half the noblemen of the Red Eye all dead within one feast. You’ve probably heard of the Night of the Poisonous Poultry, as the bards like to call it.