The Morality of A Necromancer

by Elizabeth Guizzetti

  Roark gestured to the other two. They entered behind him.

  “Sit and eat -- there is nothing in your cups but spring water, though my brother and I’ll still be partaking of mead.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Roark inclined his head. “How did you know?”

  “I overheard you in the rectory,” Kajsa said. “So is it true? The game had Alana’s mark on it -- except for the stolen ruby.”

  “I didn’t steal a ruby,” Roark snapped. “Nothing of value!”

  Doriel flicked his ear. “Shhh. Do you want to be heard?”

  “Yes, we did the regicide with Guild approval -- and I didn’t steal anything except some trifles off a dressing table to make it look like a robbery.”

  “What type of trifles?”

  Roark opened his bag and pulled out an enameled face powder box, an ivory-handled brush, and other items off the dressing table. “The only thing Eohan stole was his brother.”

  “And I also stole a kitchen knife. To get him out of the chains,” Kian whispered.

  “Thank you for a full accounting, dear.” Kajsa set aside the sword and whetstone and reached towards him. “Elfkin youth seem so fragile. You are but eleven summers?”

  “Yes, milady.”

  For her outward loving demeanor, Roark already guessed she wanted to study him. “We heard the arena brute was chained, real lock?”

  “Yes,” Eohan said.

  “And Kian picked it? Without any training at all?”

  “Only kitchen work, my lady. I was lucky to be skilled in my parents’ trades when I was sold.”

  “No doubt. Injuries?”

  Kian shook his head.

  Roark hoped the others would not consider that a lie. “Nothing of note,” he answered. “He’ll live by a life of his choosing.”

  “What a gift you were given, Kian.” Something shifted behind Seweryn’s eyes.

  Kian sits between two people who can kill in an instant. Maybe, it’s wrong to trust them. “Don’t hurt him!” Roark cried.

  Kian started to rise, but Lady Kajsa held his arm. “Sit.”

  He sat back down, frozen in place.

  Doriel clamped his hand upon Eohan. “Trust us. Don’t do something stupid.”

  “I killed the Empress alone. I poisoned her quickly and strangled her dead body to hide how, but I didn’t steal anything of real value –some shiny trinkets from the dressing table, I swear on my rights of a Martlet. Eohan only rescued his brother. Don’t hurt them! Even Alana is innocent.”

  Laughter burst out of the dwarfs’ lips at his last statement.

  Seweryn smiled. “A jester’s talent. We had no idea, I’ll make a note of it.”

  Eohan and Roark met eyes and chuckled uncomfortably. Kian was still frozen.

  “Your loyalty is admirable, but you really ought to work on not showing it for their sakes,” Doriel said. “As long as it doesn’t affect our pay, we aren’t interested in your jobs when we are not around.”

  “However, Lord Corwin is interested speaking to you about the job and seeing the boy,” Kajsa said.

  “Why’d he send Alana away?”

  “Ask him yourself.” Seweryn set up a silver sounding bowl with cool, clear water.

  Kajsa sprinkled an iron-red powder into the water and slipped her hand into it. “House Master Corwin, we found them. Or more accurately they found us.”

  A thin, wrinkled, sneering face appeared in the water. “So, nearly-a-lord Roark, how do you feel about your first regicide?”

  “I was honored for the opportunity.” A safe answer when talking to the House Master.

  “You’ll be honored for another, I suppose.”

  Roark’s mouth went dry, but he nodded.

  “Legend says the stolen ruby…”

  “But I didn’t...”

  Corwin gestured, and Kajsa slapped the side of Roark’s head. She hadn’t hit him hard, but he shut his mouth.

  “As I was saying, this stolen ruby of legend gave the Empress a long life and the wisdom to rule. If the jewel works, we need to study the technology. I’ve seen your curiosity in such things.”

  Roark chewed his bottom lip and decided to name it. “Was the Empress a necromancer?”

  “No. She kept one on retainer. We know little about the necromancer other than she was a Daosith woman named Daena. Age eighty-seven. A third cousin or some other minor relations to House Josael.”

  “If you wanted us to get this jewel, why did you send Lady Alana away?”

  “Because Alana claims you’re worthy to start your Journey. If you are able to find this illegal technology with Guild resources, I will not stand in the way of your advancement.”

  Roark felt twisted by madness: he needed to get Eohan and Kian to Fairdhel, but if he started his Journey… “Would the bounty go away if we find this jewel?”

  “One of you slap some sense into that boy!”

  Kajsa did as Corwin commanded, but like before she put no power into her blow.

  Corwin went on: “You committed regicide, boy! The bounty will live on forever. However, from all reports, the new Empress is well loved by her people. Most importantly, no one except Alana and the people in this room know you did the deed.

  “If this opportunity frightens you: sell the other two boys to the younger Empress and save yourself the trouble.”

  Corwin’s words ripped into Roark’s heart and beside him, Eohan’s hand formed a fist. It’s a trick. How would Alana handle this? As soon as he thought of his aunt, a plan started to form. “House Master Corwin, what are the consequences if we find the Empress’s ruby and bring it to you. If we found another a ruby of the same make and quality and replaced it. If this second ruby was returned to the Empress by a noble dwarf lady and her support staff along with the bodies of two slaves…”

  Beside him, Kian squeaked.

  “Don’t be stupid and don’t interrupt,” Roark growled though unlike Corwin, he wouldn’t slap Kian or order Kajsa to. That would be no better than bullying. “Well, would the young Empress know the difference?”

  Corwin sneer almost became a smile. “Probably not.”

  “What resources do I have at my disposal? Is Lady Kajsa unemployed?”

  “I suppose, but what can an apprentice pay a journeywoman at the end of her decade -- only seventy-three days before she becomes a practicing War Ender. Her fees are quite expensive for a boy such as yourself.”

  Roark was tired of being referred to as a boy. (Well, from everyone but Alana who said boys when she grouped her apprentices together with affection.) “That’ll be my problem.”

  “Indeed.”

  “House Master Corwin, I accept this opportunity, but I require one more thing in payment.”

  “Which is?”

  “This is a test for Eohan, Kian, and I. You won’t stand in the way of my advancement nor my friends’ advancement within the Guild.”

  “You’ve traveled with Alana for too long. She softened your brutality.”

  “Perhaps, but it’s my price. I don’t come cheap either.”

  “Very well,” Corwin said, “You will start your Decade if you procure this technology for me and survive, and I will not stand in the way of these two commoners when they are ready if they survive.”

  The image of Corwin disappeared from the water.

  Knees trembling, Roark sank in a nearby chair. He hated showing such weakness, but he did not have control of his body.

  “So, we’ve never worked for an apprentice,” Kajsa said, stroking her beard. “Out of curiosity, how will you pay my fee?”

  Roark whispered, “You, three journeypersons, get the whole bounty if you help us. I leave it to you to divide it in whatever way seems fair to you.”

  “Solid price there, but how will you live?” Kajsa asked.

  “Alana gave me a little money, and I still have my House allowance if need be. It has been enough so far for the three of us. We’ve been keeping to the woods.”

  Kajsa tapped her
knee with her fingers. “Yet, you were seen and killed a man in Daubmor.”

  “Yes, my lady, I killed him,” Eohan said. “I lost my temper after he grabbed Kian.”

  “It wouldn’t be uncommon for two men to dump a boy slowing them down,” Kajsa said. “We could procure a boy’s body, bring it to House Josael, get more information about the jewel and perhaps even get partial bounty. Once it’s known I’m after the bounty, it should take some heat off you.”

  Roark glanced at Eohan. “That’s a good idea. Let’s do that.”

  “How did you plan to procure a youth’s body, and later a man’s body for Eohan?” Seweryn said.

  Roark opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He had no idea. Think like Alana…

  Eohan jumped in. “We think, my lord when it is time we could procure bodies from an arena graveyard for me. But for a corpse my brother’s size, I’m not sure.”

  “Sadly, children also die in the arena every day.” Seweryn pulled out a measuring ribbon and his journal. His voice was soft, sad and distant. Roark hoped he would keep bathing for a while.

  *

  Chapter 8

  Port Dentwort in the Realm of Dynion

  “A message for you, Lady Alana.” Lillia carried a seagull into the Guild cabin and set the bird on the table.

  Alana unwrapped the scroll. Inside was a brief message from Roark about the job Corwin had set them on. She bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to show emotion in front of Byronia -- or swear about her beloved uncle’s conduct. It is his duty as House Master to see when promotions are due. She reminded herself, but since Corwin was against any commoner in the high ranks, she did not believe he was doing this to help her nephew and his friends.

  Of course, as she was in Dentwort, she might call on Edar and get more information. She fed the gull a few grapes from the table. “Might you stay until I finish the night’s work, my friend? I might have something for you to send back.”

  The gull bobbed its head and side-eyed the grapes. Balhan wandered over and put his hand out. The gull sidestepped to him and peeked over his hand.

  “Apparently he likes grapes,” Alana said. “I’ll be back in a few hours; mind the gull for me.”

  “Yes, milady,” Balhan took one from the bunch and gave it a grape.

  Looking back down at her list, she spoke in the pre-schism language of the elfkin nobility so the rescued slaves wouldn’t understand. “Now, where were we? Edar said this name is a pimp. I shall kill him I think.”

  “Someday the Guild will crucify you for killing the wrong person,” Byronia said in the same tongue. “We might try buying the girl from her pimp.”

  Alana slowly dressed in the weave then wrapped a cloak round her body. “In this case, killing is better. This girl disappears with us tonight, and we sail back to Olentir. I must get back to the boys.”

  Alana saw the children watching her as she took a soot pencil and covered the flesh around her eyes. Her hands were practiced, but she still checked the mirror. Alana carefully adjusted her scabbards. Her saber on her right hip, two daggers on the left. Two throwing knives were knotted to her left thigh, and on her right, was a small ration of hardtack, and a needle and thread, and coin.

  “Good journey,” Byronia said, before turning to the group of rescued slaves playing a game of hafal in the corner.

  Alana followed the beach to a cobbled boat ramp which led to grime and urine-infused clay buildings set with heavy timbers where Edar never ventured but knew by reputation. Alana crept towards the center of the buildings where wooden racks covered in salted fish lay smoking, and down a darkened alleyway to an inn and brothel.

  Alana perched in the dim shadows. A few drunks walked by singing arm in arm.

  Her muscles twitched from excitement. Her mind felt a tingling heat as she waited for the child to appear. She loved this type of work. It was much better than war ending where even innocent blood flowed at times. Only the guilty were bled on rescue missions.

  Alana watched Caraine, daughter of Ylsabet, and the pimp leave the brothel and cross the alley towards a filth-encrusted inn.

  Caraine’s—whose record put her at thirteen—tri-pointed ears pierced with golden chains which wrapped behind her head, but the jewelry was the only thing colorful about her attire. On her body, she wore a stained slip. The man holding the chains dressed in gaudy striped linens that smelled like fish. Her eyes were orbs of expressionless gravity, though her mouth pretended to smile. Rage boiled up in Alana.

  Careful not to step in the light from the windows, she followed before they went into the inn for the night’s business. Alana leaped from the shadows with a knife in each hand. Her right blade entered the man’s neck smoothly, as did her left.

  Clutching on the spurting wound, the man fell forward in pain and dropped the girl’s chain. Caraine spun around, yelling in confusion.

  Alana slapped a hand over the girl’s mouth and pulled her into the shadows before the man dropped on her. Blood spurted from the wounds. Within seconds, the man stopped moving.

  Holding the girl. Alana whispered, “Should we finish it?”

  “Finish?” the girl whimpered.

  “Ensure he cannot be recognized and look for valuables,” Alana instructed. Holding the girl by the scruff of her dress, Alana spun her around and removed her hand. “Child, we need to get you away from here less they think you did this. Do as I bade you,” Alana asked.

  “I don’t have to go back to the brothel?” The girl hugged herself.

  “Surely you’ve heard of the Martlets?

  “The Martlets?”

  “The elf nobility who travel the Realms and help the broken. Would you enjoy stabbing him? I could loan you a knife, dearling.”

  With tears in her eyes, Caraine took the knife, spit on the man’s corpse and made one glancing blow to his chest with a quiet scream. Her second blow punctured the flesh of his stomach. Trembling, Caraine handed the knife back to Alana.

  “Now, I must ask you an important question, and you must answer truthfully,”

  “Yes, milady?”

  “Is there any other elfkin, whether they be Fairsinge, Daosith or Fate, who dwell in the brothel? I’ll rescue them too.”

  Caraine shook her head. “I never saw any of our people. Only humans and the occasional dwarf who visited the inn.”

  “And the other prostitutes?”

  “There were three, all human girls.”

  “Stay here.”

  Alana crept back to the brothel. Inside, two girls cried while the eldest girl paced. She knocked on the door.

  The eldest girl shooed the other girls behind a curtain before she peered out the window.

  Lowering her voice to what she hoped was deep as a man’s, she grumbled, “Caraine and your pimp are dead. I bring you this to buy your freedom.” Alana dropped a bag of coin through the window and walked away. Behind her, she heard joyous laughter.

  Caraine rocked back and forth holding her arms tight.

  “Let’s get you back to Macotir.”

  Alana rested her arm over the girl’s shoulders. She stayed under Alana’s arm as they walked to the shore and headed north.

  After a time, they came to a freshwater stream leading up a ravine, slicing the beach in two. “Best to not enter the ship in the weave or blood on your hands, child,” Alana said softly. “The other children might be frightened.”

  Cara washed her hands. “Other children?”

  “House Silba’s Martlet and I are trying to find all who were stolen from Sildeir Province.”

  “You are not of Sildeir?”

  “No, I’m Lady Alana of House Eyreid.”

  “Then why help me?”

  “The Martlets ride for all our people; it is our sorrow we did not find you sooner.”

  Caraine looked at her feet. “Do you know what happened to my mother and sisters?”

  “Many died on the ship, but some have been rescued. If they lived, they’re in Sildeir or Eyredeir. We’ll f
ind out what happened to her at least. What’s her name?

  “Wisewoman Ylsabet.”

  “There is a wisewoman in Eyredeir; she buried a babe after I rescued her.”

  Caraine’s eyes filled with tears.

  “Once we’re aboard the ship, you are going to get a nice warm bath. I’m going to show you a mark, and you can tell me if it is your mother’s.”

  *

  “I need a remedy and information,” Alana said to Edar.

  “For yourself?” He ushered her into his cozy cottage. She could smell the sharp scent of vinegar upon his silks. He gestured at the gull. “Or your bird?”

  “No, a young girl from the brothel district. Elfkin.”

  “I’ve a less effective remedy suitable for a pregnant girl that won’t harm the babe if she wants it,” Edar said softly. “Or something stronger, but she will lose the child.”

  “We don’t know she’s pregnant, only malnourished, misused and itches. Our steward bathed her in oil, but she still itches. She’s only been with humans and dwarves since she arrived on these shores. Guild doctors treat wounds well enough, but know nothing about diseases.”

  “And the Guild has always been a self-righteous about medical technologies,” Edar said not hiding his disdain.

  “Our inequities are my shame.”

  “Your shame doesn’t save lives,” Edar said.

  “You believe you understand morality?” Alana asked.

  “Better than you. There is a new disease going around the brothels and slave ships, but the apothecaries haven’t defined how its spread yet. An internal round of quicksilver and holy wood has proven effective. She must take the first dose in the morning light of tomorrow and again at night. Finish in twenty-eight days. Is she well enough to spread a tonic on infected skin?”

  “Yes, and I’ve a steward caring for the children until we arrive back in Olentir.”

  “Good. I’ll make enough for all the children to bath in twice. I suggest you, the steward, and Lady Byronia, and anyone else who’s been around the child, to also wash in case its spread by bad air or parasite.”

  He picked some chamomile from his window box then pulled out a pot of a sharp smelling resin. He boiled water and dropped it in the pot. “Give each child a slice of this cheese. It’s made with an old pre-schism remedy called Penicillin.”