The Necromancer's Nephew

by Andrew Hunter

  “Who are they?” Garrett asked.

  Uncle chuckled. “Well, if you ever meet a man in gray robes wearing a silver sun talisman on his chest, you probably shouldn’t tell him that you’re a necromancer. They’ve sworn to cleanse our corruption from the world.”

  “Are they Chadirians too?”

  “They joined the empire willingly and pay lip service to Malleatus, but their true passion is the destruction of the undead. A very dangerous bunch of fanatics. Fortunately, there aren’t many of them.”

  Uncle dropped the arm he was holding and picked up another. “Oh, this is sad,” he said.

  “What is?”

  Uncle held the arm out so that Garrett could better see it. “Look at the finger,” he said.

  Garrett saw the man had a curling vine tattooed around his ring finger. “He’s the only one like that, isn’t he?”

  Uncle nodded. “This man was betrothed. He was probably a Jastaan. It is their custom. This is only the first half of the tattoo. He was going to be married within a year… well, within a year of whenever the Chadirians conscripted him and forced him to travel far from his home and kill other hopeful young men for the glory of the blood god.

  “There’s probably some poor girl huddled in a basement right now, praying to her seal-headed goddess at an outlaw shrine, praying that her beloved will return.” Uncle’s voice had grown cold, and he let the arm drop to the table. He paced the length of the room a few times and stared at the wall.

  “Uncle, what are you thinking?” Garrett asked.

  Uncle turned and looked at him. “I’m thinking the Chadiri have committed reserves from every corner of the Empire. I’m thinking they mean to end us.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Garrett and Caleb walked up the curving, flower-lined lane between the tall brick townhouses of Queensgarden. Max Zara and Cenick, as well as several other young necromancers had taken up residence in the district, much to the consternation of many of their more respectable neighbors.

  Garrett nodded and bid good day to a well-dressed merchant and his wife as they passed him on the broad sidewalk. The merchant only scowled in response while his wife stared in horror at Garrett's zombie. As they passed, Caleb stumbled and bumped against the merchant.

  "Keep that thing on a leash!" the merchant shouted, shoving Caleb away. He walked away, whispering angrily to his wife and wiping his hands on his waistcoat.

  "Sorry!" Garrett called after them.

  Caleb made a little noise that sounded like a muffled chuckle. He was holding something in his right hand.

  "What's that?" Garrett asked.

  Caleb lifted his arm stiffly and his fingers slowly opened to reveal a small velvet pouch lying in the palm of his hand.

  Garrett's eyes went wide and he snatched the coin purse from Caleb's grasp. He ran after the couple shouting, "Wait, sir! Wait!"

  The merchant wheeled to face him, red-faced and sputtering with rage. "What is it?"

  "You dropped this, sir," Garrett gasped, holding out the heavy sack of coins.

  The merchant's eyes went wide, and his hand went to his pocket, finding it empty. He tried to speak, but only a sputtering noise came out. He grabbed the purse from Garrett's hand and stormed off, his wife hurrying to catch up with him.

  Caleb waited obediently for Garrett's return. Garrett jogged back to where the zombie stood. "Don't do that!" Garrett said.

  Caleb gave a low groan and bowed his head.

  Garrett stared at him for a long moment. "You used to be a thief, didn't you?"

  Caleb only stared at the ground in response.

  "I think you do remember things," Garrett said.

  Caleb showed no sign that he understood at all.

  "Hmn," Garrett said, "Let's go."

  They continued up the lane toward Zara's house. Garrett slowed to a stop when he saw a richly engraved wooden carriage parked in front of Zara's door. Pulled by four black horses and painted an iridescent green, it could only belong to a priestess of the temple. Two Templar guards in green livery stood on either side of the front door. The men wore the white worm of Mauravant inscribed on their ceremonial breastplates.

  The Templars watched him silently as he moved again to approach the door.

  "Greetings, sirs," Garrett said, "I have a message for Maximilian Zara."

  "You will have to wait," one of the men said.

  "Oh, do you know how long?"

  "No," the guardsman said.

  Garrett chewed his lip. He could visit Cenick's house first. The Neshite necromancer lived only a few houses down.

  "I'll come back later then," Garrett said.

  The Templars only grunted in response.

  Just as Garrett turned to go, Zara's front door swung open, and a smiling young woman emerged, dressed in a green silk tunic, black velvet hose, and high doeskin boots. A platinum coronet, bearing the worm-shaped symbol of Mauravant, held back her tightly braided fiery red hair. Her eyes flashed, emerald green, and full of mirth, and she laughed a clear, honest laugh at something Max had said. The dashing young necromancer followed close behind her, grinning at his own cleverness.

  "Garrett!" Max called out upon seeing him, "You finally get a chance to meet the high priestess!"

  Garrett saw the Templars' looks of disapproval, but the priestess only laughed and swatted Zara with one of the gloves she held bundled in her hand. "I'm only an acolyte," she said, looking to Garrett as she walked down the front steps, "Are you the brilliant young necromancer that Max has been telling me about?"

  Garrett moved his jaw, but seemed unable to form sound. The priestess projected a kind of overwhelming warmth. He understood immediately why Max found excuses to spend so much time with her.

  "This is the one!" Max said, "And I see that he brought his zombie along to show you. They say it earned the highest marks for motility that the registrar had ever awarded."

  "Really?" she said, tilting her head with an impressed look on her face.

  "Serepheni, this is Garrett, the next Ramaan'thul, unless I misjudge him," Max said with a flourish of his hand.

  "I'm honored to meet a future Death Lord," the priestess said, grinning as she bowed to Garrett.

  Garrett recovered enough of his wits to return the bow, though with far less grace.

  Max turned to him next. "Garrett, this is Sister Serepheni Prynne, a rising star, most radiant of Mauravant's daughters."

  "Pleased to meet you, my lady," Garrett said.

  Serepheni smiled at him. She could tell him the sky was green, and he would believe her.

  "I'm sorry," she said, "I have business at the temple, and I can't stay to chat. Perhaps I will have a chance to see you again when we return from the campaign."

  "If the Chadiri haven't boiled us all for witchery by then," Max exclaimed with mock dread.

  Serepheni grimaced and slapped him across the arm with her gloves.

  "Ow!" he said, "The first wound of the great expedition is mine! Is there to be some sort of ceremony to commemorate my heroism... a medal perhaps?"

  "This is going to be a long campaign," she sighed, mounting the buckboard of her carriage. The two stern-faced Templars climbed up to take their positions at the reins as she settled into the back seat.

  "Farewell, my fair generaless," Max said, waving his hand slowly overhead.

  "I'll see you in the morning Max," she said, "Try not to be late."

  "Have I ever failed you, my lady?" he asked.

  Serepheni rolled her eyes and turned to Garrett. "Congratulations on your zombie. I hope to see him perform next time!"

  Garrett waved numbly as the carriage pulled away. He walked over to join Max on the doorstep as they watched her go.

  Max spoke without looking at him. "Amazing, isn't she?"

  "Yeah," Garrett said.

  They stepped inside the townhouse to find Max's entryway a bit more brightly lit and cleaner than Garrett was accustomed to seeing it. The scent of lavender hung in the air. A
pair of zombies stepped obediently forward, dressed in red robes and wearing masks of polished white wood.

  "What happened to the spooky black robes?" Garrett asked.

  Max shrugged. "The place needed a little cheering up," he said.

  Max tugged off his cravat and tossed it at one of the zombie servants. The strip of cloth landed across the zombie's head.

  Garrett told Caleb to go stand beside Max's zombies. Caleb shuffled over as commanded and stood, tilting his head as he studied the expressionless wooden masks they wore.

  Garrett followed Max Zara into the sitting room where Cenick sprawled languidly in one of the many comfortably oversized chairs.

  "Did she slap you again on the way out? Cenick asked, lifting his eyebrows.

  Max frowned. "Shouldn't you be packing or something?" he asked. He crossed the room to pour himself a drink from a crystal brandy decanter.

  "I've already packed," Cenick said, "Hello, Garrett."

  "Hi," Garrett said

  "Have a seat, Garrett," Max said, tossing back the drink and pouring himself another, "Can I get you something?"

  "Oh, no, thanks," Garrett said, taking the chair next to Cenick's.

  "What brings you to the love nest today, Garrett?" Cenick asked.

  "Uncle wanted me to stop by and ask you both to dinner tonight. I think he has something he wants to talk to you about."

  "What is it?" Max asked, lowering himself into the chair facing Garrett.

  "Well, I'm not sure what exactly," Garrett said, "but I think he's afraid that the Chadiri have brought in extra troops to fight us."

  "What makes him think that?" Cenick asked.

  "He had the ghouls bring him a bunch of Chadirian arms and he read their tattoos."

  A bit of the cockiness drained from Max's face, and he glanced at Cenick. Cenick rubbed his chin and looked thoughtful.

  "If Uncle was concerned enough to do something like that..." Cenick said.

  "Yes," Max said, running one hand through his hair as he swirled his drink with the other, "I wish he was coming with us."

  "Is Uncle really that good?" Garrett asked.

  Cenick snorted and Zara laughed. "I've seen him raise a score of undead in one night, using month-old dead and half a flask of essence," Zara said, "To this day, I don't know how he did that."

  "Uncle Tinjin is the most powerful necromancer I've ever met," Cenick said, "He's the only one of us whom the Sisterhood actually fears.

  "They're afraid of Uncle?" Garrett laughed.

  Cenick leaned forward. "Uncle Tinjin is a good and gentle man. We are very lucky that he is. If another man possessed his power, a selfish or wicked man, we would fear that man for his evil as much as we love Uncle for his goodness."

  "I feel that Uncle Tinjin will get involved in this little war someday," Max said, "and that will be a very bad day for the Chadiri."

  "Then why doesn't he fight now?" Garrett asked.

  "Because it will be a very bad day for him as well," Cenick said.

  "What do you mean?"

  Cenick looked at Max. "Power is a kind of drug, Garrett," Cenick said, "especially magical power. The more you use it, the better it feels, and the more excuses you will invent to justify using it again. Uncle has enough power within him that he could become a very great man... or a very bad man.

  "I think Uncle would rather just be a good man, so he uses his power sparingly. He doesn't want the magic to define him, so he refuses to give in to the urge to wield it the way we might hope that he would."

  Zara shook his head. "I think he's being a little too cautious," he said, "The magic only reflects what is inside us, and Uncle Tinjin is the purest soul I've ever met... aside from myself of course." He grinned.

  “Hmnph,” Cenick said, “I’m sure Uncle has his reasons. I’m not about to start questioning them now.”

  “Well, forgive me if I remain the optimist here,” Max said, “I’m hoping that he’ll change his mind, or maybe he already has. We’ll definitely be there in time for dinner tonight, Garrett.”

  “Thanks,” Garrett said, “I was hoping to see you both again before you left.”

  Max smiled. “You know we’d never leave without saying goodbye,” he said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The doorbells jangled loudly as Garrett stepped into the cool shadows of the pet shop. He ushered Caleb quickly inside and then shut the door behind them.

  “Marla?” he called out, his eyes not yet adjusted to the gloom within.

  “Over here,” the vampire girl answered quietly.

  A somber hush filled the shop. The usually active Fae creatures lay still and quiet inside their cages with only an occasional rustling sound or buzzing wing breaking the silence. Garrett saw Marla then. She sat, perched atop a high shelf in the corner of the shop, dangling a silver collar, tied to the end of a long string. She gave it a spin, and the string shortened as it coiled around her fingers. When it reached the end, she spun it in the opposite direction, letting it unwind and then wind again around her fingers. Her dark hair hung over her eyes, and she gave no more acknowledgement of Garrett’s presence.

  “Is everything all right?” Garrett asked.

  “I guess so,” she said, the metal collar slapped into her palm, and she spun it loose again.

  “I brought my zombie to show you,” he said.

  “Oh,” she said, brushing her hair from her eyes and looking up. She wrapped the string quickly around her fingers and dropped silently from the shelf. A moment later, she stood before them.

  “His name’s Caleb,” Garrett said, “He used to be a thief, and I think he remembers some of his old life. Uncle says that’s impossible, but I’ve seen him do stuff that other zombies can’t do.”

  “Hi, Caleb,” she said, crossing her hands across her chest and bowing her head slightly.

  “So, are you all right?” Garrett asked, “You seem a little… sad.”

  Marla frowned. “They won’t let me ride the gaunts yet,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” Garrett said, “Is it that you’re too young?”

  “Maybe,” she said, “but there’s something else wrong. When my mother came back from her meeting she seemed upset. She tried to hide it, but I could see something was bothering her. She said that she might have to go away for a while, and I would have to watch the shop until she came back.”

  “Did she say where she was going?” Garrett asked.

  "Back to Thrinaar," Marla said, "She said it was Council business, but she didn't explain anymore than that. When I woke up this morning, she gave me a letter she had written for your uncle." Marla stepped behind the counter and came back with a crisp folded square of brown paper. It was sealed with a blob of red wax, stamped with a familiar-looking rune.

  "That's your father's symbol, isn't it?" Garrett asked.

  Marla nodded. "Mother still has his signet ring."

  "I'll give it to him," Garrett said, taking the letter.

  "Thank you," Marla said.

  "Oh, I did want to get some more essence from you," Garrett said, pulling two empty canisters from his bag.

  "Oh, actually, a priestess came by this morning and purchased all the stock we had on hand," Marla said, "I'm sorry."

  "Oh... that's all right," Garrett said.

  "Two flasks?" Marla said, looking down at the empty containers, "Does your uncle have a large commission? We should have some fresh stock in by the end of the week."

  "No, it was just a personal project," Garrett said.

  "A personal project?" she asked.

  "Yeah, I wanted to try some of the things I'd been reading about in the wild magic book that my friend Max gave me."

  "I could render down one of the pets, if you think that would work for you," she said, looking around at the many silver cages. A chorus of hisses and buzzing sounds arose from the small creatures trapped within.

  "No!" Garrett said, "It can wait... I'm probably gonna be too busy this week anyway."


  Marla shrugged, and the Fae creatures grew silent once more. "All right. I'm sorry we don't have any scarabs left."

  "Do the priestesses usually buy essence from you?" Garrett asked.

  "I've never known them to use it before," Marla said, "The flasks the priestess gave me to fill had never been used before, and they weren't very well crafted. Her men had a whole cartload of them. I think they were visiting all the suppliers. Speaking of which, I could tell you some other shops you might try, in case the priestess hasn't bought out the entire city's supply."

  "No," Garrett said with a smile, "you're the only girl I'd want to buy essence from."

  Marla smiled. “So, tell me about your zombie,” she said.

  “Well,” Garrett said, turning to look at Caleb, “We used the essence of a satyr thief to make him.”

  “Satyr essence?” Marla said, “That’s illegal to sell here. I wonder where your uncle got it?”

  Garrett shrugged. “It seemed pretty old. Uncle said he was a famous thief.”

  “Perhaps you could discover his real name then?” Marla asked.

  “Maybe, but I kinda think his human body used to be a thief too.”

  “Why is that?” she asked.

  “Uncle said he was killed by the Night Watch.”

  Caleb made a low groaning sound.

  “And only a criminal would be out past curfew, right?” Marla nudged Garrett with her elbow.

  Garrett laughed. “I don’t know,” he said, “I was just thinking that maybe he was special because we used the essence of a thief on the body of a thief. What if the reason zombies are so dumb… usually… is because we reanimate them with bug juice?”

  “Even if that were the case,” Marla said, “I’m not sure we would want a bunch of smart zombies running around.”

  “Why not?”

  “Suppose you reanimate a bunch of dead enemy soldiers and tell them to attack their friends?” she said, “What if they’re smart enough to decide they’d rather attack you instead?”

  “Oh, I guess that makes sense,” he admitted.

  Marla put her hand on Garrett’s shoulder. “You’re the only friend I’ve got,” she said, “I don’t want you to get eaten by your own homework.”