Necrophobia

by Devaney, Mark

  He stopped to re-orientate himself, checking the map. The mausoleums around them were weather-worn and scarred by ivy growth, the gargoyles perched above them chipped and crumbling. The tombstones themselves were almost illegible and faded. Between the high walls surrounding the cemetery and the overlapping tree cover little light reached them through the thinning canopies. The ground below them sodden with rain and fallen leaves, they retraced their footsteps along a stone-cobbled path leading deeper into the grove. The peaceful secluded nature of the cemetery seemed incongruous with the bustling port-city as though the gates had lead them to a different place entirely.

  Reiner felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. The graveyard remained silent and empty, other than the Night Guard posted at every entrance they’d not seen another soul for at least half an hour. Without obvious reason for concern he relaxed, calming himself through controlled breathing but still something nagged at the back of his mind. He pushed on with a sense of trepidation, he had little time for superstition. The Caelites did not fear of places of rest but he did strongly believe in caution and always being prepared. Hearing a twig snap behind him his hand reached for his sword only to see the nervous face of Alvar stepping over the gnarled tree roots and vines scattered throughout the path. Local noises seemed sharper and louder than usual perhaps because of the muffling spells surrounding the cemetery. Any sound filtering through the bubble seemed distorted and muted like listening with your head underwater.

  “Almost there.” Reiner said, more to himself than the others.

  Using his spear for leverage he cautiously climbed over a fallen mass of roots ensnared around moss-covered rock. With the rapid expansion of the city the graveyard was undersized and the paths winding between the tightly packed rows of graves and headstones. At last he came to a stop and knelt down before a headstone — unlike the others it was recent and carved with care. Untouched by moss or age the inscription was clear.

  Vara Falkner 1244-1280

  Loving wife to Felix Falkner and mother to be. Taken too soon.

  Beside him Alvar closed his eyes and performed the blessing of Caelus with his empty hand. “Mother to be? I had no idea.”

  “It was the plague.” Reiner mimicked the blessing. “Claimed them both whilst Felix was dispatched on a diplomatic mission in Altstadt.”

  “Why would the commander send him on such a delicate mission if they were expecting. Surely someone else could have done it.” Cynthia shook her head. “No wonder he seemed so lost when he returned.”

  Reiner’s eyes narrowed as he turned to face them. “The Commander didn’t know. The plague claimed them fast.”

  “But why Falkner? That’s what I don’t understand.” Cynthia persisted.

  “Falkner had seniority and previous experience. It was the obvious choice.”

  Alvar ran his fingers through his long black hair. “With respect, Captain Lewis isn’t one for subtlety, Falkner would be the next most senior. It makes sense.”

  “Precisely.” The Caelite captain knelt down and inspected the ground beneath him. The soil seemed disturbed and freshly dug, the grass yet to regrow. Vara had passed away three months before but the ground was disturbed mere days ago.

  Seeing his gaze Cynthia continued. “You don’t think he—”

  “I didn’t want to believe it but it’s undeniable.” He’d been told earlier that day by a priest in charge of tending to the cemetery and seen the paperwork himself, but to see it with his own eyes was different. Some small part of him had wished for it to be a mistake, that his friend and long-time colleague was innocent but that possibility faded with each passing second. “She’s been exhumed.”

  “Hold on Captain, how did anyone dig up that body without the Night Guard knowing?” Alvar said. His eyes wide with concern. “They must have noticed.”

  Captain Soranus sighed and shook his head. “The body was exhumed legally by Falkner, the paperwork genuine. She’s been moved to an undisclosed location. No reason given.”

  “So, Felix struck a deal with this Haures to resurrect his wife in exchange for striking at the heart of our order?” Cynthia bit her lip and stared down at the empty grave. “No wonder he holds a grudge, he must blame us for keeping him away when she died.”

  Reiner shrugged. “A grudge perhaps, but I think it was more from desperation. The Inquisitor preyed upon his weakness when he was most vulnerable with honeyed words and false promises.”

  They stood in silence for several moments listening to the wind rattling through the trees overhead.

  “There’d be no Night Guard investigation if she was exhumed legally. No trail, no evidence. How will we find him?” Alvar spoke up, his voice still muffled by the sound shield.

  “That’s a good question.” Reiner folded up the map and tucked it away into the satchel at his waist. “The only way we’ll find Felix is by finding Haures and the dragon.”

  “That won’t be easy.” Alvar replied.

  “He should never have trusted him. He should never have sold us out.” Reiner’s fists clenched as he remembered the bloody and frantic fighting within the Caelite stronghold. The names and faces of those injured and killed and the aftermath of both the destruction and desecration of all those entombed there.

  “You said it yourself! He was vulnerable — grieving. No wonder Haures got to him.” Cynthia’s face reddened with anger.

  She fixed him with a glare, her eyes narrowed and filled with determination. Felix had been a great captain and a well-respected Caelite but his betrayal still raw and fresh. Good men and women died because he’d been desperate, vulnerable and sided with a silver-tongued devil.

  “I understand why.” Reiner replied keeping his voice level. “But that doesn’t make it right. Felix betrayed us all and it’s our duty to bring him to justice.”

  “He was mistaken yes, but I don’t think he meant for this to happen. Haures used him!”

  “That doesn’t change anything. I sympathise with him, I really do but we have no choice. If you don’t have the stomach for it, fine. Return to Caelholm. This is our duty and I’ll see it through.”

  She clenched her jaw and paused. “I have the stomach for it. I don’t like it but I’ll do it. Where do we start?”

  He softened his tone and looked around the graveyard. “Good. That’s what duty is. Remember that and you’ll go far.” Something flickering through the trees caught his eye. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “We’re not alone.”

  Before anyone could react three crossbow bolts flew out from behind the bushes and struck Alvar in the chest; he stumbled backwards awkwardly from the impact smacking his head into a tombstone as he fell.

  With repairs and recruiting well under way the Caelite stronghold was busier and noisier than it had ever been. Extensive damage to the undercroft and mausoleums beneath the temple required contracted workers and stonemasons to prevent the collapse of the lower levels. Entire sections had to be sealed off and reconstructed and eventually reconsecrated. It was a long and arduous process that required constant attention. Amelia Rhae sighed as she flicked through another set of reports trying to concentrate over the constant sounds of construction echoing down the stone hallways. Already she could feel a headache coming on and the day was still young. It didn’t take long for a knock at the door to signal another annoyance demanding attention. She decided it could wait a few seconds whilst she finished signing another requisition form from the church budget. It was perhaps the fiftieth time today she’d written her own name and the words seemed alien and without meaning at this point.

  “Come in.” She brushed her hair out of her eyes and prepared for the worst. It’s probably Elson again.

  The door opened and a Caelite Captain stormed in past the two Honour Guard at the door with the kind of infuriating self-righteousness she’d come to realise meant another interminable lecture. The Caelite Commander suppressed another weary sigh as the overbearing captain Elson Lewis stood to attention before her
desk. She could see he was bursting at the seams to speak his mind which was never a good sign. The facial injuries he’d received during the attack whilst painful had done little to discourage his almost compulsive need to state his opinion and they seemed to be healing up faster than she’d hoped. The door slamming behind him was yet another unwelcome loud sound boring into her brain.

  “Yes Captain?” She resigned herself to ask. Sooner he gets it over with sooner I can get back to these forms and all the joys they hold.

  “Commander I must speak with you about our operation in Kriegsfeld.” Whilst his tone was respectful it was laced with doubt.

  “Again?” Amelia placed the pen down and sat back on her chair and steepled her fingers. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “We should send a greater force out before Falkner slips through our fingers. I doubt Soranus can find him.” The elderly captain helped himself to a chair. “The threat of Valdgeirr is too great, we can’t just leave it in the hands of one man.”

  “Sending any sizable force into Kriegsfeld without consulting Lord Strigoi or the Night Guard is tantamount to an act of war. We must balance diplomacy with efficiency.”

  Captain Lewis snorted. “That young buck? I doubt he’s got the stomach for it. He can thank us once the dragon is freed from the control of a mad man.”

  “It may have escaped your notice but young Victor and his aggressive policies and curfews suggest to me he does not take any threat lightly. We have a protocol to follow for a reason. We’re in no position to butt heads with the Imperial army right now.”

  “So what, we leave them at the mercy of an undead dragon and a mass-murderer?”

  “No.” Amelia massaged her temples as she chose her next words. Captain Lewis was not one for an ‘indoor voice’. “Captain Soranus has already made contact with city officials and the church and warned them of the threat—”

  “—With respect Commander, warned isn’t enough. A Dragon of Valdgeirr’s calibre even enthralled by dark magic is still more than a match for the city watch and navy.”

  Amelia watched the ageing captain with a raised eyebrow. On the one hand she appreciated his candour and experience — he’d been a captain of the Caelites as long as she’d been alive after all. But on the other he was stubborn and single-minded to a fault, once he’d decided something he’d stick to it without deviation and any attempt to steer him aside required a titanic effort.

  “Elson, do you really think I’d leave such a menace unchecked? A warning carried by a captain and two junior Caelites?”

  “Well… I like to make sure.” He conceded, only now having second thoughts it seemed.

  “As soon as Falkner is apprehended and the dragon is located, as soon as we receive the signal I’ll order your sizable force through the Stone Gates, to deal with it personally.”

  “Are the Stone Gates functional? I thought—”

  “Preparing them was my first step Elson.” She allowed a small smile to cross her face. “Make sure you are prepared, select the finest warriors you have and make them ready at a moment’s notice.”

  The man hesitated once again as he considered her words, she’d taken the wind out of most of his sails but Amelia knew he’d find some last minor detail to latch onto. He was nothing if not thorough.

  “I will Commander. But forgive me for asking but this all depends on Soranus succeeding. If he fails or Falkner takes him out…”

  “I’ve made arrangements should they be necessary. Though I have faith in Captain Soranus, Verena and Lupis. You’ll be the first to know should there be a change in plan.”

  “Very well.” Elson stood up and offered a salute. “I’ll make sure we’re ready.”

  The Captain saw himself out and once more the door slammed, lancing pain through her weary head. Alone once again she allowed her head to slump into her open hands and massaged her temples. Her headache prediction was accurate as always. She stood up and walked towards the window overlooking the snow-coated forest stretching out to sea. Eight years as Commander after her predecessor Hahnfeld stepped down and she still wondered if she was doing the right thing. The attack on the Caelite stronghold was one of the worst incidents in Caelite history and it happened under her watch — a permanent stain on her tenure. No, her best hope now was to deal with Valdgeirr quickly and incisively before the situation could worsen. Her hopes and future rested on the shoulders of Reiner Soranus and his followers finding Falkner. With any luck they’d be able to teleport a large force of the Caelites finest into the city via the heavily guarded arcane Stone Gates. Hidden beneath the fortress they were linked to identical gates in the Temple of the Four Gods in Kriegsfeld. The gates were guarded and kept inactive without prior warning to stop enemy forces teleporting into the heart of their stronghold. She took small consolation in the fact the rogue Inquisitor Haures had been unable to breach the defences on the gates during his assault and had to force entry elsewhere. No doubt the gates on the mainland were equally defended. At the very least Captain Soranus acting on her authority had secured their use with the blessings of the church and Kriegsfeld officials and they were prepped. Now all she had to do was wait for the signal whilst everything else fell into place.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  With a familiar sensation of vertigo and discomfort Isobel’s mind floated away from the prone and elderly body beneath her. The wizened old body lay still and almost lost in a deep sleep. The eager minds around her fraught with apprehension and worry as her consciousness freed itself from the shell of her physical form. As the initial vertigo passed she felt a great sense of freedom, independence and opportunity; free from the tired and weary constraints of flesh. Isobel’s ethereal mind floated through the roof and into the afternoon sky drifting above the thermal currents and smoke dissipating above the bustling city. Invisible and intangible she was free. Below she could sense the thousands of intellects, their thoughts, desires and dreams seeping into her own unbidden. Isobel concentrated and cleared her mind of distractions and cast her search like a fisherman’s net across a lake, hunting for her prey. Finding a single person within this hive of raw psychic energy was an almost impossible task even knowing the feel of Haures’ mind. His thoughts and actions left a signature imprint upon the surrounding area. Over time this imprint became diluted and indistinct among the thousands of active minds creating a haze of psychic energy.

  Her projection flew across the industrial district following this nebulous trail, drifting into the dulled minds of factory workers, weary with the intense physical labour and long hours. Concerns for family, their health and finances overlapped and mixed together. Across the canals and over the different sectors of the city she caught phantom trace after phantom trace reaching the edge of noble district. The manors and mansions of the Kriegsfeld nobility stretched out before her at the highest peaks of the labyrinthine city, overlooking the factories and crowded streets and accommodation for workers. Any nobleman or woman worth their salt bought expensive psy-shielding charms and incantations blocking both their minds and estates from the prying minds of most psychics. An almost impenetrable bubble of invisible energy guarded them, clouded their thoughts and congealed against Isobel’s ethereal projection.

  Despite herself Isobel scoffed, in her youth she’d have relished the opportunity to bypass or overwhelm the often paltry psy-shielding measures and uncover whatever wretched secrets their minds held. But youth was a long distant memory and already her mind was feeling the strain of astral projection, she redirected her efforts elsewhere, drifting even higher on the thermals into the clouds. The unmistakable aura of a draconic mind struck her, their alien thoughts and powerful presence resonated throughout the aether leaving waves in its wake. Valdgeirr, in its tormented undead state had flown across here hidden by cloud cover. Its once noble thoughts twisted and dulled, the acrid taste of that spectral warped energy animating the dragon tainted the air around it. Eager she followed it flying ever further from her dormant body over the endless oce
an, the aura trail becoming stronger and more distinct.

  She froze as she heard a pained sub-sonic roar rip through the air around her, laced with psychic energy. Beneath the cloud cover she saw the black-scaled serpentine dragon swooping towards a small island fortress. The emerald flames inside it burning bright yet icy cold to her mind’s touch. The spectral aura extended and trailed after the descending dragon like an after-image as it dove towards a watchtower. The dragon’s wings opened and slowed its decent as it drew level with the stone crenellated tower and opened its mouth. A super-heated gout of real flame ignited the ballistae and guards in an instant. The backlash of psychic energy as the guards burned to ash was deeply unpleasant. Valdgeirr swooped again with unnatural grace avoiding bolts from ballistae of the surrounding towers and descending upon each in turn. Staying within the cloud cover Isobel soon recognised the small and desolate island. The Brinestone Maximum Security prison located on a bleak rocky island offshore. Home to the worst criminals and heretics within the kingdom; those convicted were sentenced here to work in slavery in the undersea iron mines with little chance of escape. This bleak and desolate island carved into the inhospitable mountainous terrain held the dangerous and criminally insane. Even miles above Isobel could sense the hopelessness and despair emanating from below with little satisfaction. However justified, Isobel felt responsible for capturing and condemning some of the inmates to a lifetime of backbreaking toil on this miserable rock. She watched in horror as the undead dragon tore at the last of the prison’s aerial defences and circled the island. Stretched far from her body across several miles of ocean her mind was weak and tiring from the effort, there was little she could do against the raw unrefined power of the mindless dragon.

  Isobel cloaked her mind and dared to descend closer to the surface, she spotted three figures leaving a boat ignored by the dragon and crossing the sands towards the shattered entrance of the prison. A tall dour man, a woman of early thirties and another man clad in silver armour stalked across the beach. Behind them, cloaked and armoured forms emerged from the ship and ran towards the prison. Valdgeirr returned and flew low before landing in front of them. Its dead flaming eyes unfocused yet filled with malice. The leader of the figures stepped towards the dragon, arms behind his back and inspected it. There was no mistaking him — Inquisitor Haures turned towards the others and ordered them into the breached walls. Though too far to make out any words she could feel the commands mixed with faint psychic compulsion. Not enough to forcibly control or command another’s mind but seeing the almost lethargic movements of the crowd they seemed vulnerable to psychic suggestion and unquestioning. No doubt their resistance burned out long before, requiring only the lightest of touches of compulsion. Haures turned towards the other man clad in silver armour — the Caelite and pointed him towards the dragon with a dismissive gesture. The man with great reluctance mounted Valdgeirr and they flew upwards away from the craggy beach and circled the island once more. Isobel drew closer wishing to overhear the hurried conversations between Haures and the woman as she entered the burning prison. As suspected, Haures wore a talisman protecting against psychic assault. Isobel floated towards him with a smile and cloaked herself within the edges of the protective aura. Whilst effective at shielding the user from psychic energy it also served to dull one’s own psychic senses and blurred their perceptions. Isobel cloaked herself within it, trailing him like a shadow. Haures looked as dour-faced and determined as she recalled but his aura seemed faint and jagged around the edges — almost drawn or bound to something elsewhere yet contained within his body.