The Necromancer: New Edition: Republished 2016

by Alex Stargazer

  Again they passed the richness of the mansions; again they passed the modest elegance of the houses; and again they entered the domain of the poor.

  Their hostility was unmistakable. Neither mage was concerned.

  They entered a dead end. Elrias made his way to a house. And what a depressing thing it was.

  Its roof was in bad need of repair; likewise its door. The owners had placed a few half-hearted bars on the windows. Nateldorth doubted their efficacy: thieves could have knocked through the entrance easily enough. He guessed the illusion of safety held too much allure for such desperate people.

  Elrias knocked, and waited patiently.

  Eventually, there was a slide of locks, and a woman appeared.

  She had soft hazel eyes, and curly brown hair; and her look of suspicion seemed almost out of place.

  “Who are you?”

  Nateldorth guessed she couldn’t see their robes. Magically enhanced eyesight wasn’t gift bequeathed to ignoble peasants, after all.

  “We are mages. We have come to investigate the... disappearance of your son. Remember?”

  “Oh, yes. Please come in,” she replied. She was still suspicious – but at least she wasn’t hostile.

  It was a common reaction from the peasants: they knew mages were meant to be their friends, but they still distrusted their strange powers.

  She led them towards the living room. It was simple, and plain. Furniture – scuffed but serviceable – framed a wooden floor marked by years of use. There was a faint creak as the boards found their place, and a faint odour of accrued dust was released.

  “Please, sit down.” She motioned towards the sofas.

  The mages did as instructed. The seats were not very comfortable. Hard seats for hard lives, Nateldorth realised. He was beginning to wonder if she’d noticed his robes – though he doubted it. The only illumination came from an oil lamp, and the windows really were tiny.

  “My husband shall arrive soon. Can I get you something? I’m sorry I can’t give you much.”

  Nateldorth waved the question away. He thought such custom strange, for in his view – an admittedly uncommon one – the opposite should have occurred.

  Suddenly, the woman looked embarrassed.

  “I apologise, for I have not introduced myself. I am Catheryn Lenariar.”

  “We know of your name, Catheryn,” Elrias replied.

  She relaxed. Then she looked more closely at Nateldorth.

  “I am sorry, but do I know you?”

  “You may. I am Great Mage Nateldorth.”

  She spluttered, and waved, and quickly curtsied.

  “I am sorry, m’lord. I was not aware.”

  Nateldorth merely smiled. He found her curtseying to be somewhat ridiculous, even though it was the law of the land.

  He had asked Ashviere, the Queen, to change it. She had stubbornly refused.

  Ah, why must she be so vain? he wondered. He shook his head involuntarily, displacing the emotions that came.

  A man suddenly walked in. His eyes held the same hue as that of Catheryn; though whereas Catheryn was short and scrawny, he was tall and thick.

  “Who are these people, honey?” He placed his arms around her; a most protective gesture.

  “Jacob, this is Great Mage Nateldorth and his companion...”

  “Elrias.”

  “Elrias. They have afforded us some of their time to find our missing son.”

  Jacob gained a clouded look.

  “Terrible business. Awful. Fowl sorcerers.” There was a flash of distrust – and beneath that, fear – as he gazed towards them.

  “Jacob, let us put aside whatever issues you may have and concentrate on the matter at hand, no?” Elrias said.

  Jacob grunted a reply. Nateldorth got down to business.

  “Now Catheryn, when did you son go missing?”

  “On the second of November, m’lord.”

  Why must I get the reports so late? he thought. He resolved to deal with it later. Right now, he had to move while the trail was still reasonably fresh.

  “Do you know where he was at the time he went missing?”

  Jacob butted in.

  “I sent him to fetch some bread from the local baker.”

  “Could you show us where that is?” Elrias asked.

  “Yes of course,” Catheryn replied. “But why don’t we get some coats? The weather is dreadful out there.”

  The sound of rain falling on the roof accompanied her statement.

  Nateldorth merely smiled.

  “That will not be necessary, Catheryn Lenariar.”

  Nateldorth walked out. The others were forced to follow.

  There were expressions of surprise, amazement and gratitude as the peasants stood in the pouring rain, dry as tinderboxes.

  Nateldorth chuckled.

  But his humour soon dissipated as Catheryn lead them to their destination.

  It was dreary. The baker’s sign (steaming bread – no words, for too many peasants were illiterate) hung above, swinging wildly with the wind. The buildings’ paint was starting to peel away, revealing the wood underneath.

  Nateldorth was surprised. These kidnappers had some guts to take him in such a central location.

  “This... this is where he disappeared.” Catheryn dried some of her tears. Poor peasant, Nateldorth thought.

  The street was empty, and quiet. It allowed the duo to get on with their job.

  The distant thunder was now not so distant. Blue light reflected off the peasant dwellings; and elongated forms seemed to spring from them.

  “Elrias... I wish to voice something that has been troubling me ever since this strange, unnatural weather began.”

  It did not take Elrias long to catch on. I am blessed by one as clever as he, Nateldorth thought. Or perhaps we simply think alike.

  “You mean to say that this unnatural weather is connected to the kidnappings?”

  “Indeed. How else could a person disappear in the middle of a busy road?”

  “They could have used something like your cloaking spell.”

  “It’s possible, but somehow too convenient. Why don’t you take out that little compass of yours and see what magics are in the surrounding area?”

  Elrias’ Compass (it was literally called that) was a secret well-kept and known only to a chosen few.

  Unlike a normal compass, it did not detect magnetic alterations within Arachadia; instead, it detected magic. No matter how old or small, the compass saw everything.

  When Elrias took it out, its dial – red, but not with any north or south – began to move. It was erratic at first, but then stood still.

  It pointed towards a corner, a small, hidden away thing. The two walked towards it.

  As they drew near, Nateldorth felt the hairs on his neck rise a little. Something had happened here... but exactly what, he did not know.

  Cue Elrias’ second invention: the Resonating Ball.

  Its appearance was deceiving. It looked like a common snowball, the kind given to young children at Winter festivals.

  It was much more. It honed and amplified the surrounding magics, making it easier to detect.

  Elrias said the activation word: “Terech.”

  A faint white glow – visible only to mages – formed itself around it. Nateldorth felt as it slowly began humming, the gases inside spinning in fury. It vibrated in Elrias’ hand, gaining power.

  Then, quite suddenly, it emitted a high pitched scream.

  Elrias silenced it: “Tevas.”

  But not before they had felt that unmistakable presence, that undeniable truth.

  Dark Magic.

  SEVEN

  Thereafter, the duo said goodbye to the grieving parents and walked back to the royal court. By now, the darkness had descended in full. It made Elrias somewhat uncomfortable; the slightly skittish movements and nervous glances he darted about gave that away.

  “Elrias, do calm down. You are with the most powerful man in Ara
chadia, you know.”

  Nateldorth was confident he could take on any dark mage that dared cross them, and he knew Elrias was aware of that too.

  “Nateldorth, you are right. Yet I still cannot shake the feeling that we are being watched,” Elrias replied. Shaking his head, Nateldorth continued on towards the royal court, and their chambers.

  They entered the building. Just then, the sound of thunder could be heard. The area outside the hall was briefly illuminated in a flash of light. It threw shadows across the wall; they reached out with deathly hands.

  Beside him, Elrias shivered.

  “Come, Elrias. We need discuss this, for something dangerous is occurring within these city walls, and we do not know who is behind it.”

  In the light of the magical lamplights, those forever burning guardians of light, the receptionist worked the late night shift.

  Nalia was her name, and she could be summed up in three phrases: blue eyes, blue skirt, blue socks. (They peeked out cheekily from the side of the desk.)

  “Hello sir. I didn’t see you there. How is everything?” she asked, ever so polite.

  “We are well; thank you for enquiring, Nalia,” he replied.

  Nalia was also incredibly nosy, which Nateldorth believed might have been down to the fact she had three brothers and three sisters.

  She seemed pleased that Nateldorth had remembered her name. But Nateldorth had pressing concerns to deal with.

  They walked up to Nateldorth’s chambers (once more admiring the sumptuous elegance of the golden handrails) and went inside.

  Elrias was reluctant to enter, for the Great Mage rarely let people into his home. But Nateldorth had matters that were too serious to be discussed in his office. He led Elrias into the sitting room.

  The sitting room was simple but elegant in its construction. The wooden floor (pine, carried from the North) stood warmly to guard, while woolly rugs (bearing designs of the Western Forests) framed the furniture well.

  The ceiling chose to differentiate itself, being made from a triangulated gypsum die. On the walls, two magi-lamps burned; two beacons of light for tired souls.

  The centrepiece of the room, however, was the fireplace: a marble construction, decorated by acrobats in absurd positions. Logs burned inside, with comforting orange flames.

  Shelves housed books from floor to ceiling, some in plain red, green or blue covers; others in ornate leather ones. Most of them were old, and valuable.

  Towards the end of the room, there lay a rather large sofa; a coffee table was its companion.

  “Would you like some tea? Or coffee? Or something else?” Nateldorth asked.

  “Uhm… some brandy would be nice, actually,” he replied, looking somewhat bewildered.

  Elrias took his role as secretary fairly seriously, and it was he who usually served the drinks. It was no wonder he was confused by the change of roles.

  It was little effort for Nateldorth. He had no such queer ideas about roles and responsibilities.

  He walked into The Kitchen.

  The Kitchen was small. Very small. The drawers were (ahem) wood, and fitted into a modestly narrow space; the stove was a small one, for making tea; and the counters were unblemished, having almost never been used.

  Perhaps the term “kitchenette” would have been more appropriate. Or perhaps even, “wee little cook room”.

  Nateldorth ignored them all. With a flick of his fingers, the drawers opened. He raised his hand, and two glasses flew into it. He raised his other hand, and a brandy bottle flew to it. He walked out of the kitchen, closing the drawers behind him. The event had taken no more than a few seconds.

  “Hughton’s Drink, they call it. One of the finest brandies in Arachadia, aged for ten years. You do know the story behind it?” Nateldorth asked.

  “I’m afraid not, my friend.”

  Nateldorth chuckled, amused.

  “They say Hughton was an aspiring noble and advisor to the king. One day, he decided he had enough of the fowl, despondent king and his constant gorging on alcohol and whores. So he thought: what was the king’s biggest weakness?

  “Drink. He created his own special kind of brandy that was stronger than anything else available. With some cajoling (and bribing) he convinced the servants to replace the King’s usual brandy with his own. He waited until the king was already half-drunk, and then served him the brandy. The king died soon after, of alcohol poisoning.”

  Elrias laughed. The story was indeed amusing. But he did have one question:

  “Why didn’t he just poison the king’s drink?”

  “There would have been two problems with that. Firstly, the king had a taster. But more importantly: Hughton was a smart man. He knew that if they found the king to be poisoned, questions would be asked. By using alcohol, he avoided any suspicion.”

  “Hopefully I won’t meet the same fate as the unfortunate king then.”

  They sipped their drinks in silence, enjoying the burn of the alcohol (the Great Mage had not been exaggerating) before Nateldorth went on to the important question.

  “So, Elrias, it seems we have a dark mage in our midst.”

  There was a reason for their discomfort, of course. Power could never be increased… by natural means.

  Yet Dark Magic did just that. It worked by absorbing the power of other living things, by taking what made them live. All Dark Magic resulted in the death of the animal… or of the human.

  Dark mages sacrificed people. They did so in eerie, ritualistic ceremonies, and in view of the moon’s approving glare.

  All just theatrics. Murder was murder, and the dark mages did plenty of it.

  “We do indeed.”

  “Now of course, there comes the question of how to catch this fiend,” Nateldorth continued.

  “What do you suggest?”

  Nateldorth fingered his beard in thought.

  “Let us first establish a few things about this kidnapper,” he replied. “Who does he target? Where?”

  “Looking at the reports, all the missing persons were both male and female, but they were all from poor families. I assumed this is typical kidnapper behaviour, but now that I think about it, it doesn’t really make sense...”

  “Indeed, why would a kidnapper go after people who are unimportant? Unless it’s something to do with their dark magic.”

  “Are they using them for experiments? Or something altogether worse?” Elrias mused.

  “I’m sure we’ll find out when we catch him. But we have one thing established: poor people, preferably without family, are their targets.”

  “The next question is, where do they hunt?”

  Nateldorth took out a map and laid it on the table. Elrias took out copies of the reports from whatever hidden pocket he had inside his robe.

  Nateldorth wondered at how he managed to keep it all in there. Is his robe enchanted? He resolved he would ask him later.

  Elrias began calling out locations.

  “Porter Street, near the bakery,” he began.

  Nateldorth drew the spot on the map.

  It was an impressive piece of penmanship.

  Made years before the invention of the strange new press (the “Prit Press” as it was called), it was written over thick, high quality vellum paper. (Not the cheap stuff they used nowadays).

  It had withstood the test of time; the fine, multi-coloured lines were as clear as ever.

  “Lion’s Gate, near the jewellers,” Elrias continued. Nateldorth did the same with that.

  “Barrack’s Lane, Linda the Great, near another baker’s, Smith Lane, near a metal-working workshop.”

  Nateldorth continued plotting their locations. In his years of living in the city, he could remember the locations almost perfectly. Elrias continued saying out names until they had done them all.

  When they looked at the finished map, they could see the dots increased directly in proportion to their proximity to the Royal Palace.

  It formed a loose, mocking circl
e.

  Elrias looked shaken.

  “The kidnapper is trying to make us think they are working in the palace… Or they are in the palace,” he stated the obvious.

  “Actually, I met Ilas today.”

  Elrias wasn’t surprised by that revelation. He had long since gotten used to his master’s more dubious friends.

  “We did discuss the kidnapper being an official in the court, working to compromise the high-ranking officials.”

  “In that case, shouldn’t we warn the Queen?”

  Nateldorth thought over the proposition, carefully.

  “No. If we tell her, there is good reason someone will be spying on us. Then the word will get out.

  “No, we must instead continue our investigation alone. Tell only mages you trust. Something big is going on under our noses, but not for much longer.”

  “We still don’t know who the culprit is,” Elrias pointed out.

  “I have an idea. Why don’t we find someone to act as bait?”

  “And how do we do that?”

  “Perhaps we should hire one of those street urchins.”

  “There are thousands of them in this city. What makes you think the kidnapper will choose to go after our particular ‘street urchin’?” Elrias questioned.

  Nateldorth’s idea was a simple one.

  “They will if he stinks of dark magic.”

  EIGHT

  Linaera broke into a trot, and the party followed.

  She could vaguely hear them discussing the necromancer.

  She had mentioned it to them, after the event; after they had fought those terrible monsters; after she had done something she had no idea she could do.

  She recalled the scene...

  ***

  Something had to be done.

  Harold had taken his second dagger. He was stabbing the python, even as its inexorable tightening continued.

  Much good it did.

  Damon was trying to move John. He was trying and trying, but John weighed a hundred pounds too many, and he moved slowly.

  The crocodile things were catching up.

  The others were shouting. Their voices blurred into an indistinguishable mass of noise; and their cries found solace only in the bleak, pitiless sky.

  “Help them!” one member shouted. Jake stood there, looking fearful, deciding if he should try and step in.