The Necromancer: New Edition: Republished 2016

by Alex Stargazer

  Go on, Linaera thought dully. Maybe you can help; maybe you’ll join the dead.

  She watched as three crocodile men closed in. Those maws were open in hunger, those eyes filled with unnatural lusts. They wanted John; they would take him deep into their swamp, where neither man nor beast dared go – and there they would devour him.

  But Linaera did not want them to.

  Somehow, that thought – that idea – resonated within her; a chorus of a thousand endless voices. It took her over, developed her, defined her.

  She had to stop them. And again: she had to stop them.

  To stop them, to stop them...

  A haze seemed to envelop her; yet it made things sharper, clearer, not duller.

  Something grew inside her. Something of ancient terror and death; something old, something powerful.

  It sung in her blood, and shone through her eyes.

  Linaera did not know what it was. That was irrelevant. All that mattered were the words that came out of her, like a chant – or the tones of forbidden magic.

  “Tovus, Decot, Nivas.”

  And again:

  “Tovus, Decot, Nivas.”

  “Tovus. Decot. NIVAS!”

  And so that deadly fire spurted from her hands, like a portal into the fires of hell; and so did those cold, blue flames fly over the swamp, and over the monsters.

  No clemency dared imbue them – the destruction was total. All that remained were the echoes of primal screams.

  The two mages finally dragged John to safety. Stella was immediately tasked to healing duty, while Linaera swayed.

  Then she collapsed.

  ***

  Linaera shook her head, displacing the memory. They had asked her questions: questions about how she did it, where it had come from and the like.

  She had shrugged, helpless. What could she say? She did not even know what happened herself, much less have the understanding to describe it to her peers. Fortunately, Sasha had come up with an excuse – “an old spell Terrin might have mentioned” – and she had thus escaped the probing questions.

  The swamp stretched to their right. For three days they had been in its purlieu; and only after night upon night of unnatural silence, had they understood the power of their foe.

  But finally, after all that sweat, tears – and yes – blood, they had made it.

  In front of them, the landscape was largely flat. A few hills stood, lonely donkeys in a herd of sheep.

  It was covered mainly in grass. It was the tall, tough grass of the North, a strange blend of desaturated green. It flickered with every rise and fall of the wind, reflecting the dark clouds above.

  Occasionally, they spotted lone cottages. Their walls were as devoid of life as their owners – a detritus of forgotten memories was their only consolation.

  The landscape was sometimes referred to as “The Empty Plains”. It was a fitting description, for only a handful of villages had allowed them proper rest and supplies. (They had said no word of the swamp, for their enemy was far too dangerous to let forewarned; and besides, they would need magic and manpower to drain it.)

  Linaera wondered at how the plains came to be. It was said the people to the North had once been wealthy, had once lived in a warmer climate. They had plenty of animals, plenty of crops, and built many fine weapons.

  Something had driven them down south. The cold, most likely. They had run until they were close to the fertile plains of central Arachadia, and only then had they dared make foot. These were just the people who could not make the whole distance, and resolved themselves to living in a land that was empty and dull, though perhaps not quite as cold.

  Another gale of wind blew, and Linaera shivered.

  To pass the time, she had conversed with Sasha. They had talked about life at Lynfield, how they missed the girls with their friendly giggles, innocent charms and taggle of boys. They had talked at how they missed the library, with all of its wonderful books on magic, and history, and sex. (Those books were hidden away in the deepest recesses of the building. They were very old, and most of the teachers had long since forgotten.)

  They had even talked about what they hoped to be. Sasha, as expected, wanted to be a Battle Mage. She wanted to participate in great magical duel-offs, fighting the Sacharian southern mages or all manner of filth that prowled the world.

  Linaera, as usual, remained undecided.

  She wanted to be an enchanter... but doubted her patience. She wanted to be a healer... but was unsure if she could handle it. She definitely did not want to be a Battle Mage.

  She shivered again. But this time, it was not because of the cold: it was the memory that frightened her.

  The other party members gave her strange looks. She wondered at where had her strange powers arrived. Yes, people often told her of her powerful parents, and how she too showed talent and potential and blah blah blah.

  But what she had done had been a mystery. To everyone. How could their “useless poke spells” (Jake’s words, not hers) have been so ineffective, whereas her own destroyed them instantly?

  So many questions. So few answers.

  “I wonder when we’ll stop. We’ve been sitting in nothing but tents for the past couple of days,” Linaera complained.

  “I’m sure it’s not far,” Sasha replied. “I hear it does get better.”

  Linaera grumbled.

  Fortunately, Sasha was correct. Like poisonous mushrooms in a flower field, a town had come up. (They had spotted it suddenly: the rainy mist worked in strange ways.)

  Perrien came to a halt. The rest of the party followed.

  “What you see is the town of Hest. It is the last stop on our journey, before we enter the Northern Mountains... and meet the necromancer Linaera told you about.”

  Linaera shuddered a little. The party had reacted with shock when she mentioned the necromancer, outraged at how they were not told. All except Perrien. He seemed unperturbed by the news, and Linaera guessed he already knew. (Or at least, suspected.)

  A cheer came up.

  Guess they’re happy to be away from the rain, she thought wryly. Who could blame them?

  They moved into a rapid canter. The final league was overtaken, and the town came up.

  It was surrounded by a wall: a wall of thick granite, made smooth by years of erosion. Small watchtowers hung at regular intervals, high and deadly. There were small slits on them, and Linaera could see – just faintly – the heads of arrows.

  Paranoid, she guessed. But were they really?

  As they joined the stream of travellers arriving at the town, they heard two peasants talking. (They were perched on a waggon, driven by some poor mare.)

  The man began first:

  “I tell ya, this weather ain’t natural, no. Old Bones has lived through many a Winter, and I say that none has started so early and so cold.”

  The other speaker – the woman – replied:

  “Ha! You think the weather is bad? Have ya heard what happened to ol’ Costello? He said that ’is village got eaten by rotting monsters!” she said, and cackled.

  Linaera’s ears picked up. So did Perrien’s.

  “Pardon me, dear travellers. But would you care to tell me where you heard that from?”

  “Oi, I didn’t notice ya there. As I was saying, I have a friend called Johnson Costello tell me that his village to the north of here got raided by ‘flesh-less monsters with blue eyes’ or so he says. I wouldn’t believe a word – once, he told me that he saw a pig fly out of his yard! A pig, fly! Sounds like the workings of a wolf, if ya ask me.” Another cackle escaped her lips. It reminded Linaera of an old witch. (A harmless one, not a real one.)

  Perrien’s expression turned to one of concern. But it was Harold who posed the second question:

  “Where can we meet this ‘friend’ of yours?”

  “Nay, he went down south last I heard. Bloody idiot, that one.” She shook her head. “Flying pigs and fleshless monsters. Bah!”

  ***


  The party made their way to the gate. They were stopped by one of the guards: a tall fellow, with brown eyes and dark skin that suggested he was not from around here.

  “Hail travellers! What brings you here?”

  It was Perrien who replied.

  “We are... under the order of Arch Mage Terrin; and our presence must not be known. We are investigating an incident up North.”

  “North you say? Nothing good goes on there. I pray ye be careful.”

  “So we shall.”

  They left the guard, passing underneath the steel teeth of the gate. It appeared black under the monochrome light of the clouds... and would probably appear to be so even under the burning glare of the sun, though Linaera could not tell.

  Once past it, they were greeted by the town. They spotted jugglers in splendid colour; beggars asked for a copper – to which Linaera noticed the legs that weren’t actually broken – and the odour of manure made itself known.

  Linaera wrinkled her nose. It was no secret the poorer towns lacked sewers: a fact which she much detested, considering her love of cleanliness and order.

  They began looking for an inn. They scanned the crowd of people, passing the merchant’s greedy eyes, the soldier’s watchful stares and the peasants’ dreary gazes. They eventually spotted it: a small, slightly rundown building, but the image of the warm bed quickly spurred them on.

  So they walked. They were given little attention, having concealed the mage insignia – that of a dying dragon – under their coats.

  Such a lively town, thought Linaera; I wonder if they live happier lives than we do.

  Unfortunately, they didn’t have time to tarry. Their legs were sore, and their muscles cramped. It was a relief when they finally made their way to the inn.

  Unusually, there were small letters on the sign. They read: “The Inn of the Seven Deadly Veils.”

  What a strange name for an inn.

  They went inside.

  The atmosphere was typical of such places. The faint smell of smoke hung in the air, most likely due to the slowly burning fire tucked away in the corner. The carpet was dark, with elegant designs, though it was a little worn and dirty. Magi-lamps burned, emitting their unwavering light.

  Perrien walked towards the innkeeper.

  His hair was long, impressively so: it almost reached the base of his spine. It was coppery in colour, complementing his golden eyes. His build was tall and burly; the build of someone used to dealing with thugs and thieves.

  At first he paid them little notice – but then Perrien chose to reveal his medallion, and the mage mark engraved upon it. (It was given to all guides employed by the mage schools, he had told her.) The man’s eyes widened.

  Guess he doesn’t see many of us folks round here. I can’t imagine why.

  “Hello there good mages, how may I interest you?”

  He looked at Perrien, for it was clear he was in charge.

  “We seek four rooms for the night, oh good innkeeper. And a meal, if you would be so kind,” Perrien replied, his tongue smooth.

  “That’ll cost ye a dozen coppers, m’mages.”

  Perrien gained a clouded look.

  “A dozen, you say? Why, if we went to another inn, we could get it for half!”

  Linaera was confused. Even with her limited understanding of currency, she knew twelve coppers was a relatively small amount to pay for accommodation.

  “I promise ye would find no cheaper. Ten coppers and that’s my final offer.”

  With a reluctant sigh, Perrien handed him the money.

  The man fingered the coins, a pleased expression in his eyes.

  “Four rooms for a night it is then.”

  He paused, as if suddenly remembering something. “Oh! I almost forgot: supper will be served in an hour.”

  Perrien thanked him, and the party took the stairs.

  ***

  The stairs were old wood, creaking under their feet. When they arrived, they found the inn to be quite different from below: the decorations were simple, but reserved; the carpet was softer, cleaner.

  I guess this is where the more respectable customers are.

  Perrien began:

  “Now there is the matter of how to deal with rooms. Linaera, I presume you will sleep along with Sasha?”

  Linaera would have much preferred sleeping alone. Being with Sasha, however, was the next best thing.

  “Jake and John, you sleep in the first room. Harold and Damon, you follow second. Hmmm… Stella, do you want to go with Sasha and Linaera as well?” he continued.

  “It would be my pleasure,” replied Stella.

  Perrien clearly intended to have his own room.

  Probably wants some privacy.

  Before they left, Linaera posed question:

  “Perrien, why did you haggle with the man?”

  Perrien chuckled, as if the question amused him. (It probably did: Linaera was very naïve.)

  “Oh Linaera. In these parts, if you don’t haggle, they’ll never respect you.”

  He turned heel and went into his room.

  ***

  Their room was really rather pleasant. Two beds – freshly cleaned – were framed by pine walls. A window jutted over the street, in the style fashionable for Northern architecture. Linaera recalled it was to get more light.

  There was also a faint smell in the air: the smell of cleaning substances, or some such. (The new cleaning fluids, invented by some islander alchemists, were said to possess a strong smell.)

  “Who takes the floor?” Sasha asked, ever so blunt. It made Linaera aware of the fact that there were, in fact, only two beds – something she had overlooked in her glee to be inside. (The wind hammered on the window, as if to make a point.)

  She was about to offer, but Stella beat her to it.

  “I shall. You two look tired enough to sleep through a tornado.”

  Linaera realised she was quite tired. She also realised her stomach was rumbling. But first: the bath. She couldn’t afford to look like the village scruffball, now could she?

  “Where’s the bathroom?”

  “I thought I spotted one back through the corridor, on your right,” Sasha replied.

  The bathroom was another pleasant surprise: it was covered in a mosaic of black and white tiles (it reminded her of chess) and the fixtures were clean, sparkling even. The bath itself was comfortably large, allowing her to fully sink in.

  She had thrown off her dirty clothes. She hoped the cleaning women would take care of it, preparing her for the journey that lay ahead.

  She began to relax. The water pouring through was warm, most likely heated by a stove downstairs. She found some Nocar Soap – a herbal soap, which she knew was made from fragrant flowers – and dolloped a good dishing of that on.

  She then took a comb (weren’t they considerate?) and got down to getting her tangled mess of a hair into something more presentable.

  When she was finally done, she donned a robe. It was light red, the cotton weavings hanging nicely on her skin.

  Soon, she was back in her room.

  ***

  “Hey, Linaera, you done?” Sasha asked.

  Linaera nodded.

  “Forget it, Sash. I’m going first.”

  Linaera sat patiently, while Stella disappeared.

  “Am I the only one who’s feeling nervous?”

  Sasha groaned.

  “No, Linaera. Of course not. Everyone is nervous. We just pretend nothings up, else we’d never be able to deal with it.”

  Linaera wondered. “Let’s get changed, anyway. The guys will probably be down for the food. Perrien will be ordering them about, hopefully.”

  “Actually, I just talked to Harold. He says Perrien went out for a bit, to get some more supplies.”

  Linaera hoped he was safe in the village – she knew that there were lots of thieves in towns, and Perrien didn’t have magic. Sasha must have noticed her concerns.

  “Linaera, relax. If T
errin thought he would be tough enough to handle this, I’m pretty sure he’ll be fine in a populated town, with guards.”

  That reassured Linaera somewhat, though she still wished he wouldn’t have gone alone.

  Have my experiences made me paranoid?

  ***

  The party went down. With the oncoming evening, the traffic had increased. It was a squeeze to get past everyone.

  There were many different guests: some common peasants, dressed in practical clothing; others merchants, dressed in fashionable finery. There was even a clown, whose attire had been fashioned with great punctiliousness.

  In a corner table, soldiers laughed and drank ale. Their armour glinted off the light, appearing reassuring rather than menacing.

  Fortunately, the Innkeeper had been nice enough to reserve a table for them, as they found out when a maid – dressed in simple black and white tunic – ushered them towards a table at the back.

  It seems the innkeeper feels it is important for us mages to have proper seating, even though we’re paying the same. Or maybe I’m flattering myself and he just treats anyone who orders a meal this way.

  She seated herself on a chair, and awaited the food.

  Just then, the door opened. It revealed Perrien, his jerkin wet from the rain. There was a dark energy about him; and a sense of foreboding seemed to follow his every move.

  Linaera wondered: did worry make him like this? Or was it something else?

  She shook her head. Silly Linaera.

  “How is everyone?” he asked.

  “Washed, clothed and ready... ready for this fool of an innkeeper to serve us already,” Damon replied.

  “I am quite certain the meal will arrive soon.”

  Perrien sat himself on the table, dead at the end.

  As if to prove his point, two servers arrived. One was male; one was female. They both wore black and white (Linaera guessed this was a theme). They brought with them... food!

  Linaera salivated. She salivated as she saw the venison, cooked to perfection; she salivated as she saw the vegetables, crispy and green; and she salivated when she noticed the sauce – gravy.

  Yum. Yum.

  She bit in with gusto. She ate and ate, burping without shame whenever she was finished.