The Necromancer: New Edition: Republished 2016

by Alex Stargazer

  There came another course. This time it was a lighter meal, cheeses and pickles. Again she ate and ate, and again she burped.

  When the third course – dessert – came along, she ate and ate... and burped and burped.

  While this pig-like gorging was going on, the others were talking.

  “Jake, going back to the conversation as to why you are an orphan...” Harold was the speaker.

  “An orphan? Why, I didn’t know about that!” John was the inquisitor.

  “My dad left me while I was a child. My mother died not long after.” Jake was the victim.

  “Please let us discuss more jovial matters.” Perrien was the saviour.

  So the chatter became more light-hearted.

  “So, Harold, how did you become a Battle Mage?” Linaera asked (in between mouthfuls).

  “I had chosen to study battle magic in my last year of apprenticeship. Afterwards, I took the test.”

  Linaera had heard about the test: a supposedly difficult one. The subject would first have to pass a written exam.

  Not too bad.

  In the second, the subject would have to fight illusions, created by masters.

  Okay.

  In the third, they had to endure a type three attack – the kind a powerful mage could bring into battle – for at least two minutes.

  Ouch.

  There were good reasons for Linaera’s reluctance to enter Battle Magic.

  But it seemed there were good reasons for choosing it, too.

  Damon added: “I chose battle magic because I didn’t want to be helpless. When I was a boy, a mugger attacked my mother. She was lucky to escape with her life, and since then, I vowed that it would never happen again.”

  Linaera pondered his words. Her own life had always been relatively peaceful, with mischievous boys being the biggest threat. She now realised that the world wasn’t so nice outside the mage school.

  “Hey guys, since you’ve all been talking about red magic, aren’t you curious to know how I became a white mage?” Stella asked.

  Linaera knew the term “red magic” was an informal way of saying “battle magic”, mostly because Battle Mages wore red robes.

  White mages were technically called “healer mages” although the use of the term “white mage” had become so widespread among the commoners that the mage schools had no choice but to accept it.

  “You are right, Stella. We have been rude,” Damon replied.

  Stella smiled shyly. Linaera wondered whether she had a crush on him.

  “I had several guy friends who were very boisterous. They were always climbing roofs. One day, one of my friends – Matt – decided he would try and climb the citadel tower. Safe to say it didn’t end well for him.”

  “What happened in the end?” Damon asked.

  “He was fortunate that there was a circus tent underneath. He escaped with a broken leg, which he would endlessly complain about.”

  “So you became a white because you didn’t know what would happen if he did get himself injured, or because you just wanted to make him shut the hell up?” Harold asked.

  The party laughed.

  “Speaking of mage professions, what do you want to be, Linaera?” asked Stella.

  Linaera always tried to avoid these conversations.

  “Maybe a healer mage like you?” she said, since that was the closest answer she was going to give.

  “Linaera? A healer mage? I couldn’t imagine that with the way you blew those monsters at that swamp over there...” It was Jake who enquired.

  Linaera gave him a dark look. She had become accustomed to doing so.

  “Jake, I said this before and I’ll say it again: I don’t know what I did. It just... came out of me.”

  Perrien – who had been unusually quiet throughout – silenced them.

  “That’s enough for now, you lot. Our journey will not be easy, and we have no time for idle chatter. Finish your meal, and go to sleep.”

  Linaera was surprised by the irritation in his voice. The others were surprised too, judging by their expressions.

  He’s probably just tired, she thought.

  Following his instructions, the party went past the now dissipating crowd and climbed the stairs.

  Sasha, however, had more questions:

  “What do you think we’ll find tomorrow?”

  Linaera shook her head.

  “I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if we meet a dragon.”

  Dragons had gone extinct long ago, after much fighting and loss. Their shadow still held Arachadia in fear.

  “Don’t be silly, Linaera. Those went extinct ages ago.”

  NINE

  Shouting awoke Linaera.

  “He’s not in his bed!”

  “He’s not a child, Damon!”

  Linaera groaned, and got off her bed.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Sasha’s reply was cool: “Harold’s not in his bed. Damon’s throwing a tantrum.”

  As if on cue, more shouts made their way through.

  The door was open. It was a portal into the chaos.

  Damon was running around, shouting obscenities. Perrien was tagging behind, trying to placate him... though he kept his distance, for Damon was angry and could probably seriously hurt the magic-less Perrien.

  “Damon, calm down. I’m sure he just went out for a stroll and nothing else.”

  Damon was about to say more, but was interrupted. Harold had arrived.

  “Hey guys. Missed me?”

  The mages began talking all at once. Perrien silenced them with a wave of his hand, and asked:

  “Harold, would you mind telling us where on Arachadia have you been? Damon’s been making a lot of noise.”

  Damon walked up to Harold. His expression had cooled, though there was still some anger in his eyes.

  Doesn’t like people disappearing off, Linaera guessed.

  “I was just wondering when you’d ask that,” Harold began. “I was actually in the town library. It’s quite an old town, you know. I was wondering if there wasn’t something hidden away in the recesses of that dusty old building. And so there was.”

  Damon muttered something which sounded like “You could have told me,” and walked off.

  Harold seemed unperturbed.

  “Look,” he continued. He took out a book: it was small, pocket-size even. Its cover was treated leather, and had a depiction on it. It appeared to be a hero of old, with a scroll in one hand and sword (which looked two-handed) on the other.

  “This book details the late life of Drelas, a revered man of this place. He died many years ago, but it contains something very interesting...”

  He began walking to his room. Everyone followed. (Except Damon, which Linaera guessed was sulking somewhere in a corner.)

  Harold placed the book on an identical table to the one in their room. The sun had finally begun to peek through the sky, and it illuminated the table in startling luminosity.

  The mages pulled in the chairs. They made no noise because of the carpet, but they still left ugly marks.

  Harold began: “There wasn’t anything interesting for the most part, right until I hit this.” He revealed a thin piece of paper that had come off. Linaera wondered whether it had occurred deliberately.

  Harold began quoting.

  “‘In my quest to – if I may use the most presumptuous expression – rid the land of this evil, I came upon these creatures. Creatures in a forest. Some say the forest is haunted: no man had dared set foot in it for centuries, and strange inhuman cries could be heard deep from within. It was then, under the cold, unforgiving eye of the moon, in which I became unfortunate acquaintances with the hessah.’”

  Confused glances were passed around. Harold elaborated.

  “The passage goes on to describe creatures that are eerily similar to what we encountered in the swamp. For example: ‘and thence I fought mice the size of men, with bloodshot eyes and sharp, deadly teeth.’
”

  “Looks like someone has met the same things we did,” John said. His eyes seemed to sparkle with what Linaera thought was a macabre sort of curiosity.

  Perrien though so too.

  “Indeed, and I would be very curious to know more.”

  “Now here it says: ‘and few things could harm these creatures, for they had been wrought of the necromancer’s wraith. Our magic was ineffective, our arrows bounced off, and few could get close enough to attack with a sword.’”

  Damon suddenly appeared.

  Forgot your tantrum now?

  “So how did he fight the creatures?”

  “That’s what I wondered. It finishes before it says much more, but it mentions something about an, ‘old witch who still possessed the magics of old.’”

  “Linaera, I didn’t know you knew such magics.” It was Jake who asked.

  “I believe Linaera used an old spell to kill off unborn creatures,” Sasha filled in.

  “We talked about this, didn’t we?” Damon asked.

  “Yes, we did. The creatures we encountered were a combination of the benign and the magical – it was why they were resistant to our spells, I think,” Harold replied.

  John winced. Stella had healed his injured leg, but Linaera had no doubt it still troubled him... and reminded him of things he’d rather forget.

  “I still feel like an idiot for going into that Swamp.”

  Harold placated him.

  “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known that cry for help came from the throat of a magically-enhanced snapping turtle, after all.”

  Perrien, however, had gotten bored of the conversation.

  “We have determined as much as we can with the information we have. Come, we need get going. And Damon? Spare us the theatrics – there’s enough to worry us already.”

  Damon merely grumbled something, and stalked off.

  ***

  Behind them, the town stood: tall, strong and reassuring. It could have protected them from whatever they feared.

  In front of them, the mountains stood.

  Although still distant – they would have to cross the hardpans before it, Linaera knew – they were impressive. The taller of them seemed to reach for the sky, like Icarus reaching for the sun. And like the sun, they promised answers... but metted death.

  Linaera scratched her forehead. A nervous tick had made its roost there, a tick which she knew would only get worse the closer they got.

  Until then, they had to reach the hardpans.

  That dull Northern grass gave way to hard, empty ground; those clouds moved steadily, unerringly, not stopping to give their life-giving juice to the landscape below; and the few cows that grazed had been replaced with desert animals.

  Lizards were the staple, it seemed. They were not the green, colourful lizards of the Southern Desert: they were brown, grey, dull. They hid behind the foliage of the cacti or the leaves of desert heyna.

  The heyna were a species of plant exclusive to this part of Arachadia, Linaera knew. They never grew tall, but their long, pointed leaves did an effective job of catching what water did fall – something which would be discovered once you dug down and found their rich, watery bulbs.

  At least the weather’s good.

  Indeed, the sun – pale and weak as it was – shone high in the sky. It gave an almost white glow, like that of newer magi-lamps. It made the bleak, empty plains seem... not jovial, exactly, but pleasant. Bearable.

  Unfortunately, the wind kept its pace. It was cold, ice-cold. It blew over this long, empty desert like a mourning widow.

  But, the party kept moving. Again they trotted; again they cantered; and again they stopped, to rest and give the horses water. (Perrien had ingeniously dug up the heyna bulbs and drained them into buckets. The horses – and the party – had been glad.)

  They continued on. Linaera’s lungs heaved to provide her with all the air she needed, while her muscles contorted from the riding. The horses were tough, however, and had no trouble keeping up.

  But they also had other problems. Although currently dry, the temperature had dropped to zero and below. The Winter snows would soon set in. Linaera hoped to be back by then, for she had read enough tales of stranded travellers to know it was not a pleasant fate.

  Eventually, Perrien called the party to a halt.

  “Everyone, halt!”

  The party stopped. The only sound left was the lone wailing of the wind as it blew on the hard, dustless ground.

  “We need to decide where to camp: here, where temperatures drop like stone? Or in the mountains, with their hidden dangers?”

  “I say we go to the mountains and find shelter there,” Jake suggested.

  For once, Linaera agreed with him.

  Harold didn’t.

  “I don’t believe that’s wise. There are tales of huge birds with needle-like claws that make their roost. Gryphons, they were called.”

  Jake snorted, as if the notion was preposterous.

  “I’m sure a few birds won’t threaten us. Besides, can’t we cast wards?”

  “I believe the mountains to be dangerous. We should avoid being there for as long as possible.”

  Linaera joined in.

  “Harold, for once I agree with Jake. We can’t rest if we’re casting heating spells all the time.”

  “We could light a fire instead.”

  Linaera rolled her eyes at his naïveté.

  “Harold, this place goes to twenty degrees below freezing this time of year. Our tents are not designed for such low temperatures, and neither are our clothes. Besides, we will have to go through there eventually.”

  Harold quirked his mouth in annoyance. But, he had been defeated.

  They continued riding. It was perhaps a few hours before the first mountains came up.

  These were small, pathetic things. The children of greater giants.

  Still, they were hard, rocky. They were steep as well: deadly. Those rocks could fall, that snow could come down in an avalanche.

  Then Perrien stopped.

  “It seems our road ends here.”

  Linaera could indeed see that the dusty, beaten track (the “road”) broke off. A sign proclaimed its ominous warning:

  Traveller beware, for next ye shall have not the safety of Arachadia but the safety of the sword and the arrow. Only savages, brigands and monsters live beyond. Enter at ye own peril and beware for every step ye take may be ye last.

  Linaera shuddered. It was a vainglorious warning, but a chilling one all the same.

  John seemed merely amused.

  “The things some will say to keep you in Arachadia.”

  Perrien did not quite share his enthusiasm.

  “John, its reasons may be unknown, but it has a point. Stay together and call out if you see anything... strange.”

  John sobered, though it was clear he was unconvinced.

  He can be such a child, Linaera thought.

  An eagle disturbed her thoughts.

  Its voice echoed in the landscape, as if amplified by a God’s mighty breath. It was a high pitched sound, the sound of a predator.

  Linaera looked up.

  Its form appeared small in the distance, though Linaera well knew that up close it would be magnificent. In her limited knowledge of eagles, she believed it to be a Golden Eagle.

  She trotted up to Perrien. Mayhaps he would know better.

  “Perrien, don’t you think that’s a Golden Eagle?”

  “It does appear to be so, Linaera.”

  Harold was behind them. He brightened when he heard their conversation.

  “I brought with me a contraption. I call it a Binome, and it should help you see it better.”

  He took it out.

  What an odd-looking contraption, Linaera thought. It was indeed very unusual: it appeared similar in form to a telescope, except that it had two lenses instead of one. It was also short and stocky, rather than long and slender.

  “May
I?”

  “Of course.”

  In her hand, the leather exterior felt soft, comfortable. The lens glinted brightly: Linaera wondered how Harold had made them. Magic? Or through the help of a glazer?

  Regardless, it was useful. When she brought it up to her eyes, the eagle was suddenly magnified. Its feathers were mostly brown; its beak was long; it was large as well. Much larger than it would seem from far away.

  As if sensing her presence, the eagle disappeared behind a cloud.

  Pity.

  Linaera returned the contraption back to its rightful owner. Perrien asked her:

  “So what did you see?”

  “It was large, but streamlined. And its feathers were brown. Well, except for the neck.”

  “Did you expect it to be all-gold then?”

  “Of course not. It would have been too visible to prey if it was.”

  “Ah, but isn’t this ostentatious display of colour the sign of a greater force?”

  “Or maybe it’s just a mating ritual. To catch the attention of females.”

  Perrien laughed.

  “Your arguments are intriguing and fascinating. Perhaps you should have been a naturalist instead of a mage.” He said so jokingly, but Linaera’s eyes still clouded.

  “I might have. But, Perrien, I didn’t really have a choice. Without training, my magic would have risen up, causing havoc for anyone unfortunate enough to be near me.”

  Perrien’s own humour dissipated from his face.

  “A pity.”

  Something interrupted them.

  “Who goes there!” Harold was the speaker.

  “It is only me! Please!”

  A man came out. If he could be called that.

  His eyes are green, but their sparkle is of fear. His clothes are rags, dirty and shredded. He looks at the mages with desperation.

  “Why are you hiding underneath that bush?” Harold continued. His expression had softened once he had noticed the man’s appearance.

  “I am hiding because I am afraid. So very afraid... I am Renal, no mage or knight. Merely a common peasant lucky enough to escape the clutches of the monsters.”

  Dark looks were passed around at the mention of “monsters”.

  “Pray tell, what monsters do you speak of?” Perrien asked.

  “Good man! I speak of foul, flesh-eating corpses! They move too fast for my eyes to follow, and their hunger...” He began shuddering convulsively.