The Necromancer: New Edition: Republished 2016

by Alex Stargazer

  Linaera watched as John came up to the man... and hugged him.

  The man was at first surprised. Then he relaxed. It was important, Linaera knew, to have human contact in times of crisis.

  “Will you help me?” he asked, in between sobs.

  “We shall do the best we can,” Harold replied.

  The party followed the man. He was leading them to where his home once stood, Linaera guessed.

  They crested a hill.

  What lay in front of them appeared just like any other valley. The same blue water; the same green trees; the same red cottages...

  Blood, Linaera realised. The entire village is covered in blood.

  Those houses, those beautiful, countryside cottages, looked on like bloody witnesses on a murder scene.

  “Are they here?” Sasha asked.

  “No. The... things left about an hour ago. Or two, I can’t remember!” More sobbing.

  “Let us investigate,” Jake suggested.

  “No!” the rest of the party said at once.

  “Jake, if what this man says is true, chances are the place will be too dangerous to go nearby. What if they come back?” Harold replied.

  “But, we have to know exactly what happened here.”

  Perrien debated with himself.

  “I believe Jake is right. We do not know what is happening. It is only reasonable that we investigate.” He continued: “First though, we must do something about Renal over here.”

  “Let’s take him with us,” John suggested.

  “No!” the rest of the party said again.

  Harold replied: “John, I understand what you mean. But doing so would probably put him in even more danger. I’m afraid the best we can do is give him some food.”

  “Very well then,” Perrien concurred.

  And so, they party gave him some supplies, and bade him farewell.

  ***

  Slowly, reluctantly, the party walked towards the village.

  Some of the houses were still alight. They burned gloomily, making it perfectly clear danger was still nearby. What was worse, however, were the villagers.

  They were all dead. Men, women, children. The men had been gored and bitten, most likely when they tried to fight back; the women had been ripped apart, most likely when they stood in place of their children; the children looked almost alive. Those sweet little faces, boy and girl, looked back with deathly stupor. It was only the missing arteries, the broken bones, that gave them away.

  The fires kept burning. The wind kept wailing. The world continued on.

  The party simply stood, shocked.

  Linaera was forced to turn away when she spotted one of the more disfigured villagers. The woman’s head had been turned the wrong way round. She stared at them, charming like Medusa’s snakes.

  “The necromancer has struck,” Harold proclaimed.

  The party nodded in mute agreement.

  “What shall we do?” Sasha asked.

  “There is nothing we can do, really. Our only option left is to find the necromancer,” Harold replied.

  “Won’t he be coming back?”

  “I doubt it. See the dead bodies? See how many of them are in pieces? Chances are, the necromancer took all he could. The rest are just the bodies even he deemed un-salvageable.”

  “Now we know what we’re up against, mages. Let us move, for this place is still too dangerous to even consider making camp,” Perrien said.

  The party was glad to disperse from the horror scene.

  TEN

  After the village, the party moved on. Linaera spotted the Northern Fox.

  It fascinated her. When she read about it in her books, they mentioned how quick it was, how agile. Its coat was likewise impressive, for it blended seamlessly and warmed effortlessly.

  Most of all though, they had spoken of the way it reared its young.

  You see, the Northern Fox is a small one, and a relatively rare one. It would always lose out in a fight against a wolf or some other predator... and yet, that does not prevent it from staying diligently by its young, never going away, always feeding them milk, always keeping them warm, always protecting them.

  It stashes food and buries itself deep underneath the ground the moment it has mated.

  And so eventually, the fox litter makes it out. Rarely do they die.

  The mother does not.

  Too weak to survive, it eventually dies of starvation. Its young must take care of themselves.

  It had seemed like a sad story to Linaera. And also an idiotic one. Why did the fox not go out and forage?

  Another eagle cried.

  The answer was obvious, really. For the moment the fox left its young, something would find it out. An eagle, a wolf, it mattered not.

  And they would leave nothing alive.

  So the only way this beautiful, timid animal could exist, was through suicidal parenting.

  Another question that had popped into Linaera’s mind (it was her nature: questioning, inquisitive, like the fox) had been, “Why does the father not help?”

  And yet again, the answer was clear. For in this desolate landscape, with its empty, rocky peaks and sparse vegetation, how could two foxes stay out of sight?

  Linaera shook her head. She would not have enjoyed being a fox, living in the shadow of other animals. Yet she had more pressing concerns.

  The party had stopped.

  In front of them, like a giant’s angry tantrum, there was a ravine. Its form was jagged, scarred; its depth was unmistakable.

  It hung there, as if taunting them. It had mountains – accomplices – that went on for leagues, tall and impassable.

  “We’ll have to cross that, won’t we?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid we will,” Perrien replied.

  John joined in.

  “Can we make it? It’s getting dark.”

  “Fear not. I have gone through worse places with my horses.”

  And so the party resolved to cross that barrier. As they began moving slowly, cautiously (for they could well observe how close the path came to the ridge), Linaera looked up.

  The sky was clear. Only a few clouds hanged, though some of them were harmless white. The others looked like empty threats, incapable of throwing more than an isolated shower.

  The sun was low in the sky, however. They did not have long.

  But Linaera shared Perrien’s confidence. He was their guide, was he not?

  Horses whinnied; pebbles fell; and the sun moved lethargically, as if awaiting their demise.

  But the party had no great troubles. Perrien’s experience served him well in calming the horses, while the party’s heart was stout. The drop stretched mere feet away from them, while the rumble of a river could be heard below.

  Looking at Sasha, Linaera thought it might as well have been an excursion to the park: the drop a waterpool, and the rocks soft like grass. She was even smiling faintly, as if mocking the landscape.

  Yet the landscape did not like being mocked.

  It had begun slowly, but there all the same. The drawing of the clouds; the slowly darkening light; the strength of the wind.

  The party continued on, merrily. They had expected some bad weather. This was just a shower compared to the storms they had seen before.

  But, shower or storm, it hampered them.

  The rain had begun falling, in big, splashing drops. The wind began howling; the clouds became dense; and the mages shivered.

  What on Arachadia? It was sunny only a few minutes ago!

  The weather taunted her. The downpour had become intense, some of the water managing to get past Linaera’s water spell. It immediately soaked her robe.

  And beneath this, Linaera felt something: a presence. It was distant, cold and unyielding. It was also dark; that was clear even from she was. Something was directing this storm, some great supernatural conductor with the choir of the damned.

  The sun had been obscured. The ravine had become prenaturally dark, a de
athtrap.

  Fortunately, Linaera spotted a cave.

  Its entrance was small, inset deep within the mountain. She could almost believe she had imagined it; imagined the darkness that rested inside; imagined the thunder that flashed nearby, failing to illuminate it.

  “EVERYONE! There’s a cave!”

  The other party members squinted. It was Perrien who replied:

  “LINAERA! YOU’RE RIGHT!”

  Soon, its entrance came up. Like the mouth of a monster, it awaited them.

  The party went in.

  ***

  A heavy silence hung in the air; darkness was its brethren.

  Linaera walked slowly, pulling her head down. But she need not worry: once inside, the cave’s ceiling had risen steeply. The echoes of the dripping water made that perfectly clear.

  By Stella’s sharp hand, a ball of light was created; illumination’s touch revealed much.

  The walls here were soft limestone, not the hard granite of the outside. Through faint holes, drops of water fell, creating a canon of watery drums.

  The floor underneath them was smooth; so were the walls. Linaera remembered that caves were often formed by the movement of water, hence their smoothness. (Others were formed by the expansion of ice. Those lacked the smoothness, being jagged and sharp.)

  Stalagmites were on the floor. Linaera was fascinated by their erratic patterns, and sharp points; in their reflections she saw the movement of ancient rivers.

  Jake, on the other hand, had no care for the things.

  “Well, well, well, isn’t this an interesting development? Better than the storm, mind you.”

  “Yeah, if I hadn’t seen that, we’d still be stuck out there, doing God-knows-what,” replied Linaera.

  “Hey, I didn’t say I’m not grateful, did I now John?”

  “No, you didn’t,” he muttered.

  Perrien interrupted their riposté.

  “Be quiet, and help me set-up a fire. Unless you plan on freezing?”

  The party did as he bid, chagrined by his reminder. Linaera positioned the timber – which had been wrapped carefully and remained dry – the way Perrien told her: big ones at the bottom, small ones on top.

  When they were finished, they had a pile of wood. It looked just like in the books: the tall, triangular form, the hollow in the middle.

  “This shall burn well,” Perrien proclaimed.

  Jake looked bored.

  “As fun as it is to be lighting fires, didn’t Harry—eh, Harold, say something about mountain monsters?”

  “Harold did indeed say something about ‘mountain monsters’ as you so eloquently put it. But perchance you are right. We should indeed set up wards – who knows what monsters make their roost here,” Harold replied.

  “Are you sure you can make wards strong enough?” Jake asked with a sneer.

  Sasha interrupted them.

  “Guys, your bickering doesn’t impress anyone. I shall help make wards, and shut you two up.”

  Linaera looked at them: at proud Sasha, with her crimson hair; at tall, burly and intelligent Harold; and yes, even at Jake, with those pale cheeks and arrogant smirk.

  They made a striking trio. They also made a powerful trio. Linaera had full confidence in their abilities to keep them safe.

  “Iven tacc, bonnen vacc,” Harold began.

  “Ester prottet nev,” Jake and Sasha continued.

  “Ipensia,” they finished at once.

  Power was felt heavy in the air. The caster’s hands flashed briefly, and then the air cleared. But the spell had done its job – there was a faint hum in the air, which would intensify the moment Linaera got close to the ward boundaries.

  As long as they stayed inside, they would be fine, Linaera knew. Wards protected from magical attacks of virtually every type and stopped physical objects with malicious intent as well. (That was an often times forgotten fact of wards: natural physical dangers – like an earthquake – would not be stopped.)

  Perrien was roasting their victuals. Their recent re-supply meant they could enjoy proper food: golden vegetables, fresh meat and recently baked bread were among the offerings.

  Beats dried cheese and meat anyday.

  The party sat around the fire, savouring the food. There were distinct crunch sounds coming off many members, along with the “yum, this is gooood” from the hungrier ones.

  Jake had other priorities.

  “So Linaera, care to tell us what you think happened out there? Storms don’t just appear out of nowhere, in my experience. We all felt that strangeness behind it, did we not?”

  “What are you saying?” Harold asked.

  “I’m saying that whatever happened out there was no natural happenstance. I think someone planned it somehow.”

  “You think I have control of the weather?” Linaera asked. The ridiculousness of his suggestion actually amused her.

  “I don’t know what you can do. They said your father knew many old magics that he used against his enemies.”

  “And what reason would I have to do such a thing? I was affected by it as much as you!”

  Harold interrupted them.

  “Part of what Jake told us is true, however. There is something very suspicious in the way the storm just cropped up.”

  Linaera said: “The necromancer is clearly a powerful one. Perhaps he has become aware of our endeavour and seeks to kill us before we can trouble him.” There was a cool bitterness in her tone. She had come to think of Terrin’s quest as a futile exercise.

  “Or perhaps you are more than you seem,” Jake continued.

  “Jake, will you shut up? You have done nothing but annoy everyone present. You and your snobby, narcissistic comments that never help. Will you stop accusing me already?”

  “But—” He stopped arguing. His expression changed; bravado turned vulnerability. She had seen that look before, on the older mages: Jake’s past had not been a happy one.

  Jake looked away. He said nothing for many moments.

  Linaera softened. She was about to condole him, to apologise, when he began:

  “There’s a reason for my... behaviour. I am distrustful. In particular, I am distrustful of anything related to Dark Magic.”

  Silence descended. The word was a taboo among them: they all knew of those rare mages that sacrificed animals – and people – for power.

  “My father was killed by dark magic. So was my mother. It had been a deadly double trap.

  “You see, my mother was infiltrating a group of Sacharian dark mages that were plotting to kill important personnel. She was caught.” He paused yet again. Faint tears were in his eyes, though he dried them quickly.

  “They used her as bait. They promised they would let her go if my father were to take her position (for he too was important). Stupidly, my father went. I doubt he ever really believed them, but... he thought he could save her. Even though he had scarcely a trace of power, unlike her.

  “And so, they sacrificed them both, on the altar. I was nine. I remember fragments of what happened... and.. and they’re not pleasant. So there you go.”

  Shock rippled over them. Linaera’s feelings changed. She had thought him an arrogant prick, a boy with a problem. Yet he too was an orphan. She knew the pain of being lonely: of being brushed by the stranger who walks among us, and who kills with impunity.

  She still didn’t like him – that would take time, and may never occur – but she did feel just a little bit more sympathetic.

  They would have talked more. But something interrupted them...

  ***

  At first they thought it an avalanche, or perhaps an earthquake.

  But no: it was too high pitched, too... unnatural. Death’s apogee had come; the stranger’s face was known.

  When the attack came, it was sudden and superhumanly fast. Harold had only a brief moment to duck, before a claw bit through the rock, inches away from him.

  The limb connected to it was the blazing green of witch fire.
It had scales; and in their glimmer of deadly luminescence, victims saw themselves for the last time.

  Then a head came through. From the darkest tomb of that unexplored end, the reptilian earthworm had arrived. It was huge. Its jaws alone could hold Linaera whole, while its teeth – exquisitely sharp, pearl white – could punch through a wall.

  It was the eyes that captivated her most. They were large, dilated, green like the edge of a shallow sea.

  And they were angry.

  John tried to stop it: “Arrachen!”

  A fireball – deep red, like a flame in Hell’s cauldron – struck the creature. There was a loud hiss. Then it attacked again.

  It had aimed at Perrien. Only his lightning-fast guide reflexes saved him from being gored to pieces by those cruel teeth.

  Stella tried to stop it as well.

  “Nehnhampra!”

  A blinding flash of light; a direct hit. And another hiss.

  “Stella, get away from it!” Damon shouted.

  It was a split second too late.

  The creature, having recovered from the attack, raked its claws at Stella. It missed... but it pinned her.

  This is where she dies, Linaera thought.

  “NAHMALA, TERRAMET USHDER!” It was Damon’s voice; it was not Damon’s voice. It had a deep, almost predatory timbre to it, like that of some long-forgotten beast.

  Linaera had expected him to try and obliterate the creature. This was not so.

  Instead, the creature swivelled its head, Stella now forgotten.

  “Derek man sahtola!” Damon said again, in that eerie voice.

  A low rumble escaped the creature’s throat.

  “Dresh, Hederrh,” Damon replied.

  The creature regarded Damon the way one might regard a monkey that had suddenly developed the power to reason. It then retreated its claw, hurramphed, and stationed itself back to where it had originated.

  Harold stood, watching it wearily.

  “Stella, are you okay?” Damon asked.

  “I’m… fine, I think,” Stella replied with a weak smile.

  “Is it… safe now?” Linaera asked. She didn’t want to interrupt them as Damon fussed over (non-existent) wounds, but she had to know what on Arachadia just happened.