The Necromancer: New Edition: Republished 2016

by Alex Stargazer

  ***

  “So what do you suggest we do with this new piece of information?” Elrias asked.

  “We have the first two pieces of the plan. Now, we need to find someone to help us… someone to be our bait.”

  He blocked out the various noises – shouts, sizzling food, children playing – and tried to ignore some of the more unsavoury smells. Dresh was a wonder to behold... if you lived in the right places. The poorer parts of the city still lacked proper sewage.

  “I believe we have no choice but to ask Ilas for help,” Nateldorth continued.

  “Allying with thieves? I know you two are friends, but this is dangerous. What if someone finds out?”

  “The Queen will not betray me like that. Anyone else, I can deal with.”

  “Hmm… I don’t like this. Isn’t there anyone else we could ask for help?” Elrias questioned.

  “And who would that be? The City Guard? I rather doubt whoever is doing this wouldn’t know the name of every guardsman enrolled. It’s not exactly a secret. Soldiers? They’re too dumb. The thieves guild seems like the only ones smart enough and anonymous enough to fit.”

  Elrias continued mulling over what Nateldorth had said.

  “Very well, you may be right. But I have a suggestion.”

  “Go on.”

  “How about I forge a tracking ring. That way, we’ll know where the bait is, in case we lose them.”

  Nateldorth fingered his beard; a habit which he had yet to lose.

  “A good idea, Elrias. I shall leave you to it then; I must discuss my plans with Ilas.”

  With that, the duo split. Elrias walked back towards the academy, where he would burrow himself away in the forge, doing what he did best: enchantry.

  Nateldorth turned away from the main road. Under his boots, the road was paved with stones; the morning sunshine made golden reflections on their faces. A cold though not unpleasant breeze wafted across the city. (It went some way to alleviate the smell, for which Nateldorth was grateful.) At first the road passed through the more respectable parts of the poor quarter – through the farmer’s markets and the homes of common workers. As Nateldorth continued to walk, the street gradually became less pleasant.

  Nateldorth knew Ilas would be difficult to find on this morning. Days such as these were a nice time to rob unsuspecting victims. Thankfully, Old Beggars did one have benefit: Ilas never left it unpatrolled, for Ilas knew much of what went on in the undercity, and Old Beggars was always at the heart of it.

  Gradually, the street grew quiet. It was not the silence that permeates the simple absence of sound; it was a more malevolent thing than that. It was a forced silence, the sound of hushed voices and concealed movements.

  The houses were small, here, even by the standards of the poor quarter; the windows were all barred, without exception. Even the roads lay in disrepair. Stray dogs loped on the pavements – they glared at Nateldorth with fear and desperate hunger.

  Nateldorth spotted a wall of rubble; a previous, futile attempt at containing the people who lived here. He stepped over it disdainfully. Behind him, a voice called out:

  “What do you seek, visitor?”

  Nateldorth did not bother to turn around.

  “You know better than that, thief. Ilas will have your head if I tell him you tried to ambush the Great Mage.”

  There was silence on the other end. Then, a figure stepped out.

  Nateldorth recognised his tall, slim frame, as well as the golden eyes blazing in hostility: it was Jal, Ilas’ thief.

  “What do you want?” he asked simply.

  “To meet with Ilas of course. I have received… news. But I would rather not talk about it here,” Nateldorth said, motioning around him. The sound of shattering glass and a drunken shout punctuated his point. The place was infested with drunks, even at noon.

  Jal considered that. “All right. But this better be important – I’m supposed to be patrolling the place for anything suspicious.”

  Without further ado, he turned heel and walked in between the shadows from whence he had arrived. He did not turn to see if Nateldorth had followed him. The boy has some guts, Nateldorth thought wryly as he followed him.

  The side-street was narrow, and Nateldorth had to squeeze through at times; yet Jal continued without paying him any attention.

  “Where is Ilas now, Jal?” Nateldorth asked.

  “I don’t know. I have to ask my supervisor and see if she knows his exact location. He is secretive, as you well know,” Jal replied.

  “I do indeed.”

  The road emptied onto a middle class area – its air of reserved decorum (revealed by those minimalist brick façades) was a most refreshing change.

  Jal whistled; the sound rang through street. A few people paused to stare at him. Whistling was considered impolite in good company; it was the preserve of peasants and other uncultured people. And Jal did not look like a peasant – he wore tailored trousers and a fine shirt. Ilas was smart: he knew that people were less prone to suspicion if you appeared a wealthy citizen, rather than a thief.

  “Here, idiot!” somebody whispered.

  Nateldorth turned towards the owner of the voice. She was dressed like a man: she wore trousers, and a dark cloak. Nateldorth assumed it was to permit movement in case of a fight. Although the girl would convince no one of being a boy – her hair was long, and jet black, and her physiognomy feminine. Her eyes were a dark brown, and seemed to Nateldorth to possess a certain cunning.

  Jal stole away next to her, Nateldorth on his heels.

  “What are you—” She stopped when she saw Nateldorth.

  “Oh. Him.”

  “Yeah, Laura. Him. He wants to speak to Ilas. Says it’s something important.”

  “Must I tarry behind your backs any longer? My bones grow weary with the effort,” Nateldorth interrupted.

  “No sir. Come with me – Ilas will listen to you,” she replied.

  Jal and Nateldorth followed her as she made her way across the street. They passed numerous houses; they grew increasingly large as they progressed, until they became mansions. This place was known as Cathedral Square, for the work of beautiful stone that lay in its centre. It was populated by the higher classes of society: nobles, well to do merchants, and even some of the wealthier mages.

  Nateldorth spotted thieves in between them all. They worked invisibly; they pilfered coins and jewels from the wealthy, and the wealthy would not even know it until too late. Laura carried herself through them all, until they reached a house.

  ***

  The house in a question was a grand construction: an unusual brick wall replaced the façade (it was becoming a trend), while the tiles of the roof gleamed in the sunlight. The windows were tall, proud things, overlooking a front garden filled with pink roses. Laura opened the wooden gate – one that was new and swung open easily – and motioned for them to follow.

  She knocked at the door: a tall one, and one made of smooth oak. The doorknob was a bronze item fashioned in the like of a roaring lion; Nateldorth found it somewhat ironic. Thieves were meant to be mice, not lions.

  A voice asked for the password; Laura recited it, and the door swung open.

  A man stood behind it. His form was tall, and strong; his eyes icy blue. They widened when they took in the Great Mage.

  “Sir, do you wish to visit Ilas?”

  Nateldorth laughed. The man looked a little shaken; he clearly had better sense than Jal.

  “Yes, yes I do. I am simply amused at your language – this lot treat me like their play mate,” he elaborated.

  The man gave the two in question a hard look. While they cowered under his stare, Nateldorth swept past him, and into the interior.

  The house was grand in and out: the décor was a matte cream, and the carpet snow white. The furniture was white too; leather and exotic woods competed for attention. The sun entered without challenge, for thieves had enough darkness in their lives.

  Nateldorth had alwa
ys known thieving was a profitable business, and Ilas’ safe-house was solid proof of the fact.

  He followed the sound of voices into the dining room. Ilas sat at the head of a long table; around him stood thieves. The room was abuzz with conversation. When they spotted Nateldorth, the room fell silent.

  “This is a surprise indeed, Nateldorth. What is so important that you come seeking my attention?” It was Ilas who spoke.

  “I have received important information, and I wish to peruse the services of one of your thieves,” Nateldorth replied.

  Ilas raised his eyebrows. “Oh really? And what would these ‘services’ involve? I take it that you, the Great Mage, are not in need of our usual line of business.”

  Nateldorth had been expecting this.

  “I require one of your men to act as bait.”

  Ilas raised an eyebrow; indignant shouting arose from the other thieves. “Bait, Nateldorth? That sounds dangerous. Why should I risk one of my people in helping you?”

  “Because none other are better suited to this task, and because the force we have discussed could prove a substantial threat to you. After all: you possess the most comprehensive spy network in the city. You could be a valuable asset to them.

  “Whom does he speak of, Ilas?” Laura asked.

  “Nateldorth and I... discussed the possibility that a practiser of the dark arts is loose within the city,” Ilas filled in.

  “I don’t like this, Ilas. Why does he need us? We thieves do not meddle in magic.” It was Gunthen who spoke: he was Ilas’ adviser, and a man wearied by his many years on Arachadia. Nateldorth did not doubt the man’s intelligence, but he could be overly cautious.

  “I believe Nateldorth may be right,” Ilas disagreed.

  While the thieves argued among themselves, Nateldorth turned his attention back to Elrias.

  Elrias, are you finished with that ring?.

  I am indeed. Where shall I meet you?

  I am inside 22 Leye Street, Nateldorth answered. He sent him a mental image of the house, before breaking off contact.

  “I don’t think we need do anything. The mages can handle it themselves; if they go for us, we slit their throats,” one thief argued.

  “Do you truly believe so?” Nateldorth enquired mockingly.

  “Are you threatening me, old man?”

  Nateldorth laughed. With a touch of his power, he sent the thief flying into a wall; there he kept him immobile. At his display of power, the room fell silent; the thieves watched him wearily.

  “This is just a taste of what I can do. All I am doing is restraining him. I dare you to imagine what a group of murderous dark mages could do to you.”

  Ilas sighed. “You’ve made your point, Nateldorth. Let him go.” With a flick of Nateldorth’s hand, the thief fell unceremoniously to the floor.

  “Now, what exactly does your plan entail?” Ilas continued.

  Nateldorth quickly briefed him; when he was finished, the room was silent, except for the faint tick of a grandfather clock.

  “Who do you think would be most suitable for this?” Ilas asked.

  “Someone young – they’re the preferred targets of the dark ones.”

  “Does anyone wish to volunteer?” Ilas enquired of the room.

  Jal raised his hand. “I do.”

  All eyes turned to him.

  “You do?” Laura asked.

  “I don’t fear magic,” the boy stated boldly.

  “You would if you had any sense,” Laura muttered.

  “Do not worry, Laura; there is no need to any dark mage them with me by his back,” Nateldorth soothed.

  “Then it is decided.” Once more, it was Ilas who spoke.

  The door suddenly creaked open. The thieves tensed; but it was only Elrias. He looked slightly nervous – though Nateldorth never quite understood why. Elrias had forged terrible weapons for use against pirates and Sacharians. A few knives ought to have been banal.

  “I brought the ring,” he said to the room full of thieves.

  “Ring?” Jal asked.

  “It’s a tracking device. We will use it to find you in case anything goes wrong.”

  Nateldorth sensed that the ring was more than that. Elrias, what else did you add?

  The ring is imbued with a hint of the dark magic we found at old bakers, Elrias filled in.

  An excellent way to bait them, Nateldorth remarked.

  Jal raised his hand; Elrias gave him the ring. It did not appear particularly remarkable – it was fashioned with low carat gold, and held a rather dull appearance. But Nateldorth noticed the flash of blue light, and the power that emanated from within. Elrias was a talented enchanter – and his creations were never to be underestimated.

  “Is this it? It looks so…”

  “Plain?” Elrias suggested

  “Yeah, that.”

  Ilas intervened in the mounting silence. “Everyone, back to work. Jal, you will follow Nateldorth and his friend while they give you exact details on what to do. Laura, Greg; you follow him.”

  A job well done, Nateldorth thought as they left. Now the second part of the plan would be put into motion.

  FOURTEEN

  Nateldorth sat watching.

  He was in a safe house. Elrias and Laura were beside him. The safe house was located on Old Beggars: it was one of the many reserved for such... matters.

  It was small, dingy even, but it was hidden well and remained invisible. The door was ajar, in case they needed to move quickly; the window was small, forcing them to cran their necks in order to see.

  Jal was outside. It was night – a dark night, darker than the ones in the deepest clutches of Winter. Only the wind broke its monotony, wailing like a lost soul. It was also chilly: Nateldorth kept a warming spell going.

  Jal was dressed in rags. They were black; they blended in seamlessly. Only a distant gas lamp provided illumination, setting him in eerie shadow.

  And he was waiting.

  Nateldorth once again recounted how they arrived here. After leaving Ilas’ place, the would-be detectives had made their plans. (Which mainly constituted Nateldorth lecturing them while Jal listened attentively and Laura objected periodically.)

  He hoped to try this for a few days. If by then they hadn’t found anything, he would be having a word with that History teacher...

  His thoughts were suddenly interrupted. A figure had come up. It wore black – body wide – and was sneaking up on Jal. It moved with fluid grace; assassin’s grace.

  Jal noticed him. He turned.

  “Encár,” Nateldorth murmured.

  A moment later, their conversation became audible.

  “Who are you?” Jal asked.

  “A friend,” the figure replied mystically.

  Jal played naïve.

  “A friend? Really? I... I could do with a friend.”

  Even from here, Nateldorth could see the smile that played on the figure’s veiled face.

  That’s right, dear darkling. You think you have caught a fish, but it is the shark that has caught you.

  “I have come here to help you. Follow me, and I shall grant you anything you may desire.”

  “Grant me anything I desire? What would that be?”

  “Stay here,” Nateldorth ordered. He and Elrias escaped via the door. They were going to catch him.

  That’s right, keep him talking.

  The figure was whispering conspirationally: “Anything you wish. Money, power, women...” – and with a smile – “men.”

  Nateldorth was feet away. Up close, the figure appeared to be wearing some sort of mask, hood and wraps. An assassin’s costume.

  Jal was rambling.

  “Well, that sounds really nice. Much more than my stupid dad would give me. ‘Work hard son, and you’ll get everything you need son.’ Poppycock! I have worked and worked and yet I am still a poor beggar on the streets.”

  “Then follow me, good man. You will be powerful, and rich, and no-one will ever tell you wha
t to—” He stopped.

  “And a slave to your master? I don’t think so, Goldilocks.” The game was now over.

  The eyes of the figure drew in the incoming mages. They widened.

  “You’ll pay for this you little turd.”

  He lifted his hands, as if in prayer... or murder.

  “Flama tenebrosi!”

  A ball of darkness – true darkness, sucking in the light like a vortex – exploded from his hands, straight toward Nateldorth.

  “Nes.” Nateldorth’s counterspell was simple, trivial even. Like a parlour trick, the incoming attack evaporated.

  The man stared in surprise; shock; and then horror. He turned and ran.

  Or well, tried to.

  “Folenn egent,” Nateldorth chanted. He felt his own magic: a storm of rage, a sea of terror, an inferno of doom, coil itself into a point.

  Then it expanded.

  With explosive energy, it caught the man – and slammed him against a wall.

  He lay there, and groaned. Nateldorth walked up to him, calmly and relaxedly, like this was a meeting between two old wives.

  Under closer inspection, the man appeared tall, yet slim.

  Nateldorth took off the mask.

  The face that greeted him was handsome: masculine features, a not too short but not too long nose, and full lips. His eyes were like ice, cold and unyielding; but they did not conceal his incipient fear.

  Nateldorth chuckled.

  “Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

  FIFTEEN

  The party watched Damon.

  He was standing next to the basilisk: its scales sparkled iridescent green in the morning sunshine, the storm a forgotten memory. Its eyes – blazing in the light – were fixated on Damon, concentrating with some unheard thought.

  The duo were mentally conversing, Linaera had been told. They had a special type of magical bond, one that could not be overheard by normal magical means.

  Damon’s emotions seemed to fluctuate in between surprise, confusion, irritation and other emotions that came and passed too fast for Linaera to see.

  Damon was nice enough to give the party snippets of his conversation

  “It says its name is Gragl. I have seen some of its memories; it remembers being in this cave thousands of years ago, until my presence woke it out of its slumber.