The Necromancer: New Edition: Republished 2016

by Alex Stargazer

  “They’re dead you idiot!”

  “But—”

  He never finished his sentence. For although Linaera and Deriën were free, the same could not be said of Gadalthal. He hung on the branch; the monsters pulled him down.

  A scream penetrated the air.

  The monsters became red, their ghoulish, teeth-filled mouths delighting in the taste of a friend.

  Linaera opened her mouth, and a screech pierced the bloody theatre.

  “Let’s get the girl, we’ll do this one later,” one of the others said.

  This is it. I’m going to die.

  The monsters became a mass of seething, moving, unstoppable death.

  Linaera closed her eyes.

  And then luck intervened.

  ***

  The wall of monsters was met equally with a wall of arrows. Singing, buzzing, whirring, brilliant arrows. Each and every one of them hit. But instead of uselessly poking holes at their targets, the monsters were savaged in blue fire.

  The entire wall of undead had been destroyed.

  Linaera gazed, uncomprehendingly: where there had been monsters, now stood only arrows, embedded deep into the ground.

  On the arrows, runes were scrawled across the top.

  Linaera turned, and stared.

  The owner of these arrows was even more remarkable than the arrows themselves. She was a woman, but unlike any Linaera had ever seen. Her eyes shone green, like emeralds in the light of summer suns; her hair was weed-like, growing in erratic patterns; it framed her desolate, earth-like skin. She was tall, but her bow was taller still.

  It was reflexed, curved, and undeniably lethal. It looked very much part of her, with its arrows like her expression: calculating, focused, unstoppable.

  Linaera looked for Deriën.

  He was not by her side.

  Instead, he was by Gadalthal’s. Under the tree – under the fateful tree where he had fallen.

  Gadalthal’s body was criss-crossed with vicious wounds, caused by teeth and claws and unimaginable malice; his hand was bent at an unnatural angle.

  That was not why he was on the floor.

  It was the branch. The one lying centimetres from his heart, cruelly stuck by the denizens of death.

  A branch for an elf.

  “Gadalthal? Gadalthal! Stay with me, okay?”

  Deriën was trying to heal Gadalthal: he did so by applying power, frantically, slowly rebuilding Gadalthal’s flesh. Linaera wanted him to succeed; she wanted Gadalthal to survive. God how she did.

  But Gadalthal had no such delusions about himself.

  “It’s over, friend.” He coughed, spitting up blood. It was thick, clotted. The blood of the dying.

  “Linaera! Help me! You can—” But Gadalthal only shook his head.

  “No,” he rasped, “Linaera cannot help you. No one can. My time here is over, and I must rejoin the Earth that I came from. Do not forget me, but do not torture yourself over me. The world needs you, Deriën.”

  He turned slowly towards Linaera.

  “You too, Linaera. You’ve got a Necromancer to—” he coughed, “—stop.

  “Aiada tústher edunaris.”

  He closed his eyes, and allowed death to claim him.

  Deriën began to scream: it was a piercing, almost inhuman scream, the keel of someone who’s lost more than mere words could express. It rang through the forest, a song for the deaf.

  Linaera just stood, completely beyond speech. This was the second time someone precious – a friend, if you like – had been taken from her. Taken by force, by circumstances unnatural and a death undeserved.

  She didn’t know who to blame for Gadalthal’s, Deriën’s and – ultimately – her own losses. The universe? What did it care. God? Where was he. Herself?

  Maybe.

  But one thing was crystal clear in the maelstrom of Linaera’s mind.

  Neshvetal had to die.

  THIRTY FIVE

  Deriën was alone.

  He was in hell: a desolate landscape populated by anger, grief and fear. He was in its centre, surrounded by the denizens of this world, and they constantly prodded him with spears containing his deepest questions – why didn’t you save him? one of them asked. It’s all your fault, another one said.

  They stabbed him in the heart, creating a brief sense of blinding agony that was just as terrible as any physical pain.

  He didn’t react as Linaera and the Sidthé walked away. He didn’t react as his vines wrapped themselves around his childhood friend, burying him into the Earth. Forever.

  He didn’t react as Linaera tried to talk to him, or as the Sidthé moved her away to wherever she lived. He was tempted to just sit here, letting the wind and stinging snow wash away all emotion and turn him into one of the mindless zombies that killed his own friend.

  If only, he thought bitterly, I had such a luxury.

  Then he ran, moving with a blur of motion that humans could not follow, the speed that only an elf should possess. The forest melted around him, sucking him into a vortex of green and white, giving him a brief, if fickle, reprieve from the thoughts within.

  He ran and ran, not caring where he was going, but still intimately aware of the place where the unthinkable had occurred. Where another elf had been murdered – murdered – in their own forest. He couldn’t imagine the repercussions such news would have on the elven community, and in that moment, nor did he quite care: the pain he felt was infinitely more immediate.

  Eventually night fell, and he was left breathing hard. He had arrived in an uninhabited clearing, where there was nothing but the wind and the cold. For a time – he did not know quite how long – he simply stood there, letting the bitter chill seep into his bones.

  Eventually, he left. It was better to share pain, he realised, than to bear it alone.

  ***

  He approached the orange light of the Sidthe’s hut. Inside, he could hear Linaera posing questions to the Sidthé.

  “So, what exactly are you?”

  “I am a Sidthé,” she replied. Deriën imagined she was smiling, the way he had done when he was asked to explain complex ideas to the young elves. Had Deriën ever smiled? It all seemed so faraway, then.

  “Yeah, but what exactly does that mean?”

  “It means that I am the ultimate state that an elf can achieve, a creature united with nature and empowered by its grace. I am not an animal; I am not a plant. I am a hybrid, to represent the union of the two. Plants live so that animals may too; and when animals die, their bodies continue to feed the plants.”

  “Can you do anything else? Besides what you just did, I mean?”

  “I have many powers. You merely saw the surface.”

  Deriën took the opportunity to interrupt.

  “Any space for a weary elf?” he asked. A part of him, not concerned with grief, observed the hut: the boiling cauldron; the thick, straw-stuffed walls, and the faint hole in the roof that permitted the smoke to escape . Herbs could be seen drying on shelves above: some smelled potent and intoxicating, others fresh and relaxing.

  Linaera sat next to the Sidthé. She was sipping a cup of her tea – a concoction of the Sidthe’s.

  “Of course there is. Come, have some tea,” the Sidthé replied. Deriën sat next to Linaera – she brightened when he did, though somehow Deriën could not bear to look her in the eye.

  Deriën accepted the tea that was handed to him. He didn’t want to ask the question, but it came out all the same:

  “Why didn’t you come sooner, Sidthé? Isn’t it part of your duty to help elves in need, or have you become so ancient, so powerful, that you feel we are not worth distraction from your herbs and potions?”

  The Sidthé’s eyes glowed green, threateningly. Once, Deriën might have been deterred. Now, he wasn’t afraid to join Gadalthal.

  The Sidthé said:

  “Careful, elf, less ye become bitter and sour like the necromancer you claim to oppose. In answer to your foolish question,
my duties do include saving elves, but we Sidthe are few, and the forest is larger than you think.”

  Deriën waned to argue more, but to his surprise, it was Linaera who interrupted.

  “Look, we’re all tired. Why don’t we do this tomorrow, when our actions have been thought over in our sleep?”

  This seemed to amuse the Sidthé.

  “You are wise indeed, human. Yes, there blankets I can use to make you beds, so you can sleep – or at least, attempt to.”

  His sleep was a torment, too disturbed by the images of the undead and the dying eyes of his friend to allow true rest.

  ***

  Deriën awoke. Grey light shown through the gaps in the door; the cold was very present, and Deriën was tempted to remain saddled in the blanket. Next to him, Linaera was sleeping. Only... something about the way Linaera moved concerned him.

  She was thrashing, moving around wildly, and looking like she was under some sort of mental attack. With a start, Deriën realised she was having a nightmare. Nightmares were rare among the elves – when they did occur, they signified an omen of something in real life. Deriën guessed that wasn’t the case with humans. Or he hoped it wasn’t the case, rather.

  He tried to wake her up; it took several strong attempts before she returned to consciousness.

  “Oh, Deriën,” she said.

  “What were you dreaming about?”

  “What could I dream about, Deriën? Death. The necromancer. What else?” She seemed very annoyed with him..

  Deriën suspected something more was up with her nightmares, but he decided to let the matter rest, at least for now; there were more pressing concerns to address..

  The Sidthé entered. Her earthy face was revealed in the full light of day. Up close, it truly was remarkable; the fibres, distinct to so many plants, were clearly visible. There was no doubt that she really was part-plant.

  “Hello, young ones. I see it is morning now. Don’t you wish to be on your way, away from old women and their strange habits?” she asked.

  “Indeed, you are right. Although our losses are…” he paused momentarily, “—great, we must continue with the mission. I have my weapons – I am certain they will be more effective against banal enemies – and we must move on.”

  “Sidthé, what is your name?” It was Linaera who asked.

  “My name is unnamed. All the servants of nature must carry no names – one of the sacrifices we make when our magic achieves its potential. Now, there is one more thing I can do to help you…”

  She continued: “You wish to be off, yet you are tired from your battle. Perhaps I can use Ebhen to empower you.”

  “Ebhen?” Linaera asked.

  “A process that we have developed. It allows us to feed power on to another person, to support them with the resources of nature.”

  Deriën had been told by his Elders about such things, but he knew it would be a great event to experience it first hand.

  The Sidthé first walked up to Linaera. She placed her hand – long and knarled – on to her chest.

  She muttered no spells, skilled enough not to need them. Deriën was impressed despite himself; spells were a key part of magic, as it allowed the caster to concentrate their own, very exact intentions free from the chaos of their mind. That’s why magic-wielders even had their own specially deemed meanings of specific words in order to attain this.

  After a few seconds, Linaera sat up straighter and her skin visibly brightened. She was smiling when the Sidthé removed her hand.

  “Your are next, elf,” she said,

  Deriën smiled thinly, and allowed himself to be handled by the creature. He didn’t really trust the creature. He knew that he was being irrational – heretical, even – for Sidthe were beings even closer to nature than the elves. And she had already saved his life. Still: Sidthe were powerful and at times fickle beings, devoid of the usual social mores that Deriën understood.

  But as the Sidthe performed her ritual, his attitude changed.

  For it was a truly miraculous thing. As they connected, he felt nature – the ever-lasting power of the sun, the empty wilderness of the wind, and the slow, steady power of the trees – chanelling their power on to him. His body seemed to weigh less and less, and he could not help smiling when the Sidthé was done.

  “How must it feel? To have that power available to you all the time?” he asked.

  “Empowering, but also dangerous, young elf: nature is not to be tampered with, for it is something far greater and more complex than us. If we use our power for the wrong purposes, we will become Sehban – creatures twisted from their true purpose.”

  Deriën felt respect tug at him. He had thought the Sidthé was a cold, arrogant being, aloof from the concerns of ordinary elves.

  But now he knew that, although he still believed her to be cold, it was a result of the great burden she carried. He doubted the elves could have remained untouched for so long if it weren’t for them.

  But now that world was under threat from a person even she couldn’t counter.

  “Sidthé, forgive me for asking, but why won’t you join us? We could do with your help.” He said the last bit reluctantly, for his pride was still strong.

  “Alas, I cannot. I am confined to the forest; without it, my power will dissipate, and I will revert to my true age. Which is more than what even an elf can sustain, I fear.”

  Linaera intervened, curious as ever. “So you were once an elf?”

  “Indeed I was, though that was many centuries ago and I can remember little.”

  “What was your name? Before you became a Sidthé, I mean?”

  The Sidthé smiled.

  “That is something you must figure out yourself, child. Now! Be off. I have work to do, and you have an important mission, have you not?”

  “Indeed we have, Sidthé. Linaera, come.” Deriën walked away from the Sidthe’s dwelling. His heart still constricted with grief; his anger still burned in his veins. But he knew such feelings would not help him now. They would have to wait, and be directed towards the mastermind of his suffering.

  Linaera looked back, waved, then followed him. It was clear that she wanted to discuss with the Sidthe at greater length, but her mission called her on. And so the two travellers made their way, their steps laden with grief, but their eyes hard with determination.

  ***

  Deriën stopped briefly, to drink some water.

  They had gone past the forest, away from the things he knew, cherished and had thought were everything he could ever desire. He had crossed the vast, unforgiving mountains, and had arrived to a landscape no more forgiving – the empty plains that followed.

  He shivered, pulling his cloak closer to him. The stories of old told of how elves once had to venture beyond their forests, and spoke much of the sheer insecurity that elves felt when exposed.

  Deriën could definitely relate. Looking out on the plains – were scarcely a shrub or a mouse lived – he felt as if the Earth could swallow him whole, and the world would not even notice.

  Darkness was falling; they had travelled for a day, and now needed to find shelter. Deriën was unsure what to do. In the forest, shelter was easy – trees and plants could be persuaded to his will. Out here, in the empty plains, battered by the wind, there were no trees. There was nothing.

  Deriën had little doubt that they would freeze, were they foolish enough to sleep in only their blankets. He asked Linaera for advice.

  “When I was… with the others, we carried tents on horses. Now we don’t have that kind of luxury…” she paused, looking around her. “But I have an idea.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “The stuff underneath us, it’s basically just sand right?”

  “I’d say some sort of fine soil, yes.”

  “I’ve read that people who live in extreme cold and snow made things called ‘igloss’ – basically, small buildings made from snow. Snow is surprisingly good at keeping warm, you know?
r />   “We don’t have snow, but we do have the soil. I could build as an underground hole, where we we should remain warm.”

  “That does not sound like a simple thing, Linaera; it takes great strength to move all this soil.”

  “I have magic; you are strong. How difficult can it be?”

  Seeing no better alternative, Deriën followed her plan.

  ***

  Perhaps half an hour later, they were sitting underground, a small fire burning beside the entrance. The effort had been strenuous – both for Linaera, who had used a significant amount of magic; and for Deriën, whose efforts had been more physical – but they were well rewarded. The shelter was warm, even pleasantly so.

  They were eating some nuts and berries Deriën had collected before they left; they ate in relative silence, broken only by the crackle of the fire.

  “Deriën… I have a question to ask you. But I don’t think you’d like it.”

  “Fire away.”

  “When Gadalthal helped you escape from the monsters by de-handing them… why did you come and help me? After all, he is – was – your friend,” she corrected herself hastily.

  Deriën paused, confusion warring inside him.

  “I don’t know. I guess I thought you were in more danger, being as inexperienced as you are. Gadalthal was one of the best Hunters I ever knew – I never imagined that anything could happen to him.”

  “But bad things can happen to anyone, can’t they?”

  Deriën only nodded mutely. Seeing his expression, Linaera touched his hand; and Deriën let her, feeling oddly comforted by it. She may have been a human, but humans could suffer grief as much as elves, Deriën had learned.

  The moment eventually passes, and Linaera continues with her questioning.

  “Didn’t you realise how ineffective his main weapon would have been?”

  Deriën decided to show her his bow.

  “Look, Linaera. See the way the tip of the arrow glows in the firelight? That’s poison on it. It’s something we make from a plant called Nightdeath. It’s like the more well-known Nightshade, except it only grows only in our forests. The toxin is called a neurotoxin – it acts on the nervous system, causing paralysis within seconds as it enters the bloodstream, and then death within a minute.