The Necromancer: New Edition: Republished 2016

by Alex Stargazer

  Nateldorth prepared himself for the inevitable.

  “Neras—”

  “Neshvetal.”

  “Neshvetal… one more question. How did you kill Eiliara?”

  “Trying to delay the inevitable? Very well, old enemy. I will grant you one last wish: I killed Eiliara because she attacked my undead. They were on a raid, when she found them and destroyed them. The arrogant fool never thought that the person who conjured them would come at her. She fell for her mistake, as they always do. As you will.”

  Neshvetal attacked first. Dark coils of power spread around Nateldorth. They began to tighten in anticipation, eagerly awaiting their next victim.

  Nateldorth relaxed. He did not struggle, nor feel hatred, anger or jealousy. And certainly not fear. The coils continued to tighten, but then dissipated as their anchor disappeared.

  Nateldorth actually chuckled.

  “I have experienced my own share of tricks, Neras. And that, was a particularly old trick.”

  Nateldorth concentrated.

  Beams of heat shot out at Neshvetal, signalling the beginning of the battle. Neshvetal compensated perfectly as usual, and the two countered.

  Nateldorth had to revert energy as dark power came at him.

  Dark power was the opposite of life energy: it destroyed where life created, enforced chaos instead of calmness. Nateldorth compensated by pulling a wall of power around him, creating a barrier of order and control. Snow hammered on the walls; a bead of sweat trickled down Nateldorth’s forehead.

  The two were incredibly powerful. Undoubtedly the most powerful foe he had ever come across.

  A table flew at him. It broke up into sharp, jagged spikes, ready to spear him. Nateldorth created an intense shockwave, causing the spikes to change course, and it was they who had to defend themselves. The walls shook under the onslaught.

  Nateldorth sent a series of complex, powerful shockwaves towards Neshvetal. He added a thunderbolt to the mix, leaving his wards weakened.

  Ashviere seized the opportunity to send blue fire at him.

  Blue fire was not hot, but rather, colder than the deepest fringes of the North. It would have frozen Nateldorth into a statue. But Nateldorth had expected this; he re-routed his attacks to block Ashviere’s – and while Neshvetal was busy countering his assault – he counter-attacked.

  Small goblets of infernal heat came at Ashviere. She was taken by surprise, but instead of burning her to a crisp like Nateldorth had hoped, the flames passed feet above her, melting the stone behind her instead.

  Even so, they still managed to singe her hair, earning him a hiss.

  Nateldorth prepared for a battle he might not win.

  ***

  Linaera sat down on her hard wooden bench, seething.

  Sounds of battle could be heard distantly, punctuated by bursts of power and the screams of the dying – which were then overpowered the moans of the dead.

  They’re fighting for their lives, and I’m missing in on all the fun. Bitch.

  She still hadn’t gotten over the fact that the Queen was allied with him. In hindsight, it seemed obvious, which made Linaera all the more annoyed.

  The cell itself was small and dark. The drip-drip of water could be heard falling above her; the bars were solid and enchanted so badly that nothing seemed to melt them. Not that she hadn’t tried.

  A guard was glaring at her. He was ugly, fat and annoying, but he spoke big. The cell next to hers housed Deriën.

  “What are we going to do, Linaera? Do you have any brilliant escape plans?” Deriën asked.

  Linaera sighed.

  “I don’t know, Deriën. These bars are unbreakable, and enchanted, to boot. And I don’t suppose that guard is just going open the doors for us. We’re pretty stuck. Which sucks. I mean sure, Neshvetal is my father and he probably won’t kill me, and probably not you either. But everyone else?

  “They’ll be relegated to a life of servitude, alive or not.”

  “How can this be, Linaera? How many humans are like this? So… so violent. If we get out of this alive—”

  “Enough now, Deriën. I don’t want to talk about it.” He tried to argue more, but something interrupted him.

  A distinct THUD!, and a letter appeared on the floor of Linaera’s cell.

  A letter?

  Linaera opened it carefully. On it, Sasha’s distinct, elegant handwriting could be seen:

  Linaera.

  We’re getting you out. We can’t storm the guard, because it might alert others. You have to distract him, so we can disable him quietly and get the keys.

  Love, Sasha.

  Linaera folded the letter quietly, making sure the guard noticed nothing.

  A plan soon formed; it began simply.

  “Hey! Ugly. Yeah, you over there. Tell me, do you think that Neshvetal will let your precious Queen live? Do you honestly believe he won’t turn you all into slaves the moment the Great Mage is dead?”

  “Silence, prisoner. Or I’ll come and shut your mouth for you.”

  “Aren’t you a big guy? You’re going to shut up a teenage girl who’s stuck in a warded prison cell. Yeah, real brave of you.”

  The man snarled. He walked towards Linaera.

  “I will silence you! I will feed you to the darkness! I will—”

  Someone came in behind him. She smacked him behind the head with a chair, and whatever he was about to say was abruptly cut short.

  Sasha stood behind him. Her blazing red hair was just as intense as Linaera remembered it to be, and so was her smile.

  “Hi, Linaera.” Several more mages filed in behind her. Harold, Damon, Stella… even Mark was there. A stranger also followed them, one who walked unsteadily and was being held by Mark. John was missing, of course, and Linaera had to bite down the loss.

  Sasha quickly took the key stashed on the guard’s belt, and unlocked the door. Linaera ran at her, catching her on a full-on hug. Sasha gladly returned it, happy to be in the company of a friend.

  Linaera pulled back momentarily, got the other key, then freed Deriën. He got out, looking slightly ruffled, but otherwise unharmed. Elven healing, Linaera guessed.

  The mages stared at him, catching something off.

  “What are you?” Sasha asked, bluntly.

  “I am an elf. My name is Deriën.”

  “He’s with me,” Linaera filled in. She leaned next to him, giving him a kiss.

  To her credit, Sasha didn’t blink.

  “Linaera! So you’ve finally found someone, eh? Elf too, you never did things lightly.”

  “What concern is it to you, human?”

  “Sasha’s the name, and she’s my friend.”

  “She is valiant and noble. You have a good friend… if occasionally naïve.”

  The two smiled, making a hidden connection that was beyond Linaera.

  “Anyway, you haven’t told me how you guys are here. What happened after Neshvetal?”

  Harold filled in.

  “We were able to escape, no thanks to you. Thank you, Linaera – we had thought you dead. A martyr like John.” The other mages’ faces clouded at that.

  “We went back to the mage academy. Unfortunately, we had no guide, hardly any food, and the going was tough. By the time we reached the Academy, the necromancer’s army was right on our heel. It’s remarkable how we managed to get out.”

  Sasha joined in.

  “Terrin informed us that there was a tunnel underneath the Academy, for just this type of thing. He said that he couldn’t go through it, ’cos the necromancer would sense his concentrated power. But we could.

  “And so, we arrived at this hell-hole. Just in time, I’d say.”

  “And who is he?” Linaera asked, motioning at the stranger – who gave her a sleepy look.

  “This is Jal,” Mark said.

  “How did you manage to come with them? Did Terrin allow you?”

  He smiled sheepishly.

  “Not really, no. But I had enough of bei
ng useless.” Jal leaned on to Mark’s shoulder, purring like a cat. Mark stroked his hair, and murmured that he was going to be okay.

  It finally clicked for Linaera.

  “Mark… do you like men?”

  He turned around, blushing intensely. The others also turned. This was news to them too.

  Deriën intervened.

  “Mark, let the wounded boy find some place safe to stay. Get my weapons – the guard should have put them somewhere. We’ve got a fight on our hands.”

  ***

  The Unknown Soldier shook fearfully as he watched the events unfolding in front of him.

  The necromancer’s aide had stormed the walls with her undead, and the mages – and the army – had been forced to retreat to the inner circle of the city. Behind them, the Academy stood, looking pallid and weak to his eyes now. The palace was close to it, along with several other administrative buildings.

  People had been evacuated behind it, although some had still perished. Special units had been dispatched to hold the abandoned houses and delay the enemy until they could form into a coherent whole.

  They had erected a parapet. Mages stood above it. Some wore the familiar red dress; others wore white. The Unknown Soldier recognised them as healers, signalling the severity of the situation. What was truly dire, however, were the large amounts of mages wearing brown robes. Apprentices.

  The soldier turned towards the enemy. The corpses looked as dim as they always did. The skeletons were smiling, their axes covered in the blood of the fallen.

  He lifted his shield, and his mace. His comrades did the same.

  Then the dead came.

  ***

  Linaera momentarily stood transfixed in awe at what had become of Dresh.

  The city seemed deserted; the air, ice-cold. The wind roared past her ears, bringing snow. Sounds of screaming and fighting could be heard in the background.

  But their real target lied ahead: the Palace. Even from here, Linaera could feel the power of a magical-battle roaring. A wall collapsed – the party ran forward, knowing time was of the essence.

  Linaera and Deriën surged in front, their legs beating hard on the pavement. They threw aside the doors, running towards the battle.

  Half a dozen figures appeared in front of them. They were clad in all-black, marking them as the enemy. Their posture was arrogant – their smirks, unmistakable.

  Behind them, thunder and darkness boomed; three figures were distinctly visible. The Great Mage, power oozing around him, defending himself against the two black figures. Ashviere was there, of course – and Neshvetal.

  His skin shone like divine jewels, or Hell’s fires. He appeared to be an executioner, or the judge of the Apocalypse, when he attacked Nateldorth.

  Nateldorth staggered; a beam of power broke off his wards. He survived, of course... but for how much longer, that was debatable. They had to help him.

  Not that the demons in front were just going to let them pass.

  “Ooooh, look! Mages. Do you wish to die along with your master?” one of them asked. The leader, judging by appearances.

  “He is not my master,” Deriën replied. His bow was suddenly in his hands.

  “Are you going to threaten me with that little bow of yours, mortal?” he leered.

  “It is you who are mortal,” Deriën replied casually. A split-second later, an arrow flew towards the speaker’s throat. It passed through their magical defences, of course.

  Linaera saw the man’s eyes widen as he tried to avoid the missile heading his way. He was fast, his body a blur. But the arrow still hit him in the shoulder.

  He looked down, and tried to get it off. His fingers even managed to curl around the shaft before he collapsed.

  Poison, Linaera thought. Turns out it is effective.

  Then the dark mages attacked.

  The mages became one, their minds enveloping one another, as beams of transcendental light hit their wards. Linaera warped their power to cover the weak points in their armour. Then, Harold staggered back as they concentrated their attention on him.

  The mages focused; Harold relaxed as their attacks became ineffectual.

  Linaera decided to make good use her skills. A dark mage – a girl by the looks of her – lifted her hands, which were filled with shadow. Linaera attacked not physically, but mentally.

  She focused her determination, anger and frustration into a point, spearing it into the other mages’ consciousness.

  Of course, she countered.

  Linaera resisted the urge to curl up into a ball as a wall of sadness, loneliness and disparity enveloped her. The mage was winning; Linaera could not counter such darkness.

  But she had left her physical self exposed.

  With an effort of will, Linaera concentrated her power on to her hands, slowly. As she was threatened to be overwhelmed, she splayed out her hands, muttering, “Algesia.”

  A shockwave slammed into the mage. Her weakened wards broke; she was thrown into a wall. Blood seeped from her throat. She did not get up.

  Linaera realised that the dark mages really were very powerful individually; yet it seemed they could not function as well as a team, judging by their retreat.

  Unfortunately, Deriën was overconfident. A mage had cornered him; he was unable to do anything as the man – leering like an imp – mowed him to the floor with telekinesis. But sadly for him, he hadn’t paid attention to the vines growing behind him.

  They converged around his chest, spearing him with sharp, deadly spikes. The man’s expression turned to disbelief as he died.

  Another dark mage launched himself at Deriën’s back. A dagger flashed in his hand, but Deriën blocked it.

  The man wrapped his other hand around Deriën’s throat. Deriën head-butted him, and followed up with a precise kick to the legs that floored him.

  As the man tried to get off his knees, Deriën came behind him and elbowed him on the back. There was a distinct SNAP! and the man’s head lolled forward.

  Linaera looked forward. Only two mages were left. They were breathing hard, looking haggard.

  But the situation behind them was far more dire.

  Linaera watched, her tongue in her throat, as three separate shock-waves converged on Nateldorth. He staggered, then fell on his knees.

  Power hung in the air; dread was its companion.

  “Ah, how the mighty fall,” Ashviere said. “For years, you had tried to control me, old man. Now, you are at my feet – and the feet of the enemy you couldn’t conquer decades before. Do you have any last words?”

  Nateldorth spluttered. Phlegm formed around his mouth, but his words were clear.

  “Oh, I underestimated you, traitor. But even if you kill me, the people will not follow you. Your power is as empty as your soul, and the only person who has a hope of controlling the outcry that will follow this event is Neshvetal himself. That is, if he doesn’t decide to kill you right now – for you do not know him as well as I do.”

  The Traitor Queen laughed.

  “Foolish old man!” She lifted her hands, ready to deliver the killing blow.

  But Neshvetal’s expression was of far more interest to Linaera. His face was wearing two emotions she had never seen on it before: contemplation, and regret.

  “No, Ashviere,” he said simply. Fire coiled around his hand.

  Ashviere turned, shocked. Blue flames flew through the air.

  Her expression turned into open horror. The flames curled around her unprotected body; a cold statue fell to the floor.

  Her eyes stared into nothingness: what had she been thinking? Had she been afraid? Or merely disappointed? It would never be known.

  Neshvetal dealt with the guards. The first one wore a surprised look; the second was merely resigned. Both were thrown across the room like toothpicks – both deaths were bloody.

  Linaera ran like a rabbit. But whereas rabbits run away from the things they fear, Linaera was running towards it.

  Blue lightning
curled around Neshvetal, but Linaera paid it no heed. She was only interested in those dark, fathomless eyes, which looked at her with something approaching humanity.

  “Why,” was her only question.

  “Revenge was never my true goal, Linaera. For years, the darkness has plagued me, contaminating my soul, eliminating my reason. I had believed that Araya would have wished for vengeance – now I see that she only wanted you to live in peace.

  “Beware: the same magic that runs as poison through my veins is present in you, along with many other powers undiscovered. Nateldorth does what he thinks is best, but he is delusional. Only you can save yourself, and Arachadia with it.

  “Now, I must protect you. Already, I feel the darkness taking me back. I am a danger to you Linaera; this is not acceptable. Good bye.”

  Linaera tried. Oh, how she tried. She tried to stop the dagger, with its jewel-encrusted hilt and dark, hungry blade, pierce the last of her family.

  But she couldn’t. Neshvetal’s eyes unfocused; the blade glowed with power. Linaera grabbed him as he fell, but he turned to dust, the knife the only thing left standing.

  Linaera wailed. Her high-pitched scream pierced through the chaos, the lives of those she had lost sounding in every vibration of her tone.

  As tears poured through her, falling on the still-bright dagger, only one thought had a place in her mind.

  Why?

  EPILOGUE

  Neshvetal was dead.

  Linaera did not want to accept it, but that was the cold, hard truth. I should be happy he’s dead, she thinks. Linaera, you fool, you should be dancing and drinking. He killed thousands. He kidnapped you; he taunted you about your past. All of which were true. But that was the problem: Neshvetal was her father. Linaera was sure of it know – indeed she had always known, but she hadn’t dared admit it to herself.

  It would have meant accepting a part of her she didn’t dare be comfortable with – a part of her that was fae, a part of her that was powerful, dangerous, and wild. She was not that person; it was foreign to her. She was Linaera – quiet apprentice, healer to be. She had a path set out for her: a comfortable life in Renas, an anodyne existence as a minor mage.

  She knew that was no longer an option. She could try and go back, of course – she could pretend none of this had ever happened. But that would be a lie, and destiny would compel her to seek the truth.