by Greg Curtis
Of course she was right. Even if necromancy hadn't been outlawed millennia ago, and its practitioners hunted down and killed, he'd never heard of a dead necromancer raising more dead, and she'd surely studied magic even more extensively then him. And how was such a thing even possible?
According to doctrine, all the undead were neither dead nor alive, but rather filled with what was called a shadow life, the reflection of the soul of the necromancer. But with no true soul of his own how could an undead necromancer pass on even a shadow of his soul to more undead? Yorik had no answer. He wasn't sure anyone would.
The implications though were even more worrying. Who knew how many more dead necromancers were out there, all waiting to be raised and who would in turn raise their own armies? There could be thousands. And if there were thousands of necromancers that could lead to tens or even hundreds of thousands of undead being raised even as they stood there. Then there was also the question of who had raised the dead necromancer in the first place. Another undead necromancer? Or a master necromancer somewhere out there? And if so had he been raised in turn? Yorik didn't want to think about that.
“I know good maiden. And we will have to report this back to our leaders soonest. First though I must complete my quest.”
Whatever the truth, what they had seen was something that had to get back to the Order soonest. And to the elder elves. And to the king of New Vineland. And perhaps to many others as well. But only after he'd completed the Lady's quest.
Yet that single thought told him something new. Something unexpected. Their journey was at an end. He hadn't noticed it as he'd been caught up in the battle, but the moment he'd rested and thought about moving on, he suddenly knew there was nowhere to move on to.
“Which may not be that far ahead. I think we're here.”
The idea surprised Yorik even as he told her. There had been no warning, nothing to even indicate that they were getting any closer to the destination, and then from nowhere Yorik suddenly had the feeling they were actually there.
“Are you sure?”
Genivere looked around the clearing her eyes carefully ignoring the bodies still burning fiercely, to let her gaze drift into woods surrounding them. The very same woods that they had been riding through for the last two weeks. No doubt she wondered if he was losing his mind. It was bad enough to have to follow someone who had no idea where he was going or why, but then to arrive and find that there was nothing there, that was surely worse. Except that she hadn't been able to see the undead before either. This he told himself, was no different. While he might not sense where the man he was to meet was, he knew that he was here. Somehow nearby he was hiding in plain view.
“Yes. I am. And I think the undead knew it too. That's why they were here, guarding this place. To stop me. To prevent the Lady's message being given.”
As he spoke he knew it to be true, and that perhaps worried him more than anything else. That the enemy – whoever or whatever he was – had set a trap for him and that suggested that he had knowledge far greater than any would believe. It also made him worry that he might find more traps set for him on their way back. It seemed that an unknown enemy was hunting him.
Instead of explaining any more of his feelings – they would only upset Genivere – he stood there, studying the clearing as best he could while he waited for the fires to burn out, and tried to spot any sign of what their destination might be. But there was nothing, and it would be some time before he would feel safe enough to re-enter the clearing.
“Are you injured at all? Even a slight cut?”
Yorik shook his head. He might have taken a scratch here and there. When the magic flowed through him he didn't notice such minor things. But he felt good enough and he could see no blood anywhere. Between his armour and the Lady's grace he had got through the battle unscathed.
“Good. But tell me if you notice any cuts. I am trained in the care of wounds, and such unclean things as these could carry any disease. I would be most worried about lockjaw.”
Lockjaw! The very name sent shivers down Yorik's spine. The killer of soldiers. Sword cuts could be healed, but if the demon of lockjaw got in a soldier would still die. Still, he was sure he wasn't injured.
“I'll tell you if I discover anything.”
Reaching for Crysal's saddle bags, he pulled out a small honey oat cake for himself, and gave a second to Genivere. Then he sat down on the luxuriant grass in front of the fires, checked himself for any injuries, and then started cleaning his sword and armour while he waited. There was nothing else to do. A few moments later Genivere sat down beside him, and together they began nibbling on the sweet delicacies while the horses looked on enviously. Not for long though. They had been through a worrying time as well, and without questioning the wisdom of it, he pulled out three more of the cakes for them. They deserved a reward.
Nothing was said for a long time after that as they stared at the still burning corpses. Then again neither of them were given overly to speaking, as each enjoyed the sound of silence. In a strange way they seemed to complement one another well, even though they were very different people. It was odd, but also very comfortable.
Yorik was a man who had only recently found peace in the midst of his pain, and he treasured that peace. Thus he enjoyed the silence simply for the peace it allowed him. Genivere was a part dryad part elf wizard, who enjoyed the silence more for the enjoyment of the land around them that it allowed, than the peace itself. Yet in his training in the Order, Yorik had been taught that true peace could only begin with letting the natural wonder of the surrounding world seep into his very bones, while Genivere who did that naturally had told him several times that she envied his own internal peace. Two sides of the same copper.
Yet while they in some ways complemented each other, they were also quite different. Yorik was a paladin, tested in battle many times; Genivere a peace loving elf. He was always on guard seeing the danger ahead, she always open to the new and strange. The explanation was of course simple. Her people had already found that which he fought for, and thus they had finally rejected the violence he carried. It was no longer needed. Sadly, he suspect that that might soon change, especially if any more of these undead necromancers were around.
Save for those differences though, they were well matched he thought. It had been a very pleasant time riding with her. Genivere was good company and a library full of information about all things elven. From his studies at the Order's chapter in Enders Fall he knew a little of elven history and custom. He could even speak the Elvish tongue if poorly. But Genivere could show him a whole world he hadn't dreamed existed. She could literally show it to him as she cast images into the fire at night for him to view.
Thus far she had mainly shown him the city of Hammeral in all its glory. Yorik had never seen an elven city, save for those in the drawings in books he had read, and he was grateful for the opportunity to see one, even in such a strange way. Its beauty was something he would carry with him for the rest of his days. The houses were built into the very trees themselves, suspended high off the ground, and with elegant spiralling walkways strung between them. It was to him the perfection of form and grace as the elves somehow managed to mirror their own natural beauty in their architecture. Against them every human dwelling he had ever seen was chunky and squat by comparison, castles most of all.
Of course, having no large multi-story buildings in their cities, their towns and cities tended to be both smaller than human ones, and far more spread out. In fact they sprawled in all directions, with Hammeral a town of only a hundred thousand or so elves expanding across and surrounding nearly three leagues of forest clearing.
In time she had also shown him her parents and even grandparents, their images appearing one after another in the fire, and they too were a revelation. Not because he had never met them before, or even because they were elves and part elves. Rather because in the images he could see them as a family, warm and close. There was obviously a lot
of love in Genivere's family, and that was something else he hadn't learned much of in the various books he'd read on elven ways.
Always the books talked of politeness and honour as being the very back bone of elven society, and they detailed the thousands of protocols, formal greetings and ceremonies associated with simply speaking with elves. They even detailed the importance of the correct pronunciation of certain words. Not one had ever suggested that the elves valued more than just their endless manners and formality, and yet Genivere had never even mentioned a desire for formality with him. Neither when he thought about it, had the elves he'd rescued, least of all the old woman who's eyes pierced him.
The always mistrustful soldier in him suspected that the elves had been creating and using these elaborate rituals for centuries, at least in part, to make it difficult for outsiders to move among them. It was well known that the elves were an insular people, shunning outsiders, and what better way to make it difficult for outsiders – even traders – to visit, than to make them go through a dozen different formal rituals just to talk? It didn't bother him though. If anything it amused him as he thought of how so many of those authors of the books he'd read had had to go through so many intricate and exacting rituals simply because they weren’t elven. But he didn't mention that to Genivere.
He also gained some new insight into the level of revulsion the elves had for the dwarves. The two races had always been naturally opposed; the elves were strong believers in the beauty and value of the natural world while the dwarves were rampant miners and technologists. The two could simply not live side by side as the dwarves polluted the world around them by forging their many wares, while the elves went to great lengths to keep that pollution from their world, and even threw it back at the dwarves. Then there was the whole debate about magic versus technology, the elves being spellcasters by blood, and the dwarves wanting nothing to do with magic. Though there was nothing contradictory about the two forms of knowledge, at least to a simple man like himself, to the elves and the dwarves each was a sacrilege.
Though neither race had gone to war with the other in living memory, once upon a time they had, and it was clear that given the right circumstances, the peace loving elves would again. Even his most peaceful of companions couldn't seem to suppress her scowl whenever their name was raised. Perhaps that reflected in part her place as an acolyte of the Mother, but he doubted she was alone among her people.
He had to assume the same was true of the dwarves, who regularly toasted their company with various curses aimed at the elves. It probably explained why humans, being neutral in the conflict and powerful in war, tended to find new settlements in the lands between the two races. Lands that neither wanted to settle as it was simply too close to their racial enemy, nor to let the other settle. Thus humanity had become a buffer between them, almost as a consequence of their own hostility.
Of course where humans liked the flatter farm lands, the elves loved their forests and the dwarves their mountains. That probably had something to do with it as well.
Humanity was considered a primitive race by the elves, flirting both with magic that was too dangerous for them, and technology which was simply dark. Thus the elves looked upon them with suspicious eyes, even as they traded with them for the goods that they wouldn't accept from the dwarves, and the dwarves did likewise forcing the humans to become the traders of the lands. Naturally that had its down side as well, as the elves regarded with mistrust the human preoccupation as they called it, with gathering wealth. They distrusted the gnomes for the same reason.
None of this Yorik was sure would be totally new to his Order – but it was new to him. And as he sat there still silently cleaning his sword, soon he realised he himself would have to become tainted with that same stain. Soon he would have to find his own way in the world, gather enough wealth to live, and become that which the elves distrusted. It was a dark thought. But as the fires burned and the stench of dark magic was cleansed by them, it seemed somehow apt.
Raised almost from birth to be a paladin, he had been unconcerned with much of the material things in life as his very essence was devoted to the service of the Lady. In fact he knew very little of the lot of most others. He had never gone hungry or without shelter in his life. When he was sick, he had been attended to by able physicians. While he was neither wealthy nor some great aristocrat, he was also not a commoner. Or he hadn't been thus far. A thought which sadly led him right back to his most depressing problem of late. His future. If speaking with Genivere could brighten his day, wondering about his future could ruin it, which was why sometimes he didn't enjoy the silence so much.
As a member of the Order of the Lady, Yorik had no wealth of his own. What was his was the Order's. No more did he need a home to live in nor a stable to leave his horses in. They were both provided for him, as were the horses and his armour. Or they had been. Now, if the Order didn't take him back, and he was not at all certain that they would, he would have to become much more interested in finding a means to earn some coin, while still serving the Lady. It was that or starve.
His expulsion from the Order was a matter he hadn't shared with Genivere, though she probably guessed something of it. Elves were very perceptive to the emotions of others, and he still wasn't convinced that Annalisse hadn't worked out his predicament and then told the rest of her people long ago. The woman was sharp. But it was his private shame, and not something she should be concerned with, so if she didn't know he wasn't about to tell her the details.
It was however, something that weighed heavily on his mind from time to time as they travelled. For the moment he had a mission – a purpose – and all else was unimportant. But soon, perhaps even in the next hour or so as he waited for the undead corpses to finally become ashes, that would all change. Then what?
He was sure he could find a means of survival, even if he chose not to return to the Order. After all, all he had to do was not wear his wild heart rags, and the bandits would come one after the other at him like bees to the flowers, and he could sell their stuff later. But he didn't want to live like that, as little better than a brigand himself, even if it was legal. A paladin fought to protect, not for wealth. He could perhaps take residence as a knight within one of the kingdoms. Even within Ender's Fall. The Lord Mayor had welcomed his father's service and would surely grant him employment. It was slightly more honourable but all would soon learn his shame as soon as they saw his golden armour. He could even find work in a monastery of the Lady. Paladins, even fallen ones were welcome, and it was honourable. But it wouldn't be doing what he had been raised to do since birth. To fight for the Lady. He was a paladin, not a cleric.
The other option was to return to the Order and face sentence, something that was likely to be harsh. He had disobeyed the Commander and the Spiritual Advisor both, even before he had actually taken his revenge. Then he had done everything they had most feared him doing, and though he had found his way eventually and even been forgiven by the Lady herself, it simply wasn't good enough for a paladin.
The first time he had gone before them, they hadn't taken his armour or his crest despite his determination to seek vengeance, if only because they had hoped he would come to his senses before that would become necessary. After all, locked in the compound with sixty other paladins watching over him, they'd thought they could hold him for long enough to let the rage pass, while others tracked the wizard down and brought him to account. But when they'd failed to catch the wizard and he'd grown more frustrated and angry by the day, their precautions had proven insufficient and he'd escaped. To do that he'd used magic and skills he wasn't allowed to use other than in the cause of the Lady, he’d embarrassed the Order in the process, and had then done everything that the leaders of the chapter had feared he would.
This time he knew his armour and crest would both be taken from him, and though he hoped that they might let him remain within the Order, perhaps as a trainer or weapons master, he would never be a paladin again.
This mission was his last. And yet he knew in his heart that that was the only option he could take. But at least while he was on a mission for the Lady and had yet to face the consequences of his actions, he could pretend to himself that he was still a paladin of the Order. For a while.
“I think the fires are dying down.”
Genivere, probably sensing something of where his thoughts had led him, dragged him out of his depression and he looked up to see that she was right. The fires were finally starting to fade. The wolves were now little more than mounds of embers, and though they had blackened the long green grass around them and the air was thick with the stench of burning soot, the corruption at least was gone. It looked as though he could enter the clearing once more.
“Stay back and stand ready.”
Yorik rose slowly, surprised at how weak he felt now that the excitement was over, and raised his sword once more before he cautiously walked back into the clearing. This time, unlike before, he had no sense of wrongness – nor that anything lay in wait for him. In fact he could sense nothing other than a pure meadow befouled by black smoke gradually being blown away by a gentle breeze. But he held his sword ready regardless. You could never be too careful.
A few cautious steps brought him to the nearest of the corpses, and looking down into its heart all he could see was ash and embers. The wolves at least would never trouble another. He walked carefully around the remains, and then on towards those of the necromancer himself who had fared no better. In fact the only way he could tell which pile of ashes was his was by the size. These creatures would not pose him or anyone else any danger ever again.