Necromancer's Gambit (The Flesh & Bone Trilogy Book 1)

by A J Dalton

  ‘I am a being,’ the crone creaked at them, ‘whose high priest used the gift of my power to kill and punish another living creature, entirely of my own making or not. I was forced to remove my protection from the high priest and allow his life to be taken, to restore the divine balance. If the balance is not maintained, then all creation is forfeit.’

  ‘I understand,’ Nostracles nodded, wiping at his tears.

  The crone looked at the Scourge and smiled in a way that was reminiscent of the grandmother he had known a lifetime ago. ‘Janvil, do not judge me too harshly. It is not I who has treated you badly in life, but twisted, evil men. I do not judge you for tracking and punishing such men. It is a part of you and what you need to do. Please do not judge me when I follow my own nature.’

  ‘But who was it twisted such men? The gods!’ the Guardian pursued doggedly. ‘It is in serving you gods that men walk into the homes of innocent people and kill them in front of their children. And then they raise the innocent dead to attack their own children. Children should not have to use blades and flame against their own parents!’

  The last was shouted from the rawest of throats. The grandmother shook her head and smiled that everything would be okay.

  ‘Such men choose to serve the dark gods. Some choose not to serve the gods and still commit terrible crimes because they are weak and selfish. Similarly, some men perform noble acts even if they do not serve the gods; men like you, Janvil. There is always choice. You can choose to serve me or not. But tell me, Janvil, which gods are served by the war?’

  ‘The dark gods I suppose.’

  ‘And do you serve the dark gods?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then do I really ask so much when I ask you to help end this war? Wait! I know that I ask a very great deal of you. I ask you to revisit promises made to yourself, your dead parents and your King. But are you truly angry that I ask?’

  He wanted to be angry. It was a feeling that had always served him well in the past. It had proven itself faithful and reliable in an inconstant world. During cold times it had kept him warm like a lover. It had guarded him against false smiles and false friends, sparing him disappointment time and again. It had kept him alive in battle, putting speed and strength to his weapon or keeping him upright when he might otherwise have fallen. Yet, unexpectedly, he didn’t feel angry at that moment.

  ‘Do you need me to say any words? Is it a vow you want?’

  The snow was falling heavily now.

  ‘You need say nothing. I am no dark god to bind you to my will. Simply keep Nostracles at your side and listen to him from time to time. You may need to protect him from himself occasionally because none of us is perfect.’

  ‘Save for Her Holiness!’ Nostracles averred.

  ‘Nay, Nostracles, do not say so!’ Shakri said with fondness. ‘The gods are not perfect. Come, surely you are not so foolish!’

  ‘I’m guessing the so-called divine balance and the free will we are supposed to have technically mean the gods are neither omnipotent nor omniscient,’ the Scourge said with genuine interest. ‘But surely they do not make mistakes, do they?’

  The goddess of creation scrunched up her face so that it was an infinitely convoluted topography that was impossible to make sense of. When it unfolded again, it was strangely smooth and a mysterious smile was evident, but no easier to read than the wrinkles. ‘We’ll see, Janvil, we’ll see!’ And she shuffled off beyond the top of the slope and disappeared from view.

  Nostracles raised himself off his knees with an involuntary groan. The Scourge looked down at him from his saddle. ‘I really don’t think her divine enormousness is that fussed about priestly kneeling and prostrations. Really! I’m sure she’d much rather you had intact kneecaps so that you could get around and see all your benedictions and ministrations done in an appropriate and timely fashion.’

  The priest sniffed but otherwise ignored the comment.

  ‘I have to protect you from yourself, remember.’

  Nostracles’s face went through a number of contortions that suggested he was having distinctly unpriestly thoughts right then, but he settled for saying, ‘I hope Young Strap wakes up soon. I find I miss the non-blasphemous nature of his discourse.’

  The Scourge smirked. ‘Good, priest, good! I really think we’re making progress.’

  ***

  They reached the Only Inn just before the really heavy snow began to fall and hide paths, the landscape and companions travelling scant metres from each other. Kate and Mordius headed straight for the main door while Saltar led the horses through the deepening snow towards the stable. A stable boy wearing an animal skin around his shoulders and thick, woollen clothing helped Saltar unsaddle the two mounts in silence, rub them down quickly and then throw blankets over them. There was a brazier of burning coals at the far end of the stable, but Saltar couldn’t feel any significant heat emanating from it, not that his dead flesh would notice much even if there was a raging inferno in front of him. He flipped a copper piece to the boy and nodded his thanks, thinking that would scare the lad less than any of his attempts at a smile.

  Saltar carried the two cumbersome saddles back to the main building and stooped to step inside. He was in a large front room with whitewashed stone walls and a thick-beamed, wooden ceiling. A fire crackled and fizzed merrily in an over-sized hearth that dominated the room. There were simple tables and chairs around, but no guests in evidence. Kate and Mordius were talking to a woman who was built as stoutly as the inn and wore a set of large, iron keys on a ring at her waist.

  ‘… course welcome here again, milady. There’s no charge for a King’s Guardian, naturally. Your companions will need to pay the going rate, for I’m assuming they’ll be taking a room separately from milady.’

  ‘Indeed, Mistress Harcourt!’ Kate coughed to hide her smile.

  The woman turned to regard Saltar, glanced down at the snow caking boots and then looked at Mordius expectantly.

  ‘Mistress Harcout, allow me to introduce myself,’ Mordius said hastily. ‘I am Rance the trader and this is my business partner, Justley.’

  Saltar was in the process of self-consciously stamping his boots but managed an awkward bob of his head and a mumbled ‘Mistress!’

  ‘We are honoured to make the acquaintance of the mistress of the Only Inn, an establishment as famous for its generous hospitality as its impartiality.’

  Mistress Harcourt smiled but refused to be flattered. ‘Will you be looking to trade for some skins at all, Mr Rance? You seem to have come ill-equipped for these mountains and the weather is coming in quickly. Your Mr Justley looks half-dead with the cold. What is it that you trade, Mr Rance, that you might trade for skins?’

  Mordius matched Mistress Harcourt’s smile. Homely she might appear, but she manoeuvred like an experienced Battle-leader. Perhaps that should not be so surprising given that the Only Inn had managed to survive for so long on the border between the warring kingdoms of Dur Memnos and Accritania. ‘I principally trade in rare herbs, Mistress Harcourt. They are easy to preserve and transport, and command a good price in the right markets.’

  ‘Ahh! I see. And Accritania, with all its dark magicians, is just one such market. I do not envy you your customers, Mr Rance.’

  ‘I deal with very few magicians here in Dur Memnos, Mistress Harcourt. Temples are my best customers here. However, things are likely to be different in Accritania, or so I have heard. I have never been to that kingdom, truth to tell, so I am not entirely sure what to expect. That is one of the reasons why our clothing is perhaps not ideal for this weather. Also, please say if I’m wrong in this but one would not ordinarily expect such weather so early in the year, no?’

  Mistress Harcourt looked pleased to be asked for the benefit of her wisdom. ‘A common mistake, Mr Rance. The seasons are not so marked here in the Needle Mountains as they are in the lowlands. Storms are frequent and sudden hereabouts, so it is always best to be prepared for the worst. But just listen to
me! Here I am prattling on about the weather while you poor dears are stood in cold, wet clothes. And milady is shivering! Perhaps you gentlemen would care to find two rooms upstairs for yourselves and the lady, while I bring the lady to warm herself here by the fire. You’ll find flint, steel and fuel upstairs if you’d care to set the fires in the rooms. I’ll have my husband Tilon prepare some trenchers of hot food for you for when you come back down. And we have a new barrel of ale already tapped… unless you’d prefer something stronger? We can talk about the skins later, once you’re settled.’

  ‘You’re very kind, Mistress Harcourt. We’ll be down presently. Justley, let me help you with those saddles!’ Mordius declared and gestured Saltar up a narrow staircase.

  The directive Mistress Harcourt took Kate’s arm and steered her over to a snug near the hearth. ‘Now, my dear, tell me about those two. Did you meet them on the road? Would you like some mulled wine?’

  In the corridor above, Saltar was knocking on doors and peering into rooms. ‘They all seem empty.’

  ‘Well, let’s just take any two,’ Mordius pleaded. ‘I still haven’t recovered all my strength and need to lay down for a bit. I get the feeling I’ll need to be fully rested before attempting my next negotiation with Mistress Harcourt.’

  ‘Okay, but not this room, Mordius. The lock on the door doesn’t look as robust as on some of the others. And there’s no window in here.’

  ‘Fewer drafts without a window. You may not feel the cold, but I sure do.’

  ‘Our first concern should be finding a defensible room, but one that has an emergency exit should we need it. I meant to mention something to you before. The cold does seem to be affecting me. It’s harder to bend my limbs in these temperatures. Why is that?’

  Mordius looked troubled. ‘I’ve not come across it before. It must be the fact you’ve got no heat in your body. I hope there are no ice crystals forming beneath your skin because whole limbs could break off if that happens. And I guess the cold is tightening your tendons and ligaments. I’d assumed my magic would keep you not only animated but also preserved somehow.’

  ‘I understand, but clearly it cannot make me invulnerable. It cannot stop blades or crushing weapons, and it cannot hold back forces of nature.’

  ‘Nor time, now I think about it. Your skin will erode through natural wear and tear, with the real issue being that you will not generate any skin to replace it, since you’re not alive. You’ll develop sores over time, particularly on your feet and places where your clothes rub. And the wind will damage your face.’

  ‘Nice. I look forward to it.’

  ‘Don’t worry. We will find the Heart and restore you to life before it becomes too bad. And I’ll get some skins for you from our hostess. They won’t warm you, of course, but they may prevent the worst effects of the elements. If nothing else, they will serve to hide your military apparel under one more layer.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you,’ Saltar said awkwardly. ‘Let’s take these two rooms then. If you’re going to lay down, I’ll go and see if Kate needs any help with Mistress Harcourt. You never know, there might be some liquor. I can’t taste it exactly, but it still hits a particular spot.’

  ‘That’s probably the acid burning away your insides. Don’t have too much.’

  ‘And should I not stay out too late, old father?’

  ‘Alright, alright! You’re big enough and ugly enough to look after yourself. See you later. It feels like the last time I slept was in a previous life.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘Oh, yes… sorry!’

  Saltar made his way back down the corridor and the narrow staircase. Kate was trapped in her inglenook seat by the cleverly positioned Mistress Harcourt. The Guardian was taking large gulps from the wine goblet in front of her. He began to cross the floor of the inn towards them when the entrance door banged open and three snow-dusted men pushed their way inside, two of them clad in dark leathers like Kate’s and one of them in a hooded robe.

  Mistress Harcourt leapt up and began to bear down on them. ‘Gentlemen! Close the door if you would!’

  The robed man and the younger of the leather-clad men took an involuntary step backwards from the advancing innswoman and ended up blocking the door instead of closing it behind them.

  ‘Out of the way, you dolts!’ old leather growled at his companions and pulled on the large piece of oak until it swung to meet the jamb and cut off the gale screaming to get in near the fire. The room was suddenly quieter and old leather’s eyes swept round the place. He wore several lethal looking blades and moved with the perfect balance of a practised swordsman. Old leather’s eyes came to rest on Saltar and were just beginning to weigh him up when Mistress Harcourt blocked the line of sight to force the attention back to her.

  ‘I am Mistress Harcourt. Welcome to our humble inn. To whom do I have the pleasure of addressing myself?’

  ‘Kate! It is you!’ old leather said, having turned his head away and ignoring Mistress Harcourt.

  ‘Sir!’ remonstrated the affronted innswoman.

  ‘Scourge! What are you doing here? I’d heard you’d taken on a young Guardian,’ Kate said coming forwards and at last free of the inglenook. ‘Saltar, this is my commanding officer, the King’s Scourge.’

  The Scourge took a side-step to look around and past Mistress Harcourt. The step also gave him room to draw the longer of his blades, which was free of its scabbard in an instant.

  Mistress Harcourt screamed and scuttled backwards. ‘Tilon!’

  ‘What are you doing?’ Kate shouted hotly.

  ‘Priest, your water! Now!’ bellowed the Scourge. The robed man began to fumble for a leather container at his waist.

  The younger Guardian moved out into the room so that he could come at Saltar from a different angle of approach.

  ‘Stop!’ Kate pleaded, trying to drag at the Scourge’s arm, but he shook her off roughly.

  Saltar knew he would have to act now or miss his chance. He could either strike quickly, pole-axing the youth and hoping old leather wasn’t too fast for him, or he could back up into the narrow staircase where he could face them one at a time and have the advantage of the higher ground. What was Kate going to do and how dangerous was the priest’s water? All this had flashed through his head even as the Scourge’s blade was being drawn.

  Instinct won out. Saltar swept forwards and straight-armed the young Guardian across the chest. The youth’s feet left the floor and his head struck a table so that he was knocked cold. The Scourge was moving now: rather than bringing his blade round in an arc that could be blocked or side-stepped, he pushed it out before him like a lance and sought to skewer his quick opponent. The Scourge extended forwards and Saltar swayed backwards. He couldn’t lean back far enough and half an inch of steel bit into his chest. He felt nothing and sharply slapped the blade away. The Scourge successfully kept his grip on his weapon and was already dancing backwards before Saltar could counter-strike.

  Kate got half her body in front of the Scourge and made him stumble. Saltar halted his forward momentum and began to circle round.

  ‘Stupid bitch!’ the Scourge snarled. ‘You’ll get us all killed.’

  ‘Tilon!’

  The priest threw his water and Kate’s head tracked its path through the air. Time hung. And then suddenly started again as the water splashed across Saltar’s face and down his front.

  A big bear of a man wielding a meat cleaver lumbered into the room from a corridor that presumably led to the kitchens. He stopped in confusion as he tried to make sense of the scene before him: the unconscious youth on the floor; a menacing warrior with his blade bared; a hard female in shapely leathers; a tall, pale unarmed man; a robed acolyte of some sort; and Tilon’s trembling wife.

  Nostracles gaped at Saltar. ‘Nothing’s happening to him. We’re mistaken! Janvil, this is wrong!’

  ‘Who’s Janvil?’ Kate wondered aloud, looking from side to side, seeking to distract whomever she could from any
murderous intent.

  ‘Are you sure the water was properly blessed?’ the Scourge asked doubtfully.

  Saltar didn’t know what was meant to be happening, but knew this was a new opportunity. He backed away to the stairs, span and raced up them.

  ‘Scourge, you’d better start explaining yourself, right now! You just tried to kill a man who’s saved me more times than I care to count. And who’s this, by Lacrimos’s seedless pizzel?’

  ‘I’m N-Nostracles, a priest of Shakri.’

  ‘Silence, all of you!’ yelled Tilon. ‘How dare you! Under my own roof! Wife, are you well?’

  The Scourge cursed under his breath.

  ‘Shouldn’t someone look to Young Strap?’ Nostracles asked.

  ‘A priest of Shakri?’ Kate bit, turning on her commander. ‘You thought he was an animee! Are you crazy?!’

  ‘Husband, I have been ill-used! As has our poor guest, Mr Justley.’

  Tilon bristled and raised his cleaver higher. The Scourge cursed again.

  Saltar dashed to the door of Mordius’s room and burst through. The semi-clothed necromancer jerked awake and looked around disorientatedly. ‘Where am I?’

  ‘Time to go Mordius!’

  ‘I was dreaming. It was such a nice dream. There was this maiden with violet eyes…’

  Saltar bent and lifted the small man to his feet. In a voice as gentle as he imagined Mordius’s maiden had been, Saltar explained, ‘There are Guardians here to kill us. If we’re not out of that window in the next handful of seconds, you’ll have all eternity for your dreams.’

  ‘We’re taking the horse though, right? I’ll need that saddle. And what about Kate? Or…’

  ‘She’s catching up with old friends. It’s just the two of us again, Mordius, albeit that she won’t be far behind us. Come on!’

  Saltar lifted Mordius’s saddle with one arm and flung open the shutters to the window with the other. He threw the saddle out and then hung from the window ledge before dropping the four feet or so to the ground below.

  ‘Now you!’ he shouted above the complaining wind.