by A J Dalton
‘You’re drifting.’
‘Oh, yes! Sorry. Could be the aegis. Who might be capable of placing one on me? Maybe my dying master. A necromancer’s magic is at its strongest when the necromancer is dying actually.’
‘No. Your master would not need to use such magic. He would simply tell you, wouldn’t he? What about a thaumaturgical magic? It would only take one of your hairs, a fingernail cutting or some skin.’
‘Yeees,’ Mordius demurred. ‘But such magic isn’t very reliable, has limited range and duration and doesn’t work with those of strong character.’
In his characteristically deadpan tone, Saltar asked: ‘And you think you have a strong character?’
‘Yes, I do, thank you very much! What I really meant was that it’s the young, the old and those who are infirm who most easily succumb to such magic and suggestion. No, I think there might be some non-mortal agency involved here.’
‘Lacrimos again? He will have some vested interest in seeing the Heart uncovered, I assume.’
‘Perhaps, but since we left my home for Accritania, we’ve done nothing but things that have been likely to piss him off.’
‘You sacrificed him a cockroach when we first set out though.’
‘Not much of a gesture, though, was it? I should really have sacrificed a bull… or better yet a blessed, virgin child, if I’d wanted to get on the right side of Lacrimos. No, I’m thinking it’s more likely to be His big sister behind all this.’
‘The goddess?’ Salter mused. ‘I know nothing of her.’
Mordius looked at Saltar with a curious sadness, or was it pity? ‘Never mind. Perhaps you will know more of her one day. If the gods even exist, that is! I’m still not sure they do. Just a load of silly stories to convince the uneducated and get them to contribute towards the upkeep of people who call themselves priests and priestesses but are really too lazy to do any actual work for a living. I don’t blame them in some ways. If you can get away with it, why not? I’ve never been a big fan of work myself.’
‘Could Shakri be responsible? What would She want with the Heart?’
Mordius shook his head in defeat. ‘Maybe She wants the thing that will finally give Her complete control over Her unruly brother. With the Heart, She would win their eternal struggle.’
‘Would that be a good thing?’ Saltar asked innocently.
‘Who knows? It would depend what mood She was in, I imagine. Never mind! She might not exist anyway. I tell you what would be a good thing: you stopping for a bit and letting me down off this horse. How long have I been in this saddle anyway? Twelve hours straight? I swear my arse didn’t wake up when the rest of me did.’
‘Let’s hope it hasn’t died. Still, you could always reanimate it with your magic, although I’m not sure what use there is to an undead arse. I certainly don’t have much call for mine.’
‘Saltar, have pity, please!’
‘I am dead, Mordius. I am not capable of pity.’
‘Clearly. Well, you go on ahead if you like, but I’m stopping right here,’ the necromancer said firmly, swinging a leg over his saddle and swivelling onto his stomach.
‘Very well, we will take a short break to accommodate your mortal frailties. We should be far enough ahead of any pursuers to afford a break. Still, I would prefer it if we rested some way away from the road. You never know who might come along.’
‘Very well. Lead on.’
Trees and foliage crowded either side of the road, and did so for as far as could be seen both behind and in front of them. Saltar scanned the edges and spied a sort of gap that would just allow the horse to be led deeper amongst the trees. A narrow trail like an animal run could be seen zigzagging away through the bracken that clogged most of the spaces between the oak and beech trees. Without comment, Saltar followed this path, assuming it would be the one of least resistance.
The wood they were in seemed much healthier than the Weeping Woods. Unseen birds called to each other without concern of being overheard, the bracken underfoot put a spring in their step and the spaces above them were light and airy rather than gloomy and brooding. Mordius began to whistle tunelessly, clearly in good spirits despite his stiff legs and awkward gait. Saltar considered quieting him, but decided against it.
The animal run led them deeper and deeper, showing no sign of being about to peter out. If anything, it was becoming wider and easier to follow, almost like a trail. It seemed well used, as if it was used by more than one animal… or an animal that was much bigger than Saltar had at first thought, an animal that must be as big as… a man, for example. Saltar frowned to himself and began to watch the ground more closely for some telltale spoor or footprint.
It was because he was so intent on studying the forest floor that he didn’t notice the small farm, as they came round a particularly dense stand of trees, until it was too late and they had walked into the plain sight of anyone who might be watching from the farm.
An old man and woman were in a vegetable patch at the side of a lopsided, single-storey building, tending to the plants on their hands and knees. Mordius’s horse decided to give his group away by shaking his head and making his tack jingle.
The old couple rose and turned to stare at Saltar and Mordius. Their faces were horribly gaunt and covered in sores. But it was their empty eyes that gave them away.
‘Animees!’ Saltar whispered to Mordius, and quickly began to move forwards.
A rake lay on the floor half way between the old people and Saltar. He dove for it, beginning a forward roll and picking the tool up at the same time. As he came to his feet, the rake was up before him and ready to strike.
The world lurched sideways and he almost staggered. He’d been transported to the eternal battlefield of blood and bone once more. This time, it was stifling hot, and thick sulphurous fumes filled the air. In front of him, two lava worms flowed and oozed over the skulls of the fallen. Wherever there was contact, the bone instantly charred and crumbled to ash.
Saltar raised the trident in his hands higher and prepared to plunge it into the fattest of the devouring worms.
A young man came around the edge of the building carrying a basket of fruit. It dropped from his hands as he saw what was happening. Bright oranges spilled out of the basket and rolled into the mud.
‘No! Don’t hurt them. Please!’ he begged.
Saltar did not seem to have heard him and did not look as if he was about to stop or divert the swing of his makeshift weapon. Mordius looked from Saltar to the young man, and back again, knowing he had to make a decision, and quickly. The necromancer closed his eyes, concentrated and deliberately interrupted the flow of magic between himself and Saltar.
Saltar fell to the ground mid-swing, as if invisible strings above his head had been cut. He had been mere inches away from slamming the prongs of the rake into the old woman’s head.
Clearly shaken, the young man ran over to the old woman, irrationally patted her better and then hugged her. He pulled back and looked at her again.
‘Mother, are you hurt?’
The animee looked back at him silently.
‘Good, good. No harm done then.’ The young man turned to Mordius with a smile. ‘Really, they’re harmless. Thank you for not hurting them. Please, come in. You’re welcome here. We don’t get visitors very often. My wife, Jenny, will make us all some nettle tea. We have a stable for your horse too. But where are my manners? I’m Jered. Pleased to meet you!’ he declared, striding over and thrusting out a hand for Mordius to shake.
‘M-Mordius. Pleased to meet you. And this is Saltar. Hang on, I’ll just remove the rake from his hand, and then he should be safe for me to wake up again. There! He’s very protective of me, you see. Easy, Saltar! Everything’s okay, we’re amongst friends here. Up you get!’
‘They’re my parents,’ Jered explained once they were all safely settled in the parlour of the warped house. ‘I couldn’t bear it when they died, so decided to reanimate them. They still know us, do
n’t they, Jen?’
Jenny, who was comely and clearly pregnant, smiled and nodded. ‘Yes. And they seem happy pottering around the garden. It’ll be good for the young one to know his grandparents when he finally comes along.’
Mordius smiled sickly. ‘Of course. I must say you have a lovely family, and a lovely home here, the two of you. It seems like you have everything you could ever ask for. I’m curious, though, why the two of you are out here on your own away from civilization. You’re still young. Don’t the bright lights of Accros ever attract you? And I’d heard that necromancers are welcome in Accritania, so there’s surely no need to hide yourselves away.’
For the first time during their conversation, Jered looked troubled. ‘I understand why you ask, and perhaps my answer will serve as some warning for you, since you seem new to Accritania and not entirely familiar with its ways. Yes, necromancers are welcome, but only as they serve the head necromancer. Those who do not serve willingly are forced into service, usually once they’ve been executed. I do not wish to serve, so have chosen to hide with my family here instead. Mordius, you should exercise great caution, unless you are content to serve.’
‘Who is this head necromancer you talk about?’ Saltar asked quietly.
‘His home is the palace in Accros. From there, his network of slave necromancers spans out across the whole of Accritania. There is hardly a single village where it is safe. He is like a fat spider at the centre of his web, waiting for a line of the web to tremble and tell him that there is fresh meat to be had. His name is Savantus.’
‘Savantus!’ Mordius and Saltar exclaimed together.
***
The demon Siddorax moved inside the body that had once belonged to the human called Gerault. He forced the body’s muscles to swell to the limits of their genetic potential, and watched as the skin covering them began to sheer and tear.
‘Be careful!’ Innius nagged. ‘Once you’ve worn that body out, you’ll get no other. You’ll return to the nether realm that spawned you. I won’t warn you again.’
Unconcerned, the demon picked his nose. ‘I’m hungry. I need meat.’
‘You’ve just eaten. The body you inhabit does not require further sustenance. In fact, you will poison it if you carry on like you have been. It is not designed to process such large quantities of food. It is the demon in you that constantly craves the taste of human blood. You must learn moderation or you will go for the rest of eternity without tasting it again.’
Siddorax erupted with an ugly and fetid burp. ‘Perhaps you are right!’ it conceded. ‘Still, a virgin child would be nice.’
‘There are none left in the palace!’ Innius chided. ‘And if you do come across one, you are ordered to leave it be, for such are to be sacrificed only to our master.’
Siddorax glowered at the priest, but knew better than to argue about what was due Lacrimos, especially when Innius got to decide whether the demon continued to remain in the mortal realm or not.
‘Now, if you can stop thinking about your distended belly for just one second,’ Innius continued sneeringly, ‘you might learn enough to make yourself of some actual use to me. You are to safeguard King Orastes at all costs. His life is infinitely more important than that of the misbegotten wretch you currently inhabit. If it’s a choice between preserving the King and your host body, then you are to sacrifice the host without hesitation. Do you understand?’
The demon yawned expansively, ‘Why must the King be saved?’
Innius was not fooled by the demon’s apparent disinterest. The cunning of demons was as well known as the inconstancy of Wim. It wouldn’t do to tell him too much. ‘You only need to know that it is important to our master. Now, you should watch carefully for one called Balthagar. He is a hero from King Voltar’s army who has been raised from the dead. It is thought that he is on his way here to assassinate Orastes. Balthagar will be accompanied by a necromancer called Mordius.’
‘I shall feast on their still beating hearts!’ Siddorax boasted lazily.
‘Fool! Weren’t you paying attention when I told you Balthagar is raised from the dead? His heart does not beat. And he is a trained warrior. He will be a formidable adversary in any confrontation.’
‘Really? He has been killed before. I will kill him again.’
‘Idiot! You cannot kill what is already dead. You can only incapacitate him. It is Mordius who must be your main target. It is his magic that keeps Balthagar animated.’
‘I see!’ Siddorax frowned, shifting in his seat to raise his right buttock and let loose a noisome fart.
Innius all but gagged. He was beginning to wonder if he’d made a mistake in summoning Siddorax. The demon clearly revelled in his new, physical form, and took every opportunity to exploit it in some nauseating manner. For the first few days, it had been all Innius could do to persuade the demon to keep his clothes on and not sexually molest anything that moved, including the palace’s stray dogs. And then the demon had taken to marking his territory with sprayed urine and faeces…
‘What?’
‘Now it is you who is not paying attention! I said, why would a priest of Lacrimos need fear a necromancer and his puppet? Surely you have powers to combat such a threat… or don’t you? It would seem Lacrimos is not a god to be feared in this realm.’
This was dangerous. Some of Siddorax’s more wilful behaviour had so far been kept in check by the threat of Lacrimos’s displeasure. If the demon were to start dismissing that threat, then Innius would lose a degree of his control. To be sure, Siddorax could not attack Innius directly because of how Innius had used drops of his own blood in the summoning spell to bind the demon. However, the demon could indirectly seek to undermine Innius’s control. The demon was clever and cunning enough to contrive events that would make Innius’s control of the demon paradoxical, and would begin to unravel the binding magic. All it would take was something as simple as Innius asking Siddorax for advice on one occasion. On another occasion, Siddorax might then tell Innius what to do without being bidden to do so. Then their roles would have been reversed, Innius’s control would have disappeared and Siddorax would be free to do what he wanted, including attacking Innius.
It was never a good idea to get close to a demon. Many magical almanacs warned that it was best to avoid any and all conversations with demonkind. They should be instructed and nothing more. If they asked for clarification, they should be ignored and the instruction simply repeated. Otherwise, a demon would get into your words and reverse all their meanings. Up would be down and no would be yes. They would overtake you like the most virulent of plagues, lay you low and then either kill or consume you.
‘Be silent, demon! Your blasphemy will not be tolerated. If you wish to test the will of Lacrimos, then you may do so, but be sure that it will be the only time you do so and that you will regret it for the rest of eternity.’
Siddorax stopped scratching at his crotch and watched Innius warily. ‘As you say, master!’
‘I’m glad you understand some things. I have powers that should suffice for dealing with the necromancer, but this is a realm of Shakri.’
Siddorax hissed in discomfort at the mere mention of the name.
‘Yes, demon, nothing is certain in such a realm until death has finally triumphed. It is because of the lack of certainty that I have summoned you so that you can help see that the master’s will is done. You too have powers that will aid in defeating the necromancer. Should you fail, you will answer to Lacrimos.’
‘And if I succeed?’
Innius smiled. ‘Then the necromancer’s body and powers are yours.’
***
CHAPTER TWELVE: Even as we transgress against them
Lucius shifted the shoulder strap to briefly relieve the strain of carrying the heavy greater lute, and knocked on the door to the white sorceress’s chamber. He visited her alone on nearly a daily basis now. She’d told him not to bother waiting for her reply to enter, but he still preferred to knock and wait a
while so that the basic courtesies and appropriacies were observed. Imagine what it would be like if he were to burst in on her unannounced, to find her in a state of… no! He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t allow his thoughts to go in such a direction. That way lay madness and death!
He reached a sweaty palm towards the door handle, turned it, opened the door a foot or so, hesitated in case there would be some shout of protest, which there wasn’t, and then slipped inside. She was waiting for him as usual, sitting on a dark, heavy chair that was so large that it made her look both lost and vulnerable at the same time. There was a fragility to her that scared him. He feared to make any sudden, loud noise or clumsy movement. Her gauzy dress and haloing hair only added to her ethereal look. It was as if she were from some spirit world and could never fully come into contact with the physical world. Even if he were to try to hold her… no!
He moved quietly to the musician’s bench and set the greater lute upon it. He cleared his throat to cover the groan of relief that came to his lips once he was divested of the weight. He settled himself on the bench and got himself into his playing position. Then he paused, allowing the silence to be the first note of the piece, just as it would be the last. He nodded gently and plucked a living note, a note that soared into the air like a bird. Others joined it and framed a vaulted sky. Clouds wisped across it, spiralling across a deep and wide landscape below. There was colour and light. There were trees, here a field, and there a small home. Families worked upon the land and wove their brief lives into the epic and bright fabric of time. There were shadows in places, but they were still a part of the fabric’s emerging, wondrous pattern.