Necrosworn: Chronicles of the Wizard-Detective

by J. B. Markes

  "The heavens are not as fickle as a diviner's waters," Xavier said. "Trust in astrology. The prince's destiny is no longer written. There can be only one explanation."

  "The prince must be found!" The king pushed the goblet away. "Are you a wizard-detective or aren't you?"

  "Of course I am." Gustobald's voice was level, but his hardened features betrayed his impatience. "But first we must ascertain if Prince Jasper is indeed deceased. Forgive me for speaking of cost at a time like this, but the process could become prohibitively expensive in the long term—for someone of my limited means, that is."

  "You'll have what you need," Eamon said. "Just find him."

  "In that case, I need a quiet place to ply my trade. Somewhere I won't be disturbed."

  "You can use this chamber for now," Eamon said. "I'll have a servant called to attend your needs."

  "Thank you," Gustobald said, leaning his deathknell staff into my arms. "But I need no servant. I have Miss Ives for that."

  I glanced at the scattered cups and wine spread across the floor and sighed inwardly. Most people would say it was a great honor to be a king's cup-bearer, but King Eamon's must have had his work cut out for him. In my opinion, that servant's whereabouts on the night of the spillage remains the greatest mystery of all.

  "I should get to it then," Gustobald said, handing his satchel to me before removing a long cloth bundle from its side pocket. "Am I correct to assume that shirt is one belonging to your son?"

  "It is," Eamon said, pulling it out from under him.

  "Very good. I'll need to keep hold of it for the time being. And I'll need the room. I'll contact you as soon as I have any information."

  King Eamon raised an eyebrow, no doubt unaccustomed to abiding such a commanding tone from one of his subjects.

  "If it pleases His Majesty," I added with an apologetic bow.

  "Hum?" Gustobald was already unwrapping his pipe. "Oh, yes. Of course. If it pleases."

  Xavier extended his hand to the king, but Eamon swatted at him and rose up from the chair. He staggered over to Gustobald, who gave up what he was doing to look the king in the eye. "Find him," Eamon whispered. "Find him." He repeated the words with each step he took, murmuring over and over like a man trying to remember his own name. "Find him."

  The soldiers and sentinels followed close behind, but one woman lingered, whispering to the court wizard. She was tall and serious, spoke with confidence, and never took her eyes off Gustobald. A pale, gaunt woman, her light blonde hair was bundled in tight rows against her head, and the braided strands crept all the way down to her shoulders.

  The woman finished whispering her instructions to Xavier and turned her attention to me. "I am Belinda Celeste, Seeker of the First Sentinels. A guard will be placed outside both doors." She pointed stiffly to either side of the long table. "To make sure you have your privacy."

  "Thank you, Seeker," I said, since Gustobald was still arranging his smoking apparatus and wouldn't be bothered with conversation. Celeste was dressed in Sentinel's robes, but there was nothing about their design that indicated she was the most powerful Sentinel in Coranthia. Nevertheless, I admired the wand glistening in her left hand; I had never seen one made of glass before. "I'm pleased to meet you," I added.

  "You do not have free rein within the palace. Make sure a guard is with you at all times and there will be no problems." Her stern voice and overbearing manner reminded me of Sentinel Ruby, whom I had so respected and loathed at the academy.

  "Why would there be any problems?" I asked.

  "There won't be, as I said." Celeste leaned around me to catch Gustobald's attention, but the old man wasn't interested. "Necromancer Pitch, I'll be in touch to monitor your progress." She looked over her shoulder toward the exit the king had used then spun on her heel and left us without so much as a nod. Master Xavier followed close behind her. The last sounds from them were their muffled voices as they locked the door from the outside.

  Chapter 4

  "That Seeker scares me," I said. "Did you see her eyes? Like she would stare a hole right through me. And they've locked us in." I rattled the latch to demonstrate, but Gustobald didn't seem to mind.

  "Just as well," he said. "In fact, fasten the hook to dissuade them from entering. There's work to be done. Come help me clear the table. Everything off. And wipe it down. Make sure that buffoon didn't leave any wine puddles."

  Once we had removed the cups and candlesticks and prepared the table, Gustobald spread a square linen handkerchief in the center. He smoothed out the wrinkles carefully before retrieving an unremarkable leather scroll case from his duffel and sliding an ornate silver tube from its leather sheathing.

  He made it a delicate task to unfasten the hooks from the eyelets on the tube's gilded cap. Inside was a rolled bundle of bone and string. With all the care of a cutter with his patient, the necromancer gingerly removed the artifact using only the tips of his fingers. He let the expensive silver case fall to the table. I gritted my teeth when it rolled off and crashed to the floor.

  Gustobald leaned over the table to place the bone scroll on top of the linen kerchief and slowly unfurled it. It was a crude mat, smaller than the kerchief on which it rested, with a decorative circle carved into the bone. Within the circle, painted in slanted silver script, was an incantation I couldn't understand. It reminded me of my shortcomings with necrospeech.

  "Is that human bone?" I asked. "What are we doing?"

  "His Royal Majestic Highness thinks his son is dead," Gustobald replied, covering the bone mat with a second handkerchief that matched the first. "We're about to find out right now. My calling staff, if you please."

  "How do you plan to do that?" I grabbed his staff from where I'd left it leaning against the wall. When I turned back, Gustobald was lying on the table face up, pipe at his side and Prince Jasper's shirt in hand. "What is this?"

  "We're going to go deathwalking and find him—or not." Gustobald positioned his head carefully over the handkerchief and reached out for his staff. "You're a mancer. Haven't you ever windwalked?"

  I shook my head. "That's not really my focus."

  "Well, it's a lot like that," he said. "Well not a lot. Actually it's completely different. Come along now. Just stay close to me and you'll be fine."

  "You want me to lie on the table?" I asked.

  "We'll be leaving our bodies here. If someone does come in while we're gone, it might look strange if we were on the floor."

  He switched his staff to his other arm and welcomed me to his wooden bed, which looked remarkably like a mortician's slab. I looked back to my belongings, wondering if there was something I needed to take. I still had my wand on me, assuming I could even use it wherever we were headed. Gustobald's stirring rushed my decision. When I lay down beside him, he hooked his free arm around mine.

  "Now relax," he said, tilting his hat over his face like a man ready to nap. "And try not to make a fuss. It puts them in a state."

  "That's just what I need to hear."

  Gustobald began his chant, and I was contemplating whether to close my eyes when the air around me grew heavy. The candlelight faded and my heart fluttered, so I took deep deliberate breaths to settle it. When the flutter turned into a shudder, I felt a deep pressure inside my chest. I sat upright, gasping for air, certain my last moment was at hand.

  Gustobald, I mouthed, unable to call out for lack of wind. I grabbed him and shook his arm to wake him. He didn't stir, so I knocked the hat off his face, but there was little of his face left. I recoiled at the sight of his corpse and slid off the table. His body wasted away before my very eyes; skin, bone, and clothing. I witnessed the passage of time, weeks slipping into months and years as the table and floor rotted away.

  The decay spread quickly, radiating from Gustobald's position, climbing the walls. I jumped back onto the table, but was too slow; it was already creeping up my legs. Instinctively, I grabbed my shins, but the rot went into my hands and up my arms. Before I could rea
ct, it was up to my chest. I held my throat as it circled my neck and moved up my face.

  And then I was gone. I could no longer see my body or Gustobald's, or the table we had been on. I couldn't see anything. I was weightless, senseless. For the briefest moment, I imagined this was what it was like to cross over, to be completely free of earthly concerns—a pinpoint of consciousness, unbound.

  A single thread of silver glowed faintly overhead, extending ten feet beyond into the eternal night. The surrounding dusk pulsed inward and outward in a desperate attempt to snuff out the light completely. More strands appeared and disappeared here or there, wisps in the dark. They wafted in unison upon some unperceived breeze, offering light without illumination, which only enhanced the crushing void.

  I felt a tugging at my center as the strand above me tightened, vibrating like a harp string, but emitting no noise whatsoever. The luminescence trickled down, radiating outward and doubling back, enveloping my space and coalescing into a crude reproduction of my body. My reconstitution disoriented me, and my discomfort deepened as I looked straight through my translucent feet to the empty space where the ground should be.

  Panic settled in, though I couldn't feel my heartbeat or hear my breathing. I had lost Gustobald, with no clue how to get back to the material plane of existence. I called out for the necromancer, but no sound escaped my lips. A shimmer crossed through my peripheral. I turned my head just as it blended back into the field, but no sooner had it died than another phantom lit up in the near distance relative to the random floating strands of light.

  I tried to spin in place to begin my retreat, but the physics of the environment left me flailing my arms in vain. It was useless without a solid surface from which to push. I drew upon what I had learned at the magic school on how to guide myself by thought alone, but I had never received proper training. The intricacies of extraplanar travel weren't generally a topic of discussion among apprentice wizards.

  The distant spirit lingered only a moment, flickering like a candle then extinguishing. I was just counting myself fortunate when it burst into life much closer. Its substance was thick like wine poured from a pitcher, amorphous in agitation, but occasionally returning to a state of rest—now a crying boy who had no future, now a woman too young for the clothes she was wearing, now a legless man crawling through the dusk. All wore the face of death, with sunken eye and gaping maw.

  The spirit twisted and rolled in place, staring me down with patient envy. I flexed my wrist to release my wand and leveled the stalk directly at the spirit. At once the creature charged. I shouted the command word to release a bolt of force, but my voice couldn't pierce the silence of that dreadful place.

  I grabbed onto the silver cord above me and pulled myself upward, wincing at the pressure in my chest and the feeling that my heart might break free at any moment. I climbed faster, gathering speed with each pull until I ran out of cord and I was freefalling upward, the phantom wisp following close behind with seemingly little effort.

  Another sprite appeared in my path directly ahead, so I shifted my focus to the side to avoid a collision, steering myself by will alone. My path arced as I fell toward my new frame of reference, and the new phantom joined the second in its chase. I wasn't so much flying as I was falling in a different direction, so I concentrated on falling faster, unsure if my willed effort was having any effect. I felt more in control as I shifted my own perception of up and down and made a sharp lateral turn, the spirits in hot pursuit.

  And then I saw Gustobald's form shining powerfully in the gloom ahead. His crooked hat and caller's staff were unmistakable. I angled toward him, hoping he would see me as I streamed past him, but my fear grew as I approached and noticed his complete lack of concern. At the last instant he reached out his hand and grabbed the silver strand trailing behind my body, completely halting my descent and threatening to snap the cord completely in the process.

  The abrupt stop sent an intense burst of energy through my body. For a heartbeat, I appeared fully reformed in the flesh, but the sensation dulled and I faded to transparence once more. The psychic shock of it was too much. I couldn't concentrate through the pain and pressure in my chest.

  The spirits passed us by completely and turned back, but I was powerless. The only thing I could do was watch them come for me, but I was with the necromancer now. Gustobald floated closer to me and held out his staff toward the advancing specters. They dissipated like spore clouds on a gale then all was still.

  By way of reprimand, Gustobald gave me a perfunctory glance and hooked his arm around mine once more. His body was lucid compared to my flickering form. The same silver cord hung above his head, but it was impossible to see through him to the other side. I thanked him for saving me, settling for a bow of the head when I couldn't speak. I hadn't yet fully recovered my senses when he dragged me along with much more control than I could manage on my own.

  As we hovered through the dismal soup, more free-floating spirits appeared, flashed brightly, and returned to darkness. Some remained fully formed, eyeing me lustfully and trailing behind at a safe distance. We continued at a steady pace, but my confidence wavered each time Gustobald looked over his shoulder to check on the creatures.

  More came soon after, grouping together to the point I couldn't tell one from another. Their collective energy outshone even Gustobald's, but all light washed out without material substance to catch its brilliance. The sudden abundance of life in such an empty place was felt more than seen; my own ethereal form trembled at the disturbance, threatening to disperse. Gustobald quickened our descent.

  Ahead I could see a faint blue light stark against the gloom, even as more phantoms appeared on either side. The necromancer waved his staff and they recoiled enough to let us pass before joining the pursuing horde. Gustobald looked over his shoulder again, so I followed his line of sight, noticing how slowly we traversed relative to the mass of souls.

  I felt heavy, drawn backward by an invisible pull to the center of the collapsing multitude. I added my will to Gustobald's, hoping to push us faster through concerted effort. When three more phantoms appeared directly in front, Gustobald turned back barely in time to banish them with his caller's staff, and I realized I was the only one keeping us moving. The necromancer was busy keeping the dead at bay as countless more appeared from random directions.

  I willed us toward the last point of reference—the tiny blue dot in the pool of ink—when an old woman appeared, grasping my wrist. I recoiled in horror as the light left my body, leaving me without a visible hand, but I couldn't break her grip from what should have been my arm. Gustobald thrust his staff through the apparition, but with little effect. I looked down to see two more aberrant forms—children, perhaps—feasting on my legs.

  Gustobald didn't dwell on it. He placed the deathknell staff in my one good hand and reached toward our destination. The small blue shirt belonging to Prince Jasper hovered in the void ahead, as if it were hung out to dry in the sun.

  The old woman gripping my arm leaned in and sunk her teeth into my neck as I desperately pushed against her to no avail. There was no pain whatsoever, but I felt a lethargy sweep over me such that I could no longer put up a resistance. I couldn't swing the staff without unhooking my arm from Gustobald's, and it was unlikely I could do it with any force if I made the attempt.

  I might have stayed forever in that place if not for the necromancer's steady hand. Together we fell into the blue as another phantom took hold of my waist and another snagged my hair. We were moving at such speed the souls all around appeared as streaks of light, bathed in azure and converging at the center like a giant pupil. At the last instant, Gustobald seized the shirt and we were back in the king's chamber once more.

  I screamed uncontrollably, unable to recall where I was or why I was in such a panic. I couldn't be sure how long it lasted—an eternity—but for a time my entire existence was fear. The only thing that reached my conscious mind was the sound of my terror-stricken voice, a
sound so alien to me. When my senses returned, I was huddled on the floor with my back to the wall, clutching my legs to my chest.

  Gustobald made his way around the table and groaned as he took a seat on the floor beside me. It was quiet for a time except for the deep draws he took on his pipe and my own ragged breathing. He offered no words of encouragement, for which I was thankful. I was still working through my experience when he offered me his pipe. With shaking hand I accepted, but no sooner had I inhaled the hot smoke than a hiccup sent me into a coughing fit, so I returned the vile device to him. Nevertheless, the fit passed and I felt more settled in its wake, though my stomach was aching with hunger.

  "Not worth it," I said as I pulled my legs back to my chest and checked my limbs for bite marks.

  "The first time is always the hardest." He nodded, dropping the prince's shirt next to me. "But usually not that hard."

  "What happened back there?"

  "Isn't it obvious?" he asked, leaning back against the wall with a short sigh. "Prince Jasper wasn't there."

  "Is he dead?" I asked, finding it difficult to empathize with the king's plight in my unsettled state.

  "On the contrary," Gustobald said. "It means he's still alive—for now. And strictly speaking, our part in all of this is done. But before we share the good news, since we're already here, why don't we stop by the prince's chambers and see if we can wrap this up nice and quick."

  Chapter 5

  "Make it quick," Sentinel Chalke said, unlocking the door to the prince's chamber. "I'm not sure we're supposed to be here."

  "Claptrap!" Gustobald pushed him out of the way and entered the room. "We were invited by His Majesty for this very purpose."

  "Has anyone been allowed in here before us?" I asked, moving inside behind the guard Lionell.