Dirge for a Necromancer

by Ash Stinson

  Raising his eyebrows, Raettonus said, “I didn’t know you were engaged once. What happened?”

  The dark-haired magician turned his softly glowing eyes on Raettonus and gave him a heart-breaking smile. You already know, his expression seemed to say. It’s the same thing that happened with everyone who knew me before I became a magician. Instead, Slade said, “She broke off the engagement. I couldn’t hold it against her, but it hurt. She was entirely right to though. After the church excommunicated me for necromancy, I had nothing but what land I could hold onto with my own sword. It wouldn’t have been right for her to have to live that kind of life. I think if she hadn’t broken off our engagement, I would have. I…I like to believe I would have.” The thought hung in the air a moment, floating uneasily on a brief silence which passed between them.

  “What was her name?” Raettonus asked quietly. He got the feeling he shouldn’t probe any further, but he did always have more curiosity than he had politeness.

  With a soft sigh, Slade answered, “Alurea, from the house White and Green.”

  They reached the door to Raettonus’ room and opened it. Raettonus entered and set his rapier in the corner and began going through his clothes, looking for something to wear. Slade hesitated in the doorway for a moment before following him in and sitting on his bed. “I shouldn’t have said any of that,” Slade said, looking at his hands. “I feel like you’re upset now.”

  Raettonus shrugged. “I’m not,” he said evenly. “I was thinking that was a pretty cruel thing of her to do. I was only thinking…”

  “I suppose I’m feeling…a little reminiscent tonight. You’ll have to forgive me,” said Slade, looking up. His gaze fell on the desk, and he stood and walked over to it. He picked up the little gryphon figure and turned it over in his hands. “These are beautiful. Where did you get them?”

  Raettonus slipped out of his dirty black tunic. “Kimohr Raulinn gave them to me,” he said, frowning.

  Slade picked up the phoenix to examine it. “They’re beautiful,” he said again, and he turned to look at Raettonus. “Oh, you should wear a green tunic. It brings out your eye—oh. Never mind.” He grimaced slightly, and a blush crept up the back of his neck.

  Raettonus turned away to hide his unnatural red eyes from Slade. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, staring at the filthy tunic in his hands. He dropped it to the ground and unlatched the trunk at the foot of his bed, searching through it for a clean tunic.

  Slade set the phoenix down and turned his attention to the unicorn as Raettonus dressed. “I recognize this one,” he said fondly. He ran his finger along its mane, up to its horn. “This is the animal of Sir Rhodes’ house. Was, I mean.” The corner of his mouth twitched as he fiddled with the carved figure. “His father, Brigham, was a very powerful sorcerer, you know. He told me when I first met him that there are many stranger things in this world than I could ever imagine. I said, ‘I’m not so sure.’ He gave me the most chilling look and he said, ‘Walking bones are mundane compared to the things I’ve seen.’ No one knew about my necromancy back then, so I was awfully frightened by that. I was afraid he was going to tell someone, but he never did.” He let out a sigh and turned to Raettonus. “You look handsome in that. Green does suit you. I wish you would cut your hair, though. It makes you look so severe with it pulled back like that.”

  “I’ll cut it, then, if you’d like, Master,” said Raettonus, glancing around. “But, I think I misplaced my dagger.”

  “That’s all right. I’ve got a knife in my room,” said Slade. “Here, come with me. You look so much better with shorter hair.”

  He took Raettonus by the arm and led him from the room. With a resigned frown, Raettonus let himself be taken next door to Slade’s chamber. However, after opening the door, Slade stopped abruptly at the entrance. “Master? What’s wrong?” asked Raettonus, peering around Slade’s large form into the room.

  Rhodes stood within, watching them with his mismatched eyes, his arms tucked up in his rough robes. “Shlade,” he said, his voice cracking within his throat.

  Slade stared at him for a moment, dumbstruck, his grip slackening until his arm fell out of Raettonus’ and landed limply against his side. He cocked his head to one side. “Sir Rhodes?” he asked in a barely controlled voice. He took an unsteady step into the room. “What—what happened to you? You’re all rotted…”

  “I wash killed,” Rhodes said, his clumsily reanimated tongue slurring his words.

  “Killed?” asked Slade as he reached the corpse’s side. “Did—did I kill you? Mary—I didn’t think you’d actually die when I left you out there.”

  Rhodes shook his head, the bones in his neck sliding audibly against each other. “No,” he said. “I shurvived that.”

  “Then who…?”

  Sir Rhodes said nothing, but his gaze flickered over Slade’s shoulder toward Raettonus. Quickly, the corpse looked away, but not before Slade caught the look. He turned on his one-time ward. “You?”

  The betrayal in Slade’s voice was too much for Raettonus to bear. Like a child who had broken a vase, he looked down and spoke to his shoes. “He tried to kill you once,” mumbled Raettonus. “I couldn’t forgive that. He came around to your castle after you passed, wanting forgiveness, so I gave him flames.” Raettonus bit his lower lip and closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I will not apologize or feel ashamed, either. I made the right decision.”

  There was fury in Slade’s eyes, but his expression was carefully blank. “Raettonus,” he said, his voice tight. “To choose to take a life is never the right decision.”

  “He tried to kill you, Master,” said Raettonus. “I was there. I watched him turn on you. You were friends, for God’s sake! And he tried to kill you for a little gold!”

  “He wanted forgiveness,” Slade said, his voice breaking. “And you killed him?”

  “He wanted to expunge his own guilt!” said Raettonus. He could feel his face growing hot with anger. Fire was beginning to flick up out of the skin along his shoulders and neck. “Death was too good for him.”

  Slade turned away, toward Rhodes. “So you brought him back as a walking corpse,” he said quietly. “So he could suffer while his body slowly rotted even while he occupied it.”

  Raettonus crossed his arms and straightened himself. “Master Slade,” he said. “I would do most anything for you, but I will not apologize for this. You may find it easy to forgive a man who feigned being your friend and tried to kill you, but I can’t do that. I refuse to do that. I killed him. I killed him, and even while I watched him burn to death and he screamed for mercy and begged me to put out the fire, I didn’t feel sorry—not for a moment. And afterward when I grabbed his soul as it was departing and tied it back to his corpse and he began to scream again as the pain rushed into him, I didn’t even pity him. I will not make apologies and say I made a wrong decision, and make myself a liar.”

  Looking over his shoulder at Raettonus, Slade narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?” he asked. “You’re not the boy I knew. You’re like something that’s only inhabiting his skin. You’re a demon.”

  “You don’t mean that,” said Raettonus, his eyes widening and his resolve breaking. He felt as though the air had been knocked out of him. “You can’t mean that…”

  “I no longer feel like going to that feast,” Slade said, turning his back to Raettonus. “Please leave me.”

  “Master, I—”

  “Leave,” said Slade. His voice was hard.

  Raettonus spun and slammed the door as he exited. Furiously, he kicked open the door to his own cell and closed it hard enough to splinter it around the lock. Rage boiling inside him, Raettonus kicked over his brazier and tore the half-burned tapestry on his wall to the ground. Fire danced across his shoulders onto his hands as he felt all his bitterness churn in his stomach. His magical fatigue was suddenly gone, replaced with a powerful, hateful rage.

  With a scream, he grabbed hold of the remaining tapestry and
burned it to cinders, and when it was nothing but ash he found himself wishing only that ashes could be burned. He grabbed the unicorn figure from his desk and hurled it at the wall, shattering it. The little white pieces of it were like a shower of sparks as they fell onto the coals of the overturned brazier, catching the light and glinting. The gryphon and the phoenix followed close behind their fallen comrade, exploding into a glittering swirl of splinters as they struck the wall.

  Teeth clenched, face contorted with rage, he kicked a pile of coals spilt from the brazier, sending them hurtling across the room so they fell like orange hail on the books and clothes and papers on the floor and burned holes in them. He punched at the wall with all his strength, tearing the skin on his knuckles and leaving them bloody. Without really knowing why he was doing it, he knocked all the stacks of books and the little bottles of ink and herbs from his desk. The vials clattered on the stone floor and shattered, and black ink spread out around the glass like blood.

  It was only when his rage began to subside that he realized he was crying. He slid down a wall into a crouching position and buried his face in his hands. He was still hot with fury, and his tears were turning to steam in his eyes. He looked around his room, all a mess, and saw his dagger lying beneath his desk, beside the wall, where it must have fallen.

  Bitterly, he laughed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Diahsis’ feast was the height of revelry, full of bawdy singing and roughhousing and loud conversations all throughout the hall, which had been cleaned and decorated in yellow, blue, and green for the occasion. The general sat at the head of the longest table with Deggho at his right and gave Raettonus a seat at his left. Daeblau stood near them with Dohrleht, but Maeleht wasn’t there—he had become especially faint, his brother said, and Ebha didn’t think it would be a good idea for him to tax himself too much. Brecan joined them just as Raettonus thought he would and took his place right beside the magician.

  “Oh, hey, Raet!” exclaimed Brecan as he drew close. “You cut your hair! You haven’t cut your hair in ages.”

  Raettonus shrugged. “I like it better short,” he mumbled into his goblet of wine.

  “Then why do you keep it long?” asked the unicorn, cocking his head to the side.

  “Stop asking questions and let me drink in peace,” said Raettonus, punching Brecan in the nose.

  The unicorn winced. “Oh, okay, Raet,” he said, turning to his other side to talk to a cheery, boisterous centaur with a thick, Tahlehson accent. Raettonus turned his attention to Diahsis, who was drinking merrily and laughing with Deggho about something one of them had said.

  “I think I’ll make a suit of armor out of its bones,” Diahsis said, holding his goblet to his lips and then pulling it away without taking a sip. “Dragon-bone armor, banded with gold and encrusted with sapphires. From then on, they’ll call me Diahsis Dragon-bone, and armies will flee before me, and opposing soldiers won’t even dare to whisper my name!” He laughed and took a drink.

  “It’s too bad you didn’t kill the dragon,” Deggho said. He sat in a high-backed chair with his head carefully balanced on his shoulders. “Then they’d call you Diahsis Dragon Slayer.”

  “That’d be something,” said Diahsis, setting down his wine and wiping the corners of his mouth on a napkin. He leaned forward and turned to Daeblau. “I must say, Daeby, you were magnificent when you took the dragon out.”

  “Thank you, General,” said Daeblau with a nod.

  “Have you fought dragons before?” asked Diahsis, reaching for a basket of rolls set on the table, but falling a little short. He frowned and tried a little harder, stretching across the table, but ended up knocking the basket over.

  “A few times,” Daeblau said.

  “It’s so dangerous,” said Dohrleht, taking Daeblau’s hand in his own. “I wish you wouldn’t put yourself in harm’s way like that.”

  Daeblau smiled gently at his young companion. “You shouldn’t worry,” he said. “Dragon hunts really aren’t that dangerous.”

  “I beg to differ,” said Deggho. “I had a friend die on a dragon hunt. I miss him. He used to tell the best riddles.”

  “Oh, riddles!” said Diahsis, delighted, as he managed to snag a roll that had fallen from the knocked-over basket onto the table. “I adore riddles! Oh, and I’ve got one. Here it goes: What’s green and long and flies through the air?”

  “A green, long, flying thing!” exclaimed Brecan.

  “Good guess, but no,” said Diahsis.

  Brecan flattened his ears. “But you just said…”

  The general laughed and threw his arms out wide. “A sea serpent being carried away by seagulls!” he told them happily. He bit into his roll and tore it in half, still chuckling to himself.

  “That riddle didn’t even make sense,” said Raettonus, frowning.

  “It sort of did,” said Deggho uncertainly. “Sea serpents are green and long.”

  “Exactly!” said Diahsis. He swallowed the rest of his wine and called for more, and a young centaur refilled his goblet. “This is a good time. Oh! Too bad we don’t have any instruments—we could use some music. Do any of you play?”

  “I used to be able to play the bek’kur. It’s a type of flute,” said Deggho. “But I don’t think I could anymore.” He motioned with one hand to his severed neck. “Seems like all my air comes out of my, um, neck hole, I guess you’d call it. Anyway, I don’t think I could play a flute that way anymore.”

  “The bek’kur, huh?” said Diahsis. “I, too, play a type of flute. A Tahlehson bone flute, to be specific.” His eyes widened and a broad grin took his face. “Well, there’s something! I could make a dragon-bone flute! Then I could play it for you. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  “That would be,” said Deggho, nodding slightly and causing his head to topple onto the table with a sharp yelp. Diahsis laughed and picked up his head.

  “You know what, Deggho? I barely know you, but you are a lot of fun,” he said, bringing Deggho’s face close to his own. “You are my best friend at this table.” He grinned and brought Deggho’s nose and forehead to his own. “Also, from this close, it looks like you have one eye. That’s fun.”

  “Your pinky finger is poking the inside of my throat,” said Deggho with a frown.

  “Oh, sorry,” said Diahsis, handing the goblin’s head back to his body. “Let’s tell more riddles! What’s…hm. Okay, I’ve got it this time. What’s gray and spends all its time on the ocean?”

  “Oooh, a rain cloud!” said Brecan. Raettonus flicked him hard on the nose. “Ow, why did you—oh, never mind, a rain cloud spends its time in the sky.”

  Diahsis began to giggle in a very undistinguished manner. “It’s a wolf on a raft!” he said.

  “Your riddles make no sense. I’m beginning to wonder if you actually understand what a riddle is,” Raettonus said. “How much wine have you had?”

  Diahsis’ smile dropped away, and he looked at Raettonus very seriously. “Not nearly enough,” he answered somberly and called for his goblet to be filled again. He drank three more cups and told five more nonsensical riddles before the first course arrived.

  “Oooh, gryphon,” said Brecan as it was set before him.

  Raettonus poked at his meat with his knife. “Didn’t know you caught any gryphons,” he said.

  “Well, I only caught one,” said Diahsis. “Deggho helped me catch it.”

  “Vuriin,” said Raettonus.

  “Yeah, that was his name,” said Diahsis, with a nod. He put a hunk of meat in his mouth. “Oooh, he’s delicious.”

  Dohrleht frowned at his plate. “I don’t know how I feel about eating something that has a name,” he said.

  “Everything has a name,” said Brecan. “My name’s Brecan. Some people say it Brekkan, but that’s wrong.”

  The young centaur screwed up his face. “Then I guess I don’t know how to feel about eating something whose name I know.”

  “We’re going to catch more gryphons to
morrow,” said Diahsis. His handsome face was flushed from the wine. He grinned and leaned his elbows on the table. “Lots of gryphons—whole armies of them! Right, Deggho?”

  “Well, I don’t know about armies,” muttered the goblin, picking up his head and carefully placing it back on his shoulders, only for it to roll off into his lap. Diahsis laughed heartily and picked up his head by the hair. “Certainly we’ll find a gryphon or two.”

  “Wonderful!” said Diahsis, holding Deggho’s head against his chest with one hand and picking up his goblet with the other. “And then we’ll hunt faeries! Oh, Raettonus, will you be joining us?”

  “Nope,” said Raettonus, chewing his gryphon meat slowly.

  “Suit yourself,” said Diahsis. “It’ll be fun though. You’re missing out. How about you, Daeblau?”

  Dohrleht squeezed Daeblau’s hand and looked at him pleadingly. “No,” said Daeblau after a short hesitation. “I think I’ll sit this hunt out.”

  “Well, fine,” said Diahsis, his pointed ears lowering. “I guess that Deggho and I will go by ourselves then, spoil-sports.”

  “What about the soldiers?” asked Deggho, his voice somewhat muffled by Diahsis’ forearm.

  “Them too,” said Diahsis. He set Deggho’s head down on the table and patted it fondly. “But when we bring back delicious faerie meat, you don’t get any, Daeblau, because you wouldn’t come with us.”

  Daeblau smiled slightly. “I think I can go on without it, General.”

  Diahsis frowned and took a long drink from his goblet. When he set it down again, he said, “How about more riddles?”

  “Oh, dear God, no,” said Raettonus, resting his head in his hands. “Those aren’t riddles you’re telling, anyway. No more.”

  “All right,” said Diahsis, somewhat deflated. He swirled his goblet around in his hand. “We could tell stories instead.”