by Graeme Ing
At the instruction to enter, I limped into the masters’ sitting room, trying hard not to gawk like a nervous apprentice or stare at the rare book collection stretching along one wall. Couches and armchairs clustered cozily around a sunken fire pit, in which burning logs crackled and spat. I’d hoped never to see open flames for a long time.
All eyes were upon me.
Kolta grinned, then swigged on his bottle of beer. Wampor appeared almost crazy, his wayward hair sticking out in all directions, and his narrow eyes scanned me up and down. Begara hastily drained the liquor from his goblet and would not meet my gaze. I turned to Master Semplis as the eldest, but his expression was impossible to read, his mouth askew. The others I knew little about, some of them not even their names, but I saw respect, weariness, and excitement in their faces.
Semplis gestured to the armchair opposite him, and I sat, thankful of the chair arms on which to lay my fidgeting hands.
“As a group,” Semplis said, “we thought it important to meet with you in all haste. Though only a day has passed, it is important that we make our considerations known in an expedient—”
Petay growled. “This isn’t a time for speeches.”
Semplis shot him a glare. “The Guild is, of course, extremely grateful for your brave, expedient actions in this terrible matter, and—”
“If only someone had listened to you, lad,” Petay said. “We had no inkling what the Prime Guildmaster was up to.”
“Why would we?” one of the younger masters asked. “Our leader, of all people—”
“Let’s leave Fortak out of this,” Semplis raised his voice.
Begara sat on the edge of the group, his head bowed. I had no sympathy for his awkwardness, after nearly sending me to my death with Babbas. I had since found out that he had been the only master to join Fortak and the Covenant. Frankly, I was surprised he had retained his rank. I guess he had attempted to redeem himself in the plaza.
“It’s true,” Semplis said, addressing me once more. “We should have paid heed to your warnings, and we are eternally thankful that you chose to continue your investigations without our assistance. Your tenacity is admirable, and we wish to make amends for something that should have taken its course a long—”
“Lak, take us now and save our tortured ears from your speeches.” Kolta slammed his beer bottle onto a side table. “Reward the boy already.”
I looked from one master to another. This wasn’t at all what I’d expected. It all seemed so informal and argumentative for a Masters’ Council. Is this how they always made Guild decisions? I couldn’t imagine Fortak allowing such banter.
Semplis reached down and retrieved a neatly folded stack of material. My heart skipped as I stared at the robe marked with runes and flecked with silver and purple. He stood and I leaped to my feet.
“From here on you are Maldren, Master Necromancer of our Guild.” He offered them ceremoniously across the fire to me.
I accepted them with the care I would a rare tome or an Iathic antique.
“I… Thank you, Master. I am deeply honored.”
Kolta chuckled. “Try them on then.”
I slipped out of my plain black robe. My hands trembled as I put on the new master’s robe over my shirt and trousers, very conscious of everyone’s stares. I studied the ancient runes decorating the collar, waist, and hem.
This had been a very long time coming. Semplis was right about that. Fortak had single-handedly kept me from my promotion all these solars, but with good reason. I’d been cocky and foolish. Now I truly felt worthy of the rank.
I still didn’t know what to make of him being my grandfather. Had he been so unforgiving, so hard on me because of that? He’d told me that he’d been trying to keep me safe. Like he had my mother before he killed her? I rubbed my nose. He had tried to keep me innocent of his depraved plans, that much was true, but beyond that he’d failed me as family. I scanned the circle of men before me, every one of them smiling. Even Begara looked happy.
This was where I belonged. This was my family.
“Please sit,” Semplis said.
Kolta thrust a goblet of Akra into my hand. I took a long swallow and savored the burn in my throat.
“Our apologies that this important ceremony did not take place in the more traditional environment of the dome, before all of your peers, but there is another matter of which we must speak. We have deliberated long into the night on this matter only—”
“More brevity,” Petay said.
Semplis sighed. “We find ourselves without a Guildmaster for the first time in thirty-three solars. As the charter dictates, we took a vote upon the successor.”
And he had won, I had no doubt. Gods help the poor apprentices. They’d have had more fun under Kolta’s leadership.
“We chose you,” Semplis said.
Lak and all his demons!
Goblet to my lips, I spat the Akra back out. My attempt to speak ended up with me coughing and choking on the strong liquor. I sounded like Fortak.
“Did you have to do that while he was drinking?” Kolta scolded Semplis.
After spluttering and wheezing, I finally managed to talk.
“Me?” Now I sounded like a mouse.
“We forgot what the people really need from us,” Kolta said. “Fortak wanted to rule by awe and fear and none of us stood against him. Except you, my boy.”
“We forgot how to serve,” Wampor said, “and we cared more about prestige and weaving a mysterious cloak around us. Lassira tried to break us out of it.”
It was strange to think that most of these men had known my mother well. I had a burning urge to learn more about her tenure at the Guild. In truth, more about her as a person. Kolta looked deep in his memories.
“We’ve had this argument all night,” Semplis said. “Maldren, you represent a return to our old values: befriending the people, living among them, letting them see the Guild’s human side. We could do no better than following your example.”
“Hear, hear.”
“Most of us are old, boy,” Semplis said. “We need a fresh perspective. You won the vote. We ask that you accept the title of Prime Guildmaster.”
I slumped back in the chair. All I wanted was to properly train Ayla. The old me would have said yes in an instant.
“No.”
Eleven faces dropped. Kolta grinned.
“It is the greatest honor you could present,” I said, “but I have much to learn. In this room are lifetimes of knowledge. It just needs to trickle down to the apprentices. No retaining secret lore for personal prestige.”
Fancy that, me lecturing the masters.
“I’ve grown considerably these last fifteen days, but not enough. I deserve no more than the master rank. But one among us is a more tempered version of me, someone who taught me all I know.”
I stared at Kolta, and everyone else did too. His grin faded and he shifted uneasily on the couch.
“Someone who takes equal credit in saving the city. Earlier you spoke reverently of my mother, so who better than her apprentice.”
Semplis searched my face, then his frown eased and he nodded.
“Master Kolta shared second place in the vote. Do we have any naysayers to electing him as Prime Guildmaster?”
None spoke, and then Wampor let out a hoot.
“I accept,” said Kolta, grinning once more.
The masters surged around him, giving congratulatory pats on the shoulder, shaking his hand, and passing around drinks.
I fingered the superior quality of my Guild robe and traced a finger along the runes.
Semplis stepped up behind my chair and leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “I cannot promise that others won’t learn Ayla’s secret. It is rather obvious. Only three of us know, and I’ll do all I can to discourage speculation.”
“I appreciate that. I don’t want her labeled a monster.” Her words, not mine.
“If she truly bridges both disciplines as the Lady Yolanda
did, then we’re going to have to face the truth of her training. Have you given any thought to that?”
“One thing at a time, please. We have no knowledge of…” I glanced at the others who were paying us no attention. “…their rituals. Let her become a necromancer first, and then it should be her choice.”
He patted my shoulder and returned to the other masters drinking by the fire.
I reclined in my chair by the window, except this time I looked inward, surveying my new Guild room. Several sets of master’s robes hung neatly in a tiny closet by the door. The desk looked bare with my meager belongings. A handful of dusty volumes huddled on one end of the bookshelf, left over from the previous occupant.
I stared at the empty dagger sheath lying on the desk. Last night, I dreamed of the gem in its hilt and woke convinced that it held her, that Phyxia’s soul remained. I smiled to think of it now. As an immortal, surely she didn’t need a gem. Did she live still?
Someone knocked on the door.
“A moment.” I kicked dirty clothes under the bed. “Enter.”
The door opened a crack and Ayla slipped inside, shutting it behind her. She breezed past me to perch on the bed, and the scent of lavender washed over me. She wore a green dress with a shawl draped across her shoulders. Her violet eyes twinkled along with her smile, and her pale hair cascaded over her shoulders. How had the other apprentices dealt with her, the only woman in the building and so startling to gaze upon?
“You shouldn’t be found here after hours.” I scowled and gestured to the door.
She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out the corner of her mouth. So much for the extent of my authority.
I shrugged. “How were classes your first sixday?”
“I’m settling in. The first day was tough. People wouldn’t stop staring, even the masters.”
“They’ll get over it. Let me know if the boys give you grief.”
“Are you kidding me?” She giggled. “They’re scared witless. They think I’m your mother’s ghost returned.”
I rubbed my nose. “What makes them think that?”
Yolanda’s ghost I could understand.
“Actually I’m honored,” she said. “Know what Master Kolta said in class?”
She performed a great imitation. “Mistress Lassira was the most bloody powerful necromancer we ever had. You boys do as your told and do your homework, else you’ll have her son and her bloody ghost visiting you in the dead of night.”
We laughed. It was wonderful to have my old Ayla back, so confident and full of life.
Ayla caught me staring at her. “What?”
“You’re beautiful.”
Her cheeks flushed but a wicked gleam flared in her eyes.
“I’ve come to finish your lesson.” She stood and sauntered toward me, fingers twirling her hair. “The one you began in the plaza.”
“I’m afraid I don’t recall.” I hated that I grinned ear to ear.
“I understand how age dulls the memory, Master.”
“Don’t get flippant with me, apprentice.”
She stopped inches from me, her eyes flicking rapidly between mine. Her breasts heaved under her dress, and my own breathing fell into the same rhythm, seemingly competing with my thumping heart to turn my insides numb. Her hands settled around my neck. I slipped my own around her waist and made room for her in the oversize armchair. This would never do—the apprentice leading the master.
My lips fell upon hers, finding them moist and welcoming. I pulled her closer, her body like fire even through our clothing. We explored each other’s lips and mouths until we could breathe no more and broke apart.
She stroked my smooth jaw, traced a scar up my cheek.
“Being a necromancer will be fun. I hope we can find time to explore the undercity together.” She grinned. “Smash up some more skeletons?”
“There’ll be plenty more adventures. Don’t worry.”
I planted a light kiss on her nose and then turned to her luscious neck, making sure I left no spot unkissed. She arched her head back and uttered tiny murmurs at each touch.
Had Fortak known that day had been my birthday, the day at the dome when he’d given his grandson the most wonderful gift I could have dreamed of?
Ayla.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my editors, Lynnette Labelle (developmental editor), Michael (copyeditor), and Rich “The Wandering Editor” McDowell. Each of you made a substantial contribution to improving and polishing this book.
To Erin at EDHGraphics: Once again you have delivered a stunning cover that made my jaw drop. Bradley Cavin is the genius behind the creepy interior art, which makes me smile every time I see it. Your skulls and scrolls give the book that extra pizazz.
My eternal gratitude to my writer's group, beta readers and friends whose no-holds-barred critiques, comments and insight helped me deliver a deeper, richer story: Dan Jeffries, Deborah Reed, Lisa Shapiro, Leo Dufresne, Adrianna Lewis, Linda Mitchell, Kerry-ann Daniels, Kim Hicks, Lynn Nevala, Jeannie Holbrook and Cristie Poole. I'm sure I'm forgetting someone, and if so, feel free to set the soul wraiths on me!
Thank you to my wonderful wife, Tamara, for continuing to support my writing addiction. I think I owe you a trip to Paris.
Finally, thank you, dear reader, for spending your precious time reading my book. I hope I made you tremble and shudder, but also smile and laugh somewhere along this grim journey. Please forgive me for any nightmares you may have regarding skeletons and ghouls!
OTHER BOOKS BY GRAEME ING
OCEAN OF DUST
Can Lissa unravel the secret of the dust before it’s too late?
Fourteen-year old Lissa is snatched from her home and finds herself a slave on a trading ship traveling on a waterless ocean of nothing but gray dust. A feisty, curious and intelligent girl, her desire to explore the ship earns her the hatred of the cruel first officer, Farq.
Fascinated by the ocean of dust, Lissa becomes embroiled in its mysteries, sensing things that the crew cannot, while cryptic whispers in her head are leading her toward a destiny linked to the dust itself. Only one man aboard can help her make sense of her new talent, but can she trust him? All is not as it seems, and she must unravel the clues before it’s too late.
When a sinister plot casts her adrift on the barren ocean, her best friend is left in the hands of the treacherous crew. Everything hinges upon her courage, quick wits, and her ability to master her new talent.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Graeme Ing engineers original fantasy worlds, both YA and adult, but hang around, and you’ll likely read tales of romance, sci-fi, paranormal, cyberpunk, steampunk or any blend of the above.
Born in England in 1965, Graeme moved to San Diego, California in 1996 and lives there still. His career as a software engineer and development manager spans 30 years, mostly in the computer games industry. He is also an armchair mountaineer, astronomer, mapmaker, pilot and general geek. He and his wife, Tamara, share their house with more cats than he can count.
Graeme loves to hear from readers:
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Acknowledgements
Other Books by Graeme Ing
About the Author