Dagger of Bone

by R. K. Thorne

  “Wandering.” Andius huffed.

  His frown told her he wasn’t buying one bit of it, but Da rushed to her with a hug, patting her back almost gently for once. “You should have let someone know. We were looking for you. I was terrified.”

  “What’s wrong? Pirates put a ransom on my head?” She grinned and played dumb.

  “There isn’t, of course—” Cerivil started.

  “I didn’t think there was anything wrong with a little walk,” she said. “You’re not usually looking for me at this time of day.”

  Andius jumped in, his voice dripping with disapproval. “Are you usually out for a walk at this time of day?”

  “I don’t think it’s any of your business if I am.” Of course, she rarely took walks at all, never at night. Walks were for sunshine. But any comment that pissed him off was worth uttering.

  Da cleared his throat. “We were looking for you because we received a message from Pyaris. She said you are needed urgently.”

  “Pyaris?” Her surprised exclamation was almost in time with Andius’s own.

  “Yes,” Da said. “I was surprised too.”

  “You can’t go.” Andius cut at the air with his hand. “It will have to wait till morning.”

  Lara’s glare was accompanied by a sharp look from Cerivil.

  “You can’t tell me what to do,” she shot back. “I’m going.”

  Andius looked to Cerivil. “It is not appropriate for her to be out at night like this.”

  “This is obviously not a normal situation.” Cerivil’s expression hardened further. “She has a friend who needs help.”

  Two, most likely. But she definitely wasn’t letting Andius know Nyalin might be in a weakened state. And how was Nyalin connected to Pyaris, anyway?

  Andius was not backing down. He took a step forward, chest puffing, tilting his head back. “Nor is it appropriate for her to be associated with necromancers.”

  To her surprise, Da mirrored the gesture, stepping to meet Andius halfway. His own shoulders lifted, his back straightened, his chin rose, till he looked twice as haughty even with half the stature.

  There was a moment of pure tension. And then, after a second or two, Andius relented and stepped back.

  Cerivil nodded sharply, and when he spoke, it was loud, for the guards to hear. “Pyaris is a respected clanswoman and a longtime friend to our family. If she says she is in need of urgent aid, we will not desert her. We would never abandon our own or our allies. Isn’t that so, Andius?”

  The young man gave a curt, bitter nod, but Da was already turning to her.

  “Go. Take a horse. Send the child back on a pony,” he said indicating the messenger Pyaris had sent. “And send for us if you need anything.”

  “I will, Da. Thank you.”

  She jogged out as fast as she dared, the messenger girl following on her heels, before one of them could change their minds.

  Her feet carried her to the stables in a blur, her mind racing. What could have happened? What could be wrong? Pyaris did not live close by; why was Nyalin in that area of the city anyway? And Pyaris was so private, reclusive even. The chances that he had simply met her out and about were slim to none. But the message had come from her, and there was no way to find out why but to go there.

  She saddled her horse as the stable hand prepared the pony. She’d barely led the horse out of the stall when Andius rounded in front of the startled animal. She clutched the reins as it skittered back. She patted its neck, but it didn’t trust her. Her usual mount was back in Yeska’s cavern.

  Andius stopped dead ahead of her, eyes aflame with fury. He was panting. Had he run the whole way here?

  He started forward, the back of his hand raised, and she skittered back herself this time, dragging the alarmed horse with her.

  “You have no right—” she started.

  His head cocked in the direction of two guards and a stable hand approaching, and he dropped his arm. He glared in their direction, then back at her.

  “I will tell you what to do,” he whispered. “And you’ll do it. Mark my words.”

  “I’d rather die.”

  The words came out before she could really think them through. Was that the truth? They had the definite feel of it.

  He scoffed, a puff of laughter in her direction. “You wish,” he growled. “I won’t be so merciful.”

  Their gazes locked for one moment longer. She had to end this. If Yeska was right, Nyalin needed her. She swallowed.

  “Get out of my way,” she whispered.

  His lip curled, and he looked like he would start forward again, but the loud guffaws of a guard stilled him. Others were still close. They shooed the wary girl on the pony out into the street.

  “Wouldn’t want to disillusion your audience,” she sneered. “Or should we put on a show?”

  “They are more loyal to me than they’ve ever been to you or your father. So gloat all you like. You are mine either way.”

  He turned and was gone, robe swirling.

  She was shaking as she mounted the horse, cursing his name, and she just clung there a long moment. The messenger was gone. The guards and stable hand had retired to sharing their jokes on stools near the stable’s gate. She needed to hurry.

  But she couldn’t stop shaking,

  Finally, she touched her hand to the pouch at her side. To the clanblade. To Yeska.

  To her friend.

  Andius was wrong. She would never be his, one way or another. She’d seen to that. She might be dead, but she wouldn’t be his.

  Sighing, she clutched the reins, dug in her heels, and brought the horse to a canter and then a gallop.

  What mattered right now was that she was alive, and Nyalin needed her.

  Lara knocked on the old, warped door. Worn as it was it looked heavy enough to stop a crowd. Footsteps shuffled, a crossbar lifted with a scraping, and a familiar face appeared, rimmed in gold firelight with warm brown eyes shining. “Pyaris!”

  “Lara!” Her friend threw her arms around her neck and hugged her close, Pyaris’s cloud of springy ebony coils brushing her face. She smelled of incense, and Lara let herself sink into the hug. She needed this more than she cared to admit. “It’s been too long.”

  She drew a little away, although she didn’t let go of her friend’s arms just yet. “I know. I haven’t been doing much since… well, since, you know.’’

  “I know.” Pyaris patted her arm.

  “You look well,” Lara said. And she did. When had her childhood friend grown into a woman? It hadn’t been so long ago they’d hidden in tree branches together, evading boys and tutors equally. Now enviable curves were hidden beneath that wine-colored dress and dark sable skin.

  “Thanks.” Pyaris gave her one last squeeze, then released her. “Come on in.”

  As Pyaris stepped aside, Lara’s eyes caught on the still, pale figure on her cot in the corner.

  “Nyalin!” The word was a cry of her own pain. Before she knew it, she’d fallen to her knees at his side and grabbed his hand. Energy snapped between them, stinging her fingertips, but fainter than she’d ever felt it. Something wet and sticky slid against her skin.

  She gritted her teeth. Blood. “Who did this to him?”

  “We don’t know. I tried to patch it some,” Pyaris explained. “But I don’t have the right supplies. The injury is bad, but it’s not that bad. He’s just lost a lot of blood. If you take him back to a proper clan healer, he should be all right.”

  The first damn charms she was going to look for were the healing charms. There was no reason why she couldn’t learn to do this. What a waste of time—she could have been spending the last six months mastering these spells if she’d bothered. And some healing spells would probably come in handy when they executed or exiled her for stealing the clanblade. She wanted to be the one to heal him, damn it.

  “Who wants your friend dead?” drawled a third voice.

  It was only then that Lara took in the rest of
Pyaris’s abode—and Kedwin, the second necromancer who lounged at the table watching them. Not much else had changed; the home was still the same dark but cozy cave, its walls lined with dried things, oddities, artifacts, and of course vials of blood from every creature imaginable. Except maybe Kedwin. Hopefully his blood wasn’t in stock. All were ingredients to draw spirits and harness their power the way a swordmage harnessed a sword.

  “Oh hello. Nice to see you again.” She didn’t really mean it this time.

  “Nice to see you too, Lara.” He grinned and tipped a wide-brimmed hat at her with a slight seated bow. “Someone got it out for your friend?”

  “I have no idea,” she said, although the back of her mind was picturing Andius blocking the way in the stables. “How did he get here? And what’re you doing here, Kedwin?”

  “I could sense the energy coming off him for blocks. Had to track him down here and see what the fuss was all about. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought someone summoned a—”

  “That’s not possible,” Pyaris cut him off.

  “I think it is.”

  “He’s just a boy. Don’t start rumors.”

  “He is hardly just a boy! But suit yourself.” Kedwin shrugged.

  “A what? What were you going to say?” Lara stood, letting go of Nyalin’s hand for a moment.

  Kedwin opened his mouth, but a scowling Pyaris spoke first. “In some ways, his astral presence appears like that of a demon or a spirit. Something not of this world but belonging to the next plane.”

  “A demon?” Lara stared at them, blinking. “I have no idea what that means.”

  Kedwin shrugged. “Is that why someone wants to kill him?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Pyaris folded her arms. “Well, it was just one wound, but it was very deep. Also, it was cursed. Someone meant for this to stick.”

  “Cursed?”

  “Yes. I lifted it.”

  “By Dala’s light.” She bit her lip. “So, a necromancer?”

  “No.” Pyaris cut at the air. “Anyone could do this with the right blade.”

  “Blade was crafted by a necromancer, though,” Kedwin said.

  Lara stood. “I understand. I had better send for help. Send for a stretcher. Can you call your messenger friend back?”

  “I’ll leave you ladies to your freak.” Kedwin rose to bow and smirk at them. “He seems mostly harmless. For now.”

  “Kedwin, by the goddesses’ gray—” Pyaris started, but he was already at the door. He waved goodbye and was gone, the two of them staring after him.

  “Asshole,” Lara muttered. “I don’t know why you hang around him.”

  “I don’t exactly have the pick of men in the city, given my chosen profession,” Pyaris muttered. “Besides, I didn’t invite him. He showed up knocking when he sensed—what is your friend’s name?”

  “Not the freak?”

  Pyaris winced. “There’s definitely something unusual about him, but you know I’d never call anyone that.”

  Lara felt herself blushing. “Sorry. I know. I know better, I was just—”

  “Angry. Deservedly so.”

  “His name is Nyalin.”

  “Kedwin showed up when he sensed Nyalin’s presence. Now—shall I call back the girl?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Soon the little messenger and the pony were on their way back to request men and a stretcher. More time lost. Lara did her best with what little bandages Pyaris had, cleaning the wound some and staunching the bleeding.

  “So how do you know this young man?” Pyaris asked.

  “You first.”

  “No, you first. I asked first.”

  “Your tale is more interesting.” Lara grinned. “But I’ll relent. He came to Da for help with his magic—”

  Nyalin moaned softly, cutting off her explanation. Which was good. The sound meant he was alive.

  “What do you mean, demon? Spirit?” Lara barely permitted herself to whisper it, but she needed to know.

  Pyaris frowned, regret in her eyes. “I wish I could explain. The more you delve into communing with spirits, the more you start to understand them, to recognize different types, different personalities. Most spirits are weak, wisps and memories of their past lives, collections of thoughts and regrets and desires. Some aren’t, though.”

  “They aren’t what?”

  “They aren’t weak. They’re strong, more like people, but different. It’s just a different feeling. They’re almost… more substantial than they should be. As if their presence is more comfortable in the spirit world than in this one.”

  Her eyes were wide as she struggled to make sense of Pyaris’s words. “And… his is like that?”

  “Somewhat. Not entirely. I’ve never seen anything like it before, to be honest. It feels human in some ways and in other ways… not. The way Kedwin saw it, he’s got a crack in his soul.”

  She winced. “A crack?”

  “It didn’t look like a crack to me, but I can’t get a handle on it. It was almost like… a lock? A cage buried in the soul somewhere? Something is wrong with him. Is that why he moved to join our clan?”

  She shook her head. “His clan said he had no magic. Won’t teach him.”

  Pyaris snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I know. You can see it too? I can but no one else can seem to. Maybe you can testify to Da or give him some tips.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure they’ll believe us. The necromancer and the wanderer.”

  She snorted. “No one’s called me that in ages.”

  “But I still see you wandering in that heart.” Pyaris winked. “But come on. That boy is oozing magic right now. That’s actually what’s weird. Can’t you feel it?”

  She could in fact feel it, and it had obviously drawn Kedwin, so they weren’t alone. “At first I thought you had some artifact. Or something special in the cauldron.”

  “I wish. We did put in some silver, but that’s for stability, not power.” Her friend waved a hand.

  “These demons and spirits—do they have more magic? Less?”

  Pyaris’s eyes met hers and narrowed. “More. Much, much more. Why do you think Kedwin showed up? The right astral spirit can be bargained with, employed, even bound. It can change everything for a necromancer to snare the right spirit. Or partner with one. Instead of enticing wisps to my cauldron every night, I could have a permanent partner, maybe even a friend I could trust. Which would you pick?”

  Lara frowned down at Nyalin, disturbed at the image of necromancers circling like vultures, looking to exploit the power of this boy who couldn’t find a way to wield it himself. “I’d definitely pick a friend,” she murmured.

  Pyaris stepped closer and propped her hands on her hips as she, too, surveyed Nyalin on her bed. “My, my. He makes powerful magic, and he’s tasty looking too. Can I keep him?”

  “No.” She was startled by the coldness in her own voice but couldn’t bring herself to correct it.

  Pyaris grinned.

  “What?”

  “I see. I see what’s going on here. I suspected, but I wasn’t sure.”

  “What?”

  “You can’t hide from your oldest friend.”

  “No! I mean—ugh. You don’t see anything.”

  “I see perfectly well. You like him, clearly. How can I blame you?”

  “I don’t. Or… even if I did. Liking him—or not—doesn’t matter.”

  “Sorry.” Pyaris studied her face. “Sometimes we want most what we cannot have.”

  Her eyes flared. “No.” The indignant tone to her voice all but guaranteed she meant the opposite.

  “Ah. Obviously. No want there at all. Do you want everyone else to look but not touch?” Eyes twinkling, her friend looked back at Nyalin.

  “Maybe,” she admitted grudgingly.

  “He’s certainly special,” Pyaris murmured.

  “I know…” She shook her head, trying to throw off Pyaris’s spell.
Oh, not a real one, but Pyaris had it in her nature to draw the truth out of Lara. And to bring out her romantic, whimsical side. “Usually he has the opposite problem; he doesn’t usually emanate energy like this. He doesn’t seem to have any until I feed him a bit.” She paused. She’d never thought of it so clearly before, but that was the simplest way to put it. It was almost like he could use the magic she gave him, but he didn’t have any working magic to start with. The ability, but no well. But how was that possible? “Is there such a thing as an affinity for necromancy? The magic of the dead?”

  “No. That’s not how it works. All sources are equal in the eyes of magic. It’s humans that restrict them. Judge them. Which, now that you mention it…”

  Lara raised an eyebrow.

  “This attack got me thinking. If you are really going to be his ‘friend,’ then maybe you should learn how to break these curses too.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “But… I…”

  Pyaris scowled. “Are you truly his friend or not?”

  Lara hung her head. “You’re right. I just…”

  “You don’t need a cauldron. Here.” She picked a thin volume bound in black leather off the shelves of ingredients. “Breaking a curse is a useful skill for any kind of mage. If the man who’d brought him to me had known how, maybe he’d be healed already.”

  “Wait—a man found him?” she said as she accepted the book and tucked it into a fold in her crossover.

  “He showed up on my doorstep, asked for you, helped me add to the cauldron even. Surprisingly respectful. But he left without giving me his name. Oh, and look at this—he gave me five gold.”

  “So much?”

  “I know.”

  Lara frowned. How many people carry that much gold around on them? “Strange.”

  “Indeed. Maybe one of the attackers had some regrets?”

  Lara shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. We can’t know. But if you see the man again, try to get his name.”

  “Obviously. I won’t have much luck, but I would have tried either way. Listen—”

  A knock sounded at the door. Lara cracked it open and peered outside. Four guards whose faces she recognized peered back in. She opened the door. “Over there,” she directed them. “We need to take him back to our healers.”