Book Of The Dead

Trenan tried not to feel intimidated in the presence of the Necromancer. Without his armour, he didn’t look nearly as large, but with so many undead, watching silently, it was unnerving being in his presence.

“W—we wanted to see what was happening after the… the spell.”

Fucking hell. Don’t stumble over your words like a damned weakling.

If the mage noticed, he didn’t say anything, rather, he nodded his head in understanding.

“I was told the ritual was visible for quite a ways. It’s not surprising people would want to know what was going on.”

As he spoke, the mage rubbed at his throat, clearly uncomfortable. There was a rough quality to his voice, as if he’d been shouting.

“Come and sit,” he said and walked a little unsteadily toward a nearby rock.

Trenan tensed. Was he weak? Perhaps the spell had taken a lot out of him, leaving him worn and drained. Without looking, he reached behind and grabbed hold of Brigette’s wrist before she could do something stupid.

“You two sit over there,” the Necromancer indicated, “no need to let you get too close now, is there?”

“I suppose not,” Trenan said evenly, nudging his swordswoman unsubtly toward a stone.

For some reason, the mage found this amusing, a slight smile creasing his lips.

“I am weakened,” he admitted openly, watching the pair of bronze slayers with dark eyes. “The ritual drained almost all of my magick, and will leave me sickened for several days. But each moment that passes, I gain a little more strength.”

Thel leaders of the Hooligans tried not to react, though he heard Brigette grunt.

“Why would you admit that to us?” she snapped, unable to contain the outburst. “It’s like you’re trying to bait us into attacking you.”

The Necromancer grinned, but there was little humour in it.

“That might well be the case. I have created a new toy, but to properly play with it, I need the correct materials. I was wondering if you two were going to volunteer.”

Trenan firmly crossed his arms over his chest, making no move to reach for his weapons.

“If she wants to be turned into a fucking skeleton, she’s more than welcome to it. I’ll be fine right here.”

Those cold eyes turned towards Brigette.

“Well?” he asked.

She grit her teeth and sat down next to her team leader, hands clenched into fists by her side.

For his part, the mage simply shrugged, then accepted a wrapped parcel handed to him by a skeleton. After opening it, he reached in and picked out some dried fruit which he popped into his mouth.

“Rehydrating after a long ritual is key, I’ve found,” he said around the mouthful. “Keeping your energy up and preventing damage to the throat. Even as tough as I am, it can still get caught out by it.”

“Sounds rough,” Trennan spoke evenly, wondering to himself why this man would be speaking to them at all. What was he getting out of it?

“We wanted to confirm you were still in a right state to hold off the kin,” he asked directly. “If you need help holding off the rift, my team, and the others, can cover for a few days.”

“Already craving a little more experience?”

“I was focused on the safety of the people in the village.”

“Oh, you seem like you actually mean that,” the Necromancer sounded surprised. “An old-school slayer. Keep the peace, protect the realm, defend the people. There aren’t many around like that anymore.”

“What would you know about slayers?” Brigette ground out, still glaring up at the mage. “You aren’t anything like us.”

“Not that I ever really had a chance to be,” the Necromancer returned mildly, a slightly puzzled expression on his face. He watched the swordswoman for a long moment, noting the anger on her face, the tension in her posture, her clenched fists.

“You really don’t like me,” he said, finally, “which is understandable, to a point. I defeated you in our first encounter, which can create a grudge, I’m sure. My Class is illegal, which is another thing you can hold against me, but I feel like that would piss off someone like him,” he indicated Trenan with a thumb, “more than it would you. I’m monopolising the rift, which is irritating, sure, but only temporarily. I’m no threat to the village, as I’m certain you’ve gathered by now.”

He paused and chewed thoughtfully.

“No. I don’t think any of those are the issue, not on their own. Why are you so angry with me? Is it the grave robbing?”

Brigette didn’t reply, only sat in stony silence, quivering with suppressed emotion. Trenan couldn’t help but ask a question.

“You actually rob graves?” he asked distastefully.

“Not if I can help it. The vast majority of my minions were not sourced from cemeteries. I can say that much at least.”

“So you object to desecrating graveyards?”

“Of course not,” the mage scowled. “Who gives a shit what happens to your body after you’ve died? Ridiculous notion. No, I avoid it because disturbed graves will make any villager with half an Intelligence point scream ‘Necromancer’ at the top of their lungs.”

“That’s… interesting.”

He’d wanted to say ‘disgusting’, but managed to hold it in. The Necromancer smiled, indicating he knew full well how Trenan felt about him.

“You should be in a position, more than most, to understand the value of my Class,” he said, pointing a finger in Trenan’s direction. “Look around you. A single person is holding off all the kin from this rift, easily. How many of you are there in town? Ten? The only thing that needs to be sacrificed is the remains of the dead. Isn’t that a worthy trade?”

“It’s difficult to argue that it’s not,” Trenan shrugged, “but I don’t think Necromancers are illegal because of how ineffective they are. The opposite, more like.”

“A single person able to control an army of undead.”

The mage nodded thoughtfully.

“You might have a point there. Certainly, there have been several examples throughout history of Necromancers who’ve gotten out of control. Murdering innocent villages, raising the bodies and marching on the next.”

He shrugged.

“You know as well as I do that any slayer could do the same.”

“But we don’t get stronger for doing it,” Trennan growled. “We have to fight the kin.”

“You don’t get experience for killing non-kin? First I’ve heard of it. There’s another reason why the slayers don’t harm innocent people, and we both know what it is.”

Trenan shifted uncomfortably, Brigette maintained her glare.

“You know about the brand?” he asked hesitantly.

“I knew about it from a young age, more than most, to be honest. My family was in the business.” He shook his head as he chewed on another piece of fruit. “Terrible thing, what it can do. Even the strongest slayers can be brought down to their knees by that thing. The pain is unimaginable, as I understand it.”

“I’ll never have to find out,” Trenan said evenly. “There’s no reason for me to raise my weapon against an innocent.”

“Not yet,” the mage said. “What do you think would happen if you tried to attack me?”

Both Trenan and Brigette stiffened.

Fuck! I hadn’t thought of that, he cursed himself, suddenly unsure.

What would happen if he tried to cut down the man in front of him?

The Necromancer laughed.

“You hadn’t even thought about it. I can tell you haven’t been branded long. You think because I’m a ‘bad guy’, or evil in your eyes, that the brand can tell the difference? It’s not as complex a tool as that. If you cut a single hair on my head, you’d be on the ground screaming without me having to lift a finger. Same thing goes if you wanted to attack a thief, or a bandit, a murderer or rapist. You’re only allowed to be a deadly weapon because you can’t direct it against anyone who isn’t rift-kin. Not even to defend yourself… with a few exceptions.”

He chewed thoughtfully as the two young slayers sat in silence.

“You ever wonder why the slayers live so separate from most people? They stay in the keeps, for the most part, when they aren’t on expeditions. When they get too powerful and the magisters want to keep them close, they get shepherded into the golden quarter, a gilded cage. Why is that?”

Those cold eyes watched them carefully as he spoke.

“It’s for protection. Most people think the people are being protected from the slayers, but the brand does that. No, it’s to protect the slayers from the people. There are sick people out there. Crazy fucking people, who’ll do unspeakable things to someone who can’t fight back, someone powerful.”

He gave a short, harsh laugh.

“And then they wonder why slayers keep going rogue. Blowing up and murdering people, cutting down their own teammates in their sleep, carving through the populace until they can’t push through the brand any longer or they get cut down. Did they talk about that in your academy? The number of slayers who lose their minds?”

Trenan felt his mouth was suddenly dry. He’d never heard anything like this.

“That’s not true,” he managed to force out, though he wished he sounded more convincing.

The Necromancer nodded sympathetically, which only pissed Trenan off.

“You’ve got no reason to take my word for it. Ask a silver ranked slayer some time. They’ve had their brand upgraded and seen a few things around the traps. Once you’ve been at this for five or more years, if you’re still alive, you’ll be in that boat.”

So saying, the mage pushed himself to his feet with a sigh.

“Well, thank you for coming, I appreciate your concern for the people of the village. As you can see, things are under control. My skeletons are up the mountain as we speak, dealing with the kin. There shouldn’t be any need for me to rely on your services.”

He paused.

“Though I’ll keep you in mind should something dire arise.”

That was as clear a dismissal as Trenan had ever heard. Glad it was over without his soul being ripped out of his body, he stood, and was pleased when Brigette stood up beside him.

He was less pleased when she opened her mouth.

“I should apologise,” she said. “My hero died because of a Necromancer. But that wasn’t you, so I shouldn’t be showing up with this attitude.”

Trenan turned to stare at his old friend, wide-eyed. Brigette apologised? What was this character growth? Some sort of breakthrough? And did it have to happen right fucking now, in front of this mage?

If that was shocking, the Necromancer throwing back his head and laughing was the icing on the cake. For the first time, Trenan thought there was genuine mirth in the man.

“Ah, shit. That took me by surprise,” the Necromancer sighed. “It’s been so long since I laughed like that.”

Brigette was staring at him, murder written all over her face, and he quickly raised his hands.

“I don’t mean any offence. Of course not. It’s just the circumstances are a little unique. You're a swordswoman, correct?”

“I am,” Brigette confirmed, face still tight with anger.

“So I’m guessing your hero was Magnin Steelarm? Platinum ranked slayer, strongest of the eastern province?”

“That’s right.”

The Necromancer grinned.

“In which case, there is no need for you to apologise. My father did indeed die because of me. You have the right man.”

He gave a short, polite bow.

“Allow me to introduce myself. Tyron Steelarm, at your service.”

~~~

“Was that really a good idea, kid?” Dove asked after the two slayers had left. “According to the magisters, you’re good and dead. Why give someone your name?”

Tyron snorted as he walked back towards the cave, still a little ginger.

“They’re stuck up this mountain for years. Who are they going to tell? Even if they spread it around, who is going to believe them? The people in the damn village will deny everything if I ask them to, and once I’m done up here, what sign of me is going to remain?”

He really was weak. That ritual had taken more out of him than he’d thought, or perhaps the side effects of the mage candy were kicking in early. Had he really taken so much just after he’d Awakened? It was a miracle he’d survived. The next few days were going to be awful.

“But why take the risk at all? You could have just said, ‘yeah, it sucks what that Tyron dickhead did. He’s a stupid bitch who walks around with his head deep within his own arsehole. An incredible piece of shit. If I ever met him, I would spit on his face for a good half hour’, and then gotten on with your day.”

Tyron looked sideways at the onyx skeleton.

“I could have said all that, huh?”

“I can give you more.”

“No thanks.”

Dove was right, he didn’t have to reveal himself at all, could have given them any fake name he wanted. Even now it wasn’t too late. He could erase their memory of this meeting, overwrite it with something different, but he knew he wouldn’t.

“Ultimately, I think it’s because I want the slayers on my side,” Tyron sighed. “People like Trenan are the only thing that holds this place together, the only thing holding back the rifts from swallowing it all up. Magnin and Beory would have liked him. Someone like that, I want them on my side.”

“Well, they arent. If anything, you were deliberately making that girl angrier. Did you see the look on her face when she left? If looks could kill, I would be… still dead.”

“But she’ll be back. They both will. Eventually, they are going to want the full story, and if I give it to them, there’s a chance they might be on my side. For that chance, I’m willing to risk a lot.”

“Why?”

“For revenge,” Tyron said simply. “Why else? No matter how powerful I get, having help, people on the inside, who can work against the magisters, will be invaluable.”

He brushed aside the blanket and held it so Dove could follow him into the cave.

“Now there’s so much I need to think about. Developments with my Class, advancing my abilities, everything I learned from Poranus. There’s so much. Good thing I’m stuck here for a few more weeks.”