Book of The Dead

Tyron heaved the last pile into the back of the cart. He groaned and rubbed his back. His Constitution might have toughened him up beyond what would have normally been humanly possible, but his Strength remained pitifully weak.

“That’s why you use the skeletons to do the heavy lifting,” Dove advised from his position atop one of the poles that rose from the back corner of the cart. “You’re a Mage, it’s undignified to lift things. We have minions and Strength-based allies for the manual labour.”

“I’m still waiting for my magick to top off,” Tyron grimaced.

The aftereffects of drawing on the arcane crystal too deeply were less than pleasant. Reduced energy replenishment was the lightest of it. Temporarily, his body was effectively intolerant of magick, which didn’t go well when he contained a constantly refilling well of the stuff within his body. As long as he did his best to burn off the energy and reduce the rate of intake, the symptoms were minimised.

If he’d been unconscious, like he’d been the first time, unable to deliberately rid himself of the energy, he’d have been at risk of death again. He had Munhilde to thank for pulling him out of it this time.

He was past the worst of it now and ready to fill himself back up, hence trying to reduce the amount of moving his minions needed to do.

“Is that all of it then?” Dove asked him.

“That’s it,” Tyron dusted off his hands. “We’re ready to go whenever.”

“You’d better go and say your goodbyes then. Looks like the crew has come out to see you off.”

Tyron turned to see the women and children gathering just outside the buildings. He groaned. This was not the sort of thing he was comfortable with. Elsbeth and Munhilde were both there as well.

Seeing no way he could graciously avoid it, he trudged back towards the courtyard and stood awkwardly for a moment, not sure if he should be the one to speak first.

It was Annette who broke the silence.

“We wanted to thank you,” she said. “If it hadn’t been for your help… we would probably all be dead.”

The Necromancer shrugged nervously.

“It’s, ah… no problem,” he said, “and it’s not over. You all need to be… uh… careful,” he finished lamely.

“We know,” the middle-aged widow nodded. “We’ll keep watch. Those bastards won’t get anything but arrows if they come back here again.”

He didn’t doubt it. He turned to leave, but hesitated.

“When the Slayers get here…” he started.

“We won’t say anything,” she assured him, her face determined. “After what you’ve done for us, we won’t sell you out.”

He was touched by the sentiment, but he didn’t want these people to die on his behalf.

“... be careful,” he said, after a pause, “if you get caught in a lie, you’ll be killed. They may… uh… sense the magick used here, so you won’t gain anything by trying to conceal me.”

Uncertainty flickered in her gaze, and he tried to smile, to let her know it was okay, but it looked more like a grimace. He stepped over to Elsbeth.

“It was good to see you again, ‘Beth,” he said. “I’m glad things… sort of worked out for you.”

The blonde girl smiled sadly.

“I hope everything sort of works out for you too,” she said and stepped forward to hug him.

He gave her a light pat on the back with one arm.

“You’re a rare beast,” Munhilde told him when Elsbeth let go, “an illegal Mage on the run. You’ve managed to gain levels without getting branded. They don’t like that. They’ll be coming for you even harder now.”

“Who… specifically are you talking about. The Slayers?”

“Them too,” Munhilde grinned. “You need help if you want to survive. Call on the Three when you’re ready. They’ll take care of you.”

I bet they will, he grumbled internally.

He didn’t trust himself not to say something he would regret to the priestess, he had no desire to antagonise her, or her patrons, so he simply nodded and turned. He walked back to the cart, and did not turn as he climbed up into the back as his remaining minions took up the burden and began to drag him back to the east.

He’d done something good here, helped people who were not in a position to help themselves. He wished he hadn’t been forced to kill people, yet he did not regret it.

“Well, that was all kinds of fucked up in the end,” Dove remarked from his post. “You’ve probably got what you need, though. Ready to graduate from being a weak piece of shit?”

“You think I’ve reached it then?” Tyron asked. “I’ve reached my goals?”

“I think after you bring your next round of bony boys into the world, you’ll have done enough. More than enough.”

Tyron glanced down at the bundles of bones he had placed in the back of the cart. They were still ‘cooking’, if he were to borrow a term, not yet fully saturated with death magick. He’d hoped to remain and complete his work at the farm, but he didn’t have the time. After speaking with Elsbeth last night, he had immediately begun to make his preparations to leave.

His desire to stay had only grown stronger after spending time with her, and he recognised and feared that impulse. He wouldn’t lose his chance at grasping hold of destiny to chase at the tail of his former crush. Elsbeth had her own path and she was facing it well. He would do well to do the same.

“I think I’ll work on a few things while we travel,” he said, “in a couple of days, we can stop, create the minions and then I’ll check my status.”

“That should give us enough space,” Dove grunted. “As long as we get far enough into the foothills, we shouldn’t have any issues with Slayers and marshals. They don’t give a shit beyond a certain point. Did you want to head back to the village from before?”

“No. We need to head somewhere new,” Tyron said. “I’m not satisfied that place is remote enough.”

“Fucking hell. More remote than that?”

The Necromancer took hold of a tightly bound bag strapped to his waist.

“We need to be far from anyone with the senses to detect what we are about.”

“Got some rituals you want to cast?”

“I just might.”

Elsewhere

Rufus cleaned the blood from his sword on some grass before he inspected the edge. He’d need to clean it properly back at camp, but it was important not to let liquids dry on the metal. Satisfied, he shoved the weapon back into its sheath.

Around him, various others from the college were doing the same, tending to their gear, checking the dead for cores and pulling arrows from the corpses.

“Did you get a few kills, Rufus?” a voice called from behind him.

Laurel stalked towards him through the woods, eyes flicking for targets. She was like a different person out in the wild, all signs of her usual, languid behaviour replaced by cold, deliberate efficiency.

“Three,” he said. “You?”

“Five,” she replied, a satisfied gleam in her eyes. “The experience probably isn’t anything great, but it’ll definitely help accelerate my growth.”

He nodded.

“I kind of expected there to be more of them, to be honest,” he flicked a hand at the rift-kin corpses that dotted the area around them. “For our first venture against the monsters, this has been a bit of a let down.”

Laurel scoffed.

“You really think they were going to send us anywhere difficult? To fight against the serious kin? I wouldn’t be surprised if some silvers have already swept through this area and we’re just mopping up the dregs. Even so, we should be grateful.”

She stalked over to one kin lying dead on the ground and planted her boot on it before pulling her arrow free. She inspected the arrowhead with careful attention before wiping it clean and stowing it away in her quiver.

“Normally we wouldn’t get even this taste until we’d advanced our Class, stuck in the college for a year. This little trip is going to cut months off of our training.”

Rufus jangled a bag on his waist.

“And earn a little coin along the way,” he smiled.

Laurel appraised him with that same, considering look. This trip had been good for Rufus. He’d been getting clingy, and emotional, which wasn’t like him. He’d been so focused on his goal for so long, perhaps finally moving toward it had knocked him off the trail. He was back on it now, and his eyes burned with new confidence.

“Do you believe what they had to say? About Tyron?” she asked him.

Any satisfaction fled from his face at the mention of that name and he stomped closer.

“Keep your voice down,” he growled. “You want the others to know we have something to do with him?”

“It would hardly be illegal if we did,” she said, one brow raised. “Besides, there’s no one in earshot, which you’d know if you were looking properly.”

He glanced around.

“You’re right. Sorry. Do I believe it? No. You know him as well as I do. He might be ahead in magick, taught himself a thing or two, but to cause a rift to break? No chance.”

“So you think they’re lying to us?”

“What I think, is that I don’t care if they’re lying to us. We know what he looks like, what he sounds like, and none of these other wannabes do. We have the advantage when it comes to hunting that bounty.”

“You don’t think Magnin and Beory would murder you in your bed for killing him?” Laurel asked. “You saw what they did to the mayor’s farm.”

“Do I believe it when they said his family were fine with it? No, that’s more bullshit, but do I believe the Steelarms go around killing Slayers they don’t like? Also no. Besides, there’s no guarantee they would ever learn it was us. I wouldn’t mind splitting the gold with someone else and putting their name on the achievement.”

“Rufus, that’s almost clever.”

“Thanks,” he grunted. “What do you think? Don’t give me any non-committal bullshit, either. I want something solid out of you for a change.”

She thought carefully as she continued to scan around.

“There’s more going on here than we realise. Tyron is a very capable magick user, and I believe he might have learned something dangerous enough to destabilise a rift, but that would be a long shot,” she conceded. “But I’m starting to think similarly to you. Who cares what else is going on? Tyron Awakened at the same time we did, he can’t be very strong yet. No matter who finds him, he won’t put up much of a fight, and someone is going to get that bounty, I don’t mind if it’s me. Though I wouldn’t want many people knowing I was the one who did it.”

Rufus grinned, but Laurel shook her head in warning.

“The chances we manage to track him down are almost nil. Keep that in mind. We are sweeping through the middle of nowhere, going from here all the way to the mountains. It’s not as if we can just sneak off on our own. We’re here for the kin.”

“I understand that,” he assured her, “I just wanted to reach an understanding in case the impossible happens.”

“Gather in five! Move it, slugs!” came a roar from a distance off.

“Better keep moving then. See you tonight?” Rufus said.

“Until we leave the wilds, my tent is for sleeping only,” Laurel denied him.

He shrugged. Might as well try his luck with someone else then.