Necromancer Read online

  “What’re you saying?”

  I sighed. “Rich people don’t join guilds. Isn’t it beneath you? I’ve never heard of an aristo getting her hands dirty with the undead. But I get it. You’re pretending to come from an Eastside slum, except you aren’t pulling it off. For one, you’re too haughty.”

  Her expression softened, but fire still burned in her eyes. “No, I’m not.”

  “Go back to your rich papa and momma and tell them all about your exciting jaunt across the river, where you got to mingle with the peasants. Impress your brothers and friends with your daring tale of visiting the Guild. Oh how they’ll ooh and aah. It’s all been a bit of fun. No harm done.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “How do you know I’m not from the slums?”

  I tugged my right ear. She gasped and fingered the jeweled gold loop piercing her own smooth earlobe. I tapped my chest below my throat, and her fingers flew to the chain that hung around her neck, its pendant hidden beneath her shirt.

  “And your hair is tinged with green,” I added. “You didn’t scrub it enough.”

  “Kristach.”

  I chuckled and turned away. “I’m going for lunch. Hurry home before dark. I’m sure a Black and Red can escort you, my lady.”

  “Stop calling me that. The Guildmaster said I was your apprentice. You can’t abandon me. You have to do what he says.”

  I kept walking. Surely Fortak wasn’t in on the charade, trying to trick me? Impossible. He’d never get involved in something so trivial, even for a big joke at my expense. Something wasn’t right, but my stomach had taken control of my brain. I slipped into Petooli's, chasing the wafting aroma of roasted orjak and southern spices.

  “I’m your apprentice,” she said.

  I glanced back. She struggled against the iron grip of the Uk bouncer. She took this far too seriously.

  “Go home,” I said.

  I doubted she’d stand out in the street too long. I’d take a leisurely lunch alone and then head home for a nap.

  I loved Malkandrah. It was the most magnificent metropolis ever built. Rainclouds had rolled in during my lunch but the downpour had graciously waited until I reached my apartment above an inn. I lived halfway up Kand Hill, close to the Artisan District. It was a hike from the Guild but I preferred the separation.

  I climbed the steep, rickety staircase to my fourth-floor garret and settled into my favorite chair by the window. It was an uncomfortable seat, but I felt more connected to the city when I could stare out at it.

  I pulled the stopper on my beer bottle and gazed across the sagging tiled roof of the tenement across the road. Beyond stood rows and rows of buildings lining the hillside. Rain pelted the window, running in dirty rivulets onto the rotten sill. So peaceful now that I had gotten rid of that irritating girl. I gulped my beer.

  A knock at the door startled me.

  “Are you in there? You’ve a visitor,” Mother B. said.

  “Come in.”

  She squeezed into the room sideways, huffing and puffing, pressing her enormous bosom against the door. I’d never figured out how she heaved her rotund self up and down the stairs, and why such exercise didn’t reduce her weight. Sweat glistened on her scarlet face.

  “You could have sent him up.” I patted the bed beside my chair.

  She slumped down and its frame creaked and groaned. “This place will be the death of me.”

  I grinned. She was the best landlady I’d ever had, the only one who never judged me. My glance swept to the open door and dim hallway.

  “So who’s the visitor?”

  The girl from the Guild stepped into my room.

  I gripped the arms of my chair and sucked in a breath. What was she doing here?

  She looked like a drowned rat. She scrubbed her hair with a soaked towel and pulled at her skirt to stop it from clinging to her legs. Her glare said it all, but I had no sympathy.

  “I told you to go home.”

  “You ran away and left me in the street.”

  “No, I went for lunch. You should have gone home to papa.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m your apprentice.”

  “No, you’re not.” I sighed. “The Guildmaster’s playing a cruel practical joke on me. You’re collateral damage.”

  She continued to drip water on the floorboards. I became conscious of Mother B. watching our exchange, her eyes wide.

  “I’ll arrange a carriage to take you home, my lady,” I said, and waved one arm imperiously.

  “My name is Ayla, and I’m not going home.” She clenched her jaw.

  What was it with this girl?

  “The Guildmaster warned me you were stubborn,” she said.

  Had he now? Well that undermined me from the get-go.

  “He was very explicit that I was to be your apprentice.” Her voice softened. “I want to be your apprentice.”

  “Why can’t she be your apprentice?” Mother B. asked. “The company would be good for you.” She winked at the girl.

  I waved my finger at her and raised my eyebrows. I wouldn’t have them ganging up on me.

  “But it’s not my business.” She scrambled to her feet with a groan. “I’ll send up hot stew.”

  Ayla squeezed into the corner to let her by. The door shut behind the huge woman but the girl and I continued to glare at each other until we no longer heard the stairs creak. Ayla laid a dry towel on the bed and sat on it. Her gaze settled on the jumbled pile of books on my tiny shelf.

  I exhaled noisily. “Go home or I’ll find out who your father is and summon him to fetch you.”

  She snapped her head toward me. “Don’t. Please. I left home for a reason and I’m not going back.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. The east city is not safe for the daughter of an aristocrat. You—”

  “I can take care of myself. I found you here, didn’t I?” She sneezed and blew her nose on a soaked handkerchief.

  I rubbed my jaw. I liked her tenacity and it intrigued me that she thought she wanted to be a necromancer. Don’t get involved, Maldren. I don’t like partners and an apprentice had to be worse. I had a mystery to solve. What in Lak’s name had caused that street fire? She’d only get in the way.

  “I think it’s brave what you do,” she said before I could speak. She pushed her disheveled, damp hair behind her ears.

  I blinked twice. “It’s dangerous. I don’t think anyone’s called me brave before. Corpse-lover, filthy necro, death bringer, shadow scum, and worse. Brave, not that I recall.”

  She chuckled. “You’re funny.”

  I’d been trying to scare her off. Clearly I needed a better plan.

  “Thanks. That’s another new one.” I leaned forward. “Look, you think you want this but you don’t, trust me. You’ll be hated, spat at, derided, ostracized, and beaten up. That’s just from the living. The dead will torture you, try to rip you apart, trick you, scramble your mind, or possess you. Did I mention that it was dangerous?”

  “Yet you do it.” Her deep brown eyes studied me. “You haven’t asked me why.”

  I jerked my head in her direction and reclined in the chair, sipping my beer. It never hurt to listen.

  “When my mother died, I didn’t understand how she could leave me. She hadn’t even said good-bye. No one answered my questions, not even Father.”

  She smoothed her hair and then her shirt.

  “The only person to help me was a necromancer. He…contacted her, and we…”

  Her eyes filled with tears and she dabbed them with her handkerchief. She cleared her throat but her voice wavered.

  “We talked. Mother and I. She explained everything, told me it wasn’t my fault, that I hadn’t done anything wrong. I only found peace because of that kind, patient necromancer.”

  I knew that I should feel like a real shit, but I had a gut feeling she was playing me.

  “Please teach me. This is my big chance. Don’t reject me.”

  “It’s not up to me. It
doesn’t work like that. You either have latent magic or you don’t. It can’t be taught.”

  “Oh. Do I have it? Can you tell?” She searched my face.

  I put down my beer, fashioned a Perception spell, and let it seep into the room.

  “That tingles,” she said.

  So she was magic-sensitive, but that didn’t mean she could wield it. In my mind, the invisible spell rippled across her and rotated around her body. The vortex increased its velocity, tugging at my magic, drawing it into her.

  “I feel that,” she whispered, eyes wide. “What’s happening?”

  She definitely had it. I dispatched tiny stabs of magic into the vortex and she glowed violet in my mind’s eye. I’d expected yellow. What did violet mean? I rubbed my nose and nodded, largely to myself.

  “You have a latent ability.”

  She leaped from the bed and stood before me as I sat in the chair.

  “I knew it. So I can be your apprentice now? You’ll teach me?”

  Her soaked clothes clung to her, dripping water into a growing pool on the floor, while her gaze burrowed into my soul. Damn girl was like a cling spirit and would likely grow into a succubus.

  Lak and all his demons! I’d regret this.

  “All right,” I muttered, holding my hands before me in case she tried to hug me or something. “I’ll show you life as a necromancer. Just a trial, mind.”

  “Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

  “Now go and fetch those stews Mother B. mentioned, and ask her to find you a room for a few nights. I’ll pay.”

  She sneezed.

  “Then, for Belaya’s sake, take a hot bath before you catch damp fever. Let me enjoy my beer in peace.”

  I turned back to the window. Crazy girl. Still, all I had to do was drag her round some death-stench crypts, give her a few scares, and then I’d be rid of her. My plan couldn’t fail.

  I hesitated at the street corner. Hard to believe that so many buildings had stood here just last night. My stomach turned. Despite the warm day, I shivered, remembering neighbors slaughtering one another. My hands trembled. Had I really wanted to strangle that woman?

  Ayla pushed in front of me, taking in every detail, sniffing the odor of smoldering wood.

  The entire length of a city block had burned to a heap of smoldering timber and broken brick. A few buildings remained, scorched but intact. How they’d escaped the inferno was beyond me. Solemn work crews shoveled debris into carts, while their kalag ate from nosebags and shuffled their feet as if they sensed the morose mood. The overcast sky painted a tapestry of grays on the street, reminding me that even life and death wasn’t black and white.

  “What are we doing here?” Ayla whispered.

  “Looking for clues. Like that.” I pointed out a soot-stained shaft in the middle of the road, yawning wide like the entrance to the underworld. Its metal frame had melted and twisted and the wooden supports resembled flaking rods of charcoal.

  A figure dressed in a brown tunic and hat caught my eye. He stood partially hidden behind a mound of rubble, toward the end of the street where the wights had appeared. He didn’t seem remotely interested in what was going on. The wide brim of his hat concealed his eyes, but I had no doubt he was watching us. Why?

  Ayla had been talking, but I obviously wasn’t listening.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I said what makes you think this fire wasn’t an innocent mistake? An unwatched hearth fire or dropped lantern?”

  “A street fire does not boil sewer water. Ever been in a sewer?”

  She shook her head slowly and scrutinized the manhole. Of course she hadn’t.

  “Sewers are damp, wet places,” I said.

  “Not a place a fire would start.”

  “Exactly.”

  She stepped into the street. “We’re not going to solve the mystery skulking here.”

  I snorted and slumped against the wall. There had to be more clues. My gaze roamed the street. The brown-clothed man had disappeared.

  Ayla leaned precariously over the manhole shaft and peered down inside. Then she sat, swung her legs over, grabbed a hold of something I couldn’t see, and headed down. In an instant she was out of sight.

  I rushed forward. Damn, she was going to get into a heap of trouble down there. I hadn’t seen that coming. Since when did spoiled rich girls like dark, dirty holes?

  “It’s not deep.” Her voice was distant and echoing.

  By the time I reached the top of the shaft there was no sign of her. Fifteen feet below, a large sewer pipe ran beneath the center of the street. The rungs of the ladder looked decidedly unstable, so I climbed down carefully then jumped into a thick sludge of debris, fecal matter, and soot that rose up to my ankles.

  Ayla came out of the dark, sloshing through the filth. Dirt and other unmentionables speckled her shirt and beige skirt.

  “There’s a wider tunnel a short ways behind me.” She grinned. “This is so exciting.”

  “You know you’re filthy and you’ve got spiderwebs in your hair?”

  She poked the tip of her tongue from the corner of her mouth, which I figured meant she was deep in thought.

  “I think I’ll live,” she said. “Spiders don’t scare me, so I wish you’d stop trying to.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Stop that!” Her eyes flashed in the shadows. “So what’re we looking for, Master?”

  The sewer sloped downhill toward the distant harbor. Shafts of light poured in from the street above at regular intervals as far as I could see in both directions.

  “The fire started that way. Hopefully some clue remains.” I headed downhill.

  The curved ceiling was low and forced me to stoop, though Ayla walked upright, ignoring the webs and roots that brushed her hair. We splashed forward, kicking up sludge that caked onto our legs and my robe. The horrendous stench of burned shit seared our nostrils. Ayla gagged often, but I had no desire to tease her. I’d have puked myself if I hadn’t learned the trick of breathing through my mouth.

  It was eerie not to hear the constant pitter-patter and squeaking of rats, though I stepped on plenty of their frazzled corpses. Ayla squished one underfoot and its guts burst out. I couldn’t pass up such a great opportunity to scare her, so I trickled magic into the corpse, quietly, invisibly. The rat screeched and scrambled to its feet. Its eyes pulsed scarlet. Ayla cried out and leaped back against the brick wall. It bared its teeth and limped away, dragging the string of its innards.

  “But it was dead,” she said and stared after it.

  I was animating it with my magic—no trace of the creature’s soul remained—but I wasn’t going to tell her that. Just for effect, I cast a tiny Cleansing Shield, turning the air chill. She shivered, eyes wide, and I fought hard not to laugh aloud.

  We trudged onward, and each time we stepped into a shaft of light beneath an open manhole, the sounds of muted conversations and the dragging of shovels drifted down. The going became difficult as we clambered over splintered timbers and smashed bricks.

  “Do necromancers spend a lot of time in smelly sewers?” she asked.

  “Usually crypts and catacombs. I warned you it was a dirty job.”

  I scraped a clump of algae from the wall and flicked it at her. She leaped aside.

  “Yuk! Stop that.” She sniffed. “But sometimes you help people by talking to their dead loved ones?”

  “I thought you knew all about necromancers?”

  “I do. You guide people’s souls when they die, so they can rest, and protect their mausoleums from body snatchers and undead.”

  I nodded. “Those are the easy jobs. Our main purpose is to keep the city safe.”

  The stone-lined sewer distorted my chuckle into an evil cackle. Our shadows stretched menacingly before us.

  “Horrendous beings lurk in The Gray,” I whispered. “They voraciously strive to eat or corrupt the living. If people knew what we kept at bay, they’d never sleep at night.”
/>   She peered up and down the sewer and shivered. My plan was moving along nicely.

  As we progressed, the walls showed signs of greater damage, many of them cracked and crumbling or smoothened as if they had been in a furnace.

  “It’s not going to catch fire again, is it?” she whispered.

  “I think we’re safe enough. Let me know if you get too hot.”

  She snorted.

  Just beyond the light beaming down from the next shaft, we stumbled upon a body burned beyond all recognition, its limbs arranged in impossible directions.

  A faint, luminescent miasma swirled out of the blackened body. It wafted with the breeze that ran along the sewer, then darted back on itself, knotting and looping, forking to form an expanding web of transparent threads. We became bathed in its pale blue light.

  Ayla gasped and pressed against the wall. I noticed the reflections of blue and white in her darting eyes.

  The non-corporeal tendrils rocketed toward her, their tips probing her arms, entwining them. Then the strands spread across her torso and she twitched under their touch. The web expanded, the writhing threads thickening like vines. They coiled around her thighs and zoomed under her skirt.

  “What is this? What are they doing?” she asked, surprisingly calm.

  I realized my mouth was open, so I snapped it shut. It took magic to entice these things, and I’d never heard of them seeking out the living like that. Why her?

  Green flashes sparked along the strands, flooding the sewer in rippling patterns of blue and green. Geysers of luminescence erupted from the ground beneath the corpse to fill the tunnel.

  Her eyes sparkled and she beamed with delight, waving her arms and watching the glowing threads strive to keep up.

  Hmm, enough of this. We weren’t here to have fun.

  I trickled a gentle Dispel into the air, then stamped my foot, splashing sewer water everywhere. The threads detangled from Ayla and dived back into the corpse, fizzing and twirling. When they were gone, the darkness pushed in.

  Her smile faded and she blinked several times. “Were they ghosts?”

  Not a bad guess. “Cling spirits. You’ll know a ghost if you see it. These are the residual life energy when you strip away the soul. A life shadow, if you like. They tend to hang around after the soul has moved on.”