So here's the deal
Aug. 28th, 2006 06:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrI was supposed to work on Sandstorm this weekend.
Necromancer ate my soul instead.
So you get it today instead, and I'll probably have Sandstorm for you on Wed.
This story is the source of much aggravation. It was meant to be the first of a trilogy, with each story focusing on a different pairing. Now I'm not sure WTF it's doing, except not what I wanted. =_= For all that I pretty hate and despite it for not doing what it's told, I've been informed by an Imp, a Brat, and a Commie that it's not a total wash.So it's all their fault if everyone hates it.
Fair warning: This story started out at 30 pages. It's now 46, and part one of who the fuck knows.
In two sections, since LJ gets mad if I try to post a 46 page story at once.
I. The Necromancer
He walked with his head down so the hood fell forward, shadowing his face though he ached to feel the sun on it. It was inadequate as warmth went, but the best he could get outside the flask tucked beneath his tunic.
Silence fell as he walked along, matching him step for step. He knew without looking up that people were stopping in the middle of their chores, their conversations, to stare at him.
A short figure dressed in dark, bedraggled clothes that were meant to be worn in winter, not the middle of summer. They watched him, hoping to catch a glimpse of ‘death-pale skin’ or perhaps the ‘bones and blood’ his type always carried to perform their evil spells. Later, he knew, they would all claim to have smelled death on him, to have seen grave dirt in the folds of his robes.
His thoughts were interrupted by a child’s laugh as two of them ran across his path, one obviously chasing the other, playing a game that made them oblivious to the morbid curiosity and barely restrained hostility of the adults.
The chaser fell with a sharp cry on the hard cobblestone street, and Koray reached unthinkingly to help her up.
“Don’t touch my child you filthy monster!” A woman shrieked, and it was immediately joined by a cacophony of threats and epithets. Koray drew his hand back into the folds of his robe, feeling colder than ever. “My apologies,” he said, though he didn’t think the furious, trembling woman heard him – not that she would care if she had.
Tamping down on the familiar pain, telling himself it was all right, it didn’t matter, he was used to it, Koray pulled his head further into his hood and continued on, laughing bitterly at the way the people parted to let him pass.
Because as strong as their hate was, their fear was greater. If you angered a normal mage, the worst he could do was kill you.
Necromancers could do far worse than mere death.
Ignoring them, focusing only on the street and where he had to go, Koray left the people behind and made his way to the castle. He stopped at the gate and reached into his tunic, pulling out a small scroll and presenting it to the guards.
He pretended not to see the way they flinched, ignored the way they refused to touch the scroll. “The King is expecting you,” one guard managed, not looking at him as he motioned for the gate to be opened, then waved him inside.
“Thank you,” Koray murmured as he passed by them and into the castle proper.
The courtyard was simple stone, all of it well-laid and obviously of good quality, but simple all the same. Functional, but appealing for all that. He ignored the way guards and servants milling about stopped to stare at him.
Or tried. Everyone stared at necromancers. After fifteen years of it, he should be accustomed. He wished someone would teach him the trick of growing used to being hated and feared.
Why had he agreed to this audience? The King could have found another necromancer. Eventually.
Koray hunched his shoulders, fisting his hands to keep them from trembling as castle ghosts began to assault him – sapping his energy, pleading with him, crying, showing what had been done to them, begging him to help, the words all soundless because he had not the strength – nor the inclination – to give any of them voice. He shivered, cold, and pulled his robes more tightly around him, envious of those who could gain warmth simply by standing in the sun.
He presented his scroll, a royal order from the King, to the next set of guards. They backed hastily away, pointing down the hallway. Koray murmured a thank you and moved on, not waiting for a reply that would never come, hearing the way they muttered once they believed him well away.
Freak
Monster
Killer
Corpse lover
Blood drinker
The epithets were old, familiar, but they made him tired all the same. He passed through the doorway at the end of the hall, pausing only briefly to admire the bright paintings, the beautiful furniture, the soft rug and the way sunlight spilled across all of it. So much light and warmth.
Koray shivered and huddled in his robes, braced himself as he prepared to continue on past the waiting room and toward the throne room beyond. He began to move, feet trailing just a bit in the deep, soft carpet – then he faltered, stopped.
Just the slightest bit of warmth struck him, like the heat of distant flames, as he heard a door open. He turned, eyes widening in the shadows of his hood.
The Paladin. Bright steel armor edged with gold, deep violet under tunic, the starburst crest over his heart. The sheer warmth that emanated from him. Koray fisted his hands in the ragged ends of his old tunic, burying them deep within the folds of his robe, making his feet hold still before he did something stupid and painful.
He was as beautiful as all the stories said, tall and proud, the elegant lines of noble breeding combined with the experience of a soldier. Blonde hair with the faintest hints of red deep within, skin darkened by the touch of the sun, eyes as clear and blue as a summer lake.
Eyes that currently looked at Koray with as much fear and distrust as everyone else showed.
Somehow…he’d been stupid enough to hope. The Paladin. The greatest of Knights, blessed by crown and Goddess, sworn to defend and protect all who dwelt in the King’s realm. Surely this man, a holy warrior who had promised to defend all, would give him the benefit of the doubt.
It would seem not. Biting down hard on the inside of his cheeks, focusing on that pain, ignoring all the rest – the endless cold, the ghosts that lurked even in this sun bright room, the constant loneliness – he drove it back, shoved it away, focused on what he knew.
His world was death, not life.
“You are the necromancer,” the Paladin said.
“Yes,” Koray answered. “My name is—“
“This way,” the Paladin interrupted, though Koray couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not. “He’s been most anxious to see this matter finished. Why was I not summoned immediately?” He seemed to say the last more to himself, leading the way through the set of doors in front of Koray, down the hallway and past the guards stationed at the end.
“Your Highness,” the Paladin, falling to one knee before the King.
Who also looked exactly as the few rumors he’d managed to hear had said. Were all Kings fat? It must be nice, to be so well fed. And dressed. So much silk and lawn, jewels the like of which he’d never seen…
Koray narrowed his eyes, grateful as ever for the shadows that hid his face. There was something about the King he didn’t like. The gleam in his brown eyes seemed…wrong.
The ghosts in the room did not draw close, put off by the warmth and light of the unknowing Paladin. Koray fought the urge to move closer, to reach out and touch, see how warm the Paladin truly was.
The Paladin who feared him, disliked him, had not bothered even to hear his name.
He realized suddenly the King was speaking to him. “Majesty?” Belatedly he dropped to his knees, cringing at his own stupidity.
“Reveal yourself, Necromancer,” the King ordered.
Reluctantly, every part of him screaming a protest, Koray reached up and pulled back his hood, keeping his pale gray eyes fastened on the carpet. He knew what they’d see, how they’d react.
His skin was indeed pale. Certainly not “deathly” but if he bared enough skin to let the sun brown it, he’d freeze to death. Only his robes kept him warm.
Once his hair had been as black as pitch. Some of it still was, but there were streaks of white and gray in it now. Too many ghosts that he could barely control. Too many spells that left him aching for a warm touch.
His eyes, like his hair, had changed. He thought maybe they’d been green, once, but he no longer remembered for certain. Now they were pale grey, the exact shade of the specters that sapped his strength, tried to speak to him.
Barely eating, the constant sapping of his spirit by ghosts, the high cost of necromantic spells – all had left him far too thin. The final touch on giving him the very image all held of a necromancer.
Perfectly logical explanations for his appearance, but no one had ever cared to search for them. He could see in the faces of the King and Paladin that they were the same as all the rest. It would be depressing if he let himself care. Which he didn’t. He refused to. Besides, if he angered either man the Paladin would leave his sight that much sooner, and take that warmth with him.
“For all our sakes, Necromancer,” the king said at last, “I hope you solve our problems quickly.”
Koray bowed his head low. “I will do all that is within my power, Majesty.” He ignored the way the King grimaced at his words, no doubt imagining all the horrific, terrible things Koray could do.
“Sorin,” the King said, “take him. Tell me how it all goes.”
“Yes, Majesty.” Standing, the Paladin motioned for Koray to follow, spinning neatly on one heal and striding from the throne room. Halfway down the long hall he turned off onto a narrow hallway Koray had only noticed before because of the ghostly maid lurking just in front of it, a sad, wistful expression on her face. She was young, and the blood dripping from her wrists told him all he needed to know. A maid used as a toy by a noble. He didn’t need to give her voice to figure that out.
Goddess he hated places such as this.
Realizing he’d fallen behind, he hurried to catch up with the patiently waiting Paladin and started to apologize – but the Paladin, Sorin he supposed, turned away before he could speak and continued on his way.
Shuddering at the dark and cold, Koray stayed as close to Sorin as he could without upsetting the man, fisting his hands tightly in the folds of his robe to keep from touching. Goddess, to touch…to not be cold, for even a few precious seconds…a dream so impossible it hurt.
He’d always held out hope. Just the faintest hint, with no more life to it than the ghosts around him, but…if the Paladin himself was repulsed on sight…there was no reason to keep hoping.
“What have I been called for?” he asked softly.
For a moment it didn’t seem as though Sorin was going to answer, and by the time he did it became unnecessary.
Necromancy. The room Sorin led him into reeked of it – copper and sulfur, a strange not quite mint smell that bespoke a ghost recently arrived.
Except.
Koray frowned.
The body had been removed, but it didn’t take a necromancer to see that something horribly violent had occurred – from the fall of the blood it looked as though a fight had not gone well for someone.
“We want to know what happened,” Sorin said. “His Majesty’s cousin was killed three days ago. So far we have managed to keep it quiet, until the killer can be found, but time is running out. One of my men recognized the taint of necromancy. We thought perhaps another necromancer could solve the mystery.”
Koray nodded, fingers going absently to play with a strand of gray hair as he frowned, wrapping and twisting it around his fingers. “I assume you have no practioners of necromancy on the premises?” At least not known practioners. If they’d done what he suspected, then the King had no idea what lurked within his walls.
“No,” Sorin said, all but bristling at the idea.
“Of course not,” Koray said, tamping down on his impatience. “Why would you with a noble and brave Paladin on the premises.” On impulse he let go of his hair and reached out – and felt his heart break just a little bit more at the way the Paladin unthinkingly recoiled. He let his hand fall to his side. “A Paladin, at any rate.”
Sorin frowned at him, the insult obviously hitting its mark.
Koray continued on before he could speak. “There is no ghost here.” He frowned in thought and began to walk around the room.
A parlor, but one with a window that at this time of day received no sunlight, making it dim. Blood splashed seemingly everywhere. Koray sensed only two kinds, and a softly murmured word confirmed that only one of the parties involved had died of his wounds.
Murder always left ghosts.
There was no ghost present.
Softly Koray began to hum, shifting into chanting as he reached into a small pouch at his waist and withdrawing a small stick of incense. A simple touch set the incense alight, and the room rapidly filled with the sharp, faintly bitter scent of myrrh. Increasing the sound of his chanting, Koray walked the circumference of the small room seven times.
At the end of the seventh he extinguished the incense and shook his head as he tucked it away. “There should be a ghost here,” he said. “There isn’t.”
Sorin frowned at him, and Koray felt slightly better to realize it was from confusion, not disbelief. “I do not understand.”
“He was murdered, right? That should guarantee the dead man’s ghost would be in this room. Ghosts of that nature always haunt the place they die. There is no ghost here. Usually that only means a handful of things.” Koray drew a breath, gathering his thoughts. He might not have chosen this life, if that’s what it was, but it was his and he was good at it. People needed him whether they wanted to or not, and now the King needed him. He would do this, and do it well, and perhaps he could charge a night of warmth in return. Oh, Goddess, to be warm for just one night…
Determined, Koray focused his thoughts and continued. “Most of the time, it means the ghost was put to rest sometime before. There’s no way that’s possible in this instance.” He glanced around the room, then back at Sorin, who stared back – but had not moved from the doorway, well away from Koray. “In very rare instances, there simply is no ghost.” He shrugged. “I have yet to determine why anyone would be content to be murdered.”
“And the other reasons?” Sorin asked when Koray did not continue.
Koray glowered at the largest of the bloodstains, a rusty stain on the bright green and yellow rug on the floor. “I have only ever heard about it before,” he said, “and did not think I would ever see it. I think someone has somehow managed to steal his ghost.”
“How does one steal a ghost?” Sorin demanded, mistrust beginning to color his voice.
At the end of his patience, Koray shifted his glower to Sorin. “It can be done. I won’t bore you with the details, Paladin, as I doubt you truly care. No one ever cares to hear what a necromancer has to say. Simply know that a necromancer determined enough can snatch a ghost away from its dwelling place.”
“To what purpose?”
“Hard to say,” Koray said. No good would come of answering that question. Not all rumors of the dark deeds of necromancers were false. “If you want the answer to that and identity of the killer, it will take me some time to figure out.”
Sorin shook his head. “The King wanted this settled as quickly as possible.”
“If had merely been a matter of speaking with a ghost, as I had thought it would be, the matter would be over. But your problem is far greater than a mere murderer, Paladin,” Koray replied sharply. “A necromancer would not take a ghost for fun.” No, a spell like that…the cost would be great. Painful. Which would narrow his search. Whoever had cast the spell would probably still be quite weak, even after three days. “Do you want my help or not?”
“How do I know you are not attempting to play us for fools?”
Koray laughed bitterly. “Think what you like, Paladin. I take no joy being here; this castle is rife with malcontent spirits. I bid you good day.” He made to move past the man, but was halted by a motion – though it was awfully tempting to keep going, to see if the bravest and grandest of warriors would shriek like a little girl at the touch of a necromancer. “Yes?”
“Stay,” Sorin said. “By my command.”
“So good of you,” Koray said ungraciously. “What of my payment, then?”
Sorin frowned at him, blue eyes dark with mixed emotions. Koray could read none of them, and found it annoyed him. Generally people were easy to read, but other than uncertainty and annoyance he could not tell what the Paladin was thinking. “You will be rewarded handsomely in gold, Necromancer, never fear.”
“Gold?” Koray repeated contemptuously. “Tell me, Paladin, do I look as though anyone would ever except gold from me? Even you recoil at my touch, and you think anyone would look at me, let alone accept money? How charmingly stupid of you.” He flicked his fingers impatiently. “Food, for as long as I am here. Morning, midday and evening meals. Priests’ robes – old, unused ones.”
“Why would a necromancer have need of priests’ robes?”
“Why should I tell you?” Koray replied, glaring into those blue, blue eyes, gratified to see the annoyance there flare into genuine anger. The pretty holy soldier, it seemed, had a temper. “You would not even bother to hear my name, Paladin, why should you care what I wear? Food, robes, and when I am finished a night in your company.”
The look of utter confusion and near horror was almost comical.
Almost. Mostly it was depressing. “Never fear, noble and holy protector of all,” Koray said bitterly. “I intend you no harm. Merely a night in your presence.”
“Why?” Sorin demanded.
“I owe you no explanations, Paladin,” Koray said coldly. “Not yet. Those are my terms. Yay or nay?”
Sorin glared at him, temper making his eyes spark. It also stirred the holy power in him, and what a fine thing that must be to see in battle – minus the screams of the dying, the voices of the outraged, miserable dead. Koray fought a shudder at the unwelcome thoughts. “Not without an explanation. If you seek my company, I have a right to know why.”
“I have a right to a great many things,” Koray said, “yet never has a one been given to me. I will explain when I see fit.” He gave a slight nod, and the black and white strands of his hair tumbled over his shoulders. “But I promise, upon the Goddess whose star you wear, that I intend you no ill. I seek only respite.”
For a long, tense moment there was no reply. Finally Sorin nodded. “Very well, I agree to your terms. You had best hold up your end of the bargain, necromancer.”
“As I said before, Paladin, I will leave the role of hypocrite to you.”
“I am no hypocrite!” Sorin snapped, rage finally sparking, catching fire. “I would know the reason you say such things to me, necromancer! Such rudeness, all uncalled for. I have every right to punish you for your behavior.”
Koray laughed, the sound more bitter than ever. He moved closer, shoving his hair from his face, gray eyes fastened to clear blue. A mere step or two from the Paladin, he reached out a hand – and let it drop as the Paladin again recoiled. “Sworn to protect all those in need,” he said softly, and stepped through the door as Sorin moved hastily aside, “yet you reject those who need you most. I will begin my work in the morning.” He didn’t wait for a reply, merely pulled his hood up and strode down the hallway.
Sorin followed after him, anger once more tamped down to mere aggravation. “Where are you going?” he demanded.
“To rest,” Koray said tiredly, sick of it all. “I have not slept in a day and a half and the work ahead of me will be exhausting. Not that anyone cares. I am going to rest.”
“Where?”
“Certainly not in the room you never offered me,” Koray said flatly. Not that he’d accept it. He’d never get any sleep.
“So it’s true then?” Sorin asked. “Necromancers sleep in graveyards?”
Koray nodded, slowing down slightly so that he was closer to Sorin as they passed by a particularly nasty ghost, one who looked as though he would gladly add another strip of gray to Koray’s hair if given the chance. Which Koray had no intention of giving him. “Frequently.”
“Why?”
“Because it is the only place we’re allowed that has no ghosts,” Koray said.
Sorin stopped. “I thought—“
“Wrong. Just like everyone else,” Koray said nastily, rounding on the Paladin, fury overtaking him because this man should care, this man should want to help, should want to understand, should want to keep him warm, should welcome his touch—Koray bit back a cry of rage and despair, hating himself for caring because he shouldn’t care, not anymore. “There are other places I could sleep and be safe, but no one will permit me. No one ever permits us. So we sleep in graveyards. Now if you will excuse me, I have had all of the living that I can stand.” He ignored whatever reply Sorin made, stalking away through the hallways, only once stopping to ask a guard for directions.
Sorin glared after the necromancer, fighting an urge to strangle the rude, condescending, bloody confusing bastard.
Did the man purposely set out to be as confusing as he possibly could? Because very little of what he’d said had made sense, though it was patently obvious that he wouldn’t have minded if Sorin had joined the dead.
What in the name of the Goddess had he done so wrong? Something, clearly. The man had all but clawed his face off – and no real explanation offered. If this was how all necromancers behaved, no wonder they were so disliked!
Alfrey had been murdered. Brutally. Sorin had seen more men killed than he could count, but never had he seen something as brutal as Alfrey’s body. Pure rage had ended Alfrey’s life.
Pure rage had killed a friend. Sorin closed his eyes and focused on the energy, the strength, that ever flowed through him. He was no priest, he could not hear the words of the Goddess as a priest could. But her power flowed through him, to serve and protect her people. Since Alfrey’s murder the power of the Goddess within him had burned hot with anger, with rage. It had only grown since the arrival of the necromancer. A wrong had been committed. To correct it, he’d been forced to bring in one who practiced black magic. The Goddess was furious.
Who would want to kill Alfrey? And so brutally? He’d been a simple Priest, with no desire to harm anyone. His prayers had soothed thousands. His death would bring a great deal of grief. Murdered so brutally.
Black magic or no, he hoped the strange necromancer could solve the mystery.
No ghost…another necromancer had done the killing? Had he somehow never realized there was a necromancer on the premises? Surely not. The power of the Goddess had flared nearly out of control as soon as…
What was the necromancer’s name? Sorin frowned. Hadn’t the man said his name? He thought back over all they’d said, then rubbed his forehead. Well no wonder the man had been somewhat peeved. Demanding he find a murderer, a task that apparently would take some time, and neither Sorin – nor the King – had bothered to ask his name.
Sighing, Sorin wended his way through the halls back to the waiting room. He bowed and greeted the people who had gathered there in hopes of seeing the King before evening bells rang. He smiled at the women who held their hands out, grasping them and murmuring words of prayer – he was a soldier, not a priest, but the words of a Paladin always comforted them. He gradually made his way through the room and into the hallway beyond, nodding at the guards as he passed by them, and finally knelt before the King.
“Is the matter finished already then, Sorin?” King Rofell asked, waving away a page.
“Nay, Majesty,” Sorin replied, and quickly explained all that had passed.
Rofell grimaced as he finished. “Very well. As you like, Sorin. But see that he causes no mischief. Murder is bad enough, I will not have one of those vile blood drinkers making it all worse. Give him three days to solve the mystery. We cannot stall things more than that.”
“As you will it, Majesty,” Solin said, and rose when the King motioned for him to do so.
“Why does he want a night in your presence?” Rofell asked idly, his mind clearly elsewhere.
Solin frowned, thinking. “I do not know. He would not tell me. I will find the answer.”
“Do so,” Rofell said shortly. “I will not risk my great Paladin to a corpse lover.”
“Majesty,” Solin said with a last bow, refraining from pointing out that he was not the King’s Paladin. He was the sword arm of the Goddess, first and foremost. Turning neatly on his heel, he strode back the way he’d come and slowly made his way to the kitchens. He snagged a maid. “Have a meal prepared, for me to take to a guest.”
“A-a-at once, my lord!” the maid immediately thrust her tray of bread at another passing maid and vanished into the chaos of the kitchens, reemerging minutes later with a covered tray. “Is there anything else, my lord?” she asked breathlessly, cheeks flushed with heat, eyes bright with exertion and the fact that she was assisting the Paladin.
Sorin smiled and kissed the knuckles of her hand. “Thank you very much. Have a good evening.”
“Yes, my lord!”
Taking the tray, Sorin avoided the main halls and took the back corridors and eventually reached the covered path that connected the castle to the royal cathedral. Instead of entering the enormous, towering cathedral he made his way around it, toward the field beyond and the graveyard there.
What manner of man willingly spent the night in a graveyard?
One who embraced death without dying, he supposed. What was it the necromancer said while he was shouting? Something about it being the only place he was allowed where he’d be safe. What did that mean? Be safe from what? People? Ghosts? What had he meant by ‘allowed’? Necromancers weren’t forbidden anywhere, strictly speaking…though certainly they were unwelcome.
Questions and more questions.
Sorin hesitated at the old, iron gate that sealed the graveyard off from the rest of the grounds. The last time he’d been here, he had not yet been a Paladin. They had buried Rofell’s father. In three days they would bury Alfrey. Shoving away thoughts of his dead friend, for dwelling on them now would not help his attempt at reconciliation, Sorin wandered through the graveyard searching out the short, hooded figure of the necromancer.
How did one become a necromancer? He’d always wanted to ask that, hearing all the stories. Men who drank blood and collected bones and ashes, always smelled of the grave…though he didn’t recall the necromancer smelling of anything more than myrrh.
Expensive incense, that. Even royalty winced paying for myrrh. How did a necromancer who looked like a homeless waif come to have even a small quantity in his possession? Sorin shook his head and stowed the questions away for later.
He paused at the sound of a door creaking, and looked up to see a familiar, hooded figure standing at the doorway of a small tomb – one which housed the body of a former Paladin. Sorin frowned. “Hail, necromancer. I’ve brought your evening meal.” He approached slowly, holding the tray out as an offering. He wished the man would remove his hood, it felt too much like talking to a shadow with it up.
And he wanted to see the man’s strange hair again, if he were honest. It looked as though someone had taken a paintbrush and streaked his hair with lines of white and silver, making it look like the mismatched hair of a child’s rag doll. “I also wanted to apologize, necromancer.” He hesitated when the man did not reply, and set the tray on the top step of the tomb. “I behaved poorly, earlier today. My only excuse is that Alfrey, the murdered man, was a dear friend of mine. My name is Sorin, as you already know. I should have asked yours, and I ask it now, if you are still willing to share it.”
For a moment there was nothing but silence, and Sorin began to wonder if he was just wasting his time.
“Koray,” the necromancer said softly, face still hidden in the depths of his hood. “Thank you for the food.”
Sorin shrugged. “Are you certain you would not like…better quarters?”
That sad, bitter laugh again. The sort of sound Sorin ached to soothe…but how did a holy man soothe one who practiced the black arts? They simply did not mesh. “As I said before, Paladin, there are no other safe quarters for me where I would be welcome.”
“What do you mean safe?”
“Why do you suddenly care?”
Sorin tightened his hands into fists, feeling his temper trying to rise at that infuriating tone – as though the man had every right to immediately be angry. “I meant no offense before! I have said I am sorry. I ask because I do not understand!” He turned stiffly away. “Clearly I am disturbing you. Good night, Koray.”
“There are no ghosts here.”
Sorin stopped, turned around. “Your words make no sense. You’re a necromancer. Your craft is dead things. What have you to fear from ghosts?”
“Your craft is war, Paladin – does that mean you have nothing to fear from it?”
The words brought Sorin up short. “A solid hit, necromancer. So ghosts can harm? Yet there are no ghosts in a place where the dead are gathered?” Sorin frowned, heartily confused, and wondered why he’d never heard of such a thing before.
“Of course ghosts cause harm,” Koray said contemptuously. “Most ghosts are the product of dark emotions built to such strength that even death could not extinguish them. Yet they are dead. They must have someone living through whom they can communicate. That communication taxes the living person who serves as their voice. The necromancer. As to graveyards…” Koray swept an arm out over the graveyard. “What is this, Paladin?”
“What is it?” Sorin asked, confusion growing. “A place of burial?”
Koray laughed softly.
Sorin hesitated, then gave a mental shrug. “A request, necromancer? Remove your hood? I dislike talking to a shadow.”
Abruptly Koray stopped laughing, and Sorin could tell he’d startled the man. But slowly, clearly with heavy reluctance, Koray drew back his hood.
In the slowly gathering dark, and in the middle of the graveyard, Koray’s odd features took on a strange, dark beauty. Sorin was startled by the thought. The man dabbled in things men should not touch. Even now the power of the Goddess in him seemed restless, unsettled, as if it wanted out and was contained only by the will of the Paladin. But the thought would not be displaced. Koray was strangely beautiful, with his odd hair and too-pale skin, those silver-gray eyes and surrounded by fading sunlight.
Necromancers were confusing.
Koray spoke, breaking the strange spell that Sorin felt had fallen over him. “Yes, a place of burial. But what about this place, Paladin, makes it special?”
Sorin frowned in thought. Then his brow cleared. “It’s consecrated.” Which, theoretically, meant a necromancer should not be able to wander about in it. But it was accepted that necromancers slept in graveyards – Koray had admitted they did. Everyone said necromancers were unholy…was it merely because a graveyard was filled with dead?
“Exactly. Land blessed by the Goddess. Souls can rest here in peace…and those with restless spirits would not haunt here. Ghosts always haunt either the place they died or the place where their discontent was greatest. Those restless spirits would not come here, as the consecrated ground would either drive them away or force them to eternal rest.”
“I see,” Sorin said, fascinated despite himself. In all he’d ever heard of necromancers, he was starting to realize how little he actually knew. “But how does one of black magic come to tread so lightly on sacred ground?”
He swore he could see the way Koray recoiled, drew into himself, the momentary softening of his hard face once more freezing over. “If you think what I practice is nothing but black magic, even after what I have told you, then I am finished telling you anything. Good night, Paladin.” Stooping Koray snatched up the tray of food and then vanished into the depths of the old tomb, door creaking shut behind him.
Sorin repressed the urge to follow him and demand answers.
Honestly, the man was proving to have more thorns than the late Queen’s rose garden.
Sighing, Sorin left to attend evening drills and then hopefully to a meal and bed.
Koray ignored the looks of those who passed him by, focusing all his attention on the crystal swaying back and forth in front of him. Earlier that morning, when no one else would be about, he had taken it to the room where the murder had taken place and charged it with traces of energy that still remained, focusing the crystal on the dead man – Alfrey, Sorin had called him.
Hopefully there was enough energy charged to the crystal that it would lead him to other sources of it. It flashed and sparkled in the morning sun as he strode through an open courtyard, having chosen to start at the front of the castle and slowly wend his way through it.
Suddenly it quivered, began to swing harder to the left. Catching his breath, Koray followed it, not minding his feet, attention only for the swinging crystal. He slowed briefly at a door – distantly noting it did not look like the others. As it opened easily beneath his hand he had the sense that it should have been locked.
Then he fell to his knees, doubling over, crystal tumbling to the floor as he bit back sobs of pain.
Oh, Goddess he was in the dungeon. There were no signs of life, but the signs of death—Koray couldn’t stop the tears of pain that streamed down his cheeks. Goddess, he couldn’t do this. There had to be another way to find answers…
…But the crystal had been adamant. A clue to the demise of Alfrey was here in the dungeon, amidst the fear and despair, the hate and rage.
Already he could see a ghost – a soldier, from the uniform, throat a bloody mess. Had he been killed at the foot of the long stairs? By a prisoner? A fellow guard? He looked angry, mouthing words Koray didn’t want to understand until it became necessary. Scrabbling at the wall for a handhold, cringing to think what might be on it, Koray slowly stood up, then stooped to retrieve his crystal.
Taking a deep breath, he blocked out everything he could, ignoring even the pain that wracked his body as he resisted the efforts of the angry ghosts attempting to steal his energy. A few whispered words called forth a ball of glowing light – pale violet, but powerful, flooding the area immediately surrounding him with light. Focusing his attention once more on the crystal, he willed it into acting, searching, resuming the hunt for the energy it was imbued with.
Slowly the crystal began once more to turn, picking up speed, swinging heavily to the right, and with slow, halting steps Koray obeyed, hunching, cringing in his robes as he wandered deeper into the dungeons – at least it appeared they were no longer in use.
“Necromancer?” a familiar voice called from the stairs.
Koray whipped around, unable to help the wave of relief that washed over him as the Paladin appeared, the holy power contained within him radiant, weakening the spirits who would do harm, warming him enough his shivering eased. “Yes, Paladin?”
“Why are you down here? A guard said you broke the lock and ventured down here. Has this to do with the task set you?” Sorin drew close slowly, pausing intermittently to light old sconces with his own torch.
Koray bristled. “The door was unlocked! I merely followed where my crystal bid me go.”
“Unlocked you say?” Sorin’s brows went up at that. “Interesting. I will have to investigate that later. But why are you here?”
The immediate trusting of his words was unexpected, and for a moment Koray wasn’t sure what to do. It would have been far easier simply to believe he had broken the lock, or picked it, than to trust him when he said another did it. Turning sharply away, but not moving far from the Paladin’s warmth, Koray once more lifted his crystal and set to work.
Slowly the crystal led him through the maze of cells and chambers, and Koray was careful not to linger long enough to see what some of those chambers contained. All around him he could hear the need of the ghosts to be heard, but here, in this place of pain and death, their words would not be kind ones.
At last the crystal gave one more swing, then stilled. Koray contemplated the ghost which sat inside the old, moldering cell. He drew what meager comfort he could from the warmth behind him. More than anything he wished he could draw directly on that strength…but now was not the time for such fanciful thoughts.
He looked over his shoulder at Sorin, whose face was solemn in the light of the wavering torch. “Do not speak, Paladin, do not do anything which might break my concentration.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Again Koray was rendered speechless. Yesterday the man had been as bad as all the rest, yet since last night he had been almost a different person. “Just stay close, if you don’t mind. Your presence…” Koray clamped his mouth shut, furious that he would so easily admit weakness. “Just remember – do not break my concentration.”
Sorin nodded, and Koray turned back to the ghost huddled in the corner of the cell. He reached into a pouch at his waist and withdrew a small stick of myrrh, lighting it and wedging it in a crack in the wall. The fragrant, slightly bitter scent filled the small cell, overwhelming the odors of death and decay, strengthening the channel between him and the dead.
Slowly Koray stepped into the cell, shoving back his hood so he could better see, stopping a few paces away from the huddled figure.
This poor thing had died of fright. Misery. Judging from the marks upon the ghost’s body, at least those he could see, the poor thing had endured a great deal of suffering before finally succumbing to her wounds. Koray’s eyes burned with the smoke of the incense and pain at the suffering which had made this spirit too restless to find peace. From another pouch at his waist he withdrew a small bundle of delicate silver bells. Spell words shimmered across them, ancient runes that even a sorcerer would not immediately understand. He rang them sharply once, twice, thrice. “Speak, spirit, and share your grief – by my strength and will, and the love and mercy of the Goddess.”
Distantly he heard Sorin’s startled gasp to hear him invoke the Goddess’s name in a necromantic spell, but it wasn’t enough to break his concentration. Before him, the ghost looked up – a woman, even worse, and the anguish ripped his heart to shreds – and began to speak. And rather than soundless motions, words as soft as mist drifted across the space to Koray.
Tortured me. Kept me down here. Hated that he loved me.
Koray rang the bells again. “Calmly, sweet sister. Draw my strength, find the words you want to say, help me understand.”
Cannot say who. Bespelled. Even in death. Hated that Alfrey loved me. Wanted me to give him up, stay away. Tortured me when I refused. I lost too much blood. So dark. Lonely. Won’t you help me?
“Yes, sweet sister. I will help you. Tell me more of your Alfrey.”
Sweet priest. Loved me though I was just a simple seamstress. He said he’d give up the priesthood for me, that we’d go across the sea.
“And would you like to do that still? Go across the sea?”
Not without Alfrey.
Koray smiled. “Ah, but if you go now, you can set up house for him, have a nice meal waiting. He will be along shortly, sweet sister. Has merely a few more people to whom he must bid farewell. He wants you to go first, to wait for him, to greet him with your smile on the far shore.”
Alfrey…The ghost gave a slow, hesitant nod.
“What is your name, sweet sister?”
Nella
Koray nodded and returned his silver bells to his pouch and drawing out a set made of gold. When he shook them, they made no sound – but Nella smiled sweetly, and whispered a thank you, then Alfrey’s name, and finally vanished.
As the sapping of his spirit abruptly ceased, his exhaustion hit him hard and Koray swayed on his feet, blindly reaching out to catch himself, fingers latching on to the cell bars. He held a hand to his forehead, willing the ache there to ease, knowing it wouldn’t for hours yet.
“What…what just happened?” Sorin asked. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine,” Koray said. “I spoke with a ghost. Alfrey was a priest?”
“Yes,” Sorin replied. “The most respected in the capital, but not as powerful as he could have been. He preferred to lead a quiet life and leave power to others.”
Koray nodded and stumbled from the cell, wanting badly to find a place free of ghosts to rest until his depleted spirit restored itself. He shivered, entire body shaking with cold, and awkwardly made his way from the dungeon, ignoring Sorin’s calling behind him, desperate now to get away, get out, find warmth somehow.
“Necromancer?” Sorin asked. “Are you well? Why do you shake so?”
“Cold,” Koray gasped out, hating himself for doing so. “I need to rest. I’ll be back later.” He ignored whatever else Sorin said, moving faster than was wise, blowing past everyone, scarcely noticing as they scrambled to get out of his way, desperate only to reach the graveyard before he passed out.
He couldn’t pass out anywhere but where he was safe. The last time he’d passed out after a spell…he’d woken up exactly where he’d fallen. Cold, damp from the drizzly spring air, an old sack filled with his asking price…no one had carried him to shelter, or so much as given him an old horse blanket. He’d saved them from an angry, powerful ghost, and they’d left him where he’d fallen.
It had happened more than once.
To wake up in a hallway…to know the Paladin had simply left him there…even thinking it hurt, and it shouldn’t. It shouldn’t. He was beyond caring. He should be beyond caring.
At last he reached the tomb where he was staying. The faint warmth of a long-dead Paladin washed over him, a pathetic but nevertheless welcome blanket of some warmth as his world turned black and he crumpled to the hard floor in front of the stone coffin of the dead Paladin.
Sorin swore softly as he watched Koray vanish into the confounded tomb. Goddess grant him patience, he’d never met a man so blasted confusing!
He turned away with a sigh, knowing he’d get nothing out of the man.
Had Koray even bothered to eat breakfast? It was still so early…
Frowning, Sorin changed directions and headed for the kitchens rather than the training yards. He stopped one of the cooks. “Has the necromancer been by to eat?”
The woman shuddered at the mention of Koray. “No, my lord. We saw him wandering about the castle, but he never asked for food.” The woman made the sign of the Goddess and moved on when it was obvious Sorin needed nothing more. He motioned to another woman. “Have a tray prepared for me, be generous with the portions.”
“Yes, Paladin,” the woman said with a bow, then rushed to obey.
When the tray was ready, Sorin took it and strode back toward the graveyard. He shook his head at himself. There were duties requiring his attention, men awaiting him in the castle and in the training yards. The King would be expecting the morning reports…and instead he’d spent the past hour trekking around the abandoned dungeon—
--Which reminded him. Koray had said the door was unlocked when he found it.
No one but he, the Steward and of course his Majesty had keys to the old dungeon. Had someone broken the lock? To what purpose?
Whatever Koray had done or seen down there, he had not seen fit to tell him before running off back to the graveyard.
His thoughts brought full circle, Sorin glowered at the tomb as he approached it. Feeling like an idiot, he knocked at the door. When no reply came forth, he pulled the door open—and stopped.
Setting the tray of food hastily down, he approached the unconscious Koray. From the awkward way he lay, all twisted and folded, it was obvious he’d simply passed out. Was it because of whatever had transpired in the dungeon?
Sorin knelt down and reached for him – then stopped. If he touched Koray, he’d just cause him pain. He was the strong arm of the Goddess, his touch would be more painful to Koray than even that of the High Priest.
Yet…hadn’t Koray asked for priests’ robes? Even the old ones he requested would surely cause him problems, if he were a true master of black magic. He was also sleeping on consecrated ground…in the tomb of a Paladin, and Koray’s proximity had never seemed to trouble him.
Well, the presence of a Paladin had never seemed to bother him. Sorin’s presence seemed to annoy, for whatever reason. Every approach, every attempt to help, was either accepted begrudgingly or sharply rejected. What had he done to offend?
Sorin frowned, confused as to what to do.
Inside him the power of the goddess was flaring, burning hot and bright. She was furious, her power filled with anger. Anger over the murder, over the presence of the necromancer, so much fury Sorin was having a hard time sorting it out. Rage tempered only by his strength, his experience.
Furious or no, he could not leave Koray lying so uncomfortably on the stone. More, he should have thought to have blankets and other such things brought, if this was where the man insisted on spending his nights. Ignoring his uncertainty, prepared to stop the minute it was clear he was causing Koray pain, Sorin reached forward and took hold of the necromancer.
He immediately recoiled, eyes wide shock, gasping.
Two things had immediately struck him.
The goddess’s rage had begun to ease when he’d touched the necromancer. It had gone still, as if pleased, waiting to see what else would happen…almost as if by touching Koray he was doing the right thing.
How was that possible? How? Necromancers practiced black magic – they were as deep into the black magic as anyone could get. Only demons were worse.
What was going on?
He also wanted to know why Koray had felt so cold. Like touching ice in the thick of winter, or being caked in wet, snow-laden clothes. More confused than ever, Sorin hesitantly reached out again.
Koray was far colder than it was healthy for a man to be. Nor had he been mistaken in the way the goddess’s fury eased when he touched the necromancer. Was…was it possible that her fury wasn’t because of the necromancer…but rather on his behalf?
Not understanding, but long used to obeying the will of the Goddess even when he didn’t understand, Sorin ceased hesitating and gathered the necromancer close, holding him tightly, willing the too-slender body to warm.
He stilled when Koray suddenly curled into him, making a sound that was half-sob, half-whimper. It hurt, that awful sound. Sorin reached up to shove off the ugly hood, revealing too-pale skin, that strange, beautiful hair. Sorin realized he was stroking one pale, silvery strand and made himself stop, but was unable to avoid tracing the line of one fine cheekbone, drawing a sharp breath at the way Koray turned into the touch, sought more.
This sleeping man was so different from the waking one. Not a thorn in sight, so accepting of his touch.
At last Koray seemed to settle, a soft, barely audible sigh escaping his lips before he relaxed against Sorin, head on his shoulder. “Goddess…I don’t understand this…” He closed his eyes and held Koray close, willing the power inside him to help him understand.
It was still, and from that he had to accept that holding the necromancer was the right thing to do. That meant his initial assumption had been wrong – horribly wrong. He could still feel the rage over Alfrey’s murder…but beside that was the stillness, the bright calm, that let him know he was doing the right thing. The Goddess was pleased that her Paladin held a necromancer close.
Sorin wished he understood. Why was it right that the most holy of the Goddess’s children hold a black mage? “Goddess, please tell me. I cannot do your will if I do not understand it. Most humbly your servant asks you to give me some measure of understanding.”
His only answer was silence, the bright, steady calm that assured him he should continue holding the necromancer. The Goddess did as she willed; it had been foolish of him to ask for answers. He would have them in time.
Sometimes that was a hard thing to remember.
Putting his questions aside, Sorin returned to examining the man in his arms.
So slender. Too slender. As if he were starved half to death. He lifted one of Koray’s hands, running his thumb over the bony knuckles, the long, thin fingers, circling his own fingers around a wrist that felt the slightest bit of force would snap it.
He wasn’t cold anymore, Sorin realized suddenly. Cool, but definitely not cold. Was he warming the man up? That only made sense, of course. As thin as he was, Koray probably had very little body heat of his own…yet that did not explain how shockingly cold he’d been.
More questions.
Sorin sighed softly and reached out to stroke Koray’s cheekbone again, touching at least giving him something to do, making him feel like he was doing something more than sitting in a crypt warming a man who seemed to hate him.
Some time later the power in him shifted again, settled in a different way, began to pulse and twitch. His job here was done…for the moment, anyway. He sensed whatever the Goddess wanted in regards to Koray was far from over. Gingerly he set Koray down on the stones, arranging him as comfortably as he could.
He grabbed the tray of food and moved it close, then lingered a moment more, suddenly reluctant to just leave Koray alone…but taking him into the castle would only hurt him, right? Hadn’t he said something about all the ghosts bothering him?
Why couldn’t everything he’d heard about necromancers have been right? More importantly, why was everything he’d been told proving to be wrong – horribly wrong.
Suddenly angry, Sorin left the graveyard and stormed through the castle, the rage of the Goddess fueling his own, contained only by his knowledge of what it could do when it was unleashed.
He was Paladin because he could control those forces rather than let himself be consumed by them.
The Holy Cathedral of the Goddess of Light shone in the sunlight, glittering where the sun caught chips of crystal in the rock chosen for that very reason. Windows of colored glass were everywhere, and where the light slipped through it caught on crystals that hung from string, were set into braziers – practically wherever they could be put.
Sorin barely noticed, his eyes only for the High Priest at the altar. Around him people scattered, vacated, sensing that they had better places to be at the moment.
“Holy Paladin,” the High Priest greeted calmly, as though oblivious to the rage he felt emanating from Sorin. “What troubles you?”
Sorin stopped short of the altar and forced himself to calm, blue eyes locking with the dark brown eyes of the severe-looking High Priest. “I came to you to learn of necromancers, that I might be familiar with the man who had come to this castle to solve a certain matter.” They both knew very well he meant the murder.
“Yes,” the High Priest replied, growing confused.
“Everything you told me, sir, appears to have been a lie. I would know why.”
The High Priest drew himself up. “I told you all that was told to me.”
“Then someone lied,” Sorin snapped. “I was told they were unholy, the blackest of mages.” He spread his arms wide. “Yet just moments ago the Goddess bid me hold the necromancer close, warm him, for he was as cold as winter.”
“What?” the High Priest demanded. “Ridiculous.”
“You question the will of the Goddess!” Sorin thundered.
“No,” the High Priest said hastily. “That is not what I meant.” He sighed. “I was expressing my amazement. Necromancers practice black magic, this is the truth I was always told. Never has the Goddess said anything to indicate I was wrong in my beliefs…though it is not her duty to tell me everything, is it?” He motioned to the front pew. “Perhaps we should sit, for I fear you have much to tell me.”
“I have much to ask,” Sorin answered, swiping a hand through his hair. “You said necromancers practice black magic.”
“They do,” the High Priest said. “That is fact. Myrrh, rune-marked bells, words no one blessed by the Holy Goddess would understand. They use blood and ash in their rituals…more besides. You remember all I told you. Why do you claim they are blessed by the Goddess?”
Sorin rubbed his head, willing away his headache. “Does it not seem strange to you that necromancers sleep in graveyards?”
“Among the dead? Hardly.”
“On consecrated ground.”
The startled look on the High Priest’s said he’d never looked at it that way – Sorin was beginning to think no one had. Himself included, until Koray had pointed it out. “More importantly,” he continued, “I found him collapsed in the crypt where he is staying and when I moved him, he seemed to welcome my touch rather than recoil from it – and the Goddess seemed pleased that I was helping him.”
“How puzzling,” the High Priest murmured. “I learned from my predecessor, and he from his…as we always do. Never have I heard that a necromancer might be blessed. This will require deeper investigation…though I suppose we could also simply ask him.”
Sorin chuckled and shook his head. “Nay, High Priest. I have tried that before.” Sorin relaxed in his seat, letting his head fall back against the pew to stare up at the colorful windows lining the ceiling, shedding down a rainbow of light. “Asking him a question is much like trying to comfort a wounded cat.”
The High Priest chuckled at the mention of his cat, which had given him many a scar before he finally won the feline over. “If I can tame a half-wild cat, Paladin, you can coax answers from a necromancer.”
“You have not met the necromancer,” Sorin muttered. He sat up with a sigh. “Which reminds me – in payment for solving the riddle, he has requested old priests’ robes.”
“A peculiar thing to ask for,” the High Priest said. “I will pull a few from storage, have them cleaned.”
Sorin shook his head. “You don’t know the half of it…though I think perhaps it makes more sense now.” At the curious look the High Priest gave him, he shrugged. “He asked to spend a night in my company.”
The High Priest’s lips twitched. “I assume he didn’t mean what it sounds like he meant.”
“No, he didn’t,” Sorin said, rolling his eyes. “He almost said something before, now that I am paying attention to what is said to me,” he glowered at the floor, annoyed with himself. He had listened too easily to all that was said to him, to what he was told, without double checking any of it. Granted the High Priest had told him most of those things…but he should not have simply assumed he understood the Goddess’s anger. Well, he could begin to fix things now. “He said something about my presence, but cut himself off.” He shrugged and scrubbed at his hair, wishing something made sense. Goddess, he hated feeling confused. “I guess I will find out somehow. I have faced worse than a prickly necromancer…”
“Indeed you have,” the High Priest said, lips curving in amusement. “Shall I bestow a battle blessing upon you, holy Paladin?”
Sorin laughed. “That will not be necessary, High Priest, but I thank you. I apologize for calling you a liar.”
The High Priest waved the words away. “Apparently I am a liar. I shall begin to fix that this evening. If you learn anything before I do, let me know.”
“Of course. Goddess guide you.”
“And you, Paladin.”
“If only it were that easy,” Sorin muttered as he left, striding back toward the castle proper and off to the yards where he should have been hours ago.
Necromancer ate my soul instead.
So you get it today instead, and I'll probably have Sandstorm for you on Wed.
This story is the source of much aggravation. It was meant to be the first of a trilogy, with each story focusing on a different pairing. Now I'm not sure WTF it's doing, except not what I wanted. =_= For all that I pretty hate and despite it for not doing what it's told, I've been informed by an Imp, a Brat, and a Commie that it's not a total wash.
Fair warning: This story started out at 30 pages. It's now 46, and part one of who the fuck knows.
In two sections, since LJ gets mad if I try to post a 46 page story at once.
Black Magic
I. The Necromancer
He walked with his head down so the hood fell forward, shadowing his face though he ached to feel the sun on it. It was inadequate as warmth went, but the best he could get outside the flask tucked beneath his tunic.
Silence fell as he walked along, matching him step for step. He knew without looking up that people were stopping in the middle of their chores, their conversations, to stare at him.
A short figure dressed in dark, bedraggled clothes that were meant to be worn in winter, not the middle of summer. They watched him, hoping to catch a glimpse of ‘death-pale skin’ or perhaps the ‘bones and blood’ his type always carried to perform their evil spells. Later, he knew, they would all claim to have smelled death on him, to have seen grave dirt in the folds of his robes.
His thoughts were interrupted by a child’s laugh as two of them ran across his path, one obviously chasing the other, playing a game that made them oblivious to the morbid curiosity and barely restrained hostility of the adults.
The chaser fell with a sharp cry on the hard cobblestone street, and Koray reached unthinkingly to help her up.
“Don’t touch my child you filthy monster!” A woman shrieked, and it was immediately joined by a cacophony of threats and epithets. Koray drew his hand back into the folds of his robe, feeling colder than ever. “My apologies,” he said, though he didn’t think the furious, trembling woman heard him – not that she would care if she had.
Tamping down on the familiar pain, telling himself it was all right, it didn’t matter, he was used to it, Koray pulled his head further into his hood and continued on, laughing bitterly at the way the people parted to let him pass.
Because as strong as their hate was, their fear was greater. If you angered a normal mage, the worst he could do was kill you.
Necromancers could do far worse than mere death.
Ignoring them, focusing only on the street and where he had to go, Koray left the people behind and made his way to the castle. He stopped at the gate and reached into his tunic, pulling out a small scroll and presenting it to the guards.
He pretended not to see the way they flinched, ignored the way they refused to touch the scroll. “The King is expecting you,” one guard managed, not looking at him as he motioned for the gate to be opened, then waved him inside.
“Thank you,” Koray murmured as he passed by them and into the castle proper.
The courtyard was simple stone, all of it well-laid and obviously of good quality, but simple all the same. Functional, but appealing for all that. He ignored the way guards and servants milling about stopped to stare at him.
Or tried. Everyone stared at necromancers. After fifteen years of it, he should be accustomed. He wished someone would teach him the trick of growing used to being hated and feared.
Why had he agreed to this audience? The King could have found another necromancer. Eventually.
Koray hunched his shoulders, fisting his hands to keep them from trembling as castle ghosts began to assault him – sapping his energy, pleading with him, crying, showing what had been done to them, begging him to help, the words all soundless because he had not the strength – nor the inclination – to give any of them voice. He shivered, cold, and pulled his robes more tightly around him, envious of those who could gain warmth simply by standing in the sun.
He presented his scroll, a royal order from the King, to the next set of guards. They backed hastily away, pointing down the hallway. Koray murmured a thank you and moved on, not waiting for a reply that would never come, hearing the way they muttered once they believed him well away.
Freak
Monster
Killer
Corpse lover
Blood drinker
The epithets were old, familiar, but they made him tired all the same. He passed through the doorway at the end of the hall, pausing only briefly to admire the bright paintings, the beautiful furniture, the soft rug and the way sunlight spilled across all of it. So much light and warmth.
Koray shivered and huddled in his robes, braced himself as he prepared to continue on past the waiting room and toward the throne room beyond. He began to move, feet trailing just a bit in the deep, soft carpet – then he faltered, stopped.
Just the slightest bit of warmth struck him, like the heat of distant flames, as he heard a door open. He turned, eyes widening in the shadows of his hood.
The Paladin. Bright steel armor edged with gold, deep violet under tunic, the starburst crest over his heart. The sheer warmth that emanated from him. Koray fisted his hands in the ragged ends of his old tunic, burying them deep within the folds of his robe, making his feet hold still before he did something stupid and painful.
He was as beautiful as all the stories said, tall and proud, the elegant lines of noble breeding combined with the experience of a soldier. Blonde hair with the faintest hints of red deep within, skin darkened by the touch of the sun, eyes as clear and blue as a summer lake.
Eyes that currently looked at Koray with as much fear and distrust as everyone else showed.
Somehow…he’d been stupid enough to hope. The Paladin. The greatest of Knights, blessed by crown and Goddess, sworn to defend and protect all who dwelt in the King’s realm. Surely this man, a holy warrior who had promised to defend all, would give him the benefit of the doubt.
It would seem not. Biting down hard on the inside of his cheeks, focusing on that pain, ignoring all the rest – the endless cold, the ghosts that lurked even in this sun bright room, the constant loneliness – he drove it back, shoved it away, focused on what he knew.
His world was death, not life.
“You are the necromancer,” the Paladin said.
“Yes,” Koray answered. “My name is—“
“This way,” the Paladin interrupted, though Koray couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not. “He’s been most anxious to see this matter finished. Why was I not summoned immediately?” He seemed to say the last more to himself, leading the way through the set of doors in front of Koray, down the hallway and past the guards stationed at the end.
“Your Highness,” the Paladin, falling to one knee before the King.
Who also looked exactly as the few rumors he’d managed to hear had said. Were all Kings fat? It must be nice, to be so well fed. And dressed. So much silk and lawn, jewels the like of which he’d never seen…
Koray narrowed his eyes, grateful as ever for the shadows that hid his face. There was something about the King he didn’t like. The gleam in his brown eyes seemed…wrong.
The ghosts in the room did not draw close, put off by the warmth and light of the unknowing Paladin. Koray fought the urge to move closer, to reach out and touch, see how warm the Paladin truly was.
The Paladin who feared him, disliked him, had not bothered even to hear his name.
He realized suddenly the King was speaking to him. “Majesty?” Belatedly he dropped to his knees, cringing at his own stupidity.
“Reveal yourself, Necromancer,” the King ordered.
Reluctantly, every part of him screaming a protest, Koray reached up and pulled back his hood, keeping his pale gray eyes fastened on the carpet. He knew what they’d see, how they’d react.
His skin was indeed pale. Certainly not “deathly” but if he bared enough skin to let the sun brown it, he’d freeze to death. Only his robes kept him warm.
Once his hair had been as black as pitch. Some of it still was, but there were streaks of white and gray in it now. Too many ghosts that he could barely control. Too many spells that left him aching for a warm touch.
His eyes, like his hair, had changed. He thought maybe they’d been green, once, but he no longer remembered for certain. Now they were pale grey, the exact shade of the specters that sapped his strength, tried to speak to him.
Barely eating, the constant sapping of his spirit by ghosts, the high cost of necromantic spells – all had left him far too thin. The final touch on giving him the very image all held of a necromancer.
Perfectly logical explanations for his appearance, but no one had ever cared to search for them. He could see in the faces of the King and Paladin that they were the same as all the rest. It would be depressing if he let himself care. Which he didn’t. He refused to. Besides, if he angered either man the Paladin would leave his sight that much sooner, and take that warmth with him.
“For all our sakes, Necromancer,” the king said at last, “I hope you solve our problems quickly.”
Koray bowed his head low. “I will do all that is within my power, Majesty.” He ignored the way the King grimaced at his words, no doubt imagining all the horrific, terrible things Koray could do.
“Sorin,” the King said, “take him. Tell me how it all goes.”
“Yes, Majesty.” Standing, the Paladin motioned for Koray to follow, spinning neatly on one heal and striding from the throne room. Halfway down the long hall he turned off onto a narrow hallway Koray had only noticed before because of the ghostly maid lurking just in front of it, a sad, wistful expression on her face. She was young, and the blood dripping from her wrists told him all he needed to know. A maid used as a toy by a noble. He didn’t need to give her voice to figure that out.
Goddess he hated places such as this.
Realizing he’d fallen behind, he hurried to catch up with the patiently waiting Paladin and started to apologize – but the Paladin, Sorin he supposed, turned away before he could speak and continued on his way.
Shuddering at the dark and cold, Koray stayed as close to Sorin as he could without upsetting the man, fisting his hands tightly in the folds of his robe to keep from touching. Goddess, to touch…to not be cold, for even a few precious seconds…a dream so impossible it hurt.
He’d always held out hope. Just the faintest hint, with no more life to it than the ghosts around him, but…if the Paladin himself was repulsed on sight…there was no reason to keep hoping.
“What have I been called for?” he asked softly.
For a moment it didn’t seem as though Sorin was going to answer, and by the time he did it became unnecessary.
Necromancy. The room Sorin led him into reeked of it – copper and sulfur, a strange not quite mint smell that bespoke a ghost recently arrived.
Except.
Koray frowned.
The body had been removed, but it didn’t take a necromancer to see that something horribly violent had occurred – from the fall of the blood it looked as though a fight had not gone well for someone.
“We want to know what happened,” Sorin said. “His Majesty’s cousin was killed three days ago. So far we have managed to keep it quiet, until the killer can be found, but time is running out. One of my men recognized the taint of necromancy. We thought perhaps another necromancer could solve the mystery.”
Koray nodded, fingers going absently to play with a strand of gray hair as he frowned, wrapping and twisting it around his fingers. “I assume you have no practioners of necromancy on the premises?” At least not known practioners. If they’d done what he suspected, then the King had no idea what lurked within his walls.
“No,” Sorin said, all but bristling at the idea.
“Of course not,” Koray said, tamping down on his impatience. “Why would you with a noble and brave Paladin on the premises.” On impulse he let go of his hair and reached out – and felt his heart break just a little bit more at the way the Paladin unthinkingly recoiled. He let his hand fall to his side. “A Paladin, at any rate.”
Sorin frowned at him, the insult obviously hitting its mark.
Koray continued on before he could speak. “There is no ghost here.” He frowned in thought and began to walk around the room.
A parlor, but one with a window that at this time of day received no sunlight, making it dim. Blood splashed seemingly everywhere. Koray sensed only two kinds, and a softly murmured word confirmed that only one of the parties involved had died of his wounds.
Murder always left ghosts.
There was no ghost present.
Softly Koray began to hum, shifting into chanting as he reached into a small pouch at his waist and withdrawing a small stick of incense. A simple touch set the incense alight, and the room rapidly filled with the sharp, faintly bitter scent of myrrh. Increasing the sound of his chanting, Koray walked the circumference of the small room seven times.
At the end of the seventh he extinguished the incense and shook his head as he tucked it away. “There should be a ghost here,” he said. “There isn’t.”
Sorin frowned at him, and Koray felt slightly better to realize it was from confusion, not disbelief. “I do not understand.”
“He was murdered, right? That should guarantee the dead man’s ghost would be in this room. Ghosts of that nature always haunt the place they die. There is no ghost here. Usually that only means a handful of things.” Koray drew a breath, gathering his thoughts. He might not have chosen this life, if that’s what it was, but it was his and he was good at it. People needed him whether they wanted to or not, and now the King needed him. He would do this, and do it well, and perhaps he could charge a night of warmth in return. Oh, Goddess, to be warm for just one night…
Determined, Koray focused his thoughts and continued. “Most of the time, it means the ghost was put to rest sometime before. There’s no way that’s possible in this instance.” He glanced around the room, then back at Sorin, who stared back – but had not moved from the doorway, well away from Koray. “In very rare instances, there simply is no ghost.” He shrugged. “I have yet to determine why anyone would be content to be murdered.”
“And the other reasons?” Sorin asked when Koray did not continue.
Koray glowered at the largest of the bloodstains, a rusty stain on the bright green and yellow rug on the floor. “I have only ever heard about it before,” he said, “and did not think I would ever see it. I think someone has somehow managed to steal his ghost.”
“How does one steal a ghost?” Sorin demanded, mistrust beginning to color his voice.
At the end of his patience, Koray shifted his glower to Sorin. “It can be done. I won’t bore you with the details, Paladin, as I doubt you truly care. No one ever cares to hear what a necromancer has to say. Simply know that a necromancer determined enough can snatch a ghost away from its dwelling place.”
“To what purpose?”
“Hard to say,” Koray said. No good would come of answering that question. Not all rumors of the dark deeds of necromancers were false. “If you want the answer to that and identity of the killer, it will take me some time to figure out.”
Sorin shook his head. “The King wanted this settled as quickly as possible.”
“If had merely been a matter of speaking with a ghost, as I had thought it would be, the matter would be over. But your problem is far greater than a mere murderer, Paladin,” Koray replied sharply. “A necromancer would not take a ghost for fun.” No, a spell like that…the cost would be great. Painful. Which would narrow his search. Whoever had cast the spell would probably still be quite weak, even after three days. “Do you want my help or not?”
“How do I know you are not attempting to play us for fools?”
Koray laughed bitterly. “Think what you like, Paladin. I take no joy being here; this castle is rife with malcontent spirits. I bid you good day.” He made to move past the man, but was halted by a motion – though it was awfully tempting to keep going, to see if the bravest and grandest of warriors would shriek like a little girl at the touch of a necromancer. “Yes?”
“Stay,” Sorin said. “By my command.”
“So good of you,” Koray said ungraciously. “What of my payment, then?”
Sorin frowned at him, blue eyes dark with mixed emotions. Koray could read none of them, and found it annoyed him. Generally people were easy to read, but other than uncertainty and annoyance he could not tell what the Paladin was thinking. “You will be rewarded handsomely in gold, Necromancer, never fear.”
“Gold?” Koray repeated contemptuously. “Tell me, Paladin, do I look as though anyone would ever except gold from me? Even you recoil at my touch, and you think anyone would look at me, let alone accept money? How charmingly stupid of you.” He flicked his fingers impatiently. “Food, for as long as I am here. Morning, midday and evening meals. Priests’ robes – old, unused ones.”
“Why would a necromancer have need of priests’ robes?”
“Why should I tell you?” Koray replied, glaring into those blue, blue eyes, gratified to see the annoyance there flare into genuine anger. The pretty holy soldier, it seemed, had a temper. “You would not even bother to hear my name, Paladin, why should you care what I wear? Food, robes, and when I am finished a night in your company.”
The look of utter confusion and near horror was almost comical.
Almost. Mostly it was depressing. “Never fear, noble and holy protector of all,” Koray said bitterly. “I intend you no harm. Merely a night in your presence.”
“Why?” Sorin demanded.
“I owe you no explanations, Paladin,” Koray said coldly. “Not yet. Those are my terms. Yay or nay?”
Sorin glared at him, temper making his eyes spark. It also stirred the holy power in him, and what a fine thing that must be to see in battle – minus the screams of the dying, the voices of the outraged, miserable dead. Koray fought a shudder at the unwelcome thoughts. “Not without an explanation. If you seek my company, I have a right to know why.”
“I have a right to a great many things,” Koray said, “yet never has a one been given to me. I will explain when I see fit.” He gave a slight nod, and the black and white strands of his hair tumbled over his shoulders. “But I promise, upon the Goddess whose star you wear, that I intend you no ill. I seek only respite.”
For a long, tense moment there was no reply. Finally Sorin nodded. “Very well, I agree to your terms. You had best hold up your end of the bargain, necromancer.”
“As I said before, Paladin, I will leave the role of hypocrite to you.”
“I am no hypocrite!” Sorin snapped, rage finally sparking, catching fire. “I would know the reason you say such things to me, necromancer! Such rudeness, all uncalled for. I have every right to punish you for your behavior.”
Koray laughed, the sound more bitter than ever. He moved closer, shoving his hair from his face, gray eyes fastened to clear blue. A mere step or two from the Paladin, he reached out a hand – and let it drop as the Paladin again recoiled. “Sworn to protect all those in need,” he said softly, and stepped through the door as Sorin moved hastily aside, “yet you reject those who need you most. I will begin my work in the morning.” He didn’t wait for a reply, merely pulled his hood up and strode down the hallway.
Sorin followed after him, anger once more tamped down to mere aggravation. “Where are you going?” he demanded.
“To rest,” Koray said tiredly, sick of it all. “I have not slept in a day and a half and the work ahead of me will be exhausting. Not that anyone cares. I am going to rest.”
“Where?”
“Certainly not in the room you never offered me,” Koray said flatly. Not that he’d accept it. He’d never get any sleep.
“So it’s true then?” Sorin asked. “Necromancers sleep in graveyards?”
Koray nodded, slowing down slightly so that he was closer to Sorin as they passed by a particularly nasty ghost, one who looked as though he would gladly add another strip of gray to Koray’s hair if given the chance. Which Koray had no intention of giving him. “Frequently.”
“Why?”
“Because it is the only place we’re allowed that has no ghosts,” Koray said.
Sorin stopped. “I thought—“
“Wrong. Just like everyone else,” Koray said nastily, rounding on the Paladin, fury overtaking him because this man should care, this man should want to help, should want to understand, should want to keep him warm, should welcome his touch—Koray bit back a cry of rage and despair, hating himself for caring because he shouldn’t care, not anymore. “There are other places I could sleep and be safe, but no one will permit me. No one ever permits us. So we sleep in graveyards. Now if you will excuse me, I have had all of the living that I can stand.” He ignored whatever reply Sorin made, stalking away through the hallways, only once stopping to ask a guard for directions.
Sorin glared after the necromancer, fighting an urge to strangle the rude, condescending, bloody confusing bastard.
Did the man purposely set out to be as confusing as he possibly could? Because very little of what he’d said had made sense, though it was patently obvious that he wouldn’t have minded if Sorin had joined the dead.
What in the name of the Goddess had he done so wrong? Something, clearly. The man had all but clawed his face off – and no real explanation offered. If this was how all necromancers behaved, no wonder they were so disliked!
Alfrey had been murdered. Brutally. Sorin had seen more men killed than he could count, but never had he seen something as brutal as Alfrey’s body. Pure rage had ended Alfrey’s life.
Pure rage had killed a friend. Sorin closed his eyes and focused on the energy, the strength, that ever flowed through him. He was no priest, he could not hear the words of the Goddess as a priest could. But her power flowed through him, to serve and protect her people. Since Alfrey’s murder the power of the Goddess within him had burned hot with anger, with rage. It had only grown since the arrival of the necromancer. A wrong had been committed. To correct it, he’d been forced to bring in one who practiced black magic. The Goddess was furious.
Who would want to kill Alfrey? And so brutally? He’d been a simple Priest, with no desire to harm anyone. His prayers had soothed thousands. His death would bring a great deal of grief. Murdered so brutally.
Black magic or no, he hoped the strange necromancer could solve the mystery.
No ghost…another necromancer had done the killing? Had he somehow never realized there was a necromancer on the premises? Surely not. The power of the Goddess had flared nearly out of control as soon as…
What was the necromancer’s name? Sorin frowned. Hadn’t the man said his name? He thought back over all they’d said, then rubbed his forehead. Well no wonder the man had been somewhat peeved. Demanding he find a murderer, a task that apparently would take some time, and neither Sorin – nor the King – had bothered to ask his name.
Sighing, Sorin wended his way through the halls back to the waiting room. He bowed and greeted the people who had gathered there in hopes of seeing the King before evening bells rang. He smiled at the women who held their hands out, grasping them and murmuring words of prayer – he was a soldier, not a priest, but the words of a Paladin always comforted them. He gradually made his way through the room and into the hallway beyond, nodding at the guards as he passed by them, and finally knelt before the King.
“Is the matter finished already then, Sorin?” King Rofell asked, waving away a page.
“Nay, Majesty,” Sorin replied, and quickly explained all that had passed.
Rofell grimaced as he finished. “Very well. As you like, Sorin. But see that he causes no mischief. Murder is bad enough, I will not have one of those vile blood drinkers making it all worse. Give him three days to solve the mystery. We cannot stall things more than that.”
“As you will it, Majesty,” Solin said, and rose when the King motioned for him to do so.
“Why does he want a night in your presence?” Rofell asked idly, his mind clearly elsewhere.
Solin frowned, thinking. “I do not know. He would not tell me. I will find the answer.”
“Do so,” Rofell said shortly. “I will not risk my great Paladin to a corpse lover.”
“Majesty,” Solin said with a last bow, refraining from pointing out that he was not the King’s Paladin. He was the sword arm of the Goddess, first and foremost. Turning neatly on his heel, he strode back the way he’d come and slowly made his way to the kitchens. He snagged a maid. “Have a meal prepared, for me to take to a guest.”
“A-a-at once, my lord!” the maid immediately thrust her tray of bread at another passing maid and vanished into the chaos of the kitchens, reemerging minutes later with a covered tray. “Is there anything else, my lord?” she asked breathlessly, cheeks flushed with heat, eyes bright with exertion and the fact that she was assisting the Paladin.
Sorin smiled and kissed the knuckles of her hand. “Thank you very much. Have a good evening.”
“Yes, my lord!”
Taking the tray, Sorin avoided the main halls and took the back corridors and eventually reached the covered path that connected the castle to the royal cathedral. Instead of entering the enormous, towering cathedral he made his way around it, toward the field beyond and the graveyard there.
What manner of man willingly spent the night in a graveyard?
One who embraced death without dying, he supposed. What was it the necromancer said while he was shouting? Something about it being the only place he was allowed where he’d be safe. What did that mean? Be safe from what? People? Ghosts? What had he meant by ‘allowed’? Necromancers weren’t forbidden anywhere, strictly speaking…though certainly they were unwelcome.
Questions and more questions.
Sorin hesitated at the old, iron gate that sealed the graveyard off from the rest of the grounds. The last time he’d been here, he had not yet been a Paladin. They had buried Rofell’s father. In three days they would bury Alfrey. Shoving away thoughts of his dead friend, for dwelling on them now would not help his attempt at reconciliation, Sorin wandered through the graveyard searching out the short, hooded figure of the necromancer.
How did one become a necromancer? He’d always wanted to ask that, hearing all the stories. Men who drank blood and collected bones and ashes, always smelled of the grave…though he didn’t recall the necromancer smelling of anything more than myrrh.
Expensive incense, that. Even royalty winced paying for myrrh. How did a necromancer who looked like a homeless waif come to have even a small quantity in his possession? Sorin shook his head and stowed the questions away for later.
He paused at the sound of a door creaking, and looked up to see a familiar, hooded figure standing at the doorway of a small tomb – one which housed the body of a former Paladin. Sorin frowned. “Hail, necromancer. I’ve brought your evening meal.” He approached slowly, holding the tray out as an offering. He wished the man would remove his hood, it felt too much like talking to a shadow with it up.
And he wanted to see the man’s strange hair again, if he were honest. It looked as though someone had taken a paintbrush and streaked his hair with lines of white and silver, making it look like the mismatched hair of a child’s rag doll. “I also wanted to apologize, necromancer.” He hesitated when the man did not reply, and set the tray on the top step of the tomb. “I behaved poorly, earlier today. My only excuse is that Alfrey, the murdered man, was a dear friend of mine. My name is Sorin, as you already know. I should have asked yours, and I ask it now, if you are still willing to share it.”
For a moment there was nothing but silence, and Sorin began to wonder if he was just wasting his time.
“Koray,” the necromancer said softly, face still hidden in the depths of his hood. “Thank you for the food.”
Sorin shrugged. “Are you certain you would not like…better quarters?”
That sad, bitter laugh again. The sort of sound Sorin ached to soothe…but how did a holy man soothe one who practiced the black arts? They simply did not mesh. “As I said before, Paladin, there are no other safe quarters for me where I would be welcome.”
“What do you mean safe?”
“Why do you suddenly care?”
Sorin tightened his hands into fists, feeling his temper trying to rise at that infuriating tone – as though the man had every right to immediately be angry. “I meant no offense before! I have said I am sorry. I ask because I do not understand!” He turned stiffly away. “Clearly I am disturbing you. Good night, Koray.”
“There are no ghosts here.”
Sorin stopped, turned around. “Your words make no sense. You’re a necromancer. Your craft is dead things. What have you to fear from ghosts?”
“Your craft is war, Paladin – does that mean you have nothing to fear from it?”
The words brought Sorin up short. “A solid hit, necromancer. So ghosts can harm? Yet there are no ghosts in a place where the dead are gathered?” Sorin frowned, heartily confused, and wondered why he’d never heard of such a thing before.
“Of course ghosts cause harm,” Koray said contemptuously. “Most ghosts are the product of dark emotions built to such strength that even death could not extinguish them. Yet they are dead. They must have someone living through whom they can communicate. That communication taxes the living person who serves as their voice. The necromancer. As to graveyards…” Koray swept an arm out over the graveyard. “What is this, Paladin?”
“What is it?” Sorin asked, confusion growing. “A place of burial?”
Koray laughed softly.
Sorin hesitated, then gave a mental shrug. “A request, necromancer? Remove your hood? I dislike talking to a shadow.”
Abruptly Koray stopped laughing, and Sorin could tell he’d startled the man. But slowly, clearly with heavy reluctance, Koray drew back his hood.
In the slowly gathering dark, and in the middle of the graveyard, Koray’s odd features took on a strange, dark beauty. Sorin was startled by the thought. The man dabbled in things men should not touch. Even now the power of the Goddess in him seemed restless, unsettled, as if it wanted out and was contained only by the will of the Paladin. But the thought would not be displaced. Koray was strangely beautiful, with his odd hair and too-pale skin, those silver-gray eyes and surrounded by fading sunlight.
Necromancers were confusing.
Koray spoke, breaking the strange spell that Sorin felt had fallen over him. “Yes, a place of burial. But what about this place, Paladin, makes it special?”
Sorin frowned in thought. Then his brow cleared. “It’s consecrated.” Which, theoretically, meant a necromancer should not be able to wander about in it. But it was accepted that necromancers slept in graveyards – Koray had admitted they did. Everyone said necromancers were unholy…was it merely because a graveyard was filled with dead?
“Exactly. Land blessed by the Goddess. Souls can rest here in peace…and those with restless spirits would not haunt here. Ghosts always haunt either the place they died or the place where their discontent was greatest. Those restless spirits would not come here, as the consecrated ground would either drive them away or force them to eternal rest.”
“I see,” Sorin said, fascinated despite himself. In all he’d ever heard of necromancers, he was starting to realize how little he actually knew. “But how does one of black magic come to tread so lightly on sacred ground?”
He swore he could see the way Koray recoiled, drew into himself, the momentary softening of his hard face once more freezing over. “If you think what I practice is nothing but black magic, even after what I have told you, then I am finished telling you anything. Good night, Paladin.” Stooping Koray snatched up the tray of food and then vanished into the depths of the old tomb, door creaking shut behind him.
Sorin repressed the urge to follow him and demand answers.
Honestly, the man was proving to have more thorns than the late Queen’s rose garden.
Sighing, Sorin left to attend evening drills and then hopefully to a meal and bed.
Koray ignored the looks of those who passed him by, focusing all his attention on the crystal swaying back and forth in front of him. Earlier that morning, when no one else would be about, he had taken it to the room where the murder had taken place and charged it with traces of energy that still remained, focusing the crystal on the dead man – Alfrey, Sorin had called him.
Hopefully there was enough energy charged to the crystal that it would lead him to other sources of it. It flashed and sparkled in the morning sun as he strode through an open courtyard, having chosen to start at the front of the castle and slowly wend his way through it.
Suddenly it quivered, began to swing harder to the left. Catching his breath, Koray followed it, not minding his feet, attention only for the swinging crystal. He slowed briefly at a door – distantly noting it did not look like the others. As it opened easily beneath his hand he had the sense that it should have been locked.
Then he fell to his knees, doubling over, crystal tumbling to the floor as he bit back sobs of pain.
Oh, Goddess he was in the dungeon. There were no signs of life, but the signs of death—Koray couldn’t stop the tears of pain that streamed down his cheeks. Goddess, he couldn’t do this. There had to be another way to find answers…
…But the crystal had been adamant. A clue to the demise of Alfrey was here in the dungeon, amidst the fear and despair, the hate and rage.
Already he could see a ghost – a soldier, from the uniform, throat a bloody mess. Had he been killed at the foot of the long stairs? By a prisoner? A fellow guard? He looked angry, mouthing words Koray didn’t want to understand until it became necessary. Scrabbling at the wall for a handhold, cringing to think what might be on it, Koray slowly stood up, then stooped to retrieve his crystal.
Taking a deep breath, he blocked out everything he could, ignoring even the pain that wracked his body as he resisted the efforts of the angry ghosts attempting to steal his energy. A few whispered words called forth a ball of glowing light – pale violet, but powerful, flooding the area immediately surrounding him with light. Focusing his attention once more on the crystal, he willed it into acting, searching, resuming the hunt for the energy it was imbued with.
Slowly the crystal began once more to turn, picking up speed, swinging heavily to the right, and with slow, halting steps Koray obeyed, hunching, cringing in his robes as he wandered deeper into the dungeons – at least it appeared they were no longer in use.
“Necromancer?” a familiar voice called from the stairs.
Koray whipped around, unable to help the wave of relief that washed over him as the Paladin appeared, the holy power contained within him radiant, weakening the spirits who would do harm, warming him enough his shivering eased. “Yes, Paladin?”
“Why are you down here? A guard said you broke the lock and ventured down here. Has this to do with the task set you?” Sorin drew close slowly, pausing intermittently to light old sconces with his own torch.
Koray bristled. “The door was unlocked! I merely followed where my crystal bid me go.”
“Unlocked you say?” Sorin’s brows went up at that. “Interesting. I will have to investigate that later. But why are you here?”
The immediate trusting of his words was unexpected, and for a moment Koray wasn’t sure what to do. It would have been far easier simply to believe he had broken the lock, or picked it, than to trust him when he said another did it. Turning sharply away, but not moving far from the Paladin’s warmth, Koray once more lifted his crystal and set to work.
Slowly the crystal led him through the maze of cells and chambers, and Koray was careful not to linger long enough to see what some of those chambers contained. All around him he could hear the need of the ghosts to be heard, but here, in this place of pain and death, their words would not be kind ones.
At last the crystal gave one more swing, then stilled. Koray contemplated the ghost which sat inside the old, moldering cell. He drew what meager comfort he could from the warmth behind him. More than anything he wished he could draw directly on that strength…but now was not the time for such fanciful thoughts.
He looked over his shoulder at Sorin, whose face was solemn in the light of the wavering torch. “Do not speak, Paladin, do not do anything which might break my concentration.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Again Koray was rendered speechless. Yesterday the man had been as bad as all the rest, yet since last night he had been almost a different person. “Just stay close, if you don’t mind. Your presence…” Koray clamped his mouth shut, furious that he would so easily admit weakness. “Just remember – do not break my concentration.”
Sorin nodded, and Koray turned back to the ghost huddled in the corner of the cell. He reached into a pouch at his waist and withdrew a small stick of myrrh, lighting it and wedging it in a crack in the wall. The fragrant, slightly bitter scent filled the small cell, overwhelming the odors of death and decay, strengthening the channel between him and the dead.
Slowly Koray stepped into the cell, shoving back his hood so he could better see, stopping a few paces away from the huddled figure.
This poor thing had died of fright. Misery. Judging from the marks upon the ghost’s body, at least those he could see, the poor thing had endured a great deal of suffering before finally succumbing to her wounds. Koray’s eyes burned with the smoke of the incense and pain at the suffering which had made this spirit too restless to find peace. From another pouch at his waist he withdrew a small bundle of delicate silver bells. Spell words shimmered across them, ancient runes that even a sorcerer would not immediately understand. He rang them sharply once, twice, thrice. “Speak, spirit, and share your grief – by my strength and will, and the love and mercy of the Goddess.”
Distantly he heard Sorin’s startled gasp to hear him invoke the Goddess’s name in a necromantic spell, but it wasn’t enough to break his concentration. Before him, the ghost looked up – a woman, even worse, and the anguish ripped his heart to shreds – and began to speak. And rather than soundless motions, words as soft as mist drifted across the space to Koray.
Tortured me. Kept me down here. Hated that he loved me.
Koray rang the bells again. “Calmly, sweet sister. Draw my strength, find the words you want to say, help me understand.”
Cannot say who. Bespelled. Even in death. Hated that Alfrey loved me. Wanted me to give him up, stay away. Tortured me when I refused. I lost too much blood. So dark. Lonely. Won’t you help me?
“Yes, sweet sister. I will help you. Tell me more of your Alfrey.”
Sweet priest. Loved me though I was just a simple seamstress. He said he’d give up the priesthood for me, that we’d go across the sea.
“And would you like to do that still? Go across the sea?”
Not without Alfrey.
Koray smiled. “Ah, but if you go now, you can set up house for him, have a nice meal waiting. He will be along shortly, sweet sister. Has merely a few more people to whom he must bid farewell. He wants you to go first, to wait for him, to greet him with your smile on the far shore.”
Alfrey…The ghost gave a slow, hesitant nod.
“What is your name, sweet sister?”
Nella
Koray nodded and returned his silver bells to his pouch and drawing out a set made of gold. When he shook them, they made no sound – but Nella smiled sweetly, and whispered a thank you, then Alfrey’s name, and finally vanished.
As the sapping of his spirit abruptly ceased, his exhaustion hit him hard and Koray swayed on his feet, blindly reaching out to catch himself, fingers latching on to the cell bars. He held a hand to his forehead, willing the ache there to ease, knowing it wouldn’t for hours yet.
“What…what just happened?” Sorin asked. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine,” Koray said. “I spoke with a ghost. Alfrey was a priest?”
“Yes,” Sorin replied. “The most respected in the capital, but not as powerful as he could have been. He preferred to lead a quiet life and leave power to others.”
Koray nodded and stumbled from the cell, wanting badly to find a place free of ghosts to rest until his depleted spirit restored itself. He shivered, entire body shaking with cold, and awkwardly made his way from the dungeon, ignoring Sorin’s calling behind him, desperate now to get away, get out, find warmth somehow.
“Necromancer?” Sorin asked. “Are you well? Why do you shake so?”
“Cold,” Koray gasped out, hating himself for doing so. “I need to rest. I’ll be back later.” He ignored whatever else Sorin said, moving faster than was wise, blowing past everyone, scarcely noticing as they scrambled to get out of his way, desperate only to reach the graveyard before he passed out.
He couldn’t pass out anywhere but where he was safe. The last time he’d passed out after a spell…he’d woken up exactly where he’d fallen. Cold, damp from the drizzly spring air, an old sack filled with his asking price…no one had carried him to shelter, or so much as given him an old horse blanket. He’d saved them from an angry, powerful ghost, and they’d left him where he’d fallen.
It had happened more than once.
To wake up in a hallway…to know the Paladin had simply left him there…even thinking it hurt, and it shouldn’t. It shouldn’t. He was beyond caring. He should be beyond caring.
At last he reached the tomb where he was staying. The faint warmth of a long-dead Paladin washed over him, a pathetic but nevertheless welcome blanket of some warmth as his world turned black and he crumpled to the hard floor in front of the stone coffin of the dead Paladin.
Sorin swore softly as he watched Koray vanish into the confounded tomb. Goddess grant him patience, he’d never met a man so blasted confusing!
He turned away with a sigh, knowing he’d get nothing out of the man.
Had Koray even bothered to eat breakfast? It was still so early…
Frowning, Sorin changed directions and headed for the kitchens rather than the training yards. He stopped one of the cooks. “Has the necromancer been by to eat?”
The woman shuddered at the mention of Koray. “No, my lord. We saw him wandering about the castle, but he never asked for food.” The woman made the sign of the Goddess and moved on when it was obvious Sorin needed nothing more. He motioned to another woman. “Have a tray prepared for me, be generous with the portions.”
“Yes, Paladin,” the woman said with a bow, then rushed to obey.
When the tray was ready, Sorin took it and strode back toward the graveyard. He shook his head at himself. There were duties requiring his attention, men awaiting him in the castle and in the training yards. The King would be expecting the morning reports…and instead he’d spent the past hour trekking around the abandoned dungeon—
--Which reminded him. Koray had said the door was unlocked when he found it.
No one but he, the Steward and of course his Majesty had keys to the old dungeon. Had someone broken the lock? To what purpose?
Whatever Koray had done or seen down there, he had not seen fit to tell him before running off back to the graveyard.
His thoughts brought full circle, Sorin glowered at the tomb as he approached it. Feeling like an idiot, he knocked at the door. When no reply came forth, he pulled the door open—and stopped.
Setting the tray of food hastily down, he approached the unconscious Koray. From the awkward way he lay, all twisted and folded, it was obvious he’d simply passed out. Was it because of whatever had transpired in the dungeon?
Sorin knelt down and reached for him – then stopped. If he touched Koray, he’d just cause him pain. He was the strong arm of the Goddess, his touch would be more painful to Koray than even that of the High Priest.
Yet…hadn’t Koray asked for priests’ robes? Even the old ones he requested would surely cause him problems, if he were a true master of black magic. He was also sleeping on consecrated ground…in the tomb of a Paladin, and Koray’s proximity had never seemed to trouble him.
Well, the presence of a Paladin had never seemed to bother him. Sorin’s presence seemed to annoy, for whatever reason. Every approach, every attempt to help, was either accepted begrudgingly or sharply rejected. What had he done to offend?
Sorin frowned, confused as to what to do.
Inside him the power of the goddess was flaring, burning hot and bright. She was furious, her power filled with anger. Anger over the murder, over the presence of the necromancer, so much fury Sorin was having a hard time sorting it out. Rage tempered only by his strength, his experience.
Furious or no, he could not leave Koray lying so uncomfortably on the stone. More, he should have thought to have blankets and other such things brought, if this was where the man insisted on spending his nights. Ignoring his uncertainty, prepared to stop the minute it was clear he was causing Koray pain, Sorin reached forward and took hold of the necromancer.
He immediately recoiled, eyes wide shock, gasping.
Two things had immediately struck him.
The goddess’s rage had begun to ease when he’d touched the necromancer. It had gone still, as if pleased, waiting to see what else would happen…almost as if by touching Koray he was doing the right thing.
How was that possible? How? Necromancers practiced black magic – they were as deep into the black magic as anyone could get. Only demons were worse.
What was going on?
He also wanted to know why Koray had felt so cold. Like touching ice in the thick of winter, or being caked in wet, snow-laden clothes. More confused than ever, Sorin hesitantly reached out again.
Koray was far colder than it was healthy for a man to be. Nor had he been mistaken in the way the goddess’s fury eased when he touched the necromancer. Was…was it possible that her fury wasn’t because of the necromancer…but rather on his behalf?
Not understanding, but long used to obeying the will of the Goddess even when he didn’t understand, Sorin ceased hesitating and gathered the necromancer close, holding him tightly, willing the too-slender body to warm.
He stilled when Koray suddenly curled into him, making a sound that was half-sob, half-whimper. It hurt, that awful sound. Sorin reached up to shove off the ugly hood, revealing too-pale skin, that strange, beautiful hair. Sorin realized he was stroking one pale, silvery strand and made himself stop, but was unable to avoid tracing the line of one fine cheekbone, drawing a sharp breath at the way Koray turned into the touch, sought more.
This sleeping man was so different from the waking one. Not a thorn in sight, so accepting of his touch.
At last Koray seemed to settle, a soft, barely audible sigh escaping his lips before he relaxed against Sorin, head on his shoulder. “Goddess…I don’t understand this…” He closed his eyes and held Koray close, willing the power inside him to help him understand.
It was still, and from that he had to accept that holding the necromancer was the right thing to do. That meant his initial assumption had been wrong – horribly wrong. He could still feel the rage over Alfrey’s murder…but beside that was the stillness, the bright calm, that let him know he was doing the right thing. The Goddess was pleased that her Paladin held a necromancer close.
Sorin wished he understood. Why was it right that the most holy of the Goddess’s children hold a black mage? “Goddess, please tell me. I cannot do your will if I do not understand it. Most humbly your servant asks you to give me some measure of understanding.”
His only answer was silence, the bright, steady calm that assured him he should continue holding the necromancer. The Goddess did as she willed; it had been foolish of him to ask for answers. He would have them in time.
Sometimes that was a hard thing to remember.
Putting his questions aside, Sorin returned to examining the man in his arms.
So slender. Too slender. As if he were starved half to death. He lifted one of Koray’s hands, running his thumb over the bony knuckles, the long, thin fingers, circling his own fingers around a wrist that felt the slightest bit of force would snap it.
He wasn’t cold anymore, Sorin realized suddenly. Cool, but definitely not cold. Was he warming the man up? That only made sense, of course. As thin as he was, Koray probably had very little body heat of his own…yet that did not explain how shockingly cold he’d been.
More questions.
Sorin sighed softly and reached out to stroke Koray’s cheekbone again, touching at least giving him something to do, making him feel like he was doing something more than sitting in a crypt warming a man who seemed to hate him.
Some time later the power in him shifted again, settled in a different way, began to pulse and twitch. His job here was done…for the moment, anyway. He sensed whatever the Goddess wanted in regards to Koray was far from over. Gingerly he set Koray down on the stones, arranging him as comfortably as he could.
He grabbed the tray of food and moved it close, then lingered a moment more, suddenly reluctant to just leave Koray alone…but taking him into the castle would only hurt him, right? Hadn’t he said something about all the ghosts bothering him?
Why couldn’t everything he’d heard about necromancers have been right? More importantly, why was everything he’d been told proving to be wrong – horribly wrong.
Suddenly angry, Sorin left the graveyard and stormed through the castle, the rage of the Goddess fueling his own, contained only by his knowledge of what it could do when it was unleashed.
He was Paladin because he could control those forces rather than let himself be consumed by them.
The Holy Cathedral of the Goddess of Light shone in the sunlight, glittering where the sun caught chips of crystal in the rock chosen for that very reason. Windows of colored glass were everywhere, and where the light slipped through it caught on crystals that hung from string, were set into braziers – practically wherever they could be put.
Sorin barely noticed, his eyes only for the High Priest at the altar. Around him people scattered, vacated, sensing that they had better places to be at the moment.
“Holy Paladin,” the High Priest greeted calmly, as though oblivious to the rage he felt emanating from Sorin. “What troubles you?”
Sorin stopped short of the altar and forced himself to calm, blue eyes locking with the dark brown eyes of the severe-looking High Priest. “I came to you to learn of necromancers, that I might be familiar with the man who had come to this castle to solve a certain matter.” They both knew very well he meant the murder.
“Yes,” the High Priest replied, growing confused.
“Everything you told me, sir, appears to have been a lie. I would know why.”
The High Priest drew himself up. “I told you all that was told to me.”
“Then someone lied,” Sorin snapped. “I was told they were unholy, the blackest of mages.” He spread his arms wide. “Yet just moments ago the Goddess bid me hold the necromancer close, warm him, for he was as cold as winter.”
“What?” the High Priest demanded. “Ridiculous.”
“You question the will of the Goddess!” Sorin thundered.
“No,” the High Priest said hastily. “That is not what I meant.” He sighed. “I was expressing my amazement. Necromancers practice black magic, this is the truth I was always told. Never has the Goddess said anything to indicate I was wrong in my beliefs…though it is not her duty to tell me everything, is it?” He motioned to the front pew. “Perhaps we should sit, for I fear you have much to tell me.”
“I have much to ask,” Sorin answered, swiping a hand through his hair. “You said necromancers practice black magic.”
“They do,” the High Priest said. “That is fact. Myrrh, rune-marked bells, words no one blessed by the Holy Goddess would understand. They use blood and ash in their rituals…more besides. You remember all I told you. Why do you claim they are blessed by the Goddess?”
Sorin rubbed his head, willing away his headache. “Does it not seem strange to you that necromancers sleep in graveyards?”
“Among the dead? Hardly.”
“On consecrated ground.”
The startled look on the High Priest’s said he’d never looked at it that way – Sorin was beginning to think no one had. Himself included, until Koray had pointed it out. “More importantly,” he continued, “I found him collapsed in the crypt where he is staying and when I moved him, he seemed to welcome my touch rather than recoil from it – and the Goddess seemed pleased that I was helping him.”
“How puzzling,” the High Priest murmured. “I learned from my predecessor, and he from his…as we always do. Never have I heard that a necromancer might be blessed. This will require deeper investigation…though I suppose we could also simply ask him.”
Sorin chuckled and shook his head. “Nay, High Priest. I have tried that before.” Sorin relaxed in his seat, letting his head fall back against the pew to stare up at the colorful windows lining the ceiling, shedding down a rainbow of light. “Asking him a question is much like trying to comfort a wounded cat.”
The High Priest chuckled at the mention of his cat, which had given him many a scar before he finally won the feline over. “If I can tame a half-wild cat, Paladin, you can coax answers from a necromancer.”
“You have not met the necromancer,” Sorin muttered. He sat up with a sigh. “Which reminds me – in payment for solving the riddle, he has requested old priests’ robes.”
“A peculiar thing to ask for,” the High Priest said. “I will pull a few from storage, have them cleaned.”
Sorin shook his head. “You don’t know the half of it…though I think perhaps it makes more sense now.” At the curious look the High Priest gave him, he shrugged. “He asked to spend a night in my company.”
The High Priest’s lips twitched. “I assume he didn’t mean what it sounds like he meant.”
“No, he didn’t,” Sorin said, rolling his eyes. “He almost said something before, now that I am paying attention to what is said to me,” he glowered at the floor, annoyed with himself. He had listened too easily to all that was said to him, to what he was told, without double checking any of it. Granted the High Priest had told him most of those things…but he should not have simply assumed he understood the Goddess’s anger. Well, he could begin to fix things now. “He said something about my presence, but cut himself off.” He shrugged and scrubbed at his hair, wishing something made sense. Goddess, he hated feeling confused. “I guess I will find out somehow. I have faced worse than a prickly necromancer…”
“Indeed you have,” the High Priest said, lips curving in amusement. “Shall I bestow a battle blessing upon you, holy Paladin?”
Sorin laughed. “That will not be necessary, High Priest, but I thank you. I apologize for calling you a liar.”
The High Priest waved the words away. “Apparently I am a liar. I shall begin to fix that this evening. If you learn anything before I do, let me know.”
“Of course. Goddess guide you.”
“And you, Paladin.”
“If only it were that easy,” Sorin muttered as he left, striding back toward the castle proper and off to the yards where he should have been hours ago.
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Date: 2006-08-28 03:15 pm (UTC)"If had merely been a matter..." Maybe you could add "it" there? "If it had merely been..."
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Date: 2006-08-28 05:18 pm (UTC)Poor Sandstorm, it keeps losing to everything else ^_~
Ah, thank you. I figured I must have missed something XD
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Date: 2006-08-28 06:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-28 04:57 pm (UTC)There are just a couple of things that might help it flesh out just a bit, and they are miniscule.
Sorin stopped short of the altar and forced himself to calm, blue eyes locking with the dark brown eyes of the severe-looking High Priest.
This came as a bit of a surprise, since the the whole time, the High Priest's manners make him out to be more of a mild person. Maybe a bit more description about his personality being opposite of his appearance?
The second thing was the mention of the High Priest owning a cat, which, though trivial, might be described just a tiny bit more, or maybe having Sorin give him a look to point out that he knows about the High Priest's cat?
For some reason, my favorite character in this...is the High Priest. Weird, huh?
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Date: 2006-08-28 05:17 pm (UTC)I'm still hoping I can do the other chars I have in mind, but it's good to hear this stand all right on its own. I think it's because I'm so mad at it that it works -- my headaches always seem to be my best works.
Hmmm, see what you mean. I shall take both your recs ^_^ And thank you.
Heh. I like the High Priest. I never gave him a name, perhaps I should...
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Date: 2006-08-28 06:06 pm (UTC)I loved this story, and like so many of your other stories, I would LOVE to see them in print. With a little bit of fleshing out at the end, I think it would be a great story to submit to an anthology. The only thing I see with it that might be a problem is that the ending seems a bit rushed and thinned out, but that is easily remedied. (I can tell you were a bit annoyed with the story because the ending becomes rather curt *love, love, love* )
And why does the High Priest need a name? It should be as secret as...as...a secret! ^_^
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Date: 2006-08-29 08:10 am (UTC)Judging from the marks upon the ghost’s body, at least those he could see, the poor thing had endured a great deal of suffering before finally succumbing to her wounds.
You say 'her' but in the next paragraph you type;
istantly he heard Sorin’s startled gasp to hear him invoke the Goddess’s name in a necromantic spell, but it wasn’t enough to break his concentration. Before him, the ghost looked up – a woman, even worse, and the anguish ripped his heart to shreds
Since he identified the ghost as a woman earlier, then there shouldn't be a need for the second bit right? Or maybe i'm confused again..XD
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Date: 2006-08-29 11:54 am (UTC)I'm so happy. Course...**scrubs her face** ...now I need a nap. I'll give this a decent reply when I'm not half dead from work....
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Date: 2006-08-31 01:19 am (UTC)Koray is so... gah! angst! Poor, tortured soul! I feel for him.
Sorin... gah. When it first swithced to his perspective? Gah. So awful. He barely even actually listened to a word Koray had said, and that's just...sad. Very sad for Koray. However, he made up for a lot! the second time he talked to Koray. Plus, he actually REALIZED how little attention he payed earlier, always a plus.
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Date: 2006-08-31 01:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-31 01:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-14 08:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-01 03:39 am (UTC)i cannot remember ever being more in love with a story than i am with this one.
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Date: 2008-11-06 04:50 am (UTC)