The Morality of A Necromancer Page 4

  Roark removed the handkerchief. “I’ve been training with Alana since I was your age. It took me several months to learn. She is a better teacher than I, I’m afraid, but you could still practice knife throwing if you wish.”

  *

  Eohan fiddled with the button on his sleeve and watched the pot bubble. The carrots would cook without his supervision, but Eohan felt so out of control at least he could stir the carrots.

  Kian tossed Roark’s knife. As it had every time before, it thudded on the ground ten paces in front of him. His aim wasn’t even close, though he was hitting about the same spot each time. That was something. The little brother who used to sing with their mother was not in that boy running after the knife he just tossed. Kian used to be happy, now he feared everyone -- even Eohan.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll figure out a way.” Roark opened the oiled vellum map which he placed on a tarp.

  “Are you saying that for me or you?”

  Roark’s smile betrayed his uncertainty. “Both of us. I’m trying to think like Alana, but I can’t see that many moves and counters.”

  “Same.”

  “Which is why I brought over the map.”

  “It’s sarding annoying when you read my mind.”

  “I didn’t. You were staring at the carrots as if you expected them to disappear on us.”

  As the two apprentices had spent every day together for nearly a year, Roark, who was outstanding at reading tells, was exceptionally good at reading his. It was still annoying.

  Speaking in a soft voice, Roark pointed to the nearest large port city. “We could make it easily to Gornisce, as they will have some civilian transports, except if they even think we did the regicide, they’ll kill us and sell the bodies on a whim. We’d have to be on our guard and ready to fight. If I was a bounty hunter, I’d be watching the posts.”

  Eohan nodded. “And, even with dyed hair, Kian gives us away.”

  Roark ran his finger over the map until he reached the nearest Guild House which sat atop a mountain overlooking a large port. “Laithmor is only a two days ride with only one village to pass through. If Kian can act the part of a young nobleborn or at least merchantborn, we’d more easily blend in with Guild members, and the ships will be nicer if we can board a Guild transport.”

  “Manners are more easily taught than horsemanship and fighting.”

  “Agreed,” Roark said.

  Eohan gestured at Kian running towards the knife still not coming close to the target. “Thanks for that.”

  Roark shrugged. “I only thought of what might please my own little brother. I’ve oft wished I was a close to my brothers and sister as you and Kian are.”

  “Were close. Now he barely looks at me.”

  “Alright. Were, but will be again. Alana has foreseen it.” Roark waved his fingers towards Eohan as if he were a busker casting a magic show.

  “Cumberworld,” Eohan said.

  *

  Chapter 6

  Port Dentwort in the Realm of Dynion

  Dawn sent shimmering golden rays over the sea which lapped against the dock and hulls of the ships. Alana let the sun sink into her skin and imaged the guilt from last night’s killing drift away into the expanse of water. Byronia tilted her head and pursed her lips a few times as if she wanted to speak, and though Alana expected questions, none were forthcoming.

  They passed several sailors on guard at the base of each gangplank. As they arrived back at the Muirchlaimhte, a sailor inclined his head. “War Ender, I’ll call Lillia for your needs. There is a missive from House Master Corwin.”

  “I might need to respond to this, Do you mind asking Lilla to come in two hours?”

  “As you wish.” He inclined his head in the usual way.

  They thanked him and went aboard. The Guild cabin seemed smaller under Byronia’s frightened gaze. “What did he say?”

  Alana read aloud:

  I need not explain my reasons. I allow you to complete an errand of little magnitude only because it is safe enough for them to learn. She is your future and mine. Roark is no consequence to me, but I shall do my duty by him unless you refuse your duty by me. -- Corwin

  Alana warmed her wrinkled hands before the oil lamps small flame. Then opened her inkwell and scrawled:

  How dare you threaten my nephew…

  “Please!” Byronia rushed forward and knocked her knee on the wooden bench as she reached for the quill. “Please, my lady, don’t anger my uncle.”

  Alana turned to the young woman who was still holding her knee. She did not expect an answer of consequence until she saw Byronia’s eyes wide with panic.

  “Don’t write that or I’ll tell him what you do. Creating potions to live beyond one’s lifespan is not approved Guild technology! Does my uncle know you are acquainted with a lich?”

  “Probably. Corwin knows many things that I don’t tell him,” Alana said.

  “I might report you. Why should I betray my uncle for a lich?” Byronia asked, tears sparkling in her eyes. “Why should I not tell him what you do?” A red flush crossed Byronia’s ivory cheeks.

  “Edar gave us sanctuary last night. He didn’t have to help us.”

  “He only helped us for your blood,” Byronia sobbed.

  Alana tenderly squeezed the younger woman’s hand. “He only took what I offered. You were perfectly safe. Think on it. If you report Edar to your uncle, he must report it to the Guild, and we lose a safehouse. Be sure what you do.”

  “No!” Byronia shrieked and jerked her hand away. “Please for Roark’s sake and mine. My uncle is driven to stop what’s coming, he sees it! Please don’t write that letter. I’ll do whatever you say.”

  Alana snapped the inkwell shut and set the pen in its holder. “Enough of this. Sit and calm yourself, girl. And tell the truth you ought to have told days ago.”

  Not meeting Alana’s eyes, Byronia sat. “After my mother’s funeral, but before Orla’s coronation, Corwin took my sisters, brother-in-law, brother and I aside and said we must fulfill our traditional roles or House Silba will fall in a generation.”

  “Did he say how?”

  “A war.” Without pausing to think, Byronia went on, her eyes still wide. “We never took his grumbling seriously. Not even when he was my master. And we didn’t take him seriously on that day either. Corwin said, ‘he couldn’t make that fool, Esara, listen, but if we don’t obey his edicts, he’ll destroy House Silba before he watched it tumble into ruin due to five slovenly children.’”

  Trying to calm the young woman, Alana cupped her cheek and wiped a tear away. “Surely, it’s not that bad. He always claimed you were his favorite and spoke of you with pride—especially your gift of language.”

  “But it was that bad, Aldran told him to shut up and he slapped the boy hard enough to leave a mark. You wouldn’t believe an old man could…”

  “What?”

  “Move that fast. My siblings looked at me to protect them. He disarmed me in seconds and threw my saber across the room. Then he backed Niall against the table and said he’d find Orla a husband who could do his duty by her instead of a popinjay from the east squandering House Silba’s wealth just because he fathered one child, when his job was to protect it.

  “He grabbed me by the neck and said if I disobeyed him in the slightest measure, he would crucify me on the gate of House Silba. Since Aldran would now be third, he could be Martlet or join me on the gates. Orla begged him to stop and asked what we did to anger him so.

  “He shouted about missing citizens and our ignorance for not even knowing our coastal villages have been attacked. I was young and not in great demand at the Guild so I had no excuse not to be on the road. He told Orla that it was her duty to protect these people. I failed them, but so had she.

  “It was the most sober coronation, I’ve ever attended. What I said about Orla and I traveling to Eyredeir was true. We learned all I could from Ylynn and brought Orla home. I reported to Corwin and asked for advice. He s
aid you were on a short job, but he’d ask you to help me and if I valued my life, he better not hear a complaint against my behavior. He ordered me to practice with the sentries until you were free. He told Lord Seweryn to scar my face if I fought under my abilities, so no one would recognize me as his niece.” She shuddered.

  Alana didn’t bother to tell the young woman she had seen Corwin at his worse and a War Ender—even a former War Ender--would only do what’s necessary. He hadn’t attacked Byronia, she attacked him and he disarmed her. He should have had their respect, and when that didn’t work, he used terror. Alana didn’t always agree with Corwin’s methods, and felt that if he had been a little more generous to the girl when she was a girl, he wouldn’t be dealing with a young woman’s rebellion.

  Alana sighed and guided the troubled head to rest on her shoulder. “I won’t send a response in anger. However, you ought to have told me about the coming war. Tell me about what Corwin said about that.”

  “But he didn’t.”

  “Anything would help.”

  “Only we need to protect our citizenry when it comes. House Silba was once the defender of all Fairdhel and we must be again. Illness will spread first, followed by famine. He ordered Orla to not spend another speck on fancy tunics for Niall, but hire a weapons master. All of them are to train. As am I.”

  “Then it’s time for your lesson. Lie down.”

  “You still trust me? You’ll still teach me?”

  “You’re a Martlet. And you’re not the first young person who took a respite after her apprenticeship was over. Go.”

  Byronia lay on in her bunk and closed her eyes.

  Alana sat beside her head. and stroked her brow gently. “Now, dear one, clear your mind of worries. Just think of a pleasant future. Imagine yourself leaving your body and witnessing five years from now. Nothing to fear, I’ll be beside you.”

  Byronia’s spirit easily left her body, though her spirit hovered above the living corpse pressing upon the haze of time. Alana left her own form and broke through the mist.

  For a single instant, they were in a well-appointed apartment where the future vision of Byronia spoke softly to Roark who studied his cuticles and nodded.

  They returned to the Muirchlaimhte before Alana could understand what they were speaking about. Byronia opened her eyes and immediately covered them with her hands. She rolled over to her side and clenched her stomach.

  Alana rubbed the base of the younger woman’s neck. “You’ll be alright, nausea’s common until you learn to control it. You did better than Roark, his first time. Get some rest. We’ve slaves to save this afternoon.”

  “But what does it mean? I could barely hear them—us.”

  “The only thing we know is you and Roark are still alive in five years, but we will journey to this time again and try longer next time.”

  Alana went back to the table and opened her journal to a well-worn page: the coded list of enslaved children she found when she rescued her eldest apprentice. She had opened it many times. The first saved was Kian. She looked at the names she had written and the farms, brothels, and other households Edar had shown her on the map.

  From the bunk, Byronia whispered, “There are so many. Names, I mean.”

  “And these are only the citizens of Fairdhel and Daouail on three pages in one book. You saw the stacks.”

  “It’s terrible, its worse than terrible, but I don’t see what I can do about it.”

  Alana ensured her tone was gentle though her meaning was not. “You are a Martlet. With training, you could board any ship holding our people and free them.”

  The young woman tilted her head from side to side, never meeting Alana’s eyes. “Even though Guild law allows for slavery? Isn’t it futile?”

  Alana leaned back and hooked her arm through the back of the bench. “Yes, it is. But it all is. Eating bread is futile, because you will just be hungry tomorrow. The Martlets wander for the good of our people; we chase ruin, but there is always ruin. You are here to learn, I am here to teach you. That’s all that matters.”

  “Uncle’s right.”

  “In what way, dear?”

  “Someday you’ll anger the wrong person. They will hunt you down and kill you.”

  “I never expected to die in my bed, but I face the Waters of Resurrection with only one regret.”

  “You’re mad. And by the time this is over, I think I shall be mad as well.”

  A sigh of contentment left Alana’s lips. The young woman was learning.

  *

  Hidden among the fruit-laden brambles with Byronia, Alana focused on the slaves’ slow, methodical movements as they harvested berries. Their backs hunched from work. Three overseers rode between the lanes on what looked like mechanical bulls. On their belts, each overseer wore a knife and a modified lash of thick rope with one end unbraided. They were otherwise unarmed. The massive armored bodies of the bulls held up thick heads brandishing thick metal horns. Alana sketched them quickly.

  The bulls did not emit steam or smoke. She had never seen such a device unless they were some sort of golems. “I don’t see the means of locomotion,” she whispered and wrote these thoughts beside her sketch.

  “Nor I,” Byronia said and handed her a quick sketch of the grounds. “The slave house is filled with humans. However, there’s one Daosith adult, our two Fairsinge children, another Daosith child, plus an infant of undetermined race.”

  Alana clipped the drawing to her journal. The slave quarters, a rotting wood building with an open latrine on the east side of it and a shallow well to the west, stood behind a thick stone wall which separated it from the garden behind the family’s stone house.

  “Fight, steal or buy?” Alana asked.

  “My uncle said to remain allies with the humans.”

  “Then we buy. How do I look?”

  Alana wiped a bit of dirt off her tunic and checked her hair in her signaling mirror. The large twisted large bun was still intact. Alana covered her head with a translucent veil, the style of a married woman. As human maidens wore their hair in this Realm, Bryonia’s two long plaits were intertwined with silk ribbons and tied to her scalp was a small woolen cap.

  Byronia knocked on the intricately carved wooden door. The small peep window opened. “Yes?” The human male plastered a practiced smile on his powdered face which was surrounded by a powdered wig.

  “Lady Alana of House Eyreid and Lady Byronia of House Silba seek Master and Mistress Kicuete for a business matter,: the young woman announced carefully enhancing her lyrical Fairsinge accent, in order to be treated by the rules of hospitality.

  The human closed the window and unlatched the door. White dust fell upon the floor as he bowed. Was he too a slave or a paid servant? Would he fight for his master?

  They were brought to a too-warm parlor where the butler directed the ladies to a padded divan. Once they were seated, he bowed his head. “The master and mistress will be with you shortly. May I offer you sherry?”

  “Will you act as our taster, sir?” Byronia asked.

  “While such things may be common in the Elf-lands, this is Dynion!”

  “We beg pardon, good sir,” Byronia said, her blue eyes looking wide and innocent.

  The butler poured a cup of sherry and drew it to his lips. Then passed it to Alana who sipped it; he poured another and passed it to Byronia.

  The master and mistress of the house appeared. He wore two or three layers of long silk robes which stretched over his belly while she wore a silk dress with a full skirt and headdress covering her long-twisted bun. They daintily placed themselves on the embroidered cushions of the divan across from where the ladies were seated.

  “Thank you for seeing us,” Alana said, keeping her voice soft. “I fear you interacted with our people in error and caused a divide amongst us.”

  “In error? We do not mean to offend the elfkin,” the mistress said.

  “Hence, we are here to make amends. You bought a twelve-year-old
girl named Balrea and a ten-year-old boy Balhan a year ago at the slave auction. They are citizens of the Sildeir Province ruled by my Great and Wise Sister. We are here to collect them,” Byronia said. “And there are two others who are the citizens of the Josael Province.”

  “I bought them fairly,” the master said.

  “We will pay fairly,” Alana said.

  The master waved his hand. The wigged butler came beside her divan. He bowed and gestured towards the door. “My lady, my …”

  Alana did not rise. He set his hand on her shoulder.

  Byronia put a shivering hand on the saber on her belt.

  “They were purchased fairly!” The woman’s silk shoes squeaked on the wood floor as she stood.

  “Yes, fairly,” her husband repeated.

  “At what price would you sell them?”

  “Balrea has produced,” the master said. “And the boy is a good worker.”

  Though Alana felt like screaming Balrea’s a twelve-year-old girl, running her saber through the pair, and pissing upon their blood as it stained their fine carpets, she remained placid. “Ah. I see. Fear not, we will buy the produced child as well.”

  “They were purchased by the law! We need them.” The woman of the house crossed the room, put her hand on Alana’s arm and tugged upwards.

  Alana remained seated.

  “Yes, by the law,” the master said, his face growing red.

  The top of Byronia’s silver blade sparkled in the low light of the parlor, and the wigged butler drew his blade. Damn it!

  Alana rose and spun on her slippered foot. She knocked the mistress of the house to the floor and quickly disarmed the butler. She pressed her elbow against the artery in his neck. The butler fell forward, out cold. Byronia grasped him under the shoulders, carried him out the door and deposited him upon the hall floor. Alana looped the doorknob around a cabinet with a leather strap, so if the butler regained consciousness, he could not open the door.

  Alana sat down again as placidly as before. “Forgive our outburst. My records say you paid thirty-two crowns for both Balrea and Balhan.”