Vol 7, Chapter 11

◆ Healers' Guild of the Fourth Duchy, Asha's POV. ◆


"So, Randall sent you to recruit more healers?"

The former Count nodded with dignity.

"And the Captain wants to begin treatment as soon as possible?"

Flint also nodded.

"And you, then… are trying to squeeze more money out of them?" The girl turned to the healer.

He coughed softly into his fist.

"I suppose, since you're acquainted, I'm willing to meet you halfway and combine services. Fifty thousand gold for a two-year contract and a ship for treatment, correct?"

"No, no, wait, that won't do!" Flint burst out again. "If this gentleman doesn't mind, then I fully cede the right to the contract to him. After all, it was your grandson who caused me to strain myself, so the treatment should come from you as well!"

"I'll allow the healer to work with you in his spare time… but fifty thousand⁈ Are you out of your mind?" Karl now turned to the healer.

The latter merely shrugged.

"All available healers are in the Third Duchy right now, of course the price of our services has risen."

"But not that much!"

"Consider that I am already retired, so this is the price for my experience and my old bones, which do not like traveling. If I were willing to leave the city for less — I would be treating the Third Duke right now!"

"Oh, he's still not dead? When I was exiled, I thought he was already on his deathbed. I even heard they froze his body or something like that!" Asha interjected.

"Those are all rumors. I keep in touch with my students and I assure you, he is quite… functional, as much as possible in his situation. This was achieved solely by our hard and nightly professional labors, paid for with full-weight gold and magical cores."

"Nightly… ugh. When he dies, will you lower the price?"

"Certainly."

"So, when will he die?" the girl asked carelessly.

The healer pierced her with a heavy stare.

"I cannot share such information, but I can state with certainty — my students are doing everything possible to keep him alive for another week. And another week. And another week. And yet anoth—"

"I get it, enough! You know what? I'm sure he's already dead," Asha answered with an equally piercing look, hands on her hips.

"Nonsense…" the healer flinched. "Of course he is alive!"

"Oh no, he isn't! It's not profitable for you if he's dead, since then you'd have to lower your prices!"

"Yes, but… that doesn't mean he's dead!"

"He's dead, dead! Lying in the ice cellar next to the vegetables! That's what his general said!"

The healer sighed and turned to Karl.

"Your Grace, this girl is completely insane. Who could even come up with such madness, putting a Duke in a food icehouse⁉ What are we, cannibals in her opinion?"

"Aha! So you admit he's dead!" Asha exclaimed.

"Ahem. She's right," Condor mused, stroking his beard.

The healer's eyes widened, and the former Count hurried to add:

"In the sense that we cannot know for sure whether he is alive or not. And therefore, your price…"

"Ah, so that's what you were getting at." The healer relaxed and waved a yellow sleeve of his robe with relief. "I was starting to think you both were insane!"

"Insane are your prices, old man!" Captain Flint barked, only to be pierced by the healer's glare.

"In your place, I would be more polite to the one who might end up treating you."

"M-my apologies," he stammered, inwardly cursing his own weakness.

"Hm." Karl took over. "Let's discuss payment. Since we cannot know if the Third Duke is alive… Ten thousand for a year?"

"That's not even funny. First, my price is high because most healers are still in the Third Duchy. Whether the Duke is alive or not, you simply won't find any free healers! Second, he is most certainly alive. If you want to check — go there yourselves, perhaps you'll manage to lure some of the healers to your side. By the way, why didn't you do that right away?"

The former Count coughed awkwardly and averted his gaze.

"I thought… it better to look for people here first."

"If you're worried about the annulment of the marriage contract, I can assure you—no such rumors have reached me," he declared, his eyes gleaming shrewdly. After a short pause, he added, "Don't be surprised. We are everywhere. No noble house can do without our services. So don't quarrel with us. If the price doesn't suit you—just leave."

"Well, since you can't agree on the price, why don't we just grab him and drag him to the ship?" Asha suggested.

The surrounding stares immediately converged on her.

"What are you all looking at? It's a good idea. There's no guard here, we just take him and go. I've never kidnapped anyone before—would be fun to try!"

"You must be joking, girl?" the healer said nervously, swallowing a lump in his throat.

"Me? Doesn't seem like it. Or do you have hidden guards here?" she narrowed her eyes suspiciously, scanning the nearly empty room.

Cold marble, a few vases with tall flowers in the corners. A table and chairs made of precious redwood, a silvery statue of a hound frozen in eternal bark…

"Aha! Found it!"

A fireball roared across the room and engulfed the silver dog statue, life-sized. Within seconds, the metallic body melted into a fiery puddle across the marble.

"What have you done!" The healer rushed to the steaming puddle, wringing his hands. "That was a gift to our guild from Count Debye! He made it himself after the guild healed his beloved hound!"

"I thought it was a golem. So where's the guard then?"

"I sent them home because of the riots. I never imagined there would be… idiots brazen enough to attack the guild. We are untouchable, even Dukes fear to quarrel with us!" the healer shouted.

"Well, I'm no Duke, and I don't care. You say healers know all sorts of things. Maybe you've even heard of me?"

"I don't understand…"

"Maybe. You have heard of me?" she repeated threateningly, pulling up her red hood.

A heavy silence settled over the hall.

"Enough. Calm down," Karl ordered.

"Count Condor, I don't work for you."

"I'm not a Count anymore."

"What happened? Ah, never mind. The city's surrounded, we need to get out, and you're wasting time chatting. Grab the old man and let's go."

"The noble art of healing will not work under coercion!"

"Seriously? What if I roast your heels, will you agree to work voluntarily?"

"You… you little—"

The flash of fire before his eyes made the healer shut his mouth.

"As the bandits say—watch your tongue."

In desperation, the elderly healer turned to Karl. It was dawning on him that this wasn't a joke, that the girl truly intended to kidnap him.

"You really think after this I'll agree to serve you? You threaten me, you destroyed the statue…"

"Marvin and I will fix it," Ashley interrupted the old man. "If you want, we'll even make a golem out of it, though it'll take a couple of days and some materials."

"To hell with the statue, just get this lunatic out of here!" the healer squealed.

The former Count shrugged.
"You heard him—she doesn't obey me."

The healer cast a desperate glance at the Captain.

He rolled his eyes.
"What, me? She doesn't obey me either!"

"You see, old man. Come along to the ship willingly," Asha grinned, and the healer dropped his hands.

"I'll agree to twelve thousand. Per year. But with one condition."

"What condition?"

"That woman—" he jabbed his finger at the Ashira, "I will not treat her. Under any circumstances!"

"Pft, I don't need you anyway." Asha snorted. "What about the Captain?"

"He'll have to sell the ship regardless. It's not that we demand high payment—it's the reagents, herbs, and materials necessary for the treatment. That will cost a fortune. And I'll need assistants; a ritual can't be performed alone."

"Fine. Sign the papers." Asha waved her hand imperiously and dropped into a chair, throwing her legs up on the table.

Karl left the hall, returning a few minutes later with two soldiers dragging a chest of gold. On their belts Asha noticed a familiar weapon. Firearms. She turned her head to show Ashley, but the girl and Marvin were busy sculpting the dog. To be frank, it wasn't turning out very well—rather than a sleek hound, they were producing an ordinary mutt. Apparently, the pair weren't very familiar with breeds.

For a while, she stared at her boots, then turned to the Captain.
"Hey, where are we heading now?"

"What? What are you talking about?" He jerked, tearing his envious gaze away from the healer counting coins.

"Well, like, near Eagle's Cliff there's a river… can't we just sail straight there? Why do we need ports?"

The Captain smirked.
"A frigate isn't a schooner. Yes, the capital's river is deep enough for us to reach Renvel without trouble, but the channel leading to the Cliff is too shallow. Only a river barge or galley could make it. With our draft, we'd just run aground. But the channel to the Third Duchy is fully navigable. A battleship won't pass, of course, but us? I think we'll squeeze through."

"The Third Duchy then… Well, from there it's closer to Reikland than from here. Will you take us?"

"Feels like I don't have a choice," he grimaced and suddenly slammed his fist on the table. "Ever since I lost my magic, everyone's been pulling me around like a puppet. Abyss take me, how damned unpleasant it is to be just an ordinary man!"

"No choice, yeah. You still need to find a couple more healers, and it looks like there are plenty there." The girl swung her legs, finally taking them off the table so as not to interfere with those filling out the contract.

"One condition: you don't start up your rattletrap. My ship's already bursting at the seams, and I won't let you take it apart any further!"

"No problem." Asha extended her hand for a handshake, but then there was a knock at the door.

Everyone turned. The door opened soundlessly.

The healer froze with a stack of gold coins in his hands. Karl's pen dripped a blot of ink on the contract. The open chest brimmed with gold, and the soldiers whipped out revolvers, aiming at the newcomer.

In his hands—a pistol. Behind him, a whole crowd with red armbands.

"My comrades told me some passengers wandered in here. Allow me to inquire… would you happen to have a spare berth on your ship?"

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◆ Great Desert between the Theocracy and the Commonwealth, Necromancer's POV. ◆

Sand whispered quietly beneath bare feet. Dead and lifeless, it stretched for miles inland from the shore. A traveler, wrapped head to toe in rags, crested a dune, beyond which the Dead Sea should appear. His sparse movements resembled those of a golem or a marionette. He drove his bone staff into the sand with motions so practiced they were automatic. The traveler seemed as dead as everything around him. He blended seamlessly into the desert, one with it. Gusts of wind briefly revealed his blackened face, skin stretched taut, dehydrated, emaciated, indifferent.

He was on the brink of death.

And that suited him just fine. Proximity to death only made a necromancer stronger.

The Master of Death was walking to the shore for a reason: he had sensed life there. Too much life for the Dead Sea.

Through the whisper of sands came the sound of a lute and voices.

A song.

The newcomers were trying to cheer themselves up. Understandable; when death magic leeches life from you drop by drop, everyone wants a distraction.

The necromancer stepped onto the crest of the dune. Before him, the sea rippled with sails. Far too many. Ships ran aground like whales, gouging the salty, dead sand with their bellies. From the holds, they hurriedly unloaded crates and cages with chimeras. No one wanted to linger in the Dead Lands longer than necessary.

He watched them thoughtfully with eyes sunken deep into their sockets.

The entire shore was filled with troops. Few swordsmen or armored knights; half the force was beast-handlers and specially bred creatures. The other half hid in tents, far fewer in number but far more dangerous. Mages.

Far too many. This was no expedition to the pyramid where Archan the Black rested. Not many possibilities remained, but to be certain he would have to ask.

That was not difficult. After all, the worst these people could do was... kill him.

Stroking the human vertebrae strung upon his staff, the necromancer began his descent to the beach.

Spotting the traveler's figure, a sentry immediately spurred his chimera, a lizard-like beast, toward him.

"Stop, djinn. You don't belong here, get back to your desert!"

The chimera punctuated the guard's words with a loud hiss. It disliked the aura of death emanating from the rag-wrapped half-corpse.

"These are our lands. What are mages doing here?" the necromancer rasped. His dried vocal cords barely managed to produce human speech.

"I told you to get lost!" the guard shouted, tugging on the reins to sic his chimera at the traveler.

The lizard's hind legs shot forward. A lunge.

The chimera's jaws opened wider and wider. Despite its modest size, hardly larger than a horse, the lizard was ready to swallow a man whole.

Sharp teeth… crumble away.

Scales fade. Legs buckle as rotted bones can no longer bear the weight of the body. The rider is thrown from the saddle, tumbling across the sand. The chimera, frozen mid-lunge, swiftly decays, flesh sloughing off to reveal white bones, while the necromancer adjusts his grip on the staff and continues toward the camp. Searching for someone who will give him answers.

The watchman spits out sand, draws his sword, and takes a step toward the necromancer, but his own chimera blocks the way. In its empty eye sockets burns a blue flame. The magical core, now the new heart of the reborn beast, floats inside the bone skull. The watchman lowers his sword and pulls a horn from his belt.

The alarm call echoes across the shore, drowning out the lute.

An armed unit quickly surrounds the necromancer, forcing him to halt.

Sunken eyes sweep over the men in an unblinking gaze. Yes. Many will die. Including the high-ranking mage pushing through the crowd to face him.

"Never thought I'd say this, but I'm glad to see you, djinn. Given the circumstances, I'm ready to make you a deal. We'll give you food, as much as you want, and you'll shield our camp from the aura of death. Agreed?" the mage offered with a false smile.

Pragmatic enough to break laws for the sake of the mission... But the necromancer was interested in something else.

"You plan to attack the fortress?" he rasped.

"Uh… yes. So, do you agree?"

The necromancer coldly weighed the odds. Unlike the Theocracy, the Commonwealth sometimes bargained with his people. In fact, more often than the Kingdom. However… now it was irrational.

"No need. You will all die here. We will take the food from your corpses," the Master of Death croaked, turning away.

The men stepped aside, letting him leave.

"When we're done with them, you'll be next, soulless spawn! It's long past time you were wiped out!" the mage shouted furiously at the refusal.

But he had the sense not to give the order to attack. He knew it was pointless to suffer losses before the main battle. Especially knowing those losses would not be small. In these lands, steeped in death, the advantage was not theirs.

The necromancer extended his hand toward the bone chimera. It obediently opened its jaws, spat out the core, and collapsed into bone dust. The Master of Death placed the prize into his pouch and returned to the dune to watch.

He would sit as long as needed.

The fortress amid the sands, lying on the Theocracy's border, was a hard nut to crack. Many men, mages, and beasts would perish before the battle decided who would claim it. But it did not matter who seized it.

There would be only one true victor: the one who reaped the energy of the fallen in the senseless slaughter.

The necromancer sat down on the sand, folding his arms. He faced away from the shore, uninterested in watching the mages prepare for battle, for their deaths.

He watched something else.

His gaze was fixed on the distance, where the dunes concealed a pyramid.

The Master of Death was concerned with only one thing: would the meaningless sacrifices of war be enough to rouse their lord from eternal slumber.