A Soldier's Life - 411 - 'When The Dead Rise, The Living Stand Together'

Chapter 411: 'When The Dead Rise, The Living Stand Together'

The streets of Nausis thrummed with life as night approached. Finding what I sought, I stepped into the shop—a modest herbalist tucked between two carpentry shops. The interior was dense with the scent of dried lavender, rosemary, and old wood. Rows of parchment-labeled bundles lined the shelves, but almost everything was dried and probably aged, making it unsuitable for alchemy.

The herbalist, a silver-haired woman with moss-green eyes and hands stained from years of grinding roots, listened patiently as I told her what I was looking for. Though her selection leaned more toward teas and poultices, she offered a name and a direction. The alchemist’s shop, she warned, was near the district’s outer edge—by design. The stench of their concoctions offended everyone who passed.

I stepped back into the press of people, the herbalist’s directions fresh in my mind as I made my way toward the alchemy shop. It sat nestled between ancient stone buildings in a narrow alley, its wooden sign gave its name in several languages—“The Verdant Crucible. A sour-sweet scent of herbs, oils, and burnt minerals hung heavy in the air, drifting out through a half-open window. Inside, the lighting was dim, illuminated by a number of burners working hard on concoctions in glassware above.

Shelves crowded every inch of the wall space, sagging under the weight of jars filled with pickled eyes, powdered roots, shimmering dusts, and strange fungi. A long counter, stained with alchemical spills, divided the room. Behind it stood an old dwarf with a soot-smeared apron and fingers stained violet, carefully labeling a bottle of iridescent liquid.

“Evening,” I said in Elvish from the archway. Stepping into the shop, the dwarf looked up and squinted with his eyes.

“Customer?” He asked with a friendly tone.

“Sort of, a fellow alchemist. I am looking for some ingredients, and I hear you supply the Death Hunters with some of your creations,” I said as I tried to read some of the labels. They were either in a foreign language or a shorthand I couldn’t read.

“Don’t know who told you that, I see one of their number occasionally, but they have their own alchemists.” The dwarf looked down as he rapidly finished bottling his most recent brew.

“Are the Death Hunter alchemists better than you?” I asked while checking on a small distillery set of glassware.

The dwarf folded his arms on his apron and frowned under his beard. “What do you expect me to say? There are three other alchemists in the city, boy. Go needle them.”

“Eryk,” I said in introduction, extending my hand to shake hands. “I only ask because I am considering joining their ranks. I am also here to stock up on ingredients—and I will take a dozen flasks of mouthwash.”

My answer, or potential purchase, seemed to placate the dwarf. “I can brew you some fresh wash—the efficacy of those on the shelves is less than a month if I recall correctly.”

“I will take them at a discount then,” I chuckled, and he joined me as that was a common tactic to dispose of brews close to expiration.

“Orrik Smokevein,” he introduced himself as we shook hands. I frowned as some of the purple stain transferred to my earth drake bracers. We talked while we walked around his shop, gathering the ingredients I needed for healing paste and lesser healing potions. I also picked up a few supplies for blindness and smoke pellets.

“Want to hunt the undead? The regular monsters are not good enough for ya? With your silver guild badge there, I am sure they will take you,” Orrik said as he totaled up the baskets we had filled.

“My young step-daughter has an affinity for necromancy,” I said conversationally, trying to solicit some information. Dancing around the topic had not worked. The dwarf froze and looked at me, and I thought there might be trouble.

“You are a good father to join her. Smart too to bring her there; she would be shunned by the larger world, but can earn respect as a hunter.” Two small beakers appeared from beneath the counter, and Orrik was filling them with a dark amber liquid. He raised it to toast me, “To doing the best for our children.” We clinked glasses, and I drained the brew. It was hot, sweet, and had a monster kick to it. It was so strong that I coughed. Orrik just licked his lips and sighed contentedly. He opened his eyes and chuckled at my reaction. “Family recipe,” he laughed.

I coughed again. “So, they will do a good job training her, then?” I said as I was counting out coins.

“Aye, they will,” he said gruffly, narrowing his eyes. “But don’t expect her to be the same after. They rarely are.”

He held up his hand, signaling for patience, then turned to a nearby shelf cluttered with bottles and bone-stoppered flasks. After a moment of clinking glass and muttered dwarvish, he returned with two vials—slender, iron-capped, and filled with a thick, black fluid that reflected the light in a rainbow of colors.

“Necrotic oil,” he said, placing them gently on the counter. “Rub it into any flesh touched by the dead. It won’t heal the wound, but it’ll smother the necromantic infestation—burn it out. Only then will your healing magic take hold. Best part is, it never loses its efficacy.”

“How much and how many do you have?” I asked.

“Those two are free, from a father to a father. Three gold for each additional,” he muttered. All you needed to befriend another man in less than fifteen minutes was apparently to show you both were fathers and cared about your children.

Everything I had already purchased was barely over six gold. “Two more then, and then I am off to the Death Hunters office. Any advice before I enter?”

“Only one man there, Varek Edras. We shared a cup or two in my time in the city. Not a dislikable sort, but not a likable sort either. Just speak plainly to him, and you should be fine. I don’t know much about the organization, but make sure you can be near your daughter during her training.” He pointed at my silver adventurer’s medallion. “With that, they are likely to fill you with some knowledge and point you at a threat and release you.”

“Understood, Orrik. You have been a great help,” we shook hands again, and then I took my baskets and left. I had been inside for so long that the sun had set, and a quick trip to an alley had everything stored in my dimensional space.

The Death Hunters’ recruitment office loomed at the far end of a dead-end street, half-swallowed by shadows. There were dark street lamps, and I could only speculate why they were not lit. Iron-banded doors stood closed beneath a sigil. A skull impaled straight down by a dagger, a sunburst radiating behind it like a halo of judgment.

No guards. Just the mark and silence in the street. My mind fortress didn’t appear to be resisting any spell framework, yet the locals seemed to avoid this end of the street. I walked up, knocked, and pulled the door open. A cold rush of stale air hit me.

The interior was colder than the street. Smooth black stone with gray veins formed the walls. The two glowstone sconces had a light blue tinge to them. A scent lingered—incense and a metallic scent, maybe blood.

A figure was seated at the far end of the room, reading a book. A long slab of polished obsidian served as his desk. He didn’t rise. The Hunters were definitely winning in terms of ambience. I didn’t speak until I crossed the room and stood before him.

His hair had long since grayed to silver, worn short and combed back with military precision. Across his neck and jaw ran faded scars—jagged, healed without magic. He bore the Death Hunter mark not as a badge or medallion, but as a brand: a skull split straight down by a dagger, sunburst flaring behind it, inked in black across the back of his hand.

The recruiter remained seated like a statue in the low light of the chamber. His presence carried a weight to it. Lines of age and war carved deep into his pale face, but his eyes—sharp and iron-blue—watched me with unsettling focus. I was getting Konstantin vibes from the man.

“Varek Edras. I have come to inquire about your order and the possibility of joining it,” I said respectfully.

He eyed me up and down again. I had chosen to display my guild silver rank in hopes of getting some respect in our conversation. When he spoke, his voice was low, weathered, and cold. “Our oath is not something to be taken lightly. You don’t become a Death Hunter for glory. You become one because you understand that death has no place among the living.”

“I have not decided to join your organization yet,” I hedged, and his gray eyebrow rose in irritation. Worried that I was screwing up my introduction, I used my only leverage for being hesitant. “I am not here to waste your time. My adopted daughter has been found with necromancy, and I am seeking to see her trained.”

Varek blinked twice, showing surprise before regaining his composure. “We can test her to confirm. If she has some strength in the affinity, rest assured we will teach her to control it.”

“I promised not to leave her side while she got acclimated. I am a skilled alchemist.” Varek’s eyes went from my face to my silver guild token and back. “I will be able to prove it to your alchemists at your Citadel.” Like the dwarf said, I needed to be clear of my intentions or I might be sent out hunting revenants.  

Varek started tapping his fingers on the black surface of the desk. With his other hand, he took out two heavy silver coins and dropped them onto the stone desk. They rolled and settled, both displaying the Death Hunter mark stamped into them. Both large coins exhibited signs of heavy wear, having probably been used frequently.

“Take the coins. If you change your mind, return them to me. If you are brave enough, the Citadel is a two-day ride northeast. Present them at the gate. The password is ‘When the dead rise, the living stand together.’” He gave me a nod and seemed to be dismissing me, eager to get back to the book he had been reading, his hand already resting on it.

That felt a little too easy, but I suppose an organization that hunted the undead probably didn’t have the luxury of turning away volunteers. The coins were full-sized silver, too. What was stopping me from just walking away with the token? Maybe that was part of the test. I sent both coins to my space for safekeeping during the walk back. I tasted some of Orrik’s wash and was disappointed since it had a vanilla-citrus flavor. It wasn’t bad, but I preferred mine with the minty feeling.

I had been gone for hours, so I was surprised to find all my companions waiting up for me. They were scrubbed clean, and their clothes had been laundered. “Well?” Blaze asked. Evie looked the most nervous of the group.

I nodded and sat with them. “I think we are good. Evie and I can join the Death Hunters.”

“What about us?” Benito burst out.

“You can head back to Gramney,” I started to say.

“Dragon shit, Eryk.” Blaze spat. “We didn’t travel halfway around the continent to be cast off when you don’t need us anymore.”

“Why in Pluto’s realm do you want to be trained to kill undead?” I asked.

Blaze stood abruptly, showing a rare display of anger. “We are doing it for you and Evie, not because we want to kill the undead!”

Lesna’s face contorted in confusion at Blaze, “I thought you were doing it for women?”

“That too. But you don’t abandon a brother in need.” Blaze finished his rant. I wanted to get choked up, but that is what I planned to do to Evie—abandon her once she was settled in. Her wide eyes looked watery, and she was going to cry.

“Whatever. Go see if you can get the recruiter to give you a token in the morning. I’m taking a bath.” I left my companions in the room discussing how they planned to approach the recruiter. What confused me the most was Lesna sounded like she was going to join them.

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