Necromancer's Curse Read online

  The finch at the window stood up and began chirping, and he thought its song was perhaps the saddest he had ever heard.

  When he left the house, he was surprised to see Isaac waiting at the bottom of the steps. The mage gave a polite bow to Hablson, who watched from the porch, and they headed down the walk.

  “Everyone is waiting at the gates for us,” Isaac said.

  “Just one more stop,” Bipp said. “We’re going to need some digging equipment.”

  Chapter 10

  A half day’s march brought them to their destination. Immediately upon seeing the bent tree, with its bare branches twisting over the Green Serpent River, Corbin recognized it. When he stowed away on a gnome river barge transporting goods from Dudje to Mushroom Hollow, he had seen its black, gnarled branches. Looking at it now, he recalled how odd he had thought it, looking so out of place among the thriving vegetation that lined the riverbanks on either side.

  “You weren’t kidding about it looking like it was made of charcoal,” he said.

  “Didn’t you say this has been here for years?” Logan appraised the large tree. “This thing’s dead as a doornail. I’m surprised it’s still standing.”

  Bipp grew visibly excited to see the black tree. He reached around his back and grabbed the shovel strapped to his pack, all while running toward it.

  “You’d think he just found a trunk full of honeyed ham,” Logan said with a smirk.

  “Save the jokes for later, funny man,” Bipp called over his shoulder. “And come help me find where they buried it.”

  Walking up to the tree, Corbin was impressed by the sheer girth of the trunk. While it wasn’t as stunning as Isaac’s White Tree, this long-dead specimen was certainly a giant among its peers. As he circled the left side, his view of Logan and Bipp became completely obstructed.

  “What does this sign of Ferrigan look like again?” Corbin asked, squinting at a long gouge someone had made under the lowest bough.

  “It ain’t hard to spot, just look for—” On the other side of the tree, Bipp let out a steady stream of curses that would have made the seediest barmaid blush.

  As Corbin circled the tree to see what was the matter, Logan backed away from the gnome. “What is it?”

  “Better see for yourself,” Logan said, pointing to a spot above Bipp’s head. Ashen grey lines marked where a symbol had been carved ages ago.

  “But that’s good, isn’t it? You found it,” Corbin said.

  Bipp muttered under his breath then turned. “But look where it is!”

  Corbin immediately realized the problem. The tree was perched on the edge of the riverbank, where it lazily leaned over the water. Fat grey roots grew out into the river, one of which Bipp was standing on. The glyph, marking the spot where the gnomes had buried the Necromancer’s belongings, was directly above a section of ground that had long ago crumbled away and fallen into the river.

  “The damn idiots buried it on the riverbank!” Bipp growled, tossing his shovel to the ground.

  “Actually,” Nero said, “it would be more accurate to assume the bank of the river has grown over the years.”

  Bipp scowled at the android, and Corbin wondered if he was about to launch an all-out attack on Nero. He took a step between them, blocking Bipp’s view, and leaned his head into the gnome’s line of vision. “Let’s not take this out on each other, okay?”

  Bipp turned his ire on Corbin. He had never seen Bipp behave like this before. The gnome had been obsessed with uncovering more knowledge on Hublin ever since his name first came up. He worried that the gnome might be working himself too hard.

  “Hold up now,” Logan called. He was on his hands and knees poking his head between the exposed roots of the tree, where a little muddy ground was left. “I think there’s something here.”

  Light flashed in Bipp’s eyes, and he hopped over Logan, bending down to get a better look. “Diggity dog, you’re right!”

  Bipp squirmed past Logan on his belly and stuck his hands under the tuberous roots. He was like a mole, scraping away dirt and tugging on the buried object while making grunting noises, until finally it came free with a popping noise from the sucking mud. If not for Logan catching him by the belt, the gnome would have fallen in the river. Oblivious, Bipp hooted and hopped around in circles like a little boy who had just found candy.

  “Let me see what you’ve uncovered,” Isaac said calmly.

  Bipp gathered his composure and pulled a collection of loosely bound papers out of a torn leather satchel, handing them over to the mage. “Looks like some sort of journal,” he said.

  Isaac appraised the tattered volume with a somber look. “Hmm…black magic clings to this as if it were dripping from the pages.”

  Bipp looked doubtfully down at the dirt-stained journal in his hand. “Is it dangerous?”

  “I cannot say that I entirely know the extent to which this could damage you. Suffice it to say we should keep the object exactly no longer than we need to.”

  Corbin did not like the sound of that. “Bipp, is it really necessary to have the journal anyhow?”

  Bipp pulled the journal close to his chest. “There could be some clue in here as to what happened, something that helps us figure out how to break through the seal.”

  Logan snorted. “Yeah, like he’d just jot down his one weakness in case anyone was wondering.”

  “I find it odd that the Necromancer would be so free with that knowledge,” Nero said.

  “It was a joke,” Logan said with a sigh.

  “I agree with Bipp,” Isaac said. “There is value in knowledge over our enemy. It behooves us to gather up as much of it as we can. Read through the documents and let us know if you find anything we can use. However, read only what you need and then get rid of the manuscript, for it is surely tainted in black magic and there is no telling what kind of damage it might do to you if kept too long.”

  Light from the setting daystar blanketed the sky in a soft pink haze. A warm, gentle breeze blew in off the coast as the waves broke lazily against the massive rock that Nero and his friends lay upon, kicking up a spray of foamy salt water that felt cool and refreshing against their skin. He could feel the warmth of the rock, heated by the summer rays.

  Nero sat up and looked at his companions. In an open cotton vest, Bipp was dangling his legs off the edge of the rock, his large round nose stuck in a worn book. Shirtless, both Logan and Corbin rested on their backs, with closed eyes and content grins, basking in the last rays of the warm daystar.

  Nero was filled with joy to see them so. After all they had been through, they deserved a few moments of peace. This was his favorite place, and he was so happy to share it with them. Nero took another look back toward the beach at the swaying palm trees and setting daystar. It was almost dusk, and if he wanted to get in another swim, he’d better hurry.

  In one fluid motion he stood and jackknifed into the ocean. Nero cut through the saltwater with the grace of a dolphin, nearly touching the seabed before swimming back to the surface. When his head broke the surface, he rubbed his blond hair out of his face and laughed. He enjoyed nothing more than the feeling of the water as it buoyed his body back toward shore. It was amazing how strong the primal forces of nature could be.

  “Get out of the water, you idiot!” Bipp called from over his shoulder.

  Nero laughed. His friend was clearly playing another of his silly pranks. He ducked his head under the water and twirled about as if dancing so that when he broke surface again, he was facing the oversized rock.

  Bipp and Logan stood at its edge, facing him. Nero found their faces hard to read with the daystar setting at their backs, engulfing them in shadowy silhouettes.

  “Why don’t you come in and join me?” he said. “The water’s still fine.”

  “You can’t swim,” Logan said. “All that salt water is going to make you rust.”

  Nero felt a twang in his chest. That was not kind. Why couldn’t they be happy for him? Why coul
dn’t he just enjoy himself for an afternoon without the constant reminders?

  “Suit yourself,” Nero said, trying to ignore their barbs and re-center himself. Corbin limped to the edge. “Corbin,” Nero called, “have you been hurt, my friend?”

  “Come back,” Corbin called. “We need you.”

  With zero hesitation, Nero dove underwater and propelled himself back toward his friends. The shadow of the rock loomed overhead, and he came back up. None of his friends were at the edge of the rock, waiting for him. Nero called out to them, but no one came. From above he could hear a strangled groaning, as if someone was choking.

  He grabbed the side of the tall rock and began scaling it with wet hands. The sun was completely down now, and the breeze was already rapidly shifting, raising goosebumps on his wet body, making his lips tremble uncontrollably. Nero called out to his friends again as he reached the top of the rock. He threw a hand up over the ledge, got a good grip, and began pulling himself up, and one of them grabbed his forearm.

  “Ah, thank you,” Nero said. “I was beginning to get worried.”

  “Ungh,” Corbin said.

  Confused, Nero looked up. His body grew numb and his head became fuzzy when he saw the face looking down at him. It was Corbin Walker, but his flesh was grey and mottled, with maggots eating their way into his cheekbone. Corbin’s teeth clacked together as he leaned forward to bite Nero’s cheek.

  Nero screamed and pulled away. He found himself in open air, staring back up at the impossible visage of Bipp joining Corbin, looking just as ghastly.

  He hit the water hard enough to break the skin on his back. The saltwater burned where it entered the open wound, and he took in a mouthful of it. Nero surfaced, hacking painfully to get the stinging water out of his lungs. He tried to get his bearings and looked up.

  “What’s happened to you?” he called to his friends.

  Logan was there now too, on his belly halfway over the edge of the rock, trying to reach Nero with a rotting hand. His face was cracked and hollow, rough pieces of it falling off as he scrambled to grab Nero.

  “Y-you said you were my friends,” Nero said in a weak voice. “Stay back,” he tried to shout but it came out more like a squeak. He swam backward away from the rock. “Leave me be!”

  “N-never,” Corbin groaned, falling face-first into the water.

  Hysteria gripped Nero. He had to get as far away from them as possible. He pumped his legs harder, terrified to take his eyes off the remaining two but desperately searching the water for signs of Corbin. Something round and fleshy bobbed to the surface on his left, and he cried out. He could not tell what it was, and it slipped under before he could get a better look. “Let me live! Why won’t you just let me live?”

  Something large and strong pummeled into him from below, knocking him forward in a spray of water. Black arms wrapped around his chest and turned him about. Nero’s face was inches away from Isaac, whose eyes were sunken and distorted by popped blood vessels. Nero screamed and tried to break free, but the mage only mocked him with laughter.

  Corbin Walker sat bolt upright, throwing his bedroll open and knocking his voulge away from him. His skin was covered with cold sweat from head to toe, and he was breathing as if he had just run a marathon. Wild-eyed, he scanned the camp, trying to get his bearings.

  Bipp sat across the fire, leaning against a wide rock jutting up from the cavern floor and staring at him. Close to the west, Corbin could hear the Green Serpent River, and in seconds, it all came flooding back to him. They had walked for another half day after stopping at the black tree before settling in and making camp for the night.

  “Everything okay?” Bipp asked.

  “Huh? Yeah…yeah it’s fine,” Corbin said. “Just a bad dream, is all.”

  Bipp put the worn journal in his lap and fixed Corbin with a concerned frown. “You’ve been having an awful lot of those lately.”

  “Probably just from being on the road so long.” Corbin shrugged, trying to look less concerned than he was. “Isn’t it Logan’s turn to keep watch?” He wanted to change the subject.

  “I’m not tired, and I wanted to read some more,” Bipp said.

  “I’m sure he didn’t mind that.” Corbin looked over at his brother, who was snoring while hugging Gandiva to his chest. Isaac sat cross-legged, the hood of his robe drawn over his head. Corbin had to look closely to tell if the mage was still breathing rhythmically, in a state of deep sleep. Nero lay with his body rigid, facing straight up, as he always did when recharging.

  Corbin was surprised to find the android’s eyes wide open. Without moving his body, Nero turned his head to face Corbin. His expression was unreadable, but Corbin knew the android wanted to be left alone. He turned his eyes back up to the ceiling and remained quiet.

  Did he just trigger a dreamwalking in me? Corbin wondered. But Nero said he does not dream. These visions were becoming more and more frequent. It was getting to be too much for him. What did they mean and why were they through the dreams of those around him? It seemed that ever since he had left Riverbell, each day presented deeper challenges for him. As if the gods had decided to see how far they could push him before he would break.

  “You sure you’re alright?” Bipp said. “You look kinda frazzled.”

  Corbin nodded. “Don’t worry about it. How’s the translating going?”

  Bipp seemed to completely forget his concern, growing excited as he spoke. “Really well. I have a good rhythm down now.”

  “Have you found out anything useful?”

  “Not so much in the beginning. From what I can make out, the earlier entries chronicle Hublin’s time on the road as he travels on a pilgrimage, retracing the steps of Helbu, a saint believed to be the reincarnation of Ohm. It’s pretty fluffy stuff, as you can expect from a cleric. But then things get really interesting.”

  “How so?”

  “He was in one of the towns when hundreds of villagers were slaughtered during a cobold raid. It’s really gut-wrenching stuff to read about.”

  “Nobody should have to go through that,” Corbin said, remembering the horrific slaughter his own village suffered under the swarm of skex.

  “Agreed. I really think it damaged the poor guy’s mind. After that, he tried all sorts of incantations to summon Ohm’s power to smite them. I mean, he becomes scary obsessed with killing every last one of the cobolds.”

  “But…that’s genocide,” Corbin said.

  Bipp shrugged. He was not sure enough how he felt about the topic to commit either way. On the one hand, he could completely see Hublin’s point of view. The cobolds were despicable creatures bent on evil deeds. On the other hand, he had experienced the peace of the Agma and savagery of the Agmawor, two sides of the same coin. Did the sins of the radical few justify the hatred and extermination of the whole? Then again, were the cobolds even capable of such differences? Maybe they weren’t. Maybe every last one of them was simply rotten to the core. In any event, it was a philosophical question far larger than he could grasp in one sitting.

  “Large sections are missing, so it was hard to understand what happened for a bit. I know he begins complaining a lot about other clerics meddling in his affairs, calls them weak-minded or sniveling worms…almost to the point where it seems more like he’s being paranoid than that anyone is actually wronging him. I don’t know. Who can really say what happened without being there for yourself? It starts getting really odd when he visits some old hermit and she tells him how to get to the Library at Ankobellum.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Not sure. It’s the first time I’ve heard the name. But that’s where I’m at now. He’s making the long trip to the library, looking for something called a phylactery.” Bipp waggled his eyebrows and buried his nose back into the journal.

  Corbin was deeply intrigued. He looked back down at his bedroll and frowned. There was no way he was getting back to sleep after that vision. “Hey, Bipp, any chance you want company, maybe some
one to read that journal to?”

  “‘Course. Come on over,” Bipp said, patting the ground beside him.

  Corbin grabbed his tunic and wrapped it around his shoulders then hopped over to sit beside the gnome. Bipp cleared his throat and flipped the page.

  Day 246

  I’ve traveled leagues away from the Heartland and still no sign of Ankobellum. My boots have holes in them, my hands are calloused from the walking stick, and my back aches something fierce. And yet I will continue on, trusting that Ohm will guide my path.

  Day 252

  I’m beginning to think that witch set me on a fool’s errand. What was I thinking, putting stock in the words of an outcast, and a pagan at that? It’s been over two months since I last spoke to another living soul, and I think it’s beginning to addle my mind. For instance, today I believed I spied a King Elk, proud and stout, sipping on the far shore of a wide river I have named Elkstrôm. Except when I called out to it in tribute, the elk looked up at me with a man’s face and frowned. I was so shocked I did not even have time to get back to my feet before it turned away and slipped into the woods. Now what kind of mad vision is that for a holy man like myself to be having?

  Day 258

  Lately it seems my only comfort is to gather my thoughts in this journal. Over the last couple weeks I have had a distinct feeling that I am being followed. It’s an unnatural sensation that has to be rooted in more than just the mad ravings of a lonely gnome. I can feel the King Elk’s eyes on me all day long. The fire is lit, and I tried to sleep, but something is moving in the forest around me. I can see its shadow in my peripheral vision, but whenever I try to look directly at it, the night shifts and I am staring at nothing. Is this all in my head? Am I losing my sanity?

  Ohm give me guidance and I will surely take it.

  Day 300

  My worst fears have been realized. There is surely some manner of creature stalking my every step. Yesterday I was exhausted from another sleepless night and worried about becoming lost, as I’ve journeyed farther south through these grey woods. I devised a simple plan to mark my path using arrows that I drew in the dirt with my walking stick. I traveled straight through the afternoon until stopping to rest beneath a rac tree, and then all day today. But just now I have come across one of my markings. How could I have possibly have walked in a circle when I have neither altered my course nor made any turns the whole time? To make matters worse, my marking has been marred to the point of no recognition other than that it had been there. Hoof prints were dragged over it!