Hungry Necromancer - Chapter 100

Naturally, we all stood aghast. A Necromage? In Ire? Again?

What dangers could that spell? And more importantly, why has a Necromage appeared in Frozia? Why must it be in my territory? Is this another scheme from the Synagogue?

The Synagogue…

My head whips to the Diviner, he looks like he’s about to burst, his veins swollen with blood like he’s holding back a breath, “Hey!” I yell as I walk up to him and grab the collar of his meaningless white robes, “A Necromage? Is this how far the Synagogue is willing to go? You’ve been grooming a Necromage in secret!”

My outburst snaps everyone out of their shock, all eyes now lay on the Diviner. It’s one thing if it’s the Cult of Phien under the control of the Synagogue, but a Necromage?

There’s no true guarantee you can control such a person, a person so fascinated and obsessed with death and their increasing power. I’d never thought I’d live to see such a person, a harbinger of famine, strife, war, fear and death like the stories all said, like the giant textbooks warned about.

A Necromage cannot be reasoned with. To become a Necromage is to give up your humanity, to give up your faith and to forsake all love and worldly materials to become one with rot.

Why would the Synagogue create one after that tragedy so centuries ago? Or was that story? About the Necromage just more lies? More scheming? How far does this spiral go?

“Answer me!” Scared and frustrated I shake him around like a rag doll, “Why is there a Necromage in Frozia? Why is it here? Is this your next card? Turn us all into Undead instead of mindless Cult minions?”

I can’t even begin to weigh what’s worse. Mindlessly worshiping some false god or being a part of a corpse fodder, milling about, waiting for orders and potentially eating other humans as a unit in an unrelenting war against life itself.

No, no, no. I’m certain of it. Being an undead is worse, if I were to become a Cult minion then at least, there’s a chance my mind can be released when the gamma that turns me is killed or even better, maybe Phien truly is a god, serving him might not be so bad…right?

“I have no idea…” he chokes out, “I’m just as shocked as you. A Necromage…here in this world again?”

Disgusted and stricken by his words I push him aside and look from something to lean on, “So…you’re telling me that the Synagogue can’t call him off? The Synagogue isn’t in control of this Necromage?”

Slowly his shakes his head.

A cold silence falls over the room. Each one of us glued in place as we slowly begin coming to terms with this new reality.

There are several possibilities spinning around in my head now. The Diviner could be unaware of the Necromage because of his low rank, or perhaps the Synagogue wants to be rid of him as well as of me.

But if the Synagogue truly has nothing to do with this, the that would mean history is repeating itself. Somehow, somewhere, someone learned the dark art and has become a Necromage…if it’s anything like it says in the books I read as a kid and as a student in the Mage College…then we’re screwed.

To find out, I may have to see for myself. I’d rather go to the fight than have it come to me.

Looking to the messenger, I call out, “Boy…Boy snap out of it!”

The boy on the floor springs up and frantically looks about, “Yes sir?”

“Don’t waste any time, head down and tell them to prepare my horse. I’m headed south, I’ve got to see this for myself.”

“See for yourself?” My marshal sounds outraged, “It’s a Necromage, with what we know about the Synagogue, it wouldn’t be impossible for them to sic such a dangerous person on us. They could be testing him even.”

“Yes, yes that’s true!” My Steward moans.

“Yeah? So, what do you want me to do? Sit here and wait to be eaten alive by some undead?”

Silence again. “Exactly, I’m not willing to back down to the Synagogue and I’m certainly not willing to lie around and wait to be eaten either.”

Getting around my desk I rifle through the drawers until I find what I’m looking for. My rings. All five of them expertly crafted to my battle style. More mana, saved magical techniques and even a one-use conjuration.

Putting them all on I begin to head down, the sooner the better.

“Wait!” It’s the Diviner.

Turning around I meet his terror wracked face; I suppose he too has arrived at the possibility that the Synagogue my want to be rid of him. “What do you want now? Are you willing to fight with me? As I recall, it’s your duty to fend off offenses to Anera.”

He shakes his head, “I’m not that powerful.”

I snort, “And yet you twist my arm so many times. I thought you all new Pyromancy to cleanse heretics and their heresy with fire.”

“…Not potential Necromages.” He mutters.

This washes the little smirk off my face, “Potential Necromages? What does that mean?”

“The last Necromage…she didn’t just…go crazy. There is more to know. But the fact remains, the Synagogue does not provoke Necromages…not since the last one.”

I knew it. The Synagogue would be behind all this somehow, but how? What did they do to the last Necromage and what does he mean by provoke?

“All I can tell you now is…There were rumours about a Necromage entering Ire from the West. First claim and appearance was in a village called Ioina, the people and it’s Diviner claimed there was a man who stayed there for but a few days and happened to have the power to command souls.”

Souls…a shiver runs down my spine at the mention. It reminds me of my studies in the College. A Necromage’s most terrifying power was that over souls.

“They said he brought their loved ones back to life. That they were free of rot and did not smell of death. They remembered each other, there wasn’t a single problem with the resurrection except the time limit. So, they paid offerings to the Necromage for his favour.”

The Diviner looks me in the eye and barely above a whisper says, “…The Necromage eventually killed the Mayor in combat. The Diviner stationed did not give enough details but rightfully sent out a distress to the Synagogue and the closest villages and towns. Frozia wasn’t one of them though.”

“You’d think that with such news, there would be reports of Undead, signs of necrosis and victims all around the path he travelled…but there wasn’t such a thing except for one single instance.”

Nervously, I ask, “And what was that?”

“A couple of bandits were found dead, their bodies rapidly aged, flaky, dry. Like all the moisture had be sucked out of them along with their souls. But after this instance…no more. The next villages didn’t give record of his presence.”

“But…he killed someone.”

“Bandits, anyone can kill bandits, he even did the Kingdom a favour if you think about it. Because of this behaviour as well as what happened in the next village on the line, the Synagogue chose to keep to the policy of not provoking potential Necromages.”

“The next village…” I pull up a map of the March in my head and start a travel from the west, it doesn’t take a second before it clicks. “That’s Carbina…there were Cultists there, too weren’t they?”

The Diviner groans, falling on his ass as he does. With a sigh, he continues, “There were, but it’s been a while. Your sister faired well, far better than you I’d say.”

Leriva…is dead?”

“Lord Mayor!” It’s the boy I sent, “Your horse is ready.”

“Right…I’ll be right there.” I turn my attention back on the Diviner, “Why didn’t the Synagogue act? Why did you let him be? You thought since he was headed into a region with Cultists…he’d fall prey to them?”

“I’ll tell you the Synagogues reasoning at the time…if you come back from where you are headed.”

“You’re daring me not to die.” I laugh. “Don’t worry, I won’t. I’m far fiercer than you know! Marshal, lets be on our way.”

Not paying mind to the defeated look that befalls the Marshal face I head out, determined to survive this rather unwise encounter.

The mood in the mansion is tense and sombre, no doubt the boy has spilled the beans on the situation to all the servants. I don’t blame any of them for being afraid, I am too.

With haste I make it out to the familiar tall rosy gates, there the handler awaits with my horse fitted to be ridden into battle.

Hopping onto the steed I steady myself, greet the terrified looking handler, “Thank you, I’ll be back soon.”

Slowly, his eyes turn up and set themselves at me on the horses back, “Will you?”