Von
The rough movement of a wagon woke Von. Opening his eyes he was blinded by the bright light of day. Raising his hand, pain surged up his arm, making him gasp. Pushing past it, he forced his arm up to look at it. Bandages went from his fingertips to his elbow, black healing runes ran along the white fabric, they'd keep infection away and help speed up the healing process. Trying to move the fingers of his other hand proved impossible. Something, he assumed they were bandages, held them tight.
With a few moments to adjust, the light was bearable. Looking around he saw he was lying in a mix of wool and cloth sacks. There was a dull ache from his stomach. He remembered the demon stabbing him, the feeling of claws tearing his flesh. It was a miracle he was alive.
Somehow he was still alive. He was even comfortable enough that he was tempted to go back to sleep. Several other injured men were resting in the wagon.
“Good afternoon,” Keir said. The necromancer was sitting up, her arms stretched out along the rough wood of the wagon side. Her face and hands were covered in long, thin cuts, they were slick with a healing salve.
“I'm alive,” Von said. “You didn't let me die.”
“No I didn't. You saved my life, it was only right that I return the favour. Not that I could do much except keep you breathing, healing really isn't something I'm good at. Sorry about your hand.”
“It will heal.”
“Not your left hand. You burned it so badly they had to cut it off. I could possibly give you an animated hand. I spent quite a bit of time working on that problem, some of the test animals survived,” Keir said with a grin.
Biting back a moan of pain, he raised his left arm. It ended at the wrist. He let it drop to the straw and instantly regretted it, yelping as liquid agony filled his veins. Without his hand weaving spells would be harder. He'd have to relearn how to do them, it would take months, maybe even years. Fighting the demons one handed wouldn't be easy either. If his right hand didn't heal properly, he'd be useless.
“How many people died?” he asked, pushing his personal complaints to the side.
“Thirty-eight dead or injured from the main attack, most of them will survive. Twenty-three dead from the assassins, fourteen injured, a handful of them are expected to die by nightfall. When you've rested a bit more, I want to know how to stop those damn constructs from getting so close.”
“Constructs?”
“The assassins. They were pure magic. No soul in them. That's probably why most magic wouldn't hurt them and we have to burn them or cut them into pieces to put them down permanently. Didn't you know that?”
“No. Someone probably does, but I've never had to deal with them. I've only heard of them. They're so rare, we don't know much. Can't study the bodies, so we have to guess about so many things.”
“Well they aren't rare enough. They killed most of my bodyguards, and all of my ghosts. If they have any more to throw at us, we'll be in trouble.” Keir picked up a canteen of water. “Thirsty?”
He nodded.
The necromancer none too gently lifted his head and held the bottle so he could drink. The warm, stale water was delicious. After drinking his fill, he closed his eyes, utterly exhausted.
“Get some sleep. We'll be in the city by noon tomorrow. We'll have plenty to do then and your magic could be useful.”
He wanted to reply, but it would take too much work. Instead he fell asleep.
***
Keir
When the column stopped for a rest, Keir made his way back to another wagon of injured soldiers. He was tired, and the cuts that covered his arms, front and face stung from the salve. He'd much rather stay in his comfortable spot and go back to sleep, but there was something he had to do.
Climbing into the wagon, he took a seat beside his last surviving bodyguard. A new ghostly maid was looking after Lieutenant Floria, doing what she could to keep the soldier comfortable. It was the least the woman deserved after fighting almost dying.
Von had also helped keep him alive, and lost his hand in return. But the mage had also shackled his soul with the geas, some things couldn't be forgiven, so he could suffer a little discomfort.
“Regua,” Floria whispered.
“Rest. You're badly injured, but you'll survive,” he told her. The healers had gotten to her quickly enough to keep her alive. It had been touch and go for a while though. She'd lost so much blood, the healers had almost given up on her. He'd insisted they keep working.
“Sorry, I failed you. Failed my people,” she said. Tears fell from her eyes.
He stroked her cheek. “You didn't fail me. You shouted a warning, and fought a demon even after it stabbed you. Now sleep. When you're healed, I expect you to take control of my new guard.”
She gave a faint smile, trying to reach his hand. He took her hand in his, and gently placed it back by her side. Her eyes fluttered briefly, then she was asleep again.
Slipping down into the straw, Keir closed his eyes. He was exhausted. He hoped he wouldn't have to deal with any demons before the city. His surviving dead were protecting the column, but he personally was in no state to raise yet another army.
He let sleep overtake him.
***
Estelle looked beautiful in her brilliant red gown.
Keir watched his eldest daughter and her fiance Eyob, wave to the cheering crowd from their open carriage. The carriage was a work of art, seeming to be made entirely of silver and ivory, being drawn by twelve ghostly horses that glowed in the sun.
He and Estelle's mother, Katherine his third wife, rode behind them, letting the young couple take the place of honour in the parade. Soldiers lined the roads, keeping the crowd back. An honour guard surrounded his daughters carriage and his own horse. But on this day he didn't think they were needed. The crowd was overjoyed with the news.
The royal wedding assured the city of good times ahead as tens of thousands of visitors arrived, needing food, lodgings, drink, and entertainment. The weather promised a bountiful harvest. There was peace in the land for the first time in twelve years. Trade was flourishing within the empire. Even the rumbling of rebellion on the Yellow Coast was a distant worry.
The future was bright.
He saw a brewer selling beer to the crowd from a dozen large barrels set up in front of his brewery. The man was making a fortune, his employees rushing to fill glasses for the hundreds of customers. The man raised his cup in a toast to the royal family.
The unopened barrels erupted in flames.
Time moved in slow motion. Keir saw the explosion reaching out to engulf Estelle. Onlookers were thrown through the air like rag dolls. The honour guard was cut down like wheat before the scythe. He tried to cast a spell to protect his daughter. There was no time.
The carriage shattered.
His shield flared, protecting him and his wife from the deadly shrapnel that flew through the air like bullets. His horse reared, sending him to the pavement. He felt something crack.
He heard Katherine shrieking. Other voices joined hers. Shouts of fear, bellows of pain, and the screams of the maimed and dying.
Staggering to his feet, he shoved the few bodyguards who remained on their feet away from him. He had to see Estelle.
Smoke filled the street. Gunpowder choked him with every gasping breath. Stepping over bodies, he tried to find his daughter. Bloody, maimed hands reached out for him. The broken bodies that had just moments ago been healthy, happy people, spoke to him, butt he couldn't hear what they were saying. The ringing in his ears and the screams of the masses overpowered their dying pleas.
He saw a bit of red.
Rushing over, he saw Estelle. Somehow a few shreds of her dress still covered her body. It was the only way to tell who she was. The shattered lump of flesh didn't look human anymore.
He couldn't scream. He couldn't weep. Rage filled him. Holding his daughter, he silently swore that her murderer would see everything they loved destroyed and beg for death.
***
It was getting towards evening when Keir woke up from his nightmare. His face was damp from tears. Wiping them away, he looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Relief washed over him as he realized everyone was asleep.
He hated the memories that masqueraded as dreams. He'd lived through the horrors of war and death once already, he didn't need to do it a second time.
Looking at Floria who was still asleep, he realized she was the same age as his Estelle had been. He pushed that thought aside. She was a soldier, she was his soldier. He'd use her, and probably destroy her. It was what happened in war.
It was what he did. He was the necromancer, he brought death wherever he walked.
Officers began shouting orders. They'd found their camping spot for the night. Sighing, he got out of the wagon. There was work to do.
Von
The rough movement of a wagon woke Von. Opening his eyes he was blinded by the bright light of day. Raising his hand, pain surged up his arm, making him gasp. Pushing past it, he forced his arm up to look at it. Bandages went from his fingertips to his elbow, black healing runes ran along the white fabric, they'd keep infection away and help speed up the healing process. Trying to move the fingers of his other hand proved impossible. Something, he assumed they were bandages, held them tight.
With a few moments to adjust, the light was bearable. Looking around he saw he was lying in a mix of wool and cloth sacks. There was a dull ache from his stomach. He remembered the demon stabbing him, the feeling of claws tearing his flesh. It was a miracle he was alive.
Somehow he was still alive. He was even comfortable enough that he was tempted to go back to sleep. Several other injured men were resting in the wagon.
“Good afternoon,” Keir said. The necromancer was sitting up, her arms stretched out along the rough wood of the wagon side. Her face and hands were covered in long, thin cuts, they were slick with a healing salve.
“I'm alive,” Von said. “You didn't let me die.”
“No I didn't. You saved my life, it was only right that I return the favour. Not that I could do much except keep you breathing, healing really isn't something I'm good at. Sorry about your hand.”
“It will heal.”
“Not your left hand. You burned it so badly they had to cut it off. I could possibly give you an animated hand. I spent quite a bit of time working on that problem, some of the test animals survived,” Keir said with a grin.
Biting back a moan of pain, he raised his left arm. It ended at the wrist. He let it drop to the straw and instantly regretted it, yelping as liquid agony filled his veins. Without his hand weaving spells would be harder. He'd have to relearn how to do them, it would take months, maybe even years. Fighting the demons one handed wouldn't be easy either. If his right hand didn't heal properly, he'd be useless.
“How many people died?” he asked, pushing his personal complaints to the side.
“Thirty-eight dead or injured from the main attack, most of them will survive. Twenty-three dead from the assassins, fourteen injured, a handful of them are expected to die by nightfall. When you've rested a bit more, I want to know how to stop those damn constructs from getting so close.”
“Constructs?”
“The assassins. They were pure magic. No soul in them. That's probably why most magic wouldn't hurt them and we have to burn them or cut them into pieces to put them down permanently. Didn't you know that?”
“No. Someone probably does, but I've never had to deal with them. I've only heard of them. They're so rare, we don't know much. Can't study the bodies, so we have to guess about so many things.”
“Well they aren't rare enough. They killed most of my bodyguards, and all of my ghosts. If they have any more to throw at us, we'll be in trouble.” Keir picked up a canteen of water. “Thirsty?”
He nodded.
The necromancer none too gently lifted his head and held the bottle so he could drink. The warm, stale water was delicious. After drinking his fill, he closed his eyes, utterly exhausted.
“Get some sleep. We'll be in the city by noon tomorrow. We'll have plenty to do then and your magic could be useful.”
He wanted to reply, but it would take too much work. Instead he fell asleep.
***
Keir
When the column stopped for a rest, Keir made his way back to another wagon of injured soldiers. He was tired, and the cuts that covered his arms, front and face stung from the salve. He'd much rather stay in his comfortable spot and go back to sleep, but there was something he had to do.
Climbing into the wagon, he took a seat beside his last surviving bodyguard. A new ghostly maid was looking after Lieutenant Floria, doing what she could to keep the soldier comfortable. It was the least the woman deserved after fighting almost dying.
Von had also helped keep him alive, and lost his hand in return. But the mage had also shackled his soul with the geas, some things couldn't be forgiven, so he could suffer a little discomfort.
“Regua,” Floria whispered.
“Rest. You're badly injured, but you'll survive,” he told her. The healers had gotten to her quickly enough to keep her alive. It had been touch and go for a while though. She'd lost so much blood, the healers had almost given up on her. He'd insisted they keep working.
“Sorry, I failed you. Failed my people,” she said. Tears fell from her eyes.
He stroked her cheek. “You didn't fail me. You shouted a warning, and fought a demon even after it stabbed you. Now sleep. When you're healed, I expect you to take control of my new guard.”
She gave a faint smile, trying to reach his hand. He took her hand in his, and gently placed it back by her side. Her eyes fluttered briefly, then she was asleep again.
Slipping down into the straw, Keir closed his eyes. He was exhausted. He hoped he wouldn't have to deal with any demons before the city. His surviving dead were protecting the column, but he personally was in no state to raise yet another army.
He let sleep overtake him.
***
Estelle looked beautiful in her brilliant red gown.
Keir watched his eldest daughter and her fiance Eyob, wave to the cheering crowd from their open carriage. The carriage was a work of art, seeming to be made entirely of silver and ivory, being drawn by twelve ghostly horses that glowed in the sun.
He and Estelle's mother, Katherine his third wife, rode behind them, letting the young couple take the place of honour in the parade. Soldiers lined the roads, keeping the crowd back. An honour guard surrounded his daughters carriage and his own horse. But on this day he didn't think they were needed. The crowd was overjoyed with the news.
The royal wedding assured the city of good times ahead as tens of thousands of visitors arrived, needing food, lodgings, drink, and entertainment. The weather promised a bountiful harvest. There was peace in the land for the first time in twelve years. Trade was flourishing within the empire. Even the rumbling of rebellion on the Yellow Coast was a distant worry.
The future was bright.
He saw a brewer selling beer to the crowd from a dozen large barrels set up in front of his brewery. The man was making a fortune, his employees rushing to fill glasses for the hundreds of customers. The man raised his cup in a toast to the royal family.
The unopened barrels erupted in flames.
Time moved in slow motion. Keir saw the explosion reaching out to engulf Estelle. Onlookers were thrown through the air like rag dolls. The honour guard was cut down like wheat before the scythe. He tried to cast a spell to protect his daughter. There was no time.
The carriage shattered.
His shield flared, protecting him and his wife from the deadly shrapnel that flew through the air like bullets. His horse reared, sending him to the pavement. He felt something crack.
He heard Katherine shrieking. Other voices joined hers. Shouts of fear, bellows of pain, and the screams of the maimed and dying.
Staggering to his feet, he shoved the few bodyguards who remained on their feet away from him. He had to see Estelle.
Smoke filled the street. Gunpowder choked him with every gasping breath. Stepping over bodies, he tried to find his daughter. Bloody, maimed hands reached out for him. The broken bodies that had just moments ago been healthy, happy people, spoke to him, butt he couldn't hear what they were saying. The ringing in his ears and the screams of the masses overpowered their dying pleas.
He saw a bit of red.
Rushing over, he saw Estelle. Somehow a few shreds of her dress still covered her body. It was the only way to tell who she was. The shattered lump of flesh didn't look human anymore.
He couldn't scream. He couldn't weep. Rage filled him. Holding his daughter, he silently swore that her murderer would see everything they loved destroyed and beg for death.
***
It was getting towards evening when Keir woke up from his nightmare. His face was damp from tears. Wiping them away, he looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Relief washed over him as he realized everyone was asleep.
He hated the memories that masqueraded as dreams. He'd lived through the horrors of war and death once already, he didn't need to do it a second time.
Looking at Floria who was still asleep, he realized she was the same age as his Estelle had been. He pushed that thought aside. She was a soldier, she was his soldier. He'd use her, and probably destroy her. It was what happened in war.
It was what he did. He was the necromancer, he brought death wherever he walked.
Officers began shouting orders. They'd found their camping spot for the night. Sighing, he got out of the wagon. There was work to do.
