Black Magic (6 page)

But given the number of ghosts, the inhabitants were probably so used to the misery that hung over them that they were unaware of it.

Letting the tapestry fall again, he quietly slipped from the room to explore the halls. He resisted the urge to pull up his hood, as it would only make him look more suspicious. It was probably not a wise move, because it would provide an easy excuse to lock him up, or beat him, or throw him out of the castle, but he was used to being awake at night. He was unaccustomed to both sleeping in a bed and with someone else in it. His home in the mountains had a hard-packed dirt floor, a fireplace, a work table, and a small chest to keep food from the animals. The table and the chest had been hard enough to obtain; a bed was a foolish waste of time and money.

Nearly every hall and room he explored featured at least two ghosts. Never in his life had he encountered a place so overrun with them. He could
feel
them picking away at his life force, stealing away the precious shreds of warmth he had taken from Sorin. Being open to ghosts, his ability to see and banish them made him a favored target, the same way any knight would be targeted first in a fight. Get rid of the big threat, then move on to the smaller ones.

Koray shivered, grateful he was in the lesser populated areas of the castle. He did not want to go down into the ward by himself, where he could not count the number of ghosts crammed into it.

The urge to banish them was strong, a burning need crawling across his skin, but purifying the battlefield had taxed him. He should not have done it, should have left it for the other necromancers he knew would be drawn to the area … but he had wanted the soldiers to
see.
He had wanted
Sorin
to see what a necromancer was meant to do.

He ignored the voice that whispered he had wanted Sorin to see
him
. Nothing lay down that road but pain. His duty was to speak with the ghost of Alfrey, learn the identity of his killer, and then put Alfrey to rest. Purifying the castle would take months of work, possibly even years for some of the ghosts were so old that it would take more than a basic purification. And the energy required to banish so many …

If he had help, it was possible to do it in weeks, at worst a few months. But he could not imagine anyone allowing him not just to stay, but to summon more necromancers.

Koray warded off an angry-looking ghost of a soldier as it approached him and continued his explorations. He paused as he came to a door that pulsed with Sorin's energies. Beyond it, he could feel death. The constant tugging sensation, the sorrow he had felt for days, finally eased. He rested his hands on the door, then his head, letting his eyes fall shut.
Be at peace, Alfrey. I cannot restore your life, but I can grant you final peace.

Leaving the sealed door, Koray continued on down the hall—and froze in surprise when five men abruptly turned the corner. They stopped dead in their tracks and scowled as they realized who he was. "You there!" the one at the head of the group snapped and strode toward him, armor and sword belt rattling, creaking, boots scuffing on the stone floor. His dark purple tunic was stained, dirty, and what looked like dried blood covered the knuckles of his right hand. "What do you think you're doing, skulking about the castle?" He grabbed Koray's arms and shook him roughly, fingers biting hard enough to bruise. His breath was rank, smelling of cheap wine and meat and silversmoke.

In the wavering light of the torches, his face looked mean; it was the face of a man who kicked things just for the pleasure of their screams. How had such a man become a paladin? What possible purpose could the Goddess see in such a man? "Unhand me," Koray said coldly and tried to twist free—but that only made the man hold him tighter, and Koray only barely bit back a cry of pain. He would not give the bastard the satisfaction.

"What are you doing wandering the castle, soul-eater?"

"Nothing," Koray said. "I am used to being awake at night and could not sleep. I thought to familiarize myself with the castle, that is all."

Predictably, the men all sneered and jeered—except one in the back, who silently stepped away, then turned and quickly walked off, going back the way they had come. Koray tried to ignore the bitterness that welled up that the man had fled rather than stand up to his friends, but what had he expected?

Koray snarled as the men dragged him off, moving so quickly he could not gain a proper foothold, and they had such a grip on his arms that he could not reach for his dagger. He could only snarl and struggle to break free as they moved him along, out of the castle and out into the ward, where they threw him to the ground.

One of the men knelt and drew Koray's dagger, flipping it easily in his hand, catching it smoothly by the hilt with every toss. Then he threw it across the ward and mockingly smacked Koray's cheek. Koray continued to glare at them as he was allowed to stand up, drawing his magic to him, hoping he had enough to do
something
to break free without causing harm. If he hurt them, no one would ever listen to him.

His thoughts flitted to Sorin, but he banished that notion immediately. There was no help there.

Though the violence the men were intent upon was nothing to ignore, the ghosts were his real concern. Strong emotion brought more life energy to the surface, made it easier to leech away—and the more that was leeched, the more that rose up in a vicious cycle that would end unpleasantly if he did not stop it. "I mean no harm," he said. "I really was only—"

He cried out in startled pain as he was backhanded, the bastard paladin who struck him still wearing his gauntlets. Koray could feel the blood on his cheek, more in his mouth, and his eyes watered from the force of the blow.

"I've seen necromancers before. You sleep in graveyards and steal souls. You're filthy, almost-demons, and you shouldn't be in the castle, I don't care what the high and mighty Sorin says." He made to slap Koray again and Koray shoved him away.

"Leave me be!" he snarled. "Get a priest to verify I have done no wrong and do not touch me until you have proof I deserve to be punished."

Someone shoved him from behind, laughing cruelly, and rough hands grabbed him, smacked him, pinched and twisted, shoved him some more, and Koray heard the awful sound of his clothes tearing. Someone yanked on his hair, bringing sharp tears to his eyes—

And as quickly as that his, world was reduced to yet another nightmare. Koray did what he could to block and fight the worst of it and prayed silently that he would pass out sooner rather than later.

"Enough!" The single word was roared so loudly, and resonated with so much power, that the castle seemed to shake with it and everyone in the ward went still. Brilliant purple light flashed and the men assaulting Koray fell away with pained cries, dropping to their knees and holding their heads.

Koray looked up from where he lay huddled on the dirty stones of the ward and stared up at Sorin, who looked fierce and furious and beautiful. It made something in Koray's chest twist, ache. He
hated
Sorin for that.

He tensed as Sorin drew closer, held his breath—and let it out on a ragged sigh when Sorin began to administer a beating to his assailants that made what Koray had suffered look trifling. When the men had been broken and knelt in a battered row before him, Sorin turned to Koray and helped him to his feet. He drew off his cloak and wrapped Koray in it. "Are you all right, Koray?" he asked quietly.

"I'm fine," Koray said.

Sorin gently gripped his shoulders and, meeting Koray's eyes, said, "I said you would be safe and that vow has proven false. I am sorry."

"Not—" Koray cleared his throat, licked his lips, and looked away as he said, "It's not your fault. It's not even entirely their fault. Their anger drew the ghosts in the ward and the leeching of their life energies made their anger worse. It's why ghosts are so dangerous—one of the reasons, anyway."

"Ghosts?" Sorin said. "I never realized—"

"Liar!" one of the men snarled. "We found him wandering the castle all sneak-like. He was going to do something—"

"I said enough!" Sorin roared again, and released Koray to round on the men, to address everyone still gathered in the ward. "I said the necromancer is under my protection. He is here by the will of the Goddess and is not to be harmed. If you suspected him of foul conduct, you should have detained him and summoned me. You are lucky that your comrade
did
come to fetch me, because if I found my necromancer dead then you would have joined him in death." The men recoiled at those words, real fear filling their eyes. Sorin glared at them. "There is never good cause to mindlessly torment and beat a man. You, paladins, I am especially ashamed of. You wear the Goddess' colors and fight in her name, and your behavior tonight brings dishonor to your fellow paladins and to Her Grace." He held out one hand, his eyes glowing brilliant purple. "Your powers I bind, your ranks I strip, and you will be locked away until I think you have paid suitable penance."

The men all glowed, crying out in pain once more, and then fell silent save for the occasional whimper. But the man who had first attacked Koray mustered a sneer. "Necromancers are little better than demons.
Ghosts.
There are no ghosts. He is lying and he is up to something."

Koray drew himself up, discarded Sorin's cloak, and gathered up the dregs of his power. Pressing his hands together in prayer, he closed his eyes and began to chant, slowly drawing his hands apart as the spell was cast.

As he finished and opened his eyes, casting his power out across the whole of the ward in a wave of pale, silver-violet light, every ghost the light touched shimmered into view. People screamed as they saw them, recoiling, drawing back, crashing into one another as they strove not to be touched by the ghosts.

Koray swayed on his feet and the ghosts winked out of sight as he fell—

But instead of hitting the ground, he was swept up against a wall of unbelievable warmth. "My Lord High Paladin," he said, eyes too heavy to open.

Sorin gave a soft laugh that made Koray feel strange, his voice warm and gravelly against in Koray's ear. "I was starting to think your sharp tongue had dulled. But even on the verge of passing out, you can still be rude. Is there anything I can do to help you, necromancer? Besides take you to the priests for healing?"

"Warm," Koray said, too weak to say anything else, barely aware he was speaking at all. "You're so warm."

"You're like ice," Sorin replied as Koray slid into darkness.

The necromancer in his arms, pale and bruised, so fragile looking, so thin he scarcely weighed a feather, was nothing like the acerbic, rude man Sorin had met in the forest.
That
man had vexed him to madness—beyond madness.
This
man left him feeling inadequate and fiercely protective. It left him thinking
mine
and adrift in emotions he did not recognize.

Looking again to the bastards who had hurt Koray, Sorin used his powers to pitch his voice so the entire castle heard him. "The next person to harm the necromancer will die by my hand." Turning away, he strode off toward the royal cathedral.

Angelos was waiting for him on the steps, looking as angry as Sorin felt. When Sorin reached him, he turned without a word and led the way into the cathedral and through the sanctuary up to the altar. "Lay him on the altar; I can draw power from the cathedral itself to heal him. Did no one else step forward to help him? By the time I was woken, you were already there."

"Near as I can tell, the only one who tried to stop it was the man who came to me."

"I will be addressing that with my priests," Angelos said, eyes glowing faintly with dark, blue-violet rage. He moved around the altar, lighting candles and incense, then turned back to the dark stone altar table where Sorin had lain Koray. "Poor thing," he murmured, gently cupping Koray's bruised, battered face. "He looks far too young for the life he has clearly led." He fussed over the torn clothes barely clinging to Koray's too-thin frame. "I'll see to it that he receives new clothes. My men did nothing to stop his beating; they can certainly prepare him new clothes to begin making amends."

Sorin smiled faintly. "Why do I think the palace and cathedral are going to be the cleanest they have ever been?"

"That is only the beginning of their punishment," Angelos replied. He stepped back slightly and drew his hands together in prayer, and Sorin stepped down from the dais to let him work.

Soft chanting filled the cathedral as Angelos cast spells of healing, pouring his magic and that of the cathedral into it. He worked steadily for nearly two marks, and Sorin was nearly asleep on his feet from the combination of exhaustion and the rhythmic chanting.

Angelos yawned when he was finished, stepping away and motioning for Sorin to take Koray. "A few marks of rest and he should be fine."

Nodding, Sorin approached the altar table. He looked Koray over from head to toe, then reached out to twine his fingers through a dark gray strand of hair. "This one is new," he said softly. "I think it happened when he made it so we could all see the ghosts. I had no idea such a thing was even possible, and doing so clearly cost him. There were scores of them. If what he said about them affecting their environment is true … this place would be very different with the ghosts gone."

"He has a great deal of power," Angelos said pensively. "I could feel it as I healed him. It's depleted, but I only feel such a well of it when I heal you. I know that depth of power in myself." He shared a long look with Sorin.

Eventually, Sorin looked back down at Koray. "You are saying he's a … a high necromancer? Do you really think so?" But even as he asked the question, excitement and victory throbbed in his chest.
Yes
the Goddess told him. "High Necromancer," Sorin repeated quietly and slowly let go of the strand of hair wrapped around his fingers. "That is certainly interesting. Why do we … it is clear, now, that necromancers are not what we have always thought. Why the decades—I fear centuries—of misunderstanding?"