Ward Against Darkness (Chronicles of a Reluctant Necromancer) (4 page)

A sour tang filled Celia’s mouth, and her skin crawled. She’d seen death before, but never so gruesome. And all with a few words and a touch. Two more bounty hunters down. Two left. But at what cost?

Macerio closed his eyes for a heartbeat as if concentrating on something, then turned a wicked grin on Ward. “Come, Quirin.” He draped an arm across Ward’s shoulders. “Let’s see if one of my other hopefuls has enough will to create a pet, too.”

Macerio led Ward, still trapped under his arm, with Celia following a step behind, back inside to the strange sitting room with the heavy door and star-shaped keyhole. They stepped into the dark hall, passed the parlor filled with men and women in intimate embraces, to the end where a pale glimmer of light cut across the rough hewn wall. The sweet aroma of Susain smoke and something else drifted toward them, and the light brightened.

Inside, fifteen people with Lyla at the center, stood along the back wall before a raised dais filled with red and gold cushions. Most were dressed as nobles—even if their features said they weren’t—and radiated danger as if she’d just walked in on an assassins’ gathering. The others, those standing slightly behind the nobility, were servants.

She didn’t want to enter the room, and she certainly didn’t want Ward to, either. It was too perilous. But they had no choice, so she stepped across the threshold, fighting to keep her expression calm.

At the center of the room stood a long table in the middle of an octagon carved into the floor with alternating open and closed goddess-eyes. Towering candelabras on either side offered the only illumination. There wasn’t any other furniture. The walls were rough-hewn granite, and save for the door they’d entered, the only other potential means of escape was a plain door behind the line of people.

“Take your place,” Macerio said, gesturing to the right of the table.

Celia nudged Ward into position as Macerio took a seat on the cushions on the center of the dais. He turned to Lyla. “I thought I told you to assemble the family and call for the other apprentice-hopefuls.”

Lyla bowed her head but didn’t look in the least contrite. “The messenger isn’t as quick as I’d hoped.”

“I told
you
to do it. If I’d wanted someone else, I would have given them the instructions.”

“Yes, my lord.” She started to cross the room when the apprentice-hopefuls arrived, led by Allette. Rodas glared at Ward with beady eyes made small by his too-round face. While Enota focused on Macerio, the only indication she was feeling anything was the trembling of her arthritic fingers by her sides. Ward’s competition didn’t look any more impressive now than they had an hour before. Neither seemed dangerous from a martial perspective. Celia doubted the woman could hold a dagger and strike a blow with any force with those hands, and Rodas, with his excessive weight, wouldn’t have the agility for an attack. That didn’t mean they weren’t potent necromancers…or rather Innecroestris. Even then, power didn’t mean much. It came down to determination. She and Ward were proof, although she couldn’t deny she’d sensed something powerful within Ward when they’d faced that Innecroestri in Brawenal.

The other two took up positions on the opposite side of the table. Rodas shifted from one foot to the other, his impatience swirling around him like the purple Susain smoke in the room. The woman stood immobile. Celia had seen that stillness in fellow assassins and reevaluated her assumptions about Enota. She might not be able to stab anyone, but there were other ways to kill, and this woman wouldn’t hesitate.

The narrow door at the back of the room opened and someone Celia thought she’d never see again entered, carrying the bloody bounty hunter’s corpse over his shoulder. Val Rous.

His gaze traveled from Macerio to the table, to her, and her heart skipped a beat. His dark eyes widened, the only indication he was surprised to see her. She had no idea how to explain her presence. Although, what in the Goddess’s name was Val doing here? They both belonged in the prince of Brawenal’s court. Not in the middle of nowhere at an Innecroestri’s mansion.

The last time she’d seen Val, she’d turned down another of his marriage proposals, and he’d left Brawenal City. She had no idea why. She was sure she hadn’t broken his heart. Everyone knew his marriage—just like hers and every other noble marriage—would be arranged for the best political union for the family. It didn’t matter what anyone wanted.

He set the corpse on the table and took up a position beside Lyla and Allette. The corpse’s hand fell over the edge, dangling, blood dripping from its index finger and landing in sticky
plops
on the floor.

Ward and she needed to get out of there. If she’d needed proof before to determine who was the most dangerous—Macerio or the bounty hunters—she had more than enough evidence now. She’d take the bounty hunters any day.

Chapter Four

Ward couldn’t stop staring at the corpse and the blood pooling around its head. Macerio had killed him—killed both of the bounty hunters—with a touch. As simple as breathing. A little blood, a few words of power, and a painful death. What had he and Celia gotten themselves into? There wasn’t any good way to get out of the room, not until Macerio was done. Ward could only pray they wouldn’t draw the Innecroestri’s attention. If he stood still enough, maybe Macerio would forget they were there.

“Now that all the family has gathered,” Macerio said.

Ward glanced to the group at the back of the room. They all looked to be around Macerio’s age, save for a few, but there was no family resemblance in any of them. They were mixed in hair and eye color, and only half had the distinctive noble features.

“I think we should have a test. Quirin has already proven his strength of magical ability with a pet.” Macerio caressed Lyla’s cheek, then rested his hand on the shoulder of the stunning blond man who’d entered with the corpse. “Creating a vesperitti is the first true test of the Innecroestri. It takes power and skill and strength of will.”

All the blood drained from Ward’s face. Macerio’s
family
were his vesperitti, and Goddess above, he didn’t just have six, he had up to fifteen. Fifteen possible monsters staring at him. If the myths were true, they all hungered for what little magic was in his blood.

He was so dead. Tortured first and then dead.

“Quirin?” Macerio asked.

Ward shivered.

“Which of my hopefuls should join you in the ranks of the Innecroestri?”

“I ah…” He clenched his jaw to still his rattling teeth. He had to pull it together. If he didn’t look like prey, they wouldn’t attack. “You know your hopefuls better than I do. Both should be up for the challenge.”

“I guess we’ll find out. Pick one.”

Both Rodas and Enota glared at Ward, their jealousy clear. He was the new favorite, and he didn’t doubt either of them would do anything to replace him. Which did he turn into a black necromancer, into everything his family, the de’Aths, had spent generations thwarting?

“I’m waiting,” Macerio said in a singsong.

Just pick one. “Enota.”

Rodas’s eyes narrowed. Another enemy to add to the list.

Macerio eased to the table. “Interesting choice.” He snapped his fingers. Allette scurried to his side and handed him a narrow leather-bound book.

“Within these pages are the darkest secrets of the Innecroestri.” He cradled the book, caressing the closed goddess-eye seared onto the cover. Below the goddess-eye, in Vys—an ancient language of magical power—was the symbol of death.

The rest of Ward’s blood drained away, freezing in his veins, and the world twisted. He hadn’t seen that right. Ward blinked, but the book’s cover didn’t change. The only grimoire in all the Union of Principalities that had that sigil was Habil’s Book of Death, one third of the first Innecroestri’s spell book. A book enspelled with death magic that imbued the owner with even more dark power. It was impossible for this to be the real Book of Death.

“Prove you belong among us.” Macerio opened the book to a page near the middle and placed it on the table by the bounty hunter’s head. Blood oozed toward the cover.

“Enota, join the sacred members of the Innecroestri.” Macerio tapped the open page of the spell book.

The pooling blood caressed the cover. Red light flared from the open pages, and flames danced along the black scrawling text. The blood swept up the table, flooding the book until only a few drops and one jagged smear remained. Ward’s heart stuttered. He couldn’t breathe. The book
was
Habil’s.

Enota bobbed her head, and her lips moved, but Ward couldn’t hear anything. His thoughts crowded against each other, screaming for attention. She limped to the table and ran an arthritic, hooked hand over the bounty hunter’s body.

Ward fought the blinding need to bolt. But if he fled now, Macerio would surely know he wasn’t an apprentice-hopeful. Distance didn’t mean much when the Innecroestri had the kind of power Habil’s grimoires gave the owner.

Enota caressed the spell book with affection and reverence like Macerio had, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.

“I’m waiting,” Macerio said, his voice dark.

Enota twitched, the anticipation gone. “Yes. Of course. The blood?”

“You should have everything you need right there.” The wry smile returned to Macerio’s lips.

There wasn’t much blood left on the table, and Ward doubted the grimoire would give any of its magic to Enota. Legend said only the owner, in this case Macerio, commanded the power of the book, without need for physical contact with it.

The grimoire had to be destroyed. Macerio couldn’t be allowed to keep it. Which meant…

Goddess above, it meant Ward had to destroy the book.

Fighting Macerio to get the grimoire was impossible, but he could stay long enough to figure out how to steal it. He’d have to pretend he was Quirin—and pray the man didn’t show up.

Ward couldn’t believe he was contemplating this. He might not be a very good necromancer, but he knew his duty—which he was really starting to hate.

He
had
to find a way to steal the book.

Just get through the test and get back to his room. Then he could figure out a plan.

Enota dipped a shaking finger in the quatro-sized pool of blood by the bounty hunter’s shoulder. Mumbling, she drew a goddess-eye on the corpse’s forehead. She dipped her finger in the blood again and crouched, drawing a line across the octagon on the floor. A hint of red flashed, burning the shape into Ward’s vision.

She raised her hands and hissed words of power. Then, she placed one hand on the bounty hunter’s forehead over the goddess-eye she’d drawn and the other over his heart. She leaned over the grimoire and began to chant, slowly at first and then faster and faster.

Nothing happened.

Come on. Come on.
Finish the test so he could get out of there.

Macerio crossed his arms, and Rodas smirked.

Enota sucked in a breath.

“Too much for you?” Rodas asked.

Macerio glared at him, and he inched back. Enota didn’t seem to notice. She yelled the chant again. Still nothing. She slapped her hands into the smear of blood on the table. With a growl she ran her palms up her cheeks into her hair, leaving red streaks. She slammed her hands back into position and resumed the chant, once, twice.

The gray-purple smoke in the room began to swirl above her, turning in time to each verse. The candles flickered. The room dipped into darkness, then light.

Rodas inched away, the smirk gone. Shadows bounced around them, and the smoke billowed. Enota cried the chant again, her breath ragged gasps between words.

The urge to flee pounded through Ward. He shouldn’t be witness to this, he shouldn’t allow it, and he shouldn’t be so close to all those monsters.

Movement on the table drew his attention. He strained to see what it was—the bounty hunter’s finger, his hand? Had this woman really brought him back? If he wasn’t mystically blind and able to sense magic, he’d be able to feel her casting the spell.

Enota screamed and collapsed on the bounty hunter. Her wail sent shivers racing over Ward. The purple Susain smoke whirled around the room, but neither Enota nor the bounty hunter moved.

Ward’s heart pounded, loud in the sudden silence.

Still nothing.

Lyla plopped onto the pillows on the raised dais. “That was a disappointment.”

Rodas looked stunned, his eyes wide.

Enota staggered back from the table, her face smeared with blood, her silver-streaked hair disheveled. She turned to Macerio. “Let me try again. I almost had it. I could feel it just out of reach.”

Macerio cupped her cheek in his hand, the Innecroestri’s expression soft. They were a strange frieze, the beautiful lord, perfect and young, gazing at the old woman. He strong and tall, she weak and hunched. She seemed even older now, her cramped hands more disfigured.

“Please,” she whispered.

Macerio leaned close, his lips brushing hers. “No.”

He grabbed the back of her head and smashed his mouth on hers. Enota whimpered.

Everything within Ward froze, breath, body, soul, as if even a flicker of life would draw Macerio’s attention.

Macerio pulled back a little, his mouth open. Red smoke, her soul, poured out of Enota and into him. He groaned, a lover in the throes of ecstasy.

Time moved too slowly. Every moan, every whimper, every wisp of smoke was seared into Ward’s memory in horrific detail.

Lyla rocked back, clapping, her gleeful laugher drowning out Enota’s cries. The other vesperitti cheered and jeered as if they watched a mummer’s play put on for their entertainment. Except this was real, and Ward was helpless to do anything but watch. Killing with a touch was terrible, but the victim’s soul crossed the veil into the heart of the Goddess. Macerio enslaving Enota’s soul kept the victim trapped in torment on this side of the veil to increase the Innecroestri’s magic.

Imprisoned in eternal darkness, conscious, unable to escape, the soul was stretched thinner and thinner.

Macerio released Enota, and she sagged to the floor, her lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. Red smoke curled over his lips, caressing his chiseled features. He snapped his fingers, and Allette scurried to his side with a clay jar. She pulled out the stopper, and he vomited Enota’s essence into it with great heaves.

It poured, cough after cough, into its prison. He shoved the jar at Allette, and she pushed the cork stopper back in.

Ward clenched his jaw, fighting waves of icy panic.
Stay still.
Stay calm.
Don’t let Macerio see him.

“She had power. It’s a shame she couldn’t focus.” Macerio wiped a thumb across the edge of his mouth. “Now, scurry along. The lesson is done for this evening.”

“But—” Rodas said.

Macerio raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, of course.” Rodas bowed and rushed out of the room.

Macerio’s gaze landed on Ward.

Please, no.

“Seems the competition is back down to two.”