The Undead Sorcerer

Chapter 2

 Everyone is staring at me; I wonder what part of my record comes to their minds: war, my family, or a mishap from the bar? Mathew is glaring, looking particularly upset, like he wishes he'd killed me at the bar. I imagine he could have gotten away with it, too. I shoved him first; I started it so that he could have claimed self-defense. Anything after that, Mathew could have bought his way out of. The man is an expert blacksmith with networks connecting him to military Lieutenant Colonels, captains, and squad leaders. Forget the money; I'm sure he could call in a favor. " That's me, Mister Guy With the Record. I hate life.

"Sir, if I may, if we're to go on this mission, do we have any say in your selection?" Matthew inquires. Vincent hums under his breath and scratches his chin without a word.

"Please, it's important we must share and collaborate," Peter decides, earning a look from his brother, Thomas. The king and the duke both young heirs to their father's kingdom. Despite their youth, they are not strangers to war. These recent years of peace have given them some color and erased the dark lines from under their eyes.

"I will say what we are all thinking. This man- no, his entire family can't be trusted. They're too dangerous," Matthew points out, his fists balled up on the conference table. Compared to the previous night, the drinker appears sober, dressed in a respectable suit. His grievance sparks grumblings around the room. The bard stands up, dressed in a long, flowing dress, light yellow like her blonde hair.

"I'm sorry," Sunny squeaks quietly. This woman is a bard? I can barely hear her. How would a busy crowd expect to hear her if she whispers like this? "I-I don't know you very well. But the things your family has done..." Sunny, the bard, agrees.

"What my family has done?" I laugh it off and shake my head. These people are no different than everyone else. It makes my stomach hurt, I'd rather put spindle sticks in my ears than listen to another word of what they think they know. A sword scraping on the cobblestone would be better heard than their blasphemy. "What have we done? We fought in the last Great War. We saved thousands of our soldiers from certain death and destruction. And who broke them out when the eight divisions nearly died of starvation under siege?" I point out, glaring around the room. No one has any argument or comment. Sunny, who apparently knew so much about my family, can't even lift her blue eyes off the table. "It was the skulking Knightwalkers that saved their sorry skulking asses," I swear at them, feeling my skin crawling. These lousy vultures are going to push me over the edge. I need a drink. How can they say such things about my family? My mother, brothers, and father sacrificed so much for the people. My family did nothing wrong; they don't deserve their slander. Me - I did horrible things.

"You alone did the worst, you-" Matthew begins, ready to go into a pompous lecture lecture. I consider leaping across the table and kock him out for last night. He got away with more than he should have and I have half a mind to give him what for.

"Look around," Vincent, the king's advisor, speaks up. He takes a deep breath and rises to his feet. "Many of you are well known, so there's no need to talk about your past and your capabilities. This is why everyone here understands that your magic strength is possibly unmatchable. But if the rumors are true that there are monsters in Old Grove City, we will need your strength, experience, and guidance," Vincent explains, staring around the table expectantly.

"Vincent is right. We've received reports of golems attacking farms. I want to send a team to the most recent sightings to secure an important farming village," Peter explains. "Normally, we'd send the military, but these freak incidents have been moving throughout the country. To make it more complicated, they've all been magic. Sending a squad armed with shields and swords, I'm afraid, won't be enough," Peter admits. He's still sharp, his reasoning is still quite sound. "That's why I need you all to get along," he adds, eyeing the room. I take a deep breath, my leg shaking and my fingers digging into the table's edge. Maybe coming here was a mistake. What am I doing here? I left my position, I gave up my title, and my glory days are behind me.