The Necromancer

Chapter 8, Part 1

The ancient runes glowed blue, and Mog and I materialized onto the Summoning Stone outside of Defarlas. Home again at last. It seemed like ages ago when I'd fled the little hamlet with my tail between my legs and a horde of angry Paladins behind me. And it was only a few miles from here where I'd first met Skip out on the Crown Road and got started on this whole adventure.

Tall pines formed a dense circle around the perimeter of the old stone, but for one tiny gap where the path led through the forest and down into town. There was a thick fog hanging over the area like a shroud. Fitting, really. I urged Skip's body forward and headed down the path toward town with the corpse . Mog's thundering footsteps followed behind me. We were sure to attract attention pretty soon, but I didn't care anymore. Let the Paladins come. 

Our meager funeral procession wound through the woods and down into the valley, back toward the graveyard that I knew so well. It was where I'd first found the Ruby, far underneath a crumbling stone crypt that everyone else had forgotten and discounted. Only I'd believed that Mertialz was down there somewhere. 

The rusty gate that used to creak open every time I returned to my crypt was gone. The only clue to its eventual fate was a few twisted, discolored bits of iron remaining in the grass nearby. The Paladins had of course been able to find out where I lived after killing Athealwas, and they hadn't knocked first. Once they were sufficiently motivated, It was only a matter of time before they found out about my arrangement with the plague ward, sending my skeleton minions at night to clean out the place. From there, it wouldn't be hard to find my home. I'd run off before they got there, but I imagine they searched the place anyway. The iron door of the crypt, bent into a wedge from one of those Paladin spells, was pretty clear evidence that they did indeed come in. 

I levitated Skip's body through the crypt's arched doorway and turned to my ogre companion behind me. "I'm just going to put her in here for safekeeping," I told him. After so long in silence, the sound just seemed unnatural and intrusive. "Just wait here. If any Paladins come,  shout. Otherwise, I'll be out in a bit." He grimaced, but nodded back and took a seat on top of the crypt. Inside, dust fell from the stones in the roof but otherwise everything held. 

I led Skip's body down the winding tunnel into the little living area that I'd carved out. It was trashed, of course. The bones of minions I'd had to leave behind were laying in a big heap, missing their souls and never to be revived again. Every bit of meager furniture I had was smashed to splinters, then burnt. Not that I had much to begin with. My table, my bookshelf... and of course, the throne that my father had given me. The formerly-bleached bones were smashed apart and stained with soot. 

I'd been so proud of it once. Even at my worst, when I could barely afford the necessary ingredients to keep Lirk summoned, I'd refused to sell it. I always told myself that when I became a powerful warlord in my own right, with my elaborate castle, I'd need it. I'd need to show the world how dominant and dangerous I really was. Even when I was down in the dirt, sitting on that throne still made me feel just a bit like the king that Dad always wanted me to be. Looking down on the remains of the throne, I really couldn't care less about what had happened to it. I kicked at the shattered remain of a tibia and turned back toward Skip's waiting body.

She seemed so peaceful. I laid her body back onto the outcropping of dirt that I used to use as a bed. The Paladins had been kind enough to leave the blankets unburnt, though they were now torn to ribbons. Skip wouldn't really mind. 

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you," I told her. I knew she couldn't hear me, but Necromancers in general have a tendency to forget that about the dead. To us, death is simply a temporary state. "I got careless." I picked up her lifeless hand. It called to me, and I felt the power of the Ruby tingling in my fingertips. It would be so easy to summon her. To hear her voice and see her smile and tell me that everything was OK. I could have her back with me in just a moment. With a heavy sigh, I let her hand fall back down onto her chest and the pins-and-needles sensation faded. "I'll be back soon, Skip. I promise."

I headed back out the tunnel and into the mistry graveyard. Mog's thick legs no longer flanked the entrance to the crypt, and I could hear a distant ringing sound. 

"Mog?"

No answer. Just the continuing sound. Listening more closely, I could also hear Mog's loud breathing. I walked closer, and found the ogre looming in the fog holding the warped remains of the crypt door. As I watched, he bent over and scooped a load of damp dirt from a rough hole in the ground, then threw it over his shoulder. The grass behind him was already half buried.

"Mog, what are you doing?"

He didn't stop working. He bent again and shoveled more dirt from the hole. It was already nearly two or three feet deep. "GRAVE," he answered. His deep, gravelly voice was gruff and cold. I guess that's how he was dealing with the loss; I didn't take it personally. 

"Just stop. You don't need to do that." 

He didn't listen. He sank the door back down into the dirt and flung it over his shoulder in a wide spray. 

"Mog, STOP." I reached out my hand and felt the power flow, freezing the heavy door in place. Even Mog, fifty feet tall and strapped with muscles, couldn't make it budge an inch. It just hung in the air near his shoulder like it was bolted in place. But that didn't stop Mog from tugging at it with all his heart. Finally he gave up and collapsed to his knees, and the tears began to roll again. He bawled into his hands with the crypt door still stuck above him. "GRAVE," he finally managed to cry out.

I placed a reassuring hand on the leathery skin of his knee. "We don't need a grave, Mog. We're not here to bury Skip."

Mog sniffled and looked down at me in confusion. I smiled back, hoping my confidence would perk him up a bit. "Bury?" he asked.

I held my hands in the air, and the earth beneath me rumbled violently. Throughout the cemetery, chunks of land began to churn and sway like the waves of the ocean. Mog stood and stepped aside, and a hole immediately opened up beneath him. A skeleton, still wearing the rusted remains of ornate armor, climbed out of the hole and got to his feet. All around us, countless other holes split open like blooming flowers, and skeleton soldiers hoisted themselves out. Mog spun in circles, trying to gauge how many of them were crawling from their graves. I didn't need to look. Through the power of the Ruby, I could feel each and every one of them, and I knew that there were thousands. Quite fitting, really: Warlord Mertialz's army was once again in service of the Ruby. Every skeleton in the field turned simultaneously toward me and saluted. A defeaning chorus of voices all shouted at once: "Thank you, Master." I felt a twinge of pain as I instantly thought of Lirk. 

Mog turned toward me, completely dumbfounded. "We're not here to bury her," I repeated. "We're here for my army."

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