The Spell Crafter

Chapter Thirteen - Witness

"He was a necromancer!" Bera hissed. They were in Kanick's room at the Black Crown. Bera paced around the bed, while Kanick sat at the desk.

"And why do you think that?" Kanick said absently.

Bera stopped pacing and looked incredulously at his master. "He brought that woman back from the dead," he replied. "Have you lost your mind?"

Kanick banged his gloved hands on the wooden desk and rose to confront the boy in one swift movement. Pain shot up his arm as he did so, but the sight of Bera recoiling away allowed him to ignore it.

"Have you?" He yelled. "Asking a man to look up his wife's skirt!" Bera looked as though he was going to say something. "This isn't the order anymore, where you can do what you please! And I thought I'd at least taught you to be less rude! We were guests."

"You can't cope with the fact that your friend turned to necromancy," Bera shot back. "This city rose up for Palregon," the boy reminded him. "And they don't give a consigned shit either that they had a necromancer living among them, so long as they can fulfil whatever stupid desire occupies their small minds! You heard him; he didn't care what happened so long as he got his wife back."

"Regius wasn't a necromancer," Kanick repeated, exasperated. "Did you not hear how Marin held a void-damned conversation, that she could string two pissing words together?" Bera looked confused, and Kanick pressed his advantage, malice like poison in his voice. "Or that she didn't stink like a consigned corpse? No? What kind of necromancer heals a body before they use it?" Kanick could feel his face reddening. "You've never seen a Necromancer's work so don't presume to lecture me on it."

"Oh, here we go, the consigned war." Bera replied acidly. "Well, sorry for not being born in time to fight!"

"This isn't about the war-"

"This whole thing's about that consigned war!" Bera yelled, his voice breaking slightly. "You, Regius, The Sons – it's all about the war! If your friend had been strong enough to handle the aftermath, none of this would have happened!"

"Leave," Kanick said, his voice flat.

"What?" There was real fear in Bera's voice now.

"Leave, now." Kanick repeated. Bera shot him a look and stormed out of the room, leaving Kanick to his thoughts.

Whatever had happened to Marin, it was unlike any kind of necromancy that Kanick had encountered before. The runes involved in preserving a body and giving it an animating spirit often rendered both body and mind stripped of essential characteristics. It was beyond the power of even the greatest necromancers to restore a spirit whole and healthy to a body.

Not to mention, the marks required. Jarron and Marin had both being emphatic that the healing had left no scars at all. In order to raise a body, or use a spirit, marks had to be carved into the flesh, one at the point of death to preserve a spirit and one during re-animation. If a necromantic rune was defaced – and Marin insisted she had no scars – the spell would cease to function.

Whatever had happened, it was not necromancy.

Kanick was woken the next morning by a knocking on his door. "Come in," he yelled lazily from the bed. The sun had only just dawned, as far as Kanick could tell from under the thick, heavy curtains. "Unless you're my apprentice," he added.

It was Lem, who stood in the doorway sheepishly. "We've had a soldier come to the inn," he announced. "Said the Governor wanted to speak to you, about a boy."