“Which is?”
“Engela Zuma must be safe here. She needs to remain this well-protected until I can re-stabilize the Divide.”
His brows go up. “Re-stabilizing the Divide is a part of your plan?”
“Agree to the condition and find out.”
The Garnet Wizard smiles. “It’s a deal,telum.”
19
SILAS
She isn’t lettingme in.
I pace impatiently outside the guest cottage, examining the layout of the other buildings. The Sanctuary hasn’t changed since I left months ago.
I can’t fathom my mentor being dangerous to Maven, not with all the questions he will have about her—but the other acolytes could pose a threat. They know that if they can best someone here and get away with it, they will not be punished, even if it is a guest of the wizard.
The Garnet Wizard was an excellent mentor but also taught me how brutal the world is for legacies. There was no safety here outside of what I afforded myself.
I hardly think of this place as home. Apart from anywhere Maven is, I have no home.
“Hey, Crane,” a hostile voice calls.
I sigh when I see the trio of acolytes approaching quickly in the dimness. Speak of the devils. I expected something like this to happen upon my return, but it is still irritating when I’d rather keep my attention on whether Maven is all right.
“Turn around now, gentlemen,” I drawl.
One of the acolytes lifts his hands, calling forth a glowing amber spell that highlights the disgust on his face.
“So it’s true? You’re a fuckingnecromancernow?”
“You shouldn’t have turned to death magic, and our mentor should never have let your putrescence in here,” another adds, preparing his own spell.
They never learn, do they?
As if my paranoia hadn’t been severe enough, over the years growing up here, I learned that the only way to survive was to show no mercy. Many acolytes, even those I once thought were friends, made it clear that they wanted to be the top student and would happily kill me to have that honor. Sparing them for sentiment led to worse attempts on my life, so I chose to be ruthless instead.
These casters would happily kill me to rid the world of the necromancer I have become. Unfortunately for them, they have failed to strike first. As our mentor would say, all bark and no bite makes for a fresh grave.
I need to feed from Maven again before I can use more blood magic.
Necromancy it is, then.
Calling the chilling, unnatural power to my fingertips, I level two of the acolytes with necromantic bone rot spells that quickly bring them to the ground, twitching and screaming as their insides fall apart. The first acolyte who spoke finally hurls his magic at me, but I deflect it with a flick of my wrist.
For a moment, we’re locked into a hair-raising magic duel, his amber flashes of light eclipsed by the darkness I now wield.
Finally, one of my attacks cuts through his center. He drops, choking and gasping until he goes still just before the murky, semi-translucent, humanoid shape of a ghost rises from his fallen corpse.
The evening returns to silence as I look down and rub my fingers together, studying the blackened skin. It’s as if there was frostbite or a severe burn, though my ability to feel is only slightly numbed. I feel relatively normal.
Until once again, my head begins to spin, my heart racing unnaturally as blood drips from my nose. I sigh and wipe it away. I suppose it would have been too much to hope I could wield both types of magic without some toll being demanded.
Thanks to becoming a necromancer, I can sense the three spirits hovering nearby. The rich, tantalizing feeling of death hangs in the air, but although the ghosts fascinate me, I keep my eyes averted when I senseherarrive.
Syntyche. The reaper goddess.
