The Necromancer’s Light by Tavia Lark

CHAPTER ONE

Shae

In the dying heat of the summer day, a lone figure in gray stands out from the crowd. Everyone else in the streets of Andell wears light cotton, sleeves rolled up to their elbows and collars unbuttoned. Sweat drips down tanned and freckled faces as ordinary men and women finish their day’s shopping or pack up their wares. They give the dark-haired, gray-eyed wanderer a wide berth, and they try not to meet his gaze.

Shaesarenna Nightven isn’t trying to hide the silver rings in his ears and on his fingers, or the silver-stitched leather bags hanging from his belt. Other kinds of mages use silver, but only one kind uses that much of it. The people of Andell know what he is.

Necromancer.

Shae shivers and pulls his coat tighter around his thin body. His silver jewelry is the only finery he owns. His coat was once black, but it’s faded to a ghostly gray over the years, and the hem is ragged. It’s missing a button that he keeps forgetting to replace.

He’s cold, despite the late summer heat. His magic drains more of his life force every time he uses it, and the only thing that helps is human contact. Yet that same magic drives everyone away. The thronging crowds only give him the slightest breath of warmth.

If he could take the telltale silver off, he would. The rings on his fingers hold spells to mask his presence and detect evil. The earrings help focus his control over his power, and they do something to protect what remains of his soul. The silver and amber pendant dangling from his left lobe holds enough human aura to keep him alive for a day, if he’s alone in an emergency. The pendant is empty now, and it’s slow to recharge as the crowd stays away from him.

He’s never been to Andell before, but he finds the local Riverswords outpost easily enough. They always set up shop near the shipping yards or stables. Since Andell is landlocked, Shae follows the scent of horses. His nose leads him past the whitewashed wooden buildings surrounding the town square, through a neighborhood of older stone buildings with high arches and narrow windows. The round roof of a Moon Mother chapel rises on the northern skyline.

The mercenary guild’s emblem hangs on a sign above the door: crossed swords on a blue shield.

Shae nervously tugs his worn fingerless gloves, then pushes inside. The door opens on a smokey interior, more lounge and dining hall than anything else. There’s a desk across from the front door with nobody at it; the only current inhabitants are five rough-looking men and women playing cards around a table to the side, drinking and laughing.

When they see the silver in Shae’s ears, the laughter stops. One man drops his cards on the table and brings his mug of ale to the front desk. He’s not much taller than Shae, but he’s three times as wide, all muscle and scars. From the unfriendly glint in his eyes as he looks Shae up and down, this isn’t going to go well.

Shae takes a deep breath and steels his nerves. He knows rejection when he sees it, but he’s too dumb or too stubborn not to try. Or too desperate. He can’t get all the way to Lyrisenia without a companion. He’ll die alone and frozen in the woods if he tries.

And he has to get to Lyrisenia.

“What brings you here today?” the mercenary says, settling into the chair behind the desk. He swigs from his mug, leaving a line of foam across his lip. “Necromancer.”

Shae lifts his chin. “I need to hire a bodyguard for a month’s journey. If you don’t have anyone free for the full time, then just long enough to get me to the next outpost north.”

A thick, leatherbound book sits on the desk. Shae’s been to enough Riverswords outposts to recognize the local log of assignments. The mercenary doesn’t even bother to flip through it; he sets his tankard on top of the unopened book.

“Unfortunately,” he drawls, “we’re all booked for the next six months. If your coin is good, we can see if we can slot you in then.”

Laughter sounds from across the room. Shae can’t help glancing towards the other mercenaries, who know their captain is lying as well as Shae does. Most of them look away hurriedly, reluctant to make eye contact with him. Only one gray-bearded man still leers at him, making no secret of his unprofessional interest.

Shae might be desperate, but he knows when arguing is pointless, and he wouldn’t trust any of these mercenaries not to abandon him in the middle of nowhere. He turns back to the mercenary captain and replies drily, “What a shame. Thank you for your time.”

He strides from the building, silver jangling in his ears and disappointment tightening his lungs. Damn it. He’s used to the cold treatment, but in most towns, Riverswords are willing to contract out an escort for him. His coin is as good as anyone else’s.

That’s how he found his last escort, Pavus, a surly man who drank so much he could barely swing a sword. Pavus had lasted three nights with him before leaving Shae in the middle of the night, cold and alone and miles away from the next human settlement.

The two-day walk to Andell had nearly killed him.

Shae halts on a streetcorner, twisting one of his rings as he tries to think. If he finds a tavernkeep who’ll deign to speak with him, he can ask about anyone else who might be looking for work and isn’t too picky. Come morning he can seek out an alchemist or hedgewitch too—they tend to be less discerning about the company they keep. If he’s absolutely desperate, he’ll hire a prostitute or a convict. He’ll find someone.

He has to.

“Hey, necromancer.” A raspy voice breaks his concentration. Shae whirls around, hand at his belt, and sees the leering mercenary from the outpost. The man is tall and lanky, with a straggly beard and a long, greasy tail of hair twisted behind his head. This close, he reeks of sour ale. “You need an escort, yeah?”

“Your captain said you were all booked,” Shae says coldly. He’s desperate, but he doesn’t need to be abandoned by another drunk in the middle of the wilderness.

The man laughs. “I wasn’t offering myself.” He leans in closer to Shae’s ear, the reek of him overpowering. Something about his gaze makes Shae’s skin crawl. “Just thought I’d give you a tip. There’s a Varan paladin in town, staying at the Moon’s Barrel. Heard he was looking for work.”

Shae blinks. The last thing he expected from this creep was something useful. “Thanks. I’ll see if he’s still looking.”

“Happy to help,” the man slurs. His eyes rake down Shae’s body again, and he grabs him none too gently by the elbow. “How about I show you how to get there?”

Bile rises in Shae’s throat. He glances around, but nobody is looking at them. He doubts any passerby would care even if they noticed. “That won’t be necessary.”

The man smiles, and his grip tightens. “It’s no trouble for me.”

Fine. We’ll do this the hard way.Shae forces himself to smile, knowing the expression doesn’t reach his eyes, and touches the silver feather pendant hanging from his right earlobe. He starts muttering under his breath, the Lyrisenian language taking on the cadence of an incantation.

The man swears and backs away as if burned. “Corpse fucker,” he snarls, spitting at Shae’s feet. “Get the fuck out of here.” He stumbles away, still swearing, and disappears into an alleyway.

Shae takes a moment to still his racing heart. He’s almost grateful nobody’s looking at him, so they can’t see him sagging in relief. The incantation was just a simple prayer for good luck—thankfully enough to scare the lecher away without resorting to anything drastic.

Drasticis a sure way to get kicked out of town.

The evening sky is pink and gold above him as he sets off to find the Moon’s Barrel.