The Necromancer’s Light by Tavia Lark

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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Arthur

Arthur doesn’t watch Shae ride away, but every word of the conversation replays in his head. He can’t figure out where it went wrong. He was so sure Shae would agree to stay, just for a couple of days. Shae has his own regrets—shouldn’t he understand Arthur’s need to absolve himself?

As he heads back into camp, he touches his pendant. The metal is cold.

Freya catches him before he gets to Tanner’s tent. “The necromancer left?”

“He had business elsewhere,” Arthur says.

“Probably for the best.” She claps Arthur on the shoulder and grins at him, teeth bright against her brown skin. “It’s good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back,” Arthur says, but the words feel hollow. They shouldn’t. This is where he belongs, serving Vara’s Radiance with his brothers and sisters in the order.

Bernard joins them. “Freya and I have the next patrol, and the captain said you should come with us.”

“Perfect!” Freya says. “You can tell us everything you’ve been up to over the past year. I’m sure you’ve got stories.”

His heart eases a little with their smiles. This is what he’s missed—this warmth, this connection. He wants Shae here too, but Shae refused. That’s not his fault. “Only if you catch me up on news from Ostaris,” he says. “Did you ever get with that guardsman you were eyeing, Freya?”

Bernard bursts into laughter while Freya groans, covering her eyes in both hands. “There’s nothing to say about that!” she protests.

“She forgot the guardsman,” Bernard says, still laughing, “as soon as she met his mother.”

“Radiance.” Arthur can’t help laughing with Bernard as Freya continues hiding behind her hands. “Yes, tell me everything.”

***

They move camp when the scouting party returns—two paladins Arthur knows from Ostaris, and a squire he doesn’t recognize. With his freckled, heart-shaped face and messy auburn curls, the boy looks young, though he has to be at least eighteen to start training.

“Who’s that?” Arthur asks, helping Bernard get his gear together. His own gear never got unpacked, and he needs something to do with his hands.

Bernard glances over. “The squire? That’s Karis. He has tracking magic, among other things.”

“Huh.” Sure enough, there’s a glint of blue and gold at the boy’s earlobe. A focus gem. “Is that why they recruited him straight out of the cradle?”

Bernard chuckles. “Right? He joined up almost a year ago. I don’t think he was even eighteen when he started. The Archpriest made an exception for him.”

The more Arthur talks with Bernard and Freya and everyone else, the more he settles back into safe, familiar patterns. The process of packing up camp and setting out is routine. Tanner picks the two rearguard and calls for Freya to join her at the lead, and the rest fall into loose formation around the supply carts. Duchess ignores the other horses; she’s always been more interested in humans, who are more likely to give her treats than steal them.

There’s a chill in the air, and red and gold leaves mix in with the green canopy above. Bernard is off talking with someone else, and Arthur reins Duchess in until they fall back alongside Karis and his dapple gray mare.

“You’re Karis, right?” Arthur says.

The boy looks over. His eyes are light amber, almost gold. “And you’re Arthur Davorin.” He has a slight accent Arthur can’t quite place. “Did you need something?”

The strangest wave of recognition washes through Arthur, even though he’s sure he’s never met the squire before. Maybe the jewelry just reminds him of Shae. Or something about the way the boy carries himself.

“I heard you’re our local tracking expert,” Arthur says. “What do you need to have in order to find someone?”

He doesn’t regret letting Shae go. He doesn’t. This is where he belongs, in Vara’s service with his brothers and sisters, and Shae is the one who refused to say. Arthur just wants to know that Shae’s all right.

“Footprints help,” Karis says with a smirk. “But if you mean magically, I need an item belonging to the person. I don’t work for free, though, outside assignments.”

“What do you charge?”

“Take my shift in the mess tent tomorrow night,” the boy says immediately. “Sound fair?”

“Sure.” Arthur reaches for his belt pouch, then stops.

He doesn’t have anything belonging to Shae. Just the coin that changed hands in previous weeks, but he knows enough about magic to know that won’t work. Maybe he should have picked up the coins Shae threw at him this morning, instead of leaving them in the dirt for someone else to find. “What sort of item?”

Karis sighs. “Anything, as long as there’s a connection. It doesn’t have to actually belong to them, just has to be something they’ve touched recently enough.” He glances sidelong at Arthur. “For Ronan Vizia, I’ve been using the knife he stabbed you with.”

Arthur’s hands tighten. Duchess tosses her head, annoyed, until he relaxes. “That’s a little unnerving.”

“A little,” Karis agrees. “Who are you looking for? Is it the necromancer Stazie told me about?”

“His name is Shae,” Arthur says, more sharply than he intended. The young squire doesn’t seem offended, just smirks again. Arthur thinks a little longer, then loops his reins around the pommel and tugs off one of his gloves. “Here, he’s touched this.”

Karis takes his own gloves off, then nudges his mare a little closer to take the glove from Arthur. He sits back in the saddle, touches his earring, and closes his eyes.

A few seconds later, he lets go of his earring and hands the glove back.

“Did it not work?” Anxiety pools in Arthur’s stomach. He’d expected something more, something flashier. Whispered words, or a shimmer of power through the air.

“Of course it worked,” Karis says haughtily. “Your friend is in Lanwatch, with a pack of Riverswords, if I’m not mistaken.” His grin widens. “And I’m never mistaken.”

Riverswords. Of course.

“Thanks,” Arthur says.

“Don’t forget your kitchen shift tomorrow.” Karis shakes his finger. He pulls his own gloves back on, then kicks his mare a bit faster, drawing ahead and leaving Arthur with too much space to think.

Shae was right. He found someone else, and he doesn’t need Arthur after all. That should be reassuring. But the knot in Arthur’s stomach doesn’t go away.

***

As the sun sinks over the ink-black treetops, Arthur steps away from camp to pray. He kneels in the soft, giving earth and bows his head towards the west, letting the last rays of daylight caress his head like the loving touch of Vara’s hand. Not a parent but a teacher. A guide.

Arthur is in desperate need of guidance.

“Radiant Vara, brightest god,” he murmurs, hands on his knees. He’s spoken these words a hundred times, but now, they don’t feel like ritual repetition. It’s like he’s speaking them new, straight from his heart on broken breath. “Grant your servant light, that I might see my path forward.”

Behind him, the rest of camp laughs and clatters as they settle in for supper. He didn’t have to walk a warding spell, because Freya and an older paladin had that duty tonight. When everyone picks up a piece, the burden is lighter.

Arthur continues, voice lowering even more, and his next words are no ritual at all. Just a plea: “Please, Vara, tell me I’m doing the right thing.”

The sun sets, and Vara doesn’t answer.

Arthur sleeps alone that night. He has a tent to himself, and he can’t get warm. His hands itch to touch soft skin, caress bony arms and a narrow waist. His chest feels too light without Shae’s head pillowed on it.

Dreams toss him back and forth in snatches of restless slumber until morning. He thinks it’s another dream at first when someone taps the front of his tent, calling his name. Blearily, he gets up and unfastens the flap.

Freya’s standing outside, her shirt untucked and excitement dancing in her eyes. “Get up, Arthur, no time to waste.”

The sky is still the translucent gray before dawn. Behind Freya, sleep-deprived squires are saddling horses, including Duchess.

“What is it?” Arthur asks, immediately alert.

She grins. “We caught him.”

Arthur’s breath hitches. He doesn’t have to ask who she’s talking about.