Book of The Dead

Tyron looked down at the squirming rat in his hands. The thing was huge, as rats went, easily three or four times bigger than it should have been. By far the largest specimen he’d come across in his sojourns into the sewers.

It reeked of blood magick. A dangerous amount.

Whoever these bloodsuckers were, they appeared to be growing careless. This much might be enough to be detected on the street above. Any more, and someone was bound to get a sniff of it. Someone other than him, who spent too much time wandering through these septic tunnels.

They know

It wasn’t easy to shave a message into the side of a squirming, giant mutant rat, but he’d done the best he could. With a grunt, he tossed the creature away.

Squeaking furiously, the rodent tumbled through the air before crashing into the narrow stone grating, righting itself and scurrying away. It wasn’t much of an introduction, but it would have to suffice. He wasn’t foolish enough to try and track down these vampires himself. Here, in the dark sewers, at night? He’d be food before he even saw them.

Despite selling out their location to an unfriendly, rival coven, he hoped to maintain some level of cooperation with this new group. Anything to gain leverage over Yor and her Mistress.

Despite how much he hated working with them, this latest deal had proved yet again how valuable the undead beings were. Perhaps he could have learned the same things from the Abyss, but he was still unwilling to pay their prices. Or maybe the Dark Ones could have informed him, but he was already so deeply in their debt that he feared what might happen when the bill came due.

“No time to dwell on it now. There’s a lot to do,” he muttered to himself, turning his back on the dank tunnels.

Back in his study, the proof of his labours lay everywhere. Bones, papers and half-formed constructs littered the ground in unceremonious piles, some dropped right next to the arch of bone that still stood proudly atop the ritual circle in the centre of the open space. Sheets of paper filled with diagrams, roughly sketched arrays and sigils were adhered to the walls in places, and he ran his eyes across them as he emerged again into the light.

That was wrong, he’d checked it two days ago. This one would fail, he saw it now, the design wasn’t capable of handling the energy needed. That one was the worst of all. Overdesigned, elaborate, missing the elegance and simplicity all truly brilliant solutions required. Would it work? Maybe, but it wasn’t enough for Tyron to cobble together something that merely functioned. It had to function well.

With a sigh, he tore down all of the scraps and crushed them to a ball in his hands. With a toss of his wrist, these too joined the growing pile of refuse in the corner of the room.

This place is a mess. I can’t work like this.

Splitting his focus in too many directions at once had caused him to become a little sloppy. Half of his time was taken by the Red Tower, working with Annita to complete her tasks, as well as dutifully fulfilling his own. The effort required was not small; the magisters worked him like a dog. When he wasn’t being dragged from one place to another, making corrections, giving advice, or grinding away at cores, he was being grilled by their own Arcanists. Expected to explain every stage in his craft, detail his decision-making process, point out the flaws in their designs, they were attempting to wring him dry of knowledge as well as sweat.

Coming back to the shop, he had to keep up appearances, fill the shelves, engage with his customers and continue to build a backlog of supplies so he could leave again.

When that was done and night finally fell, into the study he went. Filetta had been able to uphold her end of the bargain, despite the misgivings of her superiors, and the bones had continued to flow. Crafting weapons and armour occupied a portion of his time, creating new minions took another, but experimentation with bone constructs took the majority of it by far.

Before he returned to Cragwhistle, he was determined to unlock at least a portion of the potential he sensed within them. His initial attempt, rudimentary, almost childish in his eyes now, had already been far surpassed, but more needed to be done.

Although he didn’t like to say it, asking Annita Halfshard for advice had doubled his progress. Of course, he couldn’t just show her what he was working on, but change a few sigils here and there, and a gathering array for death magick suddenly didn’t look quite so illegal. Even just asking her for tips with some of the issues he was running into in general terms was enough for her to point him in the right direction.

Whatever had happened between her and Willhem must have been serious, because Master Halfshard was clearly the successor he had longed for all along. She was insightful, possessed a vast knowledge of sigils and their applications, and had razor-sharp instincts for finding the correct solution on the first try. Versatile in ways Tyron could never be, she was a staggering paragon of the Arcanists’ art.

If she were to sit in his study for an hour, Tyron was confident he could resolve most of the difficulties he was having. More likely, it would get him arrested and killed, but the thought was nice.

Reluctantly, he turned away from his desk, and the current iterations of his designs. He would need at least four hours of sleep tonight, and the room was becoming cluttered enough that it would soon begin to impede his progress. As he began to gather bones, cores and various other detritus, he cast his mind back to what Yor had revealed to him the previous day.

“Someone kicked the hornets’ nest alright,” she grinned. “The gods themselves, your Five Divines.”

“What? How?”

“They have ways and means of communicating with their servants here in the mortal realm, much as the Dark Ones do. I haven’t been able to learn exactly what was said, but the reaction was immediate. Every noble house has been put on alert, every resource available to the state has been mobilised. They are planning to initiate a city-wide purge. Rooting out corruption, hunting down the evil within their midst.”

Stolen story; please report.

“You don’t seem concerned,” he observed. “Isn’t this a risk for your kind as well?”

Her smile deepened.

“We have already taken steps to protect ourselves, with more to follow. As for the filth spreading in the sewers,” she grimaced with distaste, “perhaps they will be taken care of without my coven having to intervene at all.”

From how vicious she seemed to feel toward other vampires, he rather doubted she would hold herself back.

“I don’t suppose you’ve been able to find out when this might be happening? How much time is left?”

“The timetable is being kept in strict confidence by the baron, but you yourself have weaselled your way into the Red Tower, have you not? Surely, you can discern something on your own.”

Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to learn much of anything from the Magisters. They were extremely tight lipped around any of the outsiders working within the tower, and he didn’t possess the necessary skill to try and elicit anything from them.

What this did mean, is that his timetable was much shorter than he’d anticipated. Once the Baron initiated his purge, even working within his study, shielded and protected from prying as it was, would no longer be safe. In what time he had remaining, Tyron needed to complete his current projects, bolster his forces, and prepare for his next journey out to Cragwhistle.

It would only get harder to gain levels as time passed, he had to scramble for everything he could right now. First thing first. He had to finish dealing with this mess….

~~~

“You look awful. Have you been taking care of yourself properly?”

“Geez, Elsbeth. Nice to see you too.”

The two had met in a nearby tavern, one with a good reputation for serving a decent stew. Though now, as Tyron looked down on it, he thought he detected the faintest trace of what might be blood magick within.

No wonder this place is so cheap, if that’s where they source the meat.

“Let’s skip the stew today, I’m not that hungry,” he lied.

Elsbeth frowned.

“You need to eat. I know what you're like when you get busy.”

“I know, I know. I’ve been good, I swear. I’ll eat later, just not… just not this.”

“Fine,” she pushed her own bowl away before grabbing a bread roll and nibbling on it. “You really do look rough, though. Are you sure you’re taking care of yourself?”

“You’re worse than my aunt. Yes, I’ve been sleeping every night and eating at least two meals a day. I’ve just been extremely busy. Now, let’s not worry about what my schedule looks like and talk about why you’ve asked me to talk?”

“Fine,” she pouted slightly. “Although it could have been the case that I just wanted to see you. It’s been weeks since we spoke.”

“But we both know that’s not true. There’s a lot happening right now and we both have a lot on our plates.”

His old friend sighed and nodded.

“I would have liked to catch up earlier, but it's just like you said.”

Elsbeth grew more serious.

“I wanted to tell you that I’m leaving Kenmor. It’s getting less and less safe for my people here.”

Tyron nodded.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you about that, but I suppose you have your own means of finding things out.”

“You probably know more than I do,” she shook her head, “but that’s fine. The Venerable has summoned us to his side. My people are leaving their homes all over the province, heading west. I’ll be joining them. Which means you are going to be here on your own from now on. Will you be alright?”

The Necromancer blinked in surprise. She was worried about him?

“I’ll be fine. This is a dangerous moment, but there’s also great opportunity. I’ll be in the city for another few weeks, then I’ll be heading to Cragwhistle again for training. Who knows? I might actually beat you there if you travel slowly.”

“I’d rather take my time than use your particular route,” she shivered. “I don’t know which is worse, that I suggested it, or that you actually did it.”

Travelling through the Abyss was not something Tyron would describe as pleasant, or safe, yet the time saved was too valuable to pass up. The deal he had struck with the creature within would still hold, for a time, so at least he wasn’t required to provide more… sustenance.

“Things are beginning to accelerate now,” Tyron told her seriously. “It’s only going to get more difficult and dangerous for you and your people. Make sure you’re as careful as you can be. I don’t have any doubt a large reason for the coming trouble is because of the increased activity of your patrons. They’ll be hunting for people like you.”

His old friend nodded slowly.

“I’ve heard stories… from the others. This kind of thing has happened before, many times. We go underground, we hide, we run, and we wait it out. Some make it, others don’t.”

Her eyes hardened.

“But that was in the past. Things are different this time. They haven’t been so active at reaching out to their people for… nobody knows how long. There’s a chance they’ll protect us, shelter us from danger.”

“There’s also a good chance they won’t,” Tyron pointed out. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving my fate to their whims.”

“They’ve taken good care of you so far, without asking for much in return,” Elsbeth said tartly. “Or have you forgotten?”

It was true. Tyron hadn’t even realised the extent to which the three had been acting on his behalf. Now that he knew, he wasn’t comforted by that fact. There would be a price.

“They help me because they want something. Not everyone is in a similar position, that’s all I’m saying.”

The two fell silent for a moment, contemplating the strange place that they found themselves in. Elsbeth had many things on her mind, had committed herself to many people, all of whom she hoped to keep safe. Tyron had devoted himself to one thing, and one thing only: vengeance. Even now, the hatred he felt burned steadily in his chest. It was always there, an ever-present fire, threatening to rise like bile up his throat and come pouring out of him.

That was the fuel that kept him pushing forward.

“I should thank you for all the help you’ve given me, Elsbeth. Without you, I would be in a terrible state at this point. Thank you.”

She brushed her golden hair back and smiled at him.

“What are friends for?” she replied. “Things may not have turned out the way we had planned as kids, but I, at least, was always a true friend to you Ty–Lukas.”

In a way, Elsbeth had gotten what she always wanted, to help people, to serve a community on behalf of those they worshipped. It wasn’t the goddess she’d expected to serve, nor the community, but here she was, sacrificing and helping.

“I know that,” Tyron said softly. “I always knew that.”

He breathed out, then stood up, extending a hand across the table.

“Travel safely, Elsbeth. I’ll see you in the West.”

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