Birth of a Necromancer 049

Sweat was running down his back in veritable streams. It wasn’t even like he was wearing particularly warm clothes. The sun, and the taxing task of running around all day were simply taking their toll on his body in the form of hot sweat that made his stained, white shirt cling to his body, like a newborn goblin on its mother’s back.

The young elf had been told to be back before sundown, so the sun setting behind him was making his already ragged breath even more so. The fear of what might happen to him, should he return too late for his mistress’s liking, had kept him vigilant all day.

He turned a corner and found himself in a completely lightless alley.

It had never been necessary to hang up lanterns in the lower levels of Frostborg, except on the main streets, because most of the civilians hung around the upper levels of town. For that reason—the fact that it was already incredibly unusual for there to be anyone on the lower levels—the raven-haired elf was a bit startled to feel that he wasn’t alone.

Every Northerner had quite well-developed senses. This was mostly due to the fact that most of them had, at some point, been forced to leave the safety of Frostborg’s walls. There was likely that every living person in The North, had  been in a scrap with a monster of some kind—big or small.

“Hello?” came the elf’s reluctant voice.

No reply.

That, however, only served to unsettle the young elf even more.

He wondered if it could, perchance, be goblins. Southern merchants accidentally picking up a few goblins, from the warm climate of their home countries, wasn’t exactly unheard of. The elf wouldn’t usually be bothered by their presence either.

‘But why aren’t they jumping me?’ he wondered.

The elf picked up his pace, and walked in the direction of the nearest road. It wasn’t very hard to find the great roads running through town—they were pretty noisy, after all.

Every few seconds, he looked over his shoulder. Needless to say, he was pretty worried about what might be following him, if not goblins. Even though Frostborg was a very secure city, it was still often the target of minor invasions from over-confident, neighboring tribes who would go to great lenghts to make cracks in the city walls, roughly the size of a man, and use those as a means to enter Frostborg to cause as much damage as possible.

Though, the terrorists entering the town through the leakages were never the actual problem.

Frostborg was a big city, so every time something like that happened, it would take as long as a week to find and fix every crack in the wall.

‘Could monsters have found a way in again? Hopefully it isn’t the undead again…’

Still worried, the young elf sprinted the last stretch to the main road without looking back. He made it onto the paved sidewalk of a crowded street and looked back into the alley he’d just left.

“Still alive,” he exhaled, and gave the back street a quick middle-finger, before hurriedly crossing the crowded street.

Likely due to his elven heritage, he received many a dodgy stare from the many merchants and travelers in their fancy carriages.

‘There it is!’

The young elf spotted his destination—a shabby-looking inn the same color as the city walls it stood leaned up against. He knocked twice on the backdoor, since it would be extremely disrespectful for someone like himself to even think about entering through the main entrance.

“Who is it?” came an elderly man’s voice from the other side of the door.

“Khaya,” the elf replied.

“Ah, you again,” the door was opened, “Good to see you!”

In the doorway stood a short man with an impressive gray beard and a monocle. He was all smiles, as he let his blue eyes slide up and down Khaya, who was probably twice as tall as him.

“You do realize I’m not gonna have you executed for goin’ in through the front door, right? Well, you know that. Come in, come in—I have some leftover soup, if you want some.”

Khaya could smell the extremely alluring scent of the big pot standing on the inn’s kitchen. His stomach rumbled.

“Nah, sorry, Gustav. The mistress wants me back before sundown.”

“Well, that’s too bad. Anyhow sit down,” Gustav pulled out a stool for the young elf to sit on. “You can tell me ‘bout your day while I fetch the things for the missus. The usual, right?”

Khaya nodded, and sat down.

“You know, Gustav, I had the strangest day, today.”

“How so?” the elderly man replied from within a nearby storeroom.

“Well,” Khaya scratched his scarcely bearded chin, “I saw The Countess, right. Not so strange, since she practically works next to the stand I run with the mistress’s husband.”

“You said it yourself. So what?”

“You see, what’s interesting is who she was with… an elf.”

Gustav came out of the storeroom carrying a box filled with various kinds of fruits and meats, placed it on the kitchen table, and sat down with his guest.

“That’s pretty interesting. Any idea who he is?”

“Nope, but he did seem pretty—how to put it... He didn’t seem to like other elves. He looked at me like I’d murdered his entire family or something. Plus, he yelled at me in some southern language.”

“Huh. Well, let me know if you find out who he is. It’s always good to know who’s in cahoots with who, around here,” Gustav said, and passed the food-filled box to Khaya. “There you go. Tell that mistress of yours to come down here. I could use the free publicity, you know.”

“Yeah, right. Like she’d listen to me. Anyway, thanks! I gotta run.”

A few minutes later, Khaya was back in the same, dark alley as before. He didn’t feel the strange presence of whoever had been watching him earlier.

‘Great.’

He started running. Even though he couldn’t feel the stinging gaze of whatever had been hiding in the alley earlier, he wasn’t exactly keen on waiting for it to set its sights on him again, even if it was only a goblin. Since he was running, it only took him half the time it had taken before to reach the nearest lift.

Since it was late, there was only one other person on it.

A tall, hooded fellow wearing white, stained robes over what seemed to be an excellently trained body. He didn’t react when Khaya stepped onto the wooden plate, nor when it started lifting the two of them towards the skybridge above.

There was something slightly familiar about the man, but the young elf couldn’t remember where he’d seen him before—if ever.

‘I wonder if he’s some famous adventurer. With a body like that, it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to assume he’s one,’ Khaya thought to himself, and gave his own untrained body a disappointed look. ‘Meh, probably won’t hurt to ask.’

“Say, are you an adventurer?”

The man turned his hooded head, and Khaya instantly felt that he’d made a grave mistake. He could tell that the hooded man—this creature—was the one who’d been watching him in the alley. Not only did it look strange but its stare felt like it was searing through his chest. It stretched its hand, muscles tense as if it was aching to choke the life out of him.

“D—don’t touch me!” the elf shouted, taking a step back—back towards the edge of the still-ascending lift.

The piercing gaze coming from underneath the hood eased up for a bit, and it turned out the hand coming toward him was merely a gesture meant to say, “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Khaya didn’t trust that notion one bit. He knew that there were clever monsters, who resorted to trickery in order to lure their prey into a false sense of security.

A false, and often lethal, sense of security.

The lift ground to a halt at the end of its vertical rails.

The young elf immediately took a step toward the skybridge but was only allowed that single step. The creature was blocking the way.

“Listen, just let me go. I don’t have any money, and”—Khaya gestured out towards the people roaming the skybridge—“you probably don’t want them as witness to my murder. Most people here are adventurers, so that’d reflect badly… on. You!”

The elf had finally realized where he’d seen the hooded creature before. It was the elf from earlier that day.

“You’re that—”

Khaya was cut off mid-sentence when the other elf’s fist was suddenly firmly planted in his face. There was no way the weak, young slave could’ve possibly reacted—the aggressor was simply too fast. Next thing he knew, he was lying face down on the ground, vision fading. He could see the apples and oranges, from the box he’d dropped, rolling around out the corner of his eye.

‘Oh yeah, he doesn’t speak our language.’

Then everything went black.

“Oh, you’re awake,” came a voice within the blackness.

Khaya slowly opened his eyes, ignoring the thumping pain in his head. The elf wondered just how hard he’d been punched.

“W—where… am I?”

“You didn’t give the master much choice. I mean, you started yelling all of a sudden. Attracted loads of unwanted attention.”

“Where. Am. I?” Khaya asked, once again, this time a lot firmer than before.

“You’re in the citadel.”

“What?”

The young elf was certain he had misheard.

“The citadel. Uh, you know, where the Countess lives.”

Khaya was wide awake now. He sat up, and found himself lying on a mattress in some sort of study.  The room reminded him a great deal of where his mistress usually brought her associates over for tea.

“Wait, what time is it?” the elf asked, frantically looking for a window.

“You’ve only been out for a few hours. The sun just went down.”

Immediately, the black-haired elf’s mind went to the stick his mistress would undoubtedly drag across his back when he returned late. She usually did that whenever Khaya returned home late, overboiled her stew a tad, or got seen by some of her so called “friends”.

“—the Countess has seen to it that your mistress understands the situation.”

Khaya finally laid his eyes upon the man who was talking to him. He was a muscular man, a few years older than himself, sitting in a chair watching Khaya intently.

“Lumberjack…” he mumbled, barely audibly.

“Are you even listening?”

“Y—yes, sorry,” the elf replied, and nodded to substitute a polite bow. “I’m sorry to ask you all these questions, but… why I am I here? Who are you?”

“Thank you! For finally taking an interest. You’re here, because the master thinks you’re running around telling stories about him. I’m here, because the master doesn’t speak our language yet. And, for the record, I’m a hunter. Not a lumberjack.”

“So… the strong arms are from, what, pulling the bowstring?”

“I honestly preferred you when you were still sleeping. Anyway, you’re probably wondering when you’re seeing the master.”

“Y—”

“—shut up. He’s in a meeting right now. Being appointed lord, actually. He’s gonna come talk to you when he’s done. Him and his right-hand man. Both of them are a bit of a… mouthful, so I was mostly tasked with preparing you for that.”

“How so—”

“So,” the huntsman stood up, “with that being said, I’m outta here. If you’re hungry, go find the kitchen.”

With those words, he left the elf alone in the study.

“Oh, by the way,” the Northerner popped his head in the room again, “my name is Hans, and if you try to run, I’m tasked with personally tracking you down and chopping. Maybe even with an axe. You know, like a lumberjack,” he chuckled slightly at that last bit. “I’m done now. Bye”

He didn’t come back again, this time. The elf laid down on his back and wondered:

‘Just who the hell are these people?”

 

 

 

 

Chapter end