Chapter 17 - Forbidden Knowledge
"When it was first established, over 2,000 years ago, the Empire’s borders covered only the Central Provinces. Over the years the wisdom of Her Eternal Majesty has helped it to expand, bringing her benevolent rule to ever greater numbers of people. Many joined willingly, while others’ leaders opted for pointless opposition, but in the end they too joined the Empire, subjecting themselves to the leadership of the Undying Queen. The people of the Empire can only rejoice at their luck in being able to live in the greatest polity known to the world.”
Two Thousand Years of Empire by Jahangir Amini
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Farzim did not let his relief show on his face when he finally strode into the cave behind the House Marcni guards and their informer. It seemed that this Thucer kept a strong grasp on Vass Karan’s underworld, or perhaps Ester had injured the Weiryin more than he had thought. Either way, it was certainly convenient. He would need to look into this Thucer though, at least briefly. Mere ganglords were hardly his main prey, but only as long they as they did not become too powerful. Any that threatened the authority of the Throne, or its appointed representatives, were very much his business.
Master Tabasi was sat in the cave, apparently utterly relaxed among the corpses of the Weiryin’s victims. Certainly an odd man, far more interested in his studies than in people. Thankfully, the Weiryin itself was stood there too, unmoving and bound with complex bands of magic.
He strode straight to it, taking in the runes flowing around it with a vaguely interested eye. He was no magical slouch himself, no Inquisitor was, but he had to admit that they were beyond anything he could cast.
Well, Master Tabasi had been awarded the title for a reason and he was likely the most powerful Mage in the city. He was also known for being more than a bit full of himself, so he had likely decided to show off.
“Thank you, Master Tabasi, I am grateful for your assistance with the Weiryin. However, I see you have not killed it. What exactly is it you have done?” Looking over the magic it seemed to be something to do with time. Surely he had not…
“I froze it in time My Lord Inquisitor.” The Mage sounded very pleased with himself. Farzim could even concede that in this case he had the right to be. “It is preserved perfectly for your inspection.”
“You have held it like that since you sent the men for me?” He kept his tone as neutral as ever, but that was beyond impressive.
“Indeed. What would you like me to do with it? I am at your disposal, my lord.” Of course Master Tabasi probably said that to remind Farzim of how many better things he had to do than sit there holding a Weiryin. To be fair to the man, he was by all accounts a loyal servant of the Throne, so some impatience could be tolerated.
“Thank you. If you could hold it for just a little longer, I would be grateful.”
Farzim did not wait for Master Tabasi’s response, already reaching into the bag he had brought with him for his ritual knife.
“Fa’gesinn.” Darkness sprung up between Farzim and Master Tabasi, blocking the man’s view of the Weiryin. He did not want the Mage to see any of what he was doing. Most likely nothing would come of it, but curiosity had led too many Mages down the wrong path.
Suitably concealed from view, Farzim started to carve runes into the stone around the imprisoned Weiryin. The Schema on the knife allowed it to slice into the stone without any problems. Working quickly, he laid out runes of binding and control around it. In amongst them were more esoteric ones, describing concepts no Mage in the Empire should know. Ones whose inclusion in a spell would be enough to see someone delivered straight to the Inquisition’s harsh embrace.
In the end it only took Farzim two or three minutes to prepare the improvised ritual Schema.
“Master Tabasi, you may release your spell and return to the surface. I shall follow in due course.”
“Of course, My Lord Inquisitor.” The man was experienced enough that he would know there were some things he should not try to learn. Nevertheless Farzim watched carefully for any attempt. He could not see the Mage through the barrier he had created, but heard his footsteps and then his voice from the entrance. “I shall release the spell and then depart on the count of three my lord. One, two, three.”
The magic around the Weiryin vanished and at the same time Farzim spoke a single word, focusing his will on the circular Schema in the ground.
“Ébair.”
In a flare of green light the Schema activated, surrounding the Weiryin in eerily glowing coruscating bands of magic. The Weiryin looked warily around itself and took a step towards the edge of the circle. It immediately flinched away as the magic flared and instead turned its blank white eyes towards Farzim.
“So, an Inquisitor. Unfortunate. I should have killed the Mageling when I had the chance.” It looked and sounded as vile as he had expected. They always did, once they were trapped anyway. Farzim doubted that it had held back with Ester, if it could have killed her it would have; however, he had no intention of bantering with the creature. His Schema would not last forever and he needed answers.
“How long have you been in this world, Weiryin?”
It responded with a low, gurgling laugh. “Long enough to become strong, human. Long enough to consume many of your kind, to leave my mark across your petty city.” Farzim frowned and focused his will through the Schema, runes of binding and control flaring brighter.
“How many days.” The Weiryin resisted, he could feel its will pushing against its own, but that was a contest it would never win. Not with that Schema carved around it.
“Fourteen thousand six hundred and thirty two.” The Schema dragged the words out of it.
“Your summoner. Do they live?”
“I fed on the fool as I will feed on you.” Relief flooded through Farzim. Not an active problem then. Likely decades since the summoner had died. This one had probably lurked, gradually growing stronger. It was more developed than he had expected from Ester’s description. Perhaps he should not have been quite so dismissive of her efforts fighting it, but it was still no more than a minor threat. Likely some idiot hedge witch’s first effort, or even an accidental summoning. Still, he needed to make sure that there were no more.
“Tell me more about your summoner and your time in this world.”
“It was a man with long finger nails. I have enjoyed feeding on the flesh of humans.” It ground the words out. “Why proceed with this farce? Banish me now and save the time Inquisitor.” Farzim smiled grimly and applied his will once more. It was always the way, a vague question to be resisted and then something more specific to force it to answer.
“What was your summoner’s name and where did they summon you from?”
As he continued with his questioning he carefully watched the Schema. It took perhaps half an hour before he began to grow concerned that the Schema might fail. The Weiryin was growing increasingly angry, or was pretending to. He was never sure how much of these creatures’ behaviour was an act.
In any event, he could feel its growing anticipation. The fool creature likely thought that it would be freed and have the chance to subject him to the same fate as its summoner. As if he would have any trouble defeating it.
“So are you going to banish me now Inquisitor? This grows tedious and I see your Schema weakening. Soon I shall be away from you, one way or another.”
“Mmm.” Farzim had what he needed. The Weiryin was right that it was time to end this. He took a step forward, pulling out his knife once more and started to carve more runes around the outside of his Schema. Smaller runes linked them to the circle itself.
“You think this will hold me for longer? You are a fool, Inquisitor.” The Weiryin’s mouth tentacles writhed as it taunted him. He, of course, did not pay it the slightest attention.
Soon Farzim was done. Four smaller Schema, equidistant around the circular binding Schema, runes trailing between them. He stepped up to the first one and focused his will.
“Na’bith.”
“What are you doing?” The Weiryin actually sounded worried. An attempt at emulating humanity or something genuine? He ignored it as the first Schema flared green, linking into his binding circle.
“Ai’mujjenach.”
“Whatever you are trying, it will not work. You will die for your efforts.” The second Schema flared red.
“Ai’ceaxal.”
“Wait! I can tell you things, great secrets!” The third Schema spewed darkness.
“Ai’dag.”
The fourth Schema erupted with silver light, joining with the rest, runes swirling around the Weiryin. For a moment nothing seemed to happen, then, with a gurgling scream it began to come apart. Its disgusting form dissolving before his eyes. Outer layers sloughing away first, turning to dust that faded from existence, then more of it, faster and faster, until the only sign it had ever been there was Farzim’s Schema.
He took a second to survey his handiwork before allowing himself a satisfied nod, since there was no one there to see. As if he would just banish it, to maybe be summoned again one day and cause more death and destruction. That particular Weiryin would never hurt anyone again.
With that done it was time to join Master Tabasi and return to the surface. If Master Tabasi had been too stuck up to release the informant, he would have to arrange for it, perhaps after some kind of tracer had been placed on him. Then hopefully he could send Duke Marcni back to his palace and maybe, just maybe, he could get a good night’s sleep.
“Tàccrir sjuuf’fa.” Farzim cast the spell as he turned to leave. Behind him his Schema disappeared as the stone flattened itself out into perfect smoothness.
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Ester crept through the dark tunnel. The flickering torches seemed to turn every shadow into a shifting form that could be hiding anything. There was definitely something moving ahead though and the smell was getting stronger. A hint of sweet decay on the air. It didn’t seem like the Weiryin. That hadn’t smelt of anything. She didn’t think so anyway, all she could really remember was the acrid tang of the smoke though.
“Do you smell that?” She whispered to Metie.
“Yes my lady, it smells like, I dunno, something died down here.” All cheer had fled from his voice.
A low, unearthly moaning sound echoed through the tunnel, as if scraped through a ruined throat. Ester shuddered. She really didn’t want to find whatever it was that was out there. It was probably just some animal that lived down here in the Wasteways. She knew that intellectually, but she was struggling to make herself believe it.
The sounds grew louder as they crept closer, rising and falling slightly, but largely unchanging. Ester was sure that the tunnel distorted things and made them seem further or closer than they really were, but they had to be getting closer. Anything else seemed to be impossible.
They rounded a corner into another tunnel. It seemed to grow as it stretched away from them. Ester couldn’t make out what was at its end, but there was something. That scent was stronger too. It reminded her of when her parents had found a rotting squirrel outside the window of their home in Trevayn.
A low moan echoed through the tunnel again, but there was something more too. She focused, looking with more than just her eyes. There was definitely magic there. Faint, something she didn’t recognise. Like nothing she’d seen before.If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
After a moment she realised she’d stopped. With an effort of will she forced her feet forward once more. She knew something was wrong up ahead, but not what.
A sudden wet thump rolled through the tunnel, louder than the other noises. Ester exchanged glances with the Watchmen. She couldn’t let them know how scared she was or they might just turn and run. She wasn’t even sure she could blame them. She at least had her magic to protect her. It felt like a thin shield at that moment.
They rounded another corner and the tunnel opened up into a low chamber. Wide enough to host an inn’s common room. In front of her Arsor came to a sudden stop and she nearly walked into him.
“My lady, ahead of us.” The words came out as a harsh whisper. There was definitely something coming. The light from their torches seemed to be absorbed into the shadows of the room. It was hard to make much out, but it seemed to be a person. Moving slowly, shambling towards them. Actually, two people. There was another. They weren’t running forwards though, they didn’t seem aggressive. She could smell something rotting too. Were they hurt? Were there bodies in there? Had they found the Weiryin’s ‘food’ store? The very thought made her shudder and want to run for the surface.
“Goodmen? Are you well?” Ester hated the slight quiver in her voice. She paused a moment, but got no answer other than a low, reedy moan. “Are you hurt goodmen? Please, say something, we can help you.”
“My lady…” There was a warning note in Metie’s voice, none of his earlier obnoxiousness. “Something ain’t right.”
As if she didn’t know that! They were coming closer though, with an unhurried shuffling pace. Indecision froze Ester for a moment, she needed to see better. Then she could help them.
She forced her mind into focus and demanded that reality bent. A heartbeat later, bright, white light flooded the chamber, banishing the shadows. For a moment Ester was left blinking. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light, it took longer for her brain to accept what they were seeing.
“Our fucking Queen on the Throne…” Ester ignored Arsor’s borderline treasonous profanity because she really really wanted to say something just as bad.
Two men were shuffling towards them. They were closer than she’d thought. Except in the clear, bright light of her spell she could see they weren’t men. Not anymore anyway. They were roughly dressed, moving like their limbs didn’t quite work properly, yet somehow remaining upright. Their jaws hung open and their utterly vacant eyes were fixed on her and the Watchmen. She might have thought they were just injured men in the dim light of the torches, but now… it was nauseating. One’s guts hung from his stomach, torn away at some point as he, no… it, dragged itself along. The other was missing the skin from swathes of its body. Both shouldn’t have been moving. As they drew closer the stench of decay only increased.
Ester’s stomach tried to force its contents back up her throat. It was lucky she hadn’t had the chance to eat much. They weren’t terrifying in themselves, not like the Weiryin. It was what they symbolised that was more frightening. Now that she was looking at them, holding her spell and really focused on them, she could see the odd, twisted magic in them. Bands of black runes crawling over their flesh. Was she cursed to find the most horrific things in the city? At that moment Ester wanted nothing more than to be back in the Academy. She’d even pretend to be friends with Negin Miri to do it.
The Watchmen were backing up, coming closer around her, retreating from the undead. Of course they were. They’d heard nothing of them other than tales of the horrors that they could inflict. Not that Ester knew that much more, it was hardly…
She gave herself a shake. They were getting too close. She needed to get back to the surface and tell somebody what was happening. She couldn’t just leave undead alive, functional, whatever you were meant to call it, though. They couldn’t be like the Weiryin could they? Surely magic would work. With a twisting of her stomach Ester realised she was going to have to release the light spell to do anything more. She didn’t want to be back in the dim light of the torches, not with more horrors down here with her!
“My lady…” There was actual terror in Metie’s voice. She needed to act.
Ester focused her mind on the two shambling figures. “Saig ai’exbal!” She let go of her focus on the light and brought the magic together. Bands of glowing runes briefly appearing around the two figures. Fire flashed into being around them, almost as bright as the light she’d just released. The Watchmen flinched back, shielding their faces from the heat. But Ester could still see them, surrounded by the blazing fire, still shambling forwards, extremities burning away as they came. A moment later one of the undead fell to its knees, flesh sloughing off into ash. Then the other. In a couple of seconds they were more ash than flesh.
“Great Spirits…” Ester wasn’t sure she’d been meant to hear Arsor’s mutter. She held the spell on the unmoving corpses, she didn’t want even bones to survive. Who knew what those things were capable of. Although they hadn’t been all that much of a threat in the end. It was reassuring. Slightly. Nothing like the Weiryin. But then there was the question of the necromancer and what else he had at his disposal. That was rather more worrying.
“We will need to return to the surface immediately and report this. The necromancer, whoever he is, needs to be found.” She put as much confidence as she could into her voice.
“Y y yes my lady.” Arsor replied. She couldn’t see his face, but she didn’t need to to be able to tell how scared he was.
As the last of the bones burnt to ash Ester released the spell, allowing the darkness to flood back in, held back only by the guttering torches in their hands.
“Time to go I…” the words died in her throat as something entered the chamber. From the far side, where the undead must have come from. Fear spiked in her, it didn’t sound like one of the undead, there was no moaning or shambling, but she couldn’t see. She nearly lashed out with fire, but at the last moment changed her focus, bringing light back to the room.
She sagged with relief as it illuminated a large, older man, well muscled with grey hair and a goatee. He was dressed in unrelieved black. He also was very clearly alive. She’d nearly burnt him to ashes without even the slightest of warning! An innocent man. Only… Her mind caught up with where she was. How likely was he to be innocent?
“Are they gone?” He sounded concerned, but not how she’d have expected. It was too casual, more like her mother might have asked if she’d cleaned the kitchen.
“What exactly are you doing down here goodman?” She ignored his question in favour of her own, making no effort to keep suspicion out of her tone.
“Killing the undead of course.” He sounded almost amused. “But it seems you’ve done the job for me. Thank you.” He gave her a short bow. Ester couldn’t place his accent, it wasn’t Vass Karan, but something similar. Maybe from the farms around it? Was he mocking her?
“Why are you here, killing the undead?” She didn’t take her eyes off him.
“To make sure no one finds them. Obviously.” He was definitely mocking her. It was all wrong. He shouldn’t be this relaxed. He must realise she was a Mage, or at least think one of the Watchmen was an Adept. He should be more worried. Although why would the necromancer be killing his own creations, they should be under his control. Right? Ester came to a decision.
“We are leaving. Arsor, Cai, arrest him. He can explain himself on the surface.” Ester couldn’t help but feel a little thrill when they stepped forward, obeying her without hesitation. Nevertheless, she readied herself. If he had the Talent he might try to strike out. Words of disjunction were on her lips, he wouldn’t get the chance to do anything to her or to them.
“Is this really necessary? I’ve done nothing wrong and I’m happy to come peacefully.” The man didn’t move, just stood there utterly relaxed as the two Watchmen approached him.
“Come on now goodman, hands behind your back. Don’t give us any trouble.” Arsor said as he pulled cord from his pouch. Maybe the man wasn’t actually the necromancer?
“Of course.” The man still sounded amused, standing there without moving. Cai reached for one of his arms.
Magic flared in the man. Ester didn’t hesitate.
“Dachaid!” She put her full power behind the disjunction, enough to tear through any witch’s spell.
With a wet, crunching thump the man slammed his fist straight through Cai, breastplate and all. Ester’s magic slammed over him and found nothing, no purchase at all.
Blindingly fast he turned, yanking his arm out of Cai. He brought a shower of organs with it and backhanded Arsor so hard he crumpled as he was sent flying away through the air.
In a fraction of a second where there had been two men, there was only bloody ruin.
“Wai…” Ester started to speak, switched mid-word into a spell. “Saig gan cuvlug!” A ball of fire streaked away from her, growing as it went.
The man moved. Faster than she’d thought a human could move. He jinked to the side, smoothly avoiding her fireball. Then, without any pause he went from nothing to a full sprint, faster even.
Ester didn’t have time to retreat. She didn’t have time to do anything. One moment he was across the chamber, the next he was almost on her.
With a yell Metie leapt between them, thrusting his spear out.
“Diwaien gewaaj’fa.” As Ester spoke the words the man jinked around the spear and slammed his shoulder into Metie sending him tumbling.
The spell came together, runes solidifying the very air in front of her into an impenetrable wall.
The man came to a dead stop right in front of it. It was fast. Faster than should have been physically possible. He should have run straight into it.
The hesitation lasted only a fraction of second. As Ester stood, fighting down dumbfounded panic, he put his shoulder down and charged straight into the wall. The spell bent, bands of magic twisting under pressure, but held, barely, as Ester forced her will behind it. He slammed forward again and she winced, taking a frightened step backwards. She couldn’t hold it forever. She needed to attack.
Before he could slam forward Ester snapped out another spell, letting the wall fade.
“Cuvlug diwaien!” He didn’t have time to look surprised before the magic slammed into him, sending him flying across the chamber.
He somehow turned the chaotic tumble into a smooth roll that took him back to his feet. Instantly he was charging back towards her, his speed not diminished in the slightest.
This time Ester had longer, marginally. She focused and spoke fast. “Os’ellende diwaien’fa gan.” He was blasted backwards before he got close, slammed back into the wall at the back of the chamber with a painful crash. He didn’t land on his feet, instead falling straight to the ground. But, before she could follow up, he sprung back to his feet again. Despite that, even in the dim light Ester could sense she’d hurt him.
She was about to cast again, she’d keep battering him until he couldn’t fight back, when he moved. This time he didn’t charge towards her. Instead he turned and ran, putting his unnatural speed to use to flee back the way he’d come.
Ester took a step forward to follow him and then stopped herself. He might be a necromancer, but he’d definitely been trained in battle magic. It was the only explanation. Great Spirits only knew where or when. She hadn’t thought witches knew how to do things like that. Unless he wasn’t a witch, but then a Mage would have done better against her, surely!
If she followed him she’d be by herself, deep in the Wasteways. He could ambush her, or take advantage of the tight spaces to get close to her. It would be a stupid risk. At the moment no one on the surface knew there was a necromancer in Vass Karan. Her duty was to get back up there as soon as possible and tell the Inquisitor. She sagged slightly in relief at that thought. She didn’t want to be creeping through the deep, dark tunnels trying to follow someone she’d just seen kill an armoured man with his bare hands. Particularly not alone.
The Watchmen! With a jolt she realised she’d forgotten about them in the face of her brush with death. Already knowing what she was going to see, Ester ran over towards the other end of the chamber.
Cai was dead. The poor light from the torch she carried made it hard to see properly and she was thankful for that. She still felt her gorge rising at the sight. There was a hole straight through… Ester quickly looked away and hurried over to where Arsor lay. He was on the ground, bent in half around a crumpled breastplate. Hesitantly she squatted down and reached out to his neck. There was no pulse. Just as dead, even if there was less blood.
Had she gotten them killed? Was it her fault? How could she have known the man would be able to do that? She’d thought she could stop anything he did. Apprentices weren’t allowed to watch future Battle Mages training, but she’d seen some of their tricks. Moving lightning fast, or jumping ten feet over a wall. Nothing like this though. The disconnect between amusing and impressive tricks and desperately trying to stop someone who’d just slammed their fist through a steel breastplate and out of their victim’s back faster than the eye could follow was… She’d thought about how she’d beat one of those Battle Mages at the Academy, not all of them fought up close after all, but disjunction had failed utterly. She’d failed utterly! She needed to think about why, was it because…
Ester’s train of thought was broken by a groan from behind her. She jumped so hard she nearly fell over, before springing to her feet, a spell on her lips. It took her a moment to realise, it wasn’t one of the undead. Metie! He wasn’t dead!
She ran over to the irritating Watchman.
“Metie! You are alive!”
“Fuucck!” He drew out the word and Ester resisted the urge to frown at the profanity. His breastplate was cracked from where the witch had hit him, but she couldn’t see any blood or obvious injury.
“How badly are you hurt? Can you stand?” Ester reached out a hand and then hesitated. Propriety was an impenetrable barrier between her and a Watchman, not to mention the way people reacted to being touched by Mages.
Metie looked up, focusing on her. “I…” He tried to push himself up and groaned. “I don’t think so. Moving hurts too much, my ribs…” His voice was harsh with pain.
“You need to… no, we need to get out of here, we cannot stay. We have to get to the surface.” Ester glanced behind herself, half expecting the necromancer to be sneaking up behind her.
“Yes… You’re right.” He propped himself up on an elbow, wincing as he did and then tried to sit. “Oh fuck!” He sank back down to his elbow with a groan. “You need to go, my lady. I can’t get up and someone needs to tell the Commander and the Inquisitor that there’s a necromancer. Go.” Ester’s mind went back to his earlier needling. He’d said they were all brothers and sisters in the Watch. She didn’t think he actually meant it, but in a way that didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to just leave him to die. No. He might be annoying, but he was a loyal servant of the Throne.
“That is not going to happen. If you can get up, you might be able to walk.” Getting up was the problem though. “I am going to help you to your feet with a spell. I am sorry if this hurts, I will do my best.”
She didn’t give him time to protest, exerting her will and forcing the air around him to move under him. He groaned as he moved, but it was working. Ester bit her lip in concentration as she manipulated the magic to half pull, half lift him to his feet.
She could feel his weight pushing down on the magic though, even with him on his feet. Quickly she moved round to his uninjured side. Luckily he wasn’t a big man. She wasn’t sure she could support him with magic all the way to the surface, not with how little sleep she’d had and fighting for her life twice in two days.
Metie took a step and almost stumbled, groaning from the pain. He’d need help, but… She came to a decision. Propriety could jump off a cliff.
“Put your arm over my shoulders Metie, I will help you. If I get tired I can use magic.” He actually shied away from her, which triggered another groan of pain.
“My lady, it wouldn’t be proper.” She knew what it really was of course. He didn’t want to touch her.
“You can risk touching me, or you can wait for the necromancer and see if you like his touch better!” Ester felt bad as soon as she’d said it, but they needed to get moving. Metie hesitated and then lifted his arm for her to slip under. He wasn’t a big man, but as she took some of his weight on her shoulders Ester’s heart sank. It was going to be a very long walk back to the surface. Despite that, she kept her voice as cheerful as she could. “Right, we had better get going or it will be dark by the time we surface.”
As they took their first steps, Ester sighed internally. She really was not looking forward to the next few hours.