Chapter LII

  The enormous smile on Seres’s face was almost contagious as if the young man had just found a sweet treat or something simir. But all he held was a book. And what use could a book possibly be right now?

  Nonetheless, all eyes turned toward the blond youth. The necromancer, the person Seres was surely hoping to impress with his discovery—walked over to him, moving calmly, revealing no excitement at all.

  "Blondie, what did you find there?" The necromancer’s tone conveyed a hint of boredom, making it clear he didn’t expect anything important or useful.

  "It seems to be part of a journal!" Seres excimed cheerfully, waving the journal in question.

  "Great..." The other one began, his tone suggesting he was about to unch, into yet another tirade against Seres. But, unexpectedly, Seres cut him off.

  "I found it here," he said, pointing to a body lying on the ground beside him. The body was one of the few still clothed, wrapped in a dark cloak. From this distance, Jerome couldn’t make out any specific details.

  The necromancer looked almost impressed that Seres had dared to interrupt him and asked, "And why is that important?"

  "The journal’s in poor shape, but it looks like it belonged to a mage," Seres crified, stretching out his arm to hand the book to the other. This got a reaction from him. Making the necromancer quicken his pace to reach Seres.

  "Since you said a mage would be useful for fighting the vampires, I thought you’d be pleased," Seres decred as the necromancer approached and took the book from him.

  He leafed through the journal, muttering under his breath, "Thank goodness this thing is legible."

  Seres moved beside him, pointing to a specific passage. "Here, this part."

  "Tyrun, the great master of magic..." the necromancer read aloud before turning to Seres and nodding at the body. "Do you think this means he was a mage?"

  "Not only that! There are other passages. Suggesting he was actively studying magic," Seres defended, flipping through pages to show Nero something else.

  Jerome could only watch them talk, casting gnces at Sab, who could do no more than look back. After all, what expertise did they have to discuss magic? Especially given what they were likely pnning for the poor mage. Even in death, he would find no peace.

  The necromancer turned into a position the light sphere Seres had summoned could better illuminate the journal. A look of mild surprise crossed Nero’s face as he read, which only made Sab and Jerome even more curious. But then the cave plunged into darkness again.

  "Blondie!" the necromancer’s voice rose.

  "Yes, yes, sorry," Seres’s voice responded before he decred, "The st light of magic."

  Once again, nothing happened. Even Jerome couldn’t help but see some dark humor in the young mage fumbling such a simple spell. While the necromancer had been casting much more challenging spells fwlessly.

  “The st light of magic,” Seres repeated, and this time, a new sphere of light appeared above his hand. But it was obvious the necromancer was displeased.

  "Nero, I’m sorry, I just..." began Seres, embarrassed.

  But he was cut off. "Just practice that spell more. You’re forbidden to even attempt another until you can cast this one five times in a row without failure."

  Seres couldn’t find any argument and sheepishly nodded in agreement.

  "Now, create another light sphere," the necromancer instructed calmly, focusing again on the journal in his hands.

  "What? Now?" Seres asked, a bit disoriented. Now was hardly the time to impose more training on the young mage.

  "Make two spheres. When one fades, you’ll have time to cast another without leaving us in darkness," expined the necromancer without lifting his gaze from the journal.

  They immediately understood the wisdom in his words, reveling the advantage of having a skilled mage by their side.

  Understanding, what the necromancer wanted, Seres cast the spell again. This time it worked on the first try. Giving them two spheres of light to illuminate the cave.

  The necromancer approached the body on the ground, muttering, "Assuming we’ve found a mage here, I just wish we had a warrior too..."

  He began looking around at the other bodies, and Jerome felt a sinking feeling, suspecting what would come next.

  "Search the bodies; try to find someone with armor. Or at least near some weapons," the necromancer ordered, much to Jerome’s dismay. "And if anyone has an idea. How to get us out of this pit. Speak up, because that’s still our main problem."

  "Let’s go," said Sab beside him, signaling Jerome to help him search the bodies. He hesitated briefly before following Sab.

  "Are you sure about this?" Jerome asked, trying to get a read on his companion’s thoughts.

  "You mean finding a warrior for him?" Jerome nodded in response. "What other options do we have?"

  "I understand that, but... it feels wrong to condemn a body to such a fate," Jerome struggled to express his unease. Memories of past funerals ran through his mind, each ending with the deceased being id to rest properly. Imagining a family member or friend doomed to such a fate sends chills through him.

  Sab shrugged before replying, "You don’t have any experience with soldiers, do you? If I remember correctly, you mostly worked around caravans and merchants, right?"

  The question left Jerome uncertain how to respond, but he nodded and asked, "But what does that have to do with this?"

  "I’ve been in battle and have some experience with real warriors. Around the campfire, necromancy sometimes comes up..." Sab began, speaking in one of the longest, heaviest conversations Jerome had ever had with him. He watched Jerome thoughtfully as if re-evaluating him. "They all agree it’s a horrible thing, and that necromancers should all be killed..."

  For a moment, Jerome thought his friend was on his side. But Sab wasn’t done.

  "But after a few drinks, you’d be surprised how many of them say they wouldn’t mind being raised as undead—as long as it was for the right reasons, like saving someone or getting revenge on the one who killed them."

  Jerome felt uneasy; was he the only one who saw the wrongness in all this? Did none of the tales of necromancy’s horrors matter? Was he truly alone?

  "It’s ironic how necromancy is one of their worst nightmares while also something they see as useful," Sab’s gaze weighed on Jerome, leaving him wondering what else he would say.

  "I’m not saying necromancy is good; quite the opposite. I’m just saying that some of these people who died here might not mind paying this price to destroy those who killed them." Sab gestured to the surrounding cave full of corpses—victims of the vampires.

  Jerome couldn’t help but see Sab’s point. Between the vampires and the necromancer, who was worse? And which one would these victims have a stronger grudge against?

  "As for the rest... well, it doesn’t matter," Sab continued, shaking his head. "But remember, I’ve already tried fighting him," Jerome recalls how Sab had attempted to attack the necromancer after Mercy’s death.

  "As long as he has that spell allowing him to be so invulnerable, to fight vampires one-on-one. We won’t stand a chance." Jerome understood Sab’s words. For now, here in this cave, they had no other choice.

  He already knew this, and it only made him feel more unsettled, understanding that he was almost irrelevant in what was to come.

  "Armor!" Sab’s voice broke into his thoughts. He looked up to see another skeleton, this one in leather armor of seemingly high quality.

  For a moment, he wondered how a capable-looking warrior like this had ended up here.

  "Nero, come here. I think we’ve found your warrior," Sab called out, summoning the necromancer to desecrate what remained of this poor soul.

  The necromancer approached, still holding the journal. Seeing the body Sab had pointed to. He knelt to study it carefully, apparently pleased with what he saw.

  "It’s not guaranteed, but I think it’ll do."

  "I’ve got an idea on how to get us out of here too," Sab added, his tone as calm as ever.

  "Really? What is it?" the necromancer asked, still crouched beside the fallen warrior. For a moment, when he looked up at Sab, he seemed so young that it sent chills down Jerome’s spine. How could someone so young be like this?

  "Your mule has a rope. We’ll load it for the rescue. It’s always a useful item..." Sab began, pointing to the creature, which, as the necromancer’s conversation with the vampires suggested, must also be undead. Expining some of its oddities while leaving Jerome with mixed feelings.

  “We’ve already seen that your undead can climb the ramp even if with some difficulty. So we’ll tie the rope around one of them and have it climb up. Then we use the rope...” Sab expined, now pointing at the ramp of the earth.

  “Not a terrible idea, but it likely won’t work. They’re too light,” the necromancer replied, leaving them unsure what to think.

  While Jerome and Sab exchanged confused gnces, Nero continued. "Most of a living being’s weight is water. These skeletons are far too light to help us climb. If someone pulls harder, they'll just come tumbling down after us.

  Although Jerome has some doubts about what he’s hearing, the fact that the skeletons are too light does make sense.

  "But the mule might work. It weighs about the same as a normal mule. If it can climb the slope, we can use it as an anchor while the others undead guard it from any vampire that might appear."

  The pn the necromancer sketched out seems like the best they’ve got, so they nod in agreement. Leaving Sab to venture, "In that case, let's go unload the mule so it’ll have less weight for the climb."

  "No, leave that to Blondie. Instead, go fetch the mage and bring him here so both undead are side by side." The task assigned by the necromancer was unpleasant, but there are worse things than carrying a body.

  While the necromancer calls Seres over to expin what to do, Sab and Jerome retrieve the mage’s body.

  The mage hadn’t decomposed into a skeleton. Instead, becoming mummified, with dry, dark skin still covering the body hidden beneath the cloak he wore in life. They look at each other, trying to decide how to transport him.

  Even though Jerome would prefer to show some dignity to the dead, he has to agree that the best approach is to drag him by the cloak, trying not to lose any parts along the way. In some ways, it’s a relief to be moving an intact body rather than a skeleton that would fall to pieces.

  They arrive beside the others as they finish unloading the mule and Seres ties the rope around the creature.

  “When he’s done, you’ll start up the ramp. Go slowly and try not to fall, but you’ll have to reach the top. Once you get there, stay as still as possible so we can climb up after you,” the necromancer was instructing the creature about its task.

  And when they’re done, that’s exactly what the mule does.

  "Shall we send these two after her?" asks Seres, indicating the two corpses they had selected.

  "No, we’ll wait until she’s almost at the top. That way, we won’t waste time if this doesn’t work," crifies the necromancer.

  So the four of them watch the mule as it begins to climb the slope. The ground remains unstable, shifting under the mule’s weight on more than one occasion. Unlike the two undead that had climbed the ramp before it, that charged up aggressively. The creature follows instructions, advancing slowly, which keeps it from falling at a few points.

  Seres holds the rope connecting them to the mule, preventing it from dragging along the ground. This turns out to be a good idea, as the animal smartly chooses the safest path, moving in a zigzag.

  When the mule is almost at the mine tunnel, the necromancer goes to the mage's body, crouching down to touch him while saying, “Rise from the dead.”

  Knowing what’s happening, Jerome focuses on the mule instead. Choosing not to watch another body being desecrated. But he can hear it rising.

  “Tyrun, the mage?” The necromancer asks the undead as if awaiting a response.

  When Jerome turns, he sees the dead mage’s emaciated but still recognizable face swaying from side to side, clearly signaling that he is not Tyrun.

  “Oh, great,” the necromancer mutters softly, clearly dissatisfied with this outcome.