Chapter 20

  The chirping birds kept Henric company as he worked in the predawn grey, preparing and saddling two horses from the castle stables.

  “A lord must be a master of his castle, and capable of all tasks himself," his father used to say, and so much of his early life was spent working weeks or months at some servant’s task. Henric hadn’t minded working with the horses, except when the made him do the mucking.

  Both mares were saddled and bridled and hitched to a post while Henric waited. One stamped her feet and snorted.

  “Don’t worry,” said Henric. “He won’t be long now.”

  Sure enough, as a streak of orange flared into the sky the castle’s door creaked open and a grey cloaked figure stepped out to look around. Henric waved and the figure stopped mid-step, shoulders dropping.

  “What are you doing here Henric?” Samael asked, eyeing the two saddled horses. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

  “I could ask you the same things uncle,” said Henric. “But I already know the answer, you were going to try to sneak away before anyone noticed. Weren’t you?”

  Samael looked Henric over with his grey-green eyes. “Yeah,” he admitted finally. “But you’re not here to stop me.”

  Henric grinned, and shifted to undo the tie that kept the horses from wandering off. “Of course not. I just wanted to speak with you a bit, and figured there’d be no better time than now.”

  The gatesmen allowed them to pass without issue, after all it was not their place to argue with their duke, and the two Aldrimars were soon riding through the streets of the sleeping city built by their grandfathers. They headed south, towards the River Gate. Henric could smell the dew, the budding trees along the lanes, the scent of baking bread, and the rancid, rotting smell of Death.

  “I ordered Lucan to have two men ready to escort you to Lulus,” said Henric. “But I suppose you knew that?”

  Samael nodded. “The trip is safest the faster I ride, and they’d just slow me down. Bringing protection would only make me less safe.”

  “It almost seems like you’re trying to escape somewhere,” said Henric.

  “I’m not!” said Samael. “I assure you. I’ll even send a bird as soon as I’ve arrived.”

  Henric laughed, and Samael sighed.

  “You’re not funny nephew.”

  “I know you’d tell me where you were going,” Henric said. “It’s not like you’re Zak. He might actually try to disappear.”

  “You think I wouldn’t?” Samael’s eyebrow arched.

  The Rivergate was already open, letting farmers and their carts into the city to peddle yesterday’s pickings. On the bridge, with the flow of the river below him, Henric could almost feel the pull of Death.

  “Do you feel that?” Henric asked.

  “Feel what? Henric you’ve got to stop doing this. I’m actually starting to worry about you.”

  First that stench and now this? Henric thought. Maybe I really am going mad.

  He pulled up on the reins, urging his mare to stop, Samael followed suit.

  “Concentrate,” said Henric. “Just like we were crossing over. Don’t you feel the current?”

  Samael closed his eyes and breathed in deep. “I do!” he said finally. “But how did you?”

  Henric shrugged and nudged his horse onwards. “No idea.”

  The pulling faded as soon as they crossed over the bridge onto dry land again. Their horses kicked up dirt as they rode away from the city, into the low forested hills.

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  “You never told me,” said Henric. “How did you do that thing in Death? The banishing?”

  “I don’t even know where to begin,” said Samael. “I told you before I’m not really sure how I did it, right?”

  Henric nodded.

  “It’s like a binding, only I concentrated on forcing the thing to run away. I felt an intense heat from the palm of my hand, like thermals above a fire. I collected the escaping heat into a ball, and threw it once I could tell where you are.”

  “It looked almost violet when it buzzed past me,” said Henric. “And the denizen sure didn’t want to be hit by it.”

  “I saw that,” said Samael. “The funny thing about the whole thing is that banishings are supposed to use wind, but I used heat instead.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Henric. “Supposed to? Is this from that book you found? What was it called?”

  Samael sighed. “Is this really what you wanted to ask me about?”

  “Can you tell me how the assassin did that to my father’s statue?”

  “No.”

  “Can you tell me what that name is?”

  “No.”

  “Then yes, that is what I wanted to ask you about,” said Henric. “I might not have gotten another chance until Harvest.”

  “I guess,” said Samael.

  By then they had come to a fork in the road, one turning east and heading into the mountains, the other turning south and west, towards Lullus and the heart of the Kingdom.

  “I suppose this is where we say our goodbyes uncle,” said Henric, reining back his horse and turning her around in the fork.

  Samael nodded, and then flipped a long blond lock out his face. “Until I see you again nephew.”

  The two of them drew their horses close and clasped arms at the wrists.

  “Write me at least once weekly,” said Henric, voice suddenly stern.

  “I was going to say the same to you,” Samael grinned. “Farewell Henric.”

  Samael led his horse down the southward path, and soon faded from view. Once he was sure his uncle had gone, Henric urged his horse back northwards, towards the city.

  However he turned off the road onto a goat track leading into the hills. Henric did as best he could to follow the same path he and his uncles had taken that morning more than a month ago. The forest looked different now, more alive, and even the ever present stench of Death seemed muted here. It was a relief not to smell rot for once, but its absence also worried Henric. Shouldn’t the smell be stronger if the denizen is near?

  The sun had risen high when he finally found the stream, he tied his horse to a low hanging branch, and waded in. He pulled a chalk from his cloak’s pocket, and marked out the runes in a rough cardinal diamond around his position. Already he could feel the current tugging at him.

  “Muzum ala thebeth,” said Henric, again and again, eyes closed. The current had its way.

  Henric opened his eyes to the grey fog of Death. Unconsciously he took a step, and then another, and then another. He stopped. I can’t let the current take hold of me.

  Feet planted in the ankle deep water, Henric dug in his cloak pocket for something else, but found it suspiciously empty. His hand flew to his sword, which was missing as well. Luckily the small violet crystal was still in his pocket where he had left it. Perhaps Syblan would have an explanation.

  In Death the crystal seemed alive with purple flames, but he could feel no heat from it. He whistled to it, until the flames grew larger than his head and he tossed the stone into the air.

  With a puff, a flash, and a gust that blew back the fog to show the starless sky above, Sylban’s lanky form appeared.

  “Hello again little Aldrimar,” the spirit said with a smile that threatened to split its head. “Will it be bindings again or... No, something’s changed. I shouldn’t be calling you ‘little’ Aldrimar anymore, should I?”

  Henric frowned. “You never should have in the first place. But nothing’s changed.”

  “Perhaps not Aldrimar,” Sylban said. “We will see. So, why have you called me out then?” He looked around, suddenly nervous. “Am I bait?”

  “Maybe I should,” Henric said. “But I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, the Denizen’s crossed over into life.”

  “Has it now?” asked Sylban.

  “I’m not sure how,” said Henric. “But I don’t feel it here like I did in life. Any idea how that works?”

  The spirit shook its head and shrugged its ghastly shoulders. “Not unless there’s another necromancer about. Maybe an unbaptized child?”

  “Perhaps,” said Henric.

  “So that’s why you called me out?”

  “Oh no,” said Henric. “Hold still.”

  Henric tried to remember what Samael had told him earlier. Hand outstretched, palm up, he forced heat up through his hand until he began to see it shimmer in the air.

  “What are you doing?” Sylban asked.

  “Hold still,” Henric insisted. He forced the heat shimmers into a ball with his other hand, warm but not burning, and it swelled to the size of a melon. Henric eyed Sylban, and drew his outstretched arm back, and threw.

  As the ball left his hand, he felt all his heat go with it. Henric panicked, and the ball dissipated midair. He felt a shiver run up him as the warmth came flooding back.

  “Lord Aldrimar!” Sylban chided in mock horror. “Did you mean to hit me with that?”

  Henric focused the heat onto his palm again, only less of it this time. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “That’s not reassur-”

  A small ball of purple light no larger than a pebble zipped through Sylban’s chest and he puffed into a cloud of fog, only to reappear at Henric’s side.

  “So that’s what happens if I hit you?” asked Henric, preparing a third. “This might actually be fun.”