After leaving town the trio regrouped and headed towards the capital again. They still kept clear of roads as those would likely be patrolled but they did make it to a private enough valley to set camp for the evening. A bit earlier than usual but there was something to test: Beatrice, as it turned out, did not have a knack for alchemy as it turned out. It would not be incorrect to say that she had great talent for not brewing or distilling anything. More than just practice and knowledge, Rhys could tell that the Change itself was uncooperative as she struggled to imbue the most basic of magical brews. He therefore told her as such in the middle of a very long yet futile attempt.
“But…” she immediately sputtered, pride bruised.
“An important ability for any apprentice is time management,” Rhys chided. “You only have so many hours in front of you before the next brush with death. They are better spent learning skills where you obtain quadruple results for quarter effort. Stubbornly struggling to learn disciplines you are not predisposed to can be left for when you have somewhat achieved mastery in something better suited to you.”
She seemed to reluctantly accept that, at least so they could move to something more productive. There was plenty to teach and she absorbed most of it. Necromancy in particular came to her even easier than she herself expected. Rhys had a good idea why that was even if he didn't have details - yet.
“Do you know what are the three bases of power?” he asked.
“If I did, you wouldn’t have to tell me,” she shook her head but her gaze was quite eager.
“It is Deed, Repetition, and Knowledge. This is universal, though much more apparent for us mages as we have an easy way to measure them.”
“The Change always gathering around us,” she said in realization. An astute observation.
“Exactly,” Rhys nodded. “Each time you tap into that stockpile, a little more will gather the next time. And the Change will intuit that you can wield it better and thus be more interested, once again leading to more gathering. Those two are rather apparent and usually known. But people so often forget about Deeds.”
“It seems a bit vague,” Beatrice nodded. “Does that mean just achievements? Overcoming adversity?"
“Deed is about collision,” Rhys shook is head. “It is the meeting of opposing ideals… or at least fists. The struggle between several beings. And those who emerge victorious from it reap benefits proportional to the adversity.”
“I still don’t understand how that is related to my increased affinity though,” the newt admitted.
“You saved yourself from the hanging. You skirted the Change of Death and the Deed of it brought it closer into your grasp.”
“There has been no collision there… just struggle and dread,” Beatrice tried and failed to suppress a shiver. Briefly, she likely remembered that dread but then managed to push it down and return to the conversation.
“Was there not?” Rhys inclined his head. “Did you not clash with the will of your executioners by denying their edict? Did you not fight against the weight of this very nation that would sentence you to the gallows merely for what you are? That is a Deed.”
“Do all powerful mages have to nearly die to achieve their power then,” she shuddered again for in her mind she had just realized a very primal kind of truth.
“Yes,” and Rhys confirmed it. “A true Deed is more than just another log in a pyre. It is like flashpowder, or alcohol… or the torch that lights it. Your one-time survival already qualifies you to be exceptional. Though it is still not nearly enough to become great.”
“I don’t think I could do that again,” she struggled to keep her breath controlled rather than ragged but ultimately managed to maintain her poise. “How could anyone do that more than once? Knowing what it is like, but still pursue that.”
“Usually? Not willingly,” the old necromancer said. Beatrice looked up at him with a hint of growing fear and he realized that might not have been the best thing to say. “More often, not at all. True Deeds are rare. More than one held by a single being exceptionally so. Some lesser achievements will still have impact but not nearly so... multiplicative.”
“And how many do you have?” she asked, regaining curiosity… perhaps to push back the dread.
“Enough,” he gave her an unimpressed look and stared the newt down until she looked away. Some questions he would not answer just because he chose to teach her. “Go to sleep if you can. Tomorrow will be long.”
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The newt did. Or at least pretended to. Rhys and Rod sat around their campfire silently for a good hour before she actually faded from consciousness.
“Well, will you tell me?” Roderick asked.
“No,” the necromancer refused.
“I will take that as 'many',” the knight scoffed. “More than me, certainly. Can you at least tell me about mine?”
“Suddenly curious?” Rhys questioned.
“Well, I have not known this was a thing before an hour ago,” Roderick shamelessly admitted.
“Two minor ones from your youthful escapades. And you know full well how major the proper third is. I am not here to polish your ego. On the other hand, you are here to tell me the story that you owe.”
“Fine, which?”
“Of your grandparents,” Rhys decided.
“I barely remember them,” the knight sighed. Then realized Rhys did not care and began to speak of what he could recall.
----------------------------------------
Two days later - end of the seventh day, Rhys counted - they were camping in a small forest not too far from a small village. The kind that might not even be on most maps. Beatrice had been absorbing whatever lessons Rhys would deem appropriate but kept turning in early, tired from the long days of travel. The question of her heritage was still unsettled. Rhys had not asked, instead opting for a bit of entertainment with him and Rod betting on how high her birth could have been - his 'money' was on Duchess. In the meantime the old necromancer had no shortage of stories with his good knight keeping his end of the bargain. Though that particular evening there was an interruption.
“I hear footsteps,” Roderick announced, immediately turning.
“Human?” Rhys raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, obviously,” the knight confirmed, standing up. Meanwhile the mage tugged at his Change to better feel out the situation, their lives suddenly flickering like candles in the night. A dozen, information which he immediately passed on to the knight.
“What would people be doing, traveling so late?” the necromancer sighed. The knight was already moving towards the girl who was sleeping just a few meters away. His sword in hand - just unenchanted good steel but usually good enough.
“They are likely here for her,” he guessed, stepping to stand over said newt. “Or… even you. I would assume you have some enemies somewhere.”
“Not me,” Rhys shook his head. They would have held weapons he could feel if they were. “Assassins and trackers with this kind of dedication must still be expensive. How long had they been on our trail I wonder. By the way, one of their bowmen is shooting from the opposite direction.”
“Fuck,” Rod cursed and moved just as a dozen arrows left their stings, combining into one loud thump. The knight blocked four of the projectiles with his body, deflected two with the blade and caught another. In the same notion he nudged the newt with his foot, yelling: “Wake up, girl!”
In the meantime Rhys took one arrow through the eye, three to the chest and an extra to his knee. Afterward their assailants emerged from the tree line's shadows so Rhys opted to stay playing dead for the moment. Just as he had hoped the attackers all passed him except for one. It was good practice to double-check kills after all - and widespread. The ringing of steel was audible by the time a lone attacker knelt by Rhys to check his state in the dimming campfire’s light. Roderick would be retreating somewhere where he could more easily defend the girl, no doubt. Rhys was not particularly worried as he waited for the presumed assassin to check him for pulse.
Which they didn’t. Rhys had to resist the urge to roll his remaining eye on account that he had left it open. Apparently half a shaft in the brain was considered lethal enough that there would be no need to confirm the ambush’s lethality. It was mild annoyance. Rhys had his preferred way of dealing with situations like that and any deviation irritated him. Still, as the men stood up and tried to move past the presumed corpse, Rhys grabbed his ankle, letting the Change course through the man’s leather shoe and into the body. There were many way to quickly kill a person but Rhys usually chose to stop the heart and brain in the same moment. That way, he could almost instantly raise the assailant as a minion with all the biology still fully intact. The Change of Death was undeniable, of course, but it would be quite easy to mistake them for the living.
“So, do you know who the girl you are after actually is?” Rhys asked eagerly.
“No,” the cloaked undead answered in a male voice. Not much personality in it though, a common happening when the raising was particularly involuntary.
“And would anyone from your group?”
“No. We just have a mark. Asking who they are is too much trouble.”
“Drat,” Rhys sighed. Well, that would stay a mystery then. “How did you track us down then.”
“Our employers said she would be heading this way towards the capital after some knights confiscated an amulet of hers,” the undead explained. “Then we heard about a redhead matching the description when passing through a town just hours before we arrived. It was easy enough to follow you after that.”
The amulet likely meant whatever Covenant mark had been taken before their execution. That probably meant someone noticed not only her body missing but also Rhys’ own… Actually, if they knew about the newt’s necromancy most would just assumed she had used the missing corpse so it was most likely fine. He also noted to visit no further towns along their journey to Florencia.
“Are there any more assassins after us?”
“I know of at least four groups,” the undead replied, expression still deadpan.
“Wonderful,” Rhys couldn’t help but shake his head in exasperation. Well, surely it wouldn’t get much worse. Rod would be close enough to finishing the bunch by then so the necromancer turned around to dismiss his newest minion - then paused. He had an idea.