In the light of the oil lamp, Moira read through each page of the letter, written in archaic phrases that painted a positive picture of Ashan's last few weeks. After thanking her for her help, he described in detail the impression made on him by the free trade city of Kardum, where the city council is mainly comprised of Gray Nomads. He explained how the passage of time and trade relations between their lands had accomplished what war seemingly could not. The relative prosperity and peace enjoyed by his people filled his heart with joy. He wrote that he still found it challenging to communicate with the people of the South. Not Southerners anymore, Moira noted in her thoughts. But he assured her that he was getting better at it. He also remarked, somewhat surprised, on the fall of the tribes and with them, the council of elders. According to city dwellers, the most prominent tribes and elder councils were blamed for the war’s defeat, and leadership shifted to younger generations, battle-worn and shaped by years of hardship. Pulled from their homes to the front of the great Hundred-Year War, after years spent with other young warriors from other tribes, they had abandoned their roots in favor of a brotherhood forged in arms. They paid little heed to the words of the white-haired elders who had so freely spent their blood.

There were still small, conservative communities in the far north that resisted this change, but the majority had joined a revolutionary movement that rejected tribal legacies and divisions for a unified community of nomads. They had entered the conflict as a fragmented, often quarreling group of tribes but emerged as one people.

Moira hadn’t been particularly interested in the history of that war or his people before meeting him, but now she read his reflections and accounts with eager fascination. Ashan was genuinely proud of his brothers-in-arms, who, despite losing the war, had created a better future for the sons and daughters of the north. In necromancy, one of the golden rules is to be responsible for anything one brings to life—or rather, unlife. And so, she felt a certain sympathy for the warrior she had revived from a magical sleep after more than two centuries, just as she did for every other being she had summoned in her life. And the fact that she had neither read nor heard of any similar case made it an incredibly interesting instance for the field of magical studies. That he had adapted well and did not complain of any side effects, if his account was to be believed, pleased her greatly.

In the next part of his letter, he humbly began to describe how he’d landed a position with the road guards. The captain appreciated not only his combat skills but his leadership abilities, suggesting that with his talent, he would quickly advance in rank. Moira could imagine Ashan’s awkward expression during that conversation, hearing such a comment, and she laughed at the image. He explained that he had kept quiet about exactly when and where he had gained those skills—his story was simply too improbable to share. Especially as, in the postwar shift of power and influence, the most affected class were the seers. Their prophecies and visions of alleged victory led to the near-complete extinction of these magic practitioners when the reckoning came. There wasn’t a single one in all of Kardum, and from the stories he had heard, it was the same across the North. So he had no one to discuss what had happened to him. Moira was sure the proud ex-captain didn’t want to be seen as an oddity or madman, so she understood his stance. But on the other hand, one day he would have to talk to someone besides her about it. He probably just needed more time, she thought gently.

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In the last part, it turned out he had a request for her. About a day’s journey from the city where he was stationed, a few miles off the road, lie the ruins of a small fortress, enough for two dozen guards, which is believed to be cursed. Fellow guards trade stories about how some caravans report specters or monstrous sounds carried by the wind on cold nights. His captain hadn’t paid it any mind until one caravan went missing. They found it at the entrance to the ruins, with all its goods, but the driver and others had disappeared without a trace. The city council was not inclined to summon a mage from the empire over a single incident. With no bodies found, there was no certainty that anyone had died. However, the road guards were certain it was a supernatural incident. He closed his letter with,

I thought this might interest you. If you feel inclined to look into it, I’ll assist you however I can. I’m stationed at the guard barracks, and I’ve enclosed a map showing how to get there from the main gate. The council doesn’t want to address it, but the captain is willing to offer material thanks to whoever can solve this problem. She says fighting bandits is our bread and butter, but specters, curses, and magic are beyond our expertise. If you’re too busy, I understand—I owe you more than I can repay already.

With respect and warm regards,

Road Guard - Ashan.

"Ha, he has some nerve," Moira said, gazing at the lamp’s flame. "Clever, leaving that to the end." She stood, set the letter on her desk, perched on the edge of the table, and crossed her arms. "He’s right about one thing," she remarked after a moment, "this is a matter for me." Her master always said that necromancy was, above all, the art of caring for the living by ensuring the peace of the dead.

Unfortunately, since the incidents even before the Hundred-Year War, necromancy had gained such a bad reputation that few sought their services anymore. The final straw had been the use of magic practitioners in war; necromancers on the battlefield had proven as effective as they were terrifying. Afterward, the Empire and neighboring nations signed a mutual agreement not to engage necromancers in warfare. Apparently, incinerating a dozen soldiers by a pyromancer was tolerable, but a giant golem made of the fallen, tearing through city walls, was too much. Fortunately, the Empire was practical, and aside from the battlefield ban—at least officially—necromancers faced no additional restrictions compared to other magic fields. Her master was even liked at the imperial court, where he ensured the memory and security of the emperor’s dead family members, so that neither ill-willed forces could disturb them. She knew things could be far worse. However, the further from the court, the harder it was. Moira was tired of the fear and unease she encountered almost everywhere since she finished her studies, which is why she practiced herbalism daily, hidding her other occupation. This case, however, demanded someone with the right skills, and Ashan was right—it intrigued her. She wrote a brief response:

Dear Ashan,

I’m glad to hear you find Kardum pleasant. I was sure it would be a good fit for you.

Congratulations on your new position.

I'm going to finish my work here and go and see your Captain to help her with this when it suits me.

Best regards,

Moira

"Let him not think I’m doing this for him," she muttered, putting a period at the end and addressing the letter to him at the mentioned barracks. Since it wasn’t too late, she took the letter to the courier company and paid for its delivery. She lay down to sleep, already thinking about the journey. She decided not to stay in Kardum longer than necessary. She was comfortable at the 'Under the White Goose' and there was still demand for an herbalist in the area. She mentally made a quick list of clothes and things she’d need and only then, while feeling all is on order, drifted to sleep peacefully.