Part 1

When Caldwell came to him, Alden was in the middle of a large breakfast. A dozen eggs, half of them boiled, the other half butter-fried, along with three servings of toasted bread glazed in honey, butter, and cut strawberries, a strip of sharp cheese, and a bowl of honey-sweetened porridge. Of the lot, more than half had been devoured before Caldwell rapped his fist against the door.

“It is Caldwell, my lord,” Caldwell called from the other side.

Alden set down his porridge spoon and sighed. His stomach rumbled angrily, upset at the idea of ceasing breakfast so soon. The gluttonous organ had begun to demand more and more of late, and when Alden failed to meet its demands he was struck with pangs of pain and, on the rare occasion, headaches. Or not so rare. Today, too, it seemed his head would throb.

“Come in,” he said.

Caldwell entered the room nervously, his head downcast, and Aerin followed. There might have been a look of surprise from her; she was as nervous as Caldwell, with her thin arms wrapped around a book at her chest and her eyes darting between Alden and Amice and Caldwell with dizzying speed. Alden, on the other hand, was, in word, disgruntled. He didn’t try to hide it.

Their midnight tryst hadn’t evaded him. In fact, with the great splashes they’d made on entering the lake, which usually sat noiseless so late at night, it had been his main focus until he realized what was going on. It amused him, at first; Caldwell, of all his men, was the most…prolific in such matters, though a midnight swim was unique by his standards. But when the pair of them started on their way to Alden’s manor, and got close enough for Alden to notice that the girl wasn’t just some random farmer’s daughter, he could only wonder at what she might be here for.

He had a guess.

“She’s…” Caldwell started. But Alden raised a hand, and Caldwell fell silent. He squirmed under Alden’s gaze.

Alden put out an oversized hand. “Give it here.”

Aerin placed the book in his hand and retreated. He looked at the ornate cover of etched swirls on black leather, opened it, and skimmed its contents. The book was a tome, a work of magical knowledge detailing a long and storied history of a particular type of magic. A type which, Alden knew, was considered blasphemous in the confines of the Empire.

“You want me to perform necromancy?” he asked, snapping the book shut.

Caldwell had the decency to look away, in shame as much as in shock. Of course she didn’t tell you. Aerin, by comparison, was steadfast, calm. Prepared. She knew what she was asking of him, maybe even thought she could get him to agree to it. What she doesn’t know is that I’ve agreed to it already.

“It can’t be done,” Alden said, handing the book back. Aerin swiped it from his hands, clutching it close to her chest, as if all the world was inclined to steal it from her grasp. “We don’t have his body, and even if we did, that,” he said, pointing to the book, “is only a hypothesis. An educated guess. You’d leave me with all the real work, with all the dangers that lie therein, all for a slim chance at hope.”

Work I’d be more than willing to do, he thought. That tidbit he decided to keep quiet. Aerin had come to him for help, and he wanted to see how she’d try to convince him. A stolen book, which the tome obviously was, didn’t help her case, no matter how tempting its contents.

From her robes, Aerin produced another book, much thinner than the tome. She opened it, scrawled on a page with her finger, then handed it to him. He read it.

“A year's service,” he read aloud, “and a thousand impera?” He would have been insulted, if he hadn’t needed the money. “I need more than that. Where is this book even from?”

“Tormere,” Caldwell replied.

“Three years would be more suitable, then,” Amice said. She paused. Then, “Make that five.”

Caldwell scowled. “Five years?” he repeated. Alden shot him an angry look. Caldwell flinched, his eyes glancing to Aerin for a second. That seemed to give him courage. He looked back to Alden. “Five years is too many.”

“What would you have of our Lord, then?” Amice asked.

“I’d have him ask for something reasonable, at least. The services of any mage is worth thousands a year. And a mage of Aerin’s caliber is worth three times a normal mage, at least.”

In the exchange of words, Alden found his stomach growling once more. He took up his spoon again, ate a spoonful of porridge, then followed it with a bite of honeyed toast. “You don’t even know what she asks, do you?” he said between mouthfuls.

“Necromancy,” Caldwell said.

“And do you know what necromancy is?”

Caldwell fidgeted. “Talking to the dead?”

Alden wanted to laugh. “That falls under its purview, I suppose. Might be that’s what she wants, too, but I have a feeling it isn’t. Not with that book, anyways. That book only detailed one thing. And that one thing is reviving the dead.”

Red shame took over his face and, turning on his heels, Caldwell trudged out of the room. Aerin watched him go, made a half step to go after him, then turned back Alden, hand outstretched.

Placing the journal in her hands, Alden waited patiently as she scrawled something into it, passing the time with another slab of toast and a bite of cheese, as well as the occasional glance to Amice. She was as amused as he was; it was a rarity that Amice invested any attention onto someone other than himself these days, and he had never seen her staring so hard.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Finished with her writing, Aerin handed back the journal.

“Ten years of service from yourself, with an equal number from your brother,” Alden read. He frowned. “That won’t do. Even if this plan of yours is successful, who is to say that your brother will serve me willingly? And, more importantly, what if I fail? Take on all of this risk for naught? Do you expect me to handle Tormere’s wrath out of the goodness of my heart? No, I won't do it. If you want my aid, I need five years of service from you. And that’s if I fail. I want twenty years if I succeed. And, if your brother is willing to serve me, I’ll subtract every year he serves from your total. Agreed?”

Aerin thought for a moment. Then she nodded.

Alden smiled. “Splendid.”

Part 2

The tome was a dense thing. The lettering was preposterously small, half the size of a normal book’s, and written upon delicately thin pages. But the greatest factor that made the book a difficult read was, by far, the actual knowledge within.

Stat Up

Due to active studying, Intelligence has grown.

+5 to Intelligence.

“Have you ever questioned your own intelligence?” Alden asked as he perused yet another section on magical formulae. “I’m beginning to think I might be an idiot.”

Amice smiled. “Someone comes to you with a stolen book containing forbidden knowledge, and your first instinct was how to profit off of it. Of course you’re an idiot.”

Stifling a chuckle, Alden leaned back and flipped to the next page. He read it, turned to the previous page, and read the previous page again, then continued to the next page. I need more time.

“I think I’ll take a walk,” he said, snapping the book closed. “Care to join me?”

“Not this time. I’d like to cultivate,” Amice replied.

Alden stored the book in his Inventory and left the manor, heading first down to the lake’s edge and then south. Passing by the training yards, he observed Aerin showing off her magic to some Chanat warriors and, at the party’s edge, was the skulking Caldwell. Walking up to them he watched as Aerin conjured a spear of flames and sent it hurtling towards a straw dummy.

The Chanat let out excited yells and curses in their tongue; the magic of the Chanat was primitive compared to the Empire, and even the simplest display of competency impressed them.

“Fine work,” Alden said. Aerin bowed, though her look of displeasure at his presence did not elude him. “I’ll be stealing Caldwell for a moment, if you don’t mind.”

“Me, my lord?” Caldwell asked.

“Yes. Come along.”

Caldwell hurried along behind him, panting hard as he tried to keep pace with Alden’s long strides. He’s getting out of shape. It wasn’t just him. Uhtric and Gosfrid weren’t training as hard as they used to, despite eating their fill and complaining of the quality. And then there were the Chanat, who took to the Empire’s training about as well as fire took to water.

Passing over a hill, then another, Alden stopped. The two were as alone as they were ought to be, and Caldwell, red faced and gulping down air, could use the breather.

“Catch your breath. When you’re ready, we’re going to spar.”

Gasping another few mouthfuls of air, Caldwell fell into a fighting stance, his arms raised over his torso and his right leg back.

“We’ll start now,” Alden said. He made the first move, aiming for Caldwell’s chest with a half-hearted punch. Caldwell blocked, but the blow was too heavy and he fell.

Alden offered him a hand.

“You understand what she wants, I take it?” Alden asked as he pulled Caldwell to his feet.

“I do,” Caldwell replied. He fell back into his fighting stance.

“You know that she doesn’t want you?”

Silence. Then, “I do.”

He’s fucking lost in it. Alden understood about as well as anyone could. Whatever part of the human condition controlled desire wasn’t something to be trifled with. It made you do stupid things. Things like helping a thieving mage looking to break the cycle of life and death…or agreeing to murder a nobleman.

Caldwell moved in close, kicking out at Alden’s forward knee. He was fast, as far as men-at-arms went, but to Alden he might as well have been standing still. He stepped back, allowing Caldwell’s leg to swing through the air.

“How serious about her are you?” He moved to the right as Caldwell lashed out with a punch.

Caldwell heard the hidden question. “I won’t betray you,” he said, panting. Sweat dripped down his face.

“Regulate your breathing,” Alden offered. Then, “Why help her?”

Caldwell threw another punch, missed, then backed a step. “I… I have to try to help her. Even if she won’t look my way.”

“She gave you her body. Is that really all it takes?” Caldwell gaped at him, eyes as wide as saucers. “Surprised? You shouldn’t be, by now. Little escapes me. And less escapes Amice.”

“What are you?”

A question Alden didn’t have the answer to. “Human,” he said. Maybe he even believed it.

Caldwell didn’t. He retreated a step and tightened his guard, sinking into his gambeson. Despite the size he had built in recent months, the gray-green gambeson looked overlarge on his thin frame, making Caldwell seem more like a frightened child than a veteran warrior.

“Attack,” Alden commanded.

Caldwell nodded, approaching with delicate steps. He pulled his rear arm back, ready to strike. Then the arm eased back to a defensive position over his torso, and Caldwell stepped back again.

“Is this all you can offer?”

It was all that he had ever offered. Fear and indecision. A lack of will. Alden hated him for it. It was all the features of his past self, the version of him that didn’t know and didn’t care and lived only because that was what you did in life. There were no goals, just the abstract sense of desire for one thing or another, followed by self-pity once that desire remained unfulfilled.

Caldwell dropped his arms to his sides, done with the fight. “This is pointless,” he said, pouting. He didn’t bother to look Alden in the face.

Alden hit him, the force of the blow vibrating through his arm and his bones. Caldwell’s limp body was sent flying, his legs hovering above the ground as he was blown back. Then his body fell and his legs dragged against the ground and suddenly he was twisting and turning through the air in spectacular somersaults until he came to a crashing halt.

Thin streams of blood poured from Caldwell’s arm and legs. His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling in an uneven rhythm. If I’d hit him any harder then I’d really need that book.

When he was healed, Alden pulled him to his feet and fell back into a fight stance once more. “We’re not done until I say we are. Understood?”

Caldwell met his gaze, a fire lit inside him. “Understood.”