Noone laughed. That was the eeriest thing. The claim was… well… ludicrous was perhaps too mild, farcical too kind.

The idea that a pair of teenagers held the secret to kill Death herself, a being that noone at the Necropolis was even sure existed, and if they did would have nigh unimaginable power, was just laughable. And noone laughed.

It was something in the terrible earnestness with which Arrabelle had said it. Natalya had dealt with zealots before, they tended to be wild-eyed madmen, babbling lunatics that were dismissed practically as a form of memetic self-defence.

The dangerous ones though… the dangerous ones sounded like Arrabelle. Earnest, sincere and serious as a naked blade. And that’s what Arrabelle was, a drawn blade pointed at the throat of the world. Above all things, the Slayers of Death had always been a martial order.

“Thank you for that information Slayer Arrabelle.” Merida told her curtly, expecting her to now sit down, yet the old Slayer remained resolutely standing, “was there something more?”

“The Slayers have asked me to convey their intention to protect these two children, we will allow no outcome to this trial that results in their deaths.” The old woman said gravely. “I am sorry.”

The archmage couldn’t take that lying down, drawing herself to her full height, “It is not the place of the Slayers of Death to dictate to the Necropolis.”

“As I said, I am sorry.” Arrabelle inclined her head in apology.

“This is treason.” Merida growled, on the verge of smiting the errant Slayer as an example to her fellows.

“Secession actually. If the Necropolis attempts to put them to death then the Slayers of Death will no longer be a part of the Necropolis. Now where did I put it…?” Arrabelle began to pat herself down, searching through her robe pockets with increasing frustration. “Don’t tell me I left it in my quarters…”

Her nominal opponent could only watch exasperated as Arrabelle grew more frantic in her search, still muttering to herself, “...why does this always happen when I’m on the spot. Aha I’ve… no nevermind. Wait wait got it!”

Triumphantly the old mage brandished a shockingly large sheaf of documents from inside her robe only to find herself staring down the glowing green jade tip of Archmage Merida’s warstaff, the elf teleporting it directly to her hands in those few moments.

“Merida! What is the meaning of this?” One lich bellowed, and there was a chorus of quieter exclamations of shock and horror.

Natalya wasn’t shocked. If anything she thought Merida’s reaction was rather mild, because there was absolutely no way the documents could have fit in the pocket they’d just been wrenched from.

She’d only ever met one other mage confident enough in their own grasp of spatial magic to actually keep an extradimensional space on their person, because if it unravelled… well all that space and all the objects in it had to go somewhere, often at speed, but Erebus’ skill with it would have been terrifying if he hadn’t been masterfully understated with its use.

The archmage of entropy’s big trick had been to just always happen to have the right tool in his pockets for the situation, but never so large as to strain believability or even arouse suspicion unless a person were particularly astute… right up to the day a full battlestaff had fallen from his sleeve into his empty hands.

That was why Merida was now on a hair trigger. The old mage could be hiding just about anything inside her sleeves and they would have no way of knowing until the moment a primed inferno spell sphere dropped into her palm.

Going by Arrabelle’s smirk, the old woman knew full well what Merida’s concerns were as she brandished her document in the elven mage’s face. “We always knew this day might come, where the interests of the Slayers and the Necropolis no longer aligned. This would declare us an independent organisation, based out of Howling Canyon, all we have to do is hand it to a Council representative and the deed is done.”

“The Necropolis will not be bullied into precipitous action.” Merida declared, tempted to simply scorch the offending document out of existence.

“It will apparently be bullied into melodrama.” The old Slayer grumbled, stuffing the papers back where they’d come from, “Honestly Merida, you talk is if you don’t bully people into doing what you want all the time.”

“How dare you-”

“I dare because I’m old you pointy-eared harpy, and the real kind of old, not your eternal youth nonsense. At least liches have the decency to look the part. There’s not a damned thing you can do to me that time ain’t gonna do soon enough.” Arrabelle snapped, “Can you feel it Merida, the walls closing in on you? You’ve got competition now, and I don’t think he’ll take kindly to you killing his apprentices, do you?”

“That’s not relevant to this case.” The archmage replied stiffly.

“Oh really? Then let’s stop dancing around the point and put it to a vote. I propose a vote on whether the Necropolis will kill Alec, son of Arthur, and Holly, daughter of Von Mori, to expunge the knowledge in their heads.”

“Seconded.” Ackeron’s sonorous voice rang clear through the chamber.

Merida flinched as if struck, and were she a less openly spiteful monster she might have said something like ‘well played’ at being backed into a corner so, or perhaps even a quiet ‘no king rules forever’ but the archmage of necromancy had no such grace or artifice to her, just about managing to snarl out a “So be it.” between gritted teeth.

Arrabelle might well be a naked blade, but so was Merida, and she was barbed, and likely envenomed for good measure.

The vote to have a vote, or more accurately and less derisively, the vote to declare the majority of the chamber had made up its mind on an issue, went off without a hitch. Pretty much every mage lit their beacon to indicate they’d reached some form of conclusion.

Archmage Merida scowled, “Fine then. Do we kill them? As good sense demands, or are you all too weak-willed to do what must be done?”

Not a single light from the Shields or Slayers, surprising noone, and the Grand Apology was predictably passive, an ever reliable force for inaction. But there was a murmur of discontent as Ackeron actually snuffed out the lights from his own faction. Such things just weren’t done.

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Everyone knew there were backroom deals, that orders were given, but in theory the votes in the Necropolis were free votes and yet the Head Gardener was casually breaking the polite fiction that had held things together since time immemorial.

After that naked show of force, and with all four of the Necropolis major factions apparently united on the issue, the vote failed utterly.

Merida wasn’t the only one voting for death, not quite, but it was close. As much as Natalya wished she could say it was a sign of the morality of the Necropolis that, at the final accounting, almost noone had been able to countenance the murder of children, the truth was nowhere near as edifying. Noone wanted to be on the losing side.

Something akin to madness danced behind Archmage Merida’s eyes as she glanced back at Holly and Alec, and Natalya could read enough of those dark thoughts to interpose herself bodily between the elf and the children.

The moment passed and Merida let her fel green gaze to the senior necromancers gathered there today, “You avaricious fools and bleeding hearts, when you come to regret this I will remind you of this moment, and I will laugh. Very well, what do you all propose we do with them then?”

“Erebus desired them to study at the Necropolis.” Natalya inserted into the sudden silence. She couldn’t be certain but the fact noone had a plan ready to go… had they really not thought past just keeping them alive? It wasn’t out of the question, liches were renowned for their obsessive nature, it really was possible that not one of the them had planned beyond the victorious vote.

“Difficult.” Merida replied thoughtfully, “Their knowledge could contaminate the other students… hells above and below it could even contaminate some of the teachers. We would have to be very, very careful.”

That got the elven archmage some stunned looks. “What?” She asked surprised, “You all decided to keep them alive and now we’ve got to deal with that decision, that’s how democracy works.”

“I was expecting you to counsel against them being taught at all.” Natalya admitted, wondering if she should be feeling shame for her presumption.

“Oh no, they have to be taught. It’s vital even, or did you think I was making up the part about their soul tearing itself apart?” Merida sneered. “It’s just a difficult question as to how to do it safely. At minimum they’ll have to be put into the advanced stream of students as well as given a specialized curriculum.”

“It risks contaminating our most promising students.” Ackeron pointed out, all decorum and order apparently gone by this point.

That earned a smirk from one of the living necromancers, a bald haired fellow of middling years who chimed in, “The advanced stream pretty much contaminates itself, that’s half the point, to see who can handle that kind of knowledge sensibly.”

“A not totally stupid point.” Ackeron conceded. “Very well, unless an alternate idea reveals itself I’m prepared to call for a vote.”

The silence spoke for itself.

“Seconded then.” Natalya said slowly, when it was clear noone else would.

Both votes passed easily and as the trial was dismissed and everyone slowly sidled out, Natalya allowed herself relief that the two teenagers had emerged unscathed… but through no design of hers. She should have been overjoyed, she knew she should, but somehow she’d never felt so worthless.

Of course that wasn’t an end to it. Almost as soon as they had left, as Natalya prepared to try and find some quarters for the two to rest in, the necromancer would receive a tap on the shoulder. Not an unsurprising event, people often wanted to talk after meetings like these, sometimes under privacy wards, more often over a drink.

She turned to decline only to find herself staring into Ackeron’s empty sockets.

“Gardener Natalya, I require a few minutes of your time.” The leader of her order told her sternly.

Natalya glanced over her shoulder at her two charges, “Can it wait a few minutes sir?” She replied weakly, already able to guess the answer.

“I’m afraid not. Fear not for the children, Gardener Medin shall see them to their quarters.” Ackeron assured her, indicating a surprisingly youthful necromancer behind him. And though youth was a poor judge of age in the Necropolis there was a nervousness to the young man that was hard to fake.

She seriously considered saying no, but it would have been foolish, “Very well.” Natalya sighed, turning to Alec and Holly, “I will visit you as soon as possible.” She promised, then followed the beckoning Ackeron.

The ancient lich proved a taciturn companion as they walked. She’d never really had cause to spend much time with the head of her order, the Gardeners tended to be a fairly hands off group, trusting their members to use their best judgement on matters. Orders were rare, though when they did come down they were downright ironclad.

The section of the Necropolis they were walking through was not one she’d ever had cause to visit, the stone walls were ancient even by the dread sepulchre’s standards. She could feel the weight of history weighing down on her with each echoing step, and that wasn’t a metaphor, some kind of ward or hex upon the corridors was trying to tire her out.

She wouldn’t have recognised the feeling of temporal magic upon her skin before she’d visited Forsaken Valda, but after the death zone the sensation was unmistakable for all that the application was novel.

Something of the realisation must have shown on her face for Ackeron observed aloud, “We’ll have no choice but to increase your security clearance.”

Natalya just nodded her compliance, wondering if there was going to be anything more now Ackeron had finally chosen to speak. Liches were often like that, silent for an age until they’d decided what they wanted to say, and near impossible to stop from saying it once they’d made their mind up.

She wasn’t to be disappointed.

“Do you know where we’re going?” The lich asked her, and for all the gentle conversational tone there was no way the question wasn’t a test.

“I’d guessed your office.” Nat replied swiftly, electing not to play her superior’s game by overthinking things. Besides it was a fairly decent guess, Ackeron’s office was something of a myth amongst the Gardeners. It wasn’t even on the level of knowing someone who claimed to know someone who’d visited it.

Noone knew where it was. Noone knew anyone who’d ever visited it. There was no proof it even existed. And yet rumours abounded, that the office was in fact a sealed room accessible only by teleport, that everyone in fact entered it regularly but had to submit to a memory wipe, that it was the first room of the Necropolis built, that it lay deep beneath the Wraith Vault itself.

Ackeron gave her a knowing smile, the leathery lips creaking as they twitched, “After a fashion I suppose. I’m taking you to see the Elder.”

She drew a blank on that one. As far as she’d been aware Ackeron was the highest ranked person in the Gardeners, and had been their leader for close to a thousand years, the longest serving of any Head Gardener in their history and almost half of his tenure she’d seen personally.

“I was not aware we had an elder sir.” She replied evenly, scanning his face to see if he’d offer her even a crumb of additional insight.

“Startlingly few do.” Ackeron replied, “You know the creed of our order, but did you ever wonder how it came about?”

Nurture the flowers, kill the weeds. The words came almost unbidden to mind, a reflex born of centuries. “Of course. The records were a bit vague but they were apparently first spoken by Gardener Amon.”

The lich gave her a respectful nod, a teacher pleased at a pupil’s answer. “Indeed. What the records don’t say is that Gardener Amon back then was… well see for yourself.”

With that he turned to force open an unmarked door and Natalya’s jaw just about dropped in shock.

It wasn’t a jungle, but that was only because it had a single tree, a gloriously towering, white flowered specimen that surely should have been visible even from outside the Necropolis.

The rest of the foliage was equally as overgrown. Grass taller than she was. Thorned bushes she’d have been unable to force her way through with anything short of an axe. Flowers that had the plants been carnivorous she may well have been in danger.

And, overpowering all of it to Natalya’s, the sensation of death, necromancers had died here, so many that there had been wars in their history that would seem mere fisticuffs by comparison.

Ackeron stepped inside, beckoning, “Before there were the Gardeners, there was the garden.”