The Garden, it turned out, was perhaps undeserving of its capital letter. Natalya’s first impression had been of a great expanse of overgrown wilderness but that had proven false. In fact the foliage she’d been able to see from the door had turned out to be an ivy strewn wall buried under the thick leaves. It was, in short, rather small.

Only a few trees, hedges and assorted plants, just all allowed to grow out of control and, she suspected through magic, kept alive so it could keep growing past the point any normal plant would have died off.

Despite its overgrown state there were still a few small sections of order amongst the cacophany of plants. A small section of flowerbed where lilies grew. They weren’t magnificent specimens either. A few were even wilting a little, the sight of which had Ackeron, slaughterer of thousands, slayer of paladin and rogue mage alike, rushing for his watering can and fussily checking them for disease.

The other focal points were a little more striking. A gravestone that was a beacon to her magical senses, doubly impressive given she hadn’t sensed a wisp of its mana before stepping into the garden. The striking part was the grave had been worn away to the point the text was illegible despite the absurd preservation spells on it.

The final point of note was a tree, a truly massive specimen that climbed towards the sky as if it might one day actually reach it. It should have been possible to see its silvery trunk from just about anywhere in the greater Necropolis and yet she’d never seen it before in her life.

She did however recognise it, not from the bark – she’d never been an expert on trees – but the small black clusters of berries growing very much out of season from its branches were quite distinctive. The other big clue was the dryad leaning against the trunk, her expression one of resigned bemused as she watched the gears turn behind Natalya’s eyes.

“So when you said meet The Elder…?”

“Gardener Natalya, I would like to introduce you to Gardener Elder.” Ackeron said, leathery lips twitching in a smile that creaked in the process.

The dryad sighed, more resigned than annoyed, “I’m all but certain it’s his only joke.”

Natalya gave her a sympathetic smile before her eyes flickered to the towering elder tree, “The title certainly fits, your tree looks ancient.”

“Rude.” Elder laughed, “And I’m not as venerable as I look, the soil here is simply fantastic, and the mana in the air is incredible.”

“Then how old…?”

“Again, rude. And just a little under seven hundred. Dad here was very proud.”

“Dad?!” Natalya spluttered, turning to regard the ancient lich with open befuddlement.

“It’s the closest word for it.” Ackeron said with a slightly discomfited shrug, “For reasons I couldn’t possibly speculate upon, noone has ever created a word for ‘undead necromancer that planted and nurtured a berry in the hopes it might become self-aware’. I wouldn’t say I care for her like a daughter… but I do care for her. Hence my introducing you.”

Those words sent a shiver down Natalya’s spine as a dire suspicion began to form, “You know sir, when you brought me here I feared I was about to be handed a shovel and told to dig an unmarked grave.”

“I considered it.” Ackeron admitted, “It would certainly have been the easiest of my options, but the easy option in my experience is universally the wrong one.”

“He says as if he doesn’t kill people regularly.” Elder quipped, the dryad’s eyes glowing slightly green as they swept up and down Natalya.

“I suppose a little history lesson is in order, enough to put things in the proper context.” The lich declared, walking slowly towards the gravestone, beckoning his subordinates to follow. “Gardener Natalya, would you care to guess who’s grave this is?”

“I don’t have a name for them, but at a guess… the first Gardener?” She replied after a moment’s thought.

“I don’t have a name for them either, but you are correct. This grave goes all the way back to the very founding of the Necropolis, despite the fact it has been razed three times somehow this garden and this grave have survived it all. We aren’t sure how.” Ackeron explained, “I’d say we’re getting into the deep secrets of our people, but that’s not the reasons we don’t share the things I’m about to tell you. If you’re hoping for dark and dire revelations I must disappoint you.”

“Then why all the cloak and dagger sir?” Natalya asked bemused despite herself, in her centuries of service Ackeron had been an unapproachable and aloof figure, and she’d been a Gardener in good standing for nearly all of it, to see him so unguarded… the shiver chose that moment to crawl back up her spine.

“We are primarily an order of assassins. As much as I have debated dispensing with the theatre, far too many people would miss the mystique I fear. People like to feel important. Regardless, the real reason we don’t share our history even amongst our own members is tragically simple, we don’t actually know much of it. For all I know our order may actually be founded upon a manual for good gardening recovered during one of our many falls rather than a set of principles to guide people through an uncertain and dangerous world.”

Natalya considered how most necromancers would react to that revelation, “Best people don’t know.”

“Indeed.” Elder echoed, “A not inconsiderable number of the corpses beneath you are necromancers who reacted very poorly to the news.”

“What we have been able to patch together is that the Gardeners were founded by the First Gardener during the Fall of the Gods. Beyond that it’s all rather apocryphal, still it was in many ways the founding order of the Necropolis, with none of the others being formally created until after the war. Of the five founders she came from the humblest beginnings, born into slavery and made to tend a garden by her owners, a noble family of some variety.” Ackeron gave the grave a respectful nod before continuing.

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“She was, by what accounts remain, a humble magical talent who used it to secretly nurture the plants in her care, only able to puppeteer a single body, though that would come later. By the standards of necromancy today she would have likely failed our entrance exam.”

“I’m going to guess she slew her enslavers to join the war?” Natalya asked hopefully.

“Quite the opposite I’m afraid, the war decided to come to her instead. She was romantically involved with one of the ladies of the family, who had collectively, and in my opinion ironically, sided against the gods. Their manor was occupied by so-called holy warriors, none of the bloodline were spared.”

Nat winced, she’d been alive for the last Necromancer-Paladin war, if only just. She had a pretty good idea what was coming next.

“The slaves however were regarded as too useful, and too clueless, to just kill. Almost all warfare is logistics afterall. Nearly all of them were put back to work.”

“Except her.” Natalya whispered.

“Except her.” Ackeron confirmed, as matter of factly as he could manage,“a well maintained topiary might be a source of some acclaim, but it has little use in a war and she was, to her misfortune, a rather beautiful young woman. The general occupying the manor took her as a pleasure slave.”

It was to the lich’s credit that it sounded like he was fighting not throw up in his mouth.

“The First Gardener resolved to murder the man that first night. But for vengeance, and for freedom, she stayed her hand, for months, as she learned through her proximity to him and his command how battles were fought, supply trains managed, until she felt herself ready and she smothered him in bed.”

Ackeron’s satisfied smirk was almost a blade in itself, “Personally I don’t think I’d have been so restrained, but she needed the body intact. For the next two weeks the general’s decision making grew increasingly bizarre, many ‘traitors’ in his command were killed, all culminating in a truly disastrous defence as the manor fell to a necromantic assault as her fallen lover’s allies liberated the building.”

“I’ll confess her machinations might have been totally irrelevant beyond the experience it gave her commanding troops and insinuating herself into confidences, for amongst the necromantic forces was the Elder Wraith, or Alara the Godless as she was known then.”

“If you know the Elder Wraith’s name then why is all of this so uncertain?” Natalya demanded, sensing a rat.

It was Elder who answered, “She refuses to be interviewed, or give any kind of account. Trust me, he’s tried, I’ve tried, our predecessors have tried. We’ve bribed, begged, lied, even threatened to absolutely no avail.”

“Regardless, Alara knew talent when she saw it and took the First Gardener beneath her spectral wing, the wraith taking her as her apprentice. The First Gardener would go on to kill and puppet a lot of the gods’ mortal leadership during the war, as well as train many others on how to do the same in what would become the Order of the Gardeners.”

“When the war was finished, and the Necropolis founded, she would return to her home and painstakingly move the plants there to the garden you see now, though of course none survive now. Sadly she was a poor necromancer, and we knew little of how to create sapient undead back then. She lived long enough to be considered old, and when she passed the first of her students, who was the most powerful as well, chose to look after this garden in her absence. It was never really intended as a formal thing at first, but over time it became the norm, the Head Gardener looks after garden. Which brings us, at last, to here and now.” Ackeron’s empty sockets seemed to Natalya to all but drill into her skull, and she didn’t need magic to feel the weight of his attention.

“You want me to be Head Gardener?” She demanded, her terrible suspicion all but confirmed.

“You are one of a number of candidates I am considering. The choice is… difficult, and I fear more complicated for me than for my predecessors.” Ackeron looked pained as he admitted, “I have been Head Gardener for over a thousand years, twice that of any who came before me. It was for the longest time a great source of shame, that I had never seen a cause worth throwing away my life. Then I concluded that it was simply that the world was waning, that the great powers of Reath were dead, fled or content to wile away eternity wherever they were.”

“I maintain you were right.” Elder snapped sharply, “You’re just being overdramatic in your old age, you’ll be in charge for another thousand years and bitching for nearly all of it.”

The lich shook his head, “No. Reath is going to be almost inundated with demons over the next century, possibly even within the year. The power vacuum from Tsa’rahlitzek’s death will force huge numbers into Reath, and with how much was lost to kill her we are ill-prepared to fight it.”

“How so?” Natalya demanded, “The Necropolis is more powerful than it has ever been. We’ve almost five hundred liches alone.”

“And of those five hundred how many had ever seen a real fight?” Ackeron countered, “I’ll tell you, before the Charigris’ incident there were forty-five. Now there are just thirty. And it’s bad across the board, not just us. The Academy Vulcanus are auditing their records, they’ve lost no less than a hundred cults without even knowing it. That’s a hundred elementals dead and enough traitors amongst their people they’re facing a civil war.”

“Okay so that’s pretty grim, but-”

“He’s not finished yet.” Elder interrupted, “It gets worse. And some of it is your fault.”

“My fault?!” Natalya growled, “In what possible way?”

“Your expedition to the Underreath, while it destroyed a terrible threat to Reath itself in the long term, has left huge areas where a demonic incursion could build its numbers. We’ll come back to that later, you should hear all of it before I start handing out orders.”

“Very well.”

“Von Mori lies dead, and the forest itself is at war with the Paladin Protectorate, both have taken terrible casualties and show no signs of stopping. That’s not to mention several towns our side of the border have been nearly overrun by angry forestguard, which were being stymied until Vulcanus withdrew the pyromancers stationed there. At least one god lies dead to the west, and to top it all off several of the Umbral Temple’s nightblades have disappeared without trace.”

Natalya winced, “Okay so we’re pretty much ripe for picking. What do you want me to do?”

“Three things.” The ancient head of her order told her, “One, I want you to lead our expedition into the Underreath. Make the area defensible again. Two, once you’ve done that, go to Circulus Seruatis, assess the damage there and report it back to me.”

“That all dovetails nicely with my own plans so, happy to oblige. And thirdly?”

“Thirdly, should you be selected as Head Gardener, in the event of my death, I want you to promise to look after Elder.”

“You can’t be serious!” Elder snapped, “I’m seven hundred years old! I do not need a babysitter!”

“I am serious. You’ve never left this garden. You have no idea the sorts of monsters that lurk just outside that door. If I could sleep then thoughts of Merida discovering you exist would keep me awake at night.” Ackeron snapped back. “For so many people you would be nothing but a weapon and I refuse to let that happen.”

Natalya resisted the urge to back away slowly, “What makes you so sure of my pure intentions?”

“Absolutely nothing, pure of heart you are not, but you are prideful, if you give me your word then you’ll keep it.” Ackeron explained.

“I don’t know about that sir, I’ve honestly never felt less proud of myself in my life.” Nat admitted, hoping to wiggle her way out of her potential promotion.

“You’ll recover.” The lich reassured her, placing his hand on her shoulder, “I can’t order you to do this, as much as I dearly want to, but please Natalya, you have a daughter. I need to know she’ll be okay.”

“I won’t promise to become Head Gardener.” Natalya told him stiffly,”… but I will make sure whoever does keeps her safe.”

Ackeron slowly nodded, “Then I wish you good luck on your travels. You have until the morning to make your goodbyes.”