The following morning, Asrael was glad to have been spared the experience of his castration. It had only taken him about an hour to consider his condition and how little hormones would do for the undead, as his blood no longer circulated the substances... no; this girl’s curse was something more profound than that. She was toying with his mind- his very private, unique mind. Despite her insight into the Rifts and some deity beyond his understanding, he decided that, should she come to pester him again; Kester would need to kill her. There could be no other solution to the conundrum- death was the only option for her.

“I’m not riding that.” Kester insisted. Asrael perked up at the sound of the annoying innkeeper and looked up at the glorious creature fighting the stablemaster ahead of them.

“Oh, I never intended to allow you to ride Yurgen. He is mine.” Asrael spoke sternly to his enslaved companion. Kester looked to Asrael with displeasure and scoffed. “All right, so... where’s my horse?” Asrael glanced about the stable. “How am I supposed to know where you have misplaced your beast? In spite of what your simple mind might have come to believe, I am not a seer- I am only endlessly more intelligent than you.”

And so it was that the monstrously large camel and Asrael led the way for the heaving, sweaty mess that was, what had in essence, become the necromancer’s familiar- down the long, paved road leading up to the nearby village of Gresden- a farming-town, surrounded on all sides by endless fields of wheat and barley. But it was neither the wheat, nor the town’s world-renowned prostitutes that had taken the two there, but rather; the dilapidated, rotten inn nestled in the midst of the equally poorly construed houses.

Kester suspected he was at death’s door by the time he finally caught up to the necromancer and his joyously chewing camel- heaving and sweating profusely. Asrael looked up to the grassy roof and leaned back and forth to look in between the boards at the interior of the room. He leapt off from Yurgen and led the hungry beast over towards the stables, where he deftly tied the creature up in one of the free stalls. Kester watched the cruel tyrant in amazement- somehow surprised he knew the first thing about caring for the living- it certainly did not seem that way by the treatment he was giving him.

“This place looks a smidgen better than the hellhole you call your tavern.” Asrael muttered as he stepped up to the man sweating on his knees before the entryway. Kester would accept much... but not that.

“What!? This place looks like shit- look! The wood’s untreated-” Asrael waved the man off with a mutter; “Your jealousy is unbefitting of a servant of mine. Now, come. We’ve experiments to run and hopefully... we will find suitable subjects for it.” He grabbed hold of his slave by the shoulder and dragged him inwards- pressing past the door to make his order.

----------------------------------------

Back within the walled city, Bess’ loud, shrieking giggles scratched against Barrel’s eardrums as Neda channeled her magic into her freshest technique. The padded room’s atmosphere swirled at Neda’s whim- upset winds and chaotic streams of air blew the girl’s long, golden hair everywhichway. The howling winds came to a sudden halt as once again, she failed in her efforts to knock her handsome host over. His lips curled up in a bemused frown as he stepped across the room to lay a hand atop the disappointed desert-dweller's shoulder and say; “That was good, Neda. We are making steady progress-”

Neda shook her head sternly and sighed. “It’s not good enough... If I can’t even knock someone over, how am I gonna be of any help to-…" Barrel set down the fan and contorted his face into a pained grimace.

Gerathar chuckled and tapped her shoulder twice before reaching behind his back to retrieve a silver-glinting, finely crafted dagger. “I have no doubt that, in time; your magic will prove far more useful than you give it credit for... but until then... I suppose that friend of yours can teach you how to use this.” He held the dagger out by the blade and urged Neda to grab it.

She had held a knife before- she knew how they worked... usually. Stick ‘em with the pointy end. But this one... even before her hand had closed around the metallic hilt, she could tell that it was different. It hummed the same way her magic did- as if pleading for her to extend her energies into it. She looked up to see Gerathar smile his devilish smile down at her and say; “It is crafted from a metal we know as ‘Tritium’. It is capable of storing and to some extent; make use of magical energy. Please; try it.”

Neda was eager to earn some utility to her magic and did as she had been instructed. She closed her eyes and felt the vibrating energy inside her right arm extend through the pores in her fingers and out into the metal, where the dagger began to vibrate and... sing. She opened her eyes to see the dagger as it tickled her palm with its vibrant, slight movements.

“Sadly; I am not one to instruct on the fineries of hand-to-hand combat, but I am certain one of your companions may know a thing or two when it comes to fighting with blades.” She turned it over in her hand. It was undoubtedly the finest thing she had ever owned- a real weapon, the likes of which was usually reserved for the hunters and certainly not one of the magic-children. She opened her mouth to dismiss the gift, only for him to shake his head and chuckle at her.

“It is the least I could do. You took the time to have a dinner with me, only for me to be whisked away by the Duke.”

Her proud grin faded for a moment as she said; “N-no, it was fun- it really was. I’m sorry about coming back here in the middle of the night, but some stuff happened-”

Gerathar clapped her shoulder and smiled up at her- again weakening the desert-dweller's knees with the power of his smile. “Oh, nothing to worry about. I understand. Perhaps, if destiny wills it, we may try again for another meeting tonight- if you wish to, of course.” Her lips parted in an all-too-eager grin as she nodded whole-heartedly.

“I’d like that. Maybe you could teach me some more stuff, then.” Maribelle could not help but smile as she saw the unmistakable signs of budding love- the touches, the smiles- the nervous giggles of both of them.

Finally; he bowed and signaled his departure with “Well. I shall not keep you- please. Feel free to wander as you would like. It is as much your mansion as it is mine.”

Neda and Maribelle watched his glorious posterior depart through the main entryway- out into the strange world of businesses far above the heads of any of his visitors. After the door closed in his wake, the tavernkeeper’s wife looked to the thoughtful desert-dweller with a smirk and questioned; “So... rough night?”

It took Neda a moment to remember that it had, in fact, been a rough night.

Arm-in-arm; the two women wandered through the arboretum, closely followed by the driver who had, somehow, become responsible for wrangling the frantic child. Neda had never considered Maribelle’s wisdom, but upon realizing that she was well-bewandered in the world beyond the wastes and- more importantly- men; Neda could think of none better to explain her conundrum to. The tavernkeeper’s wife had listened intently- never once stopping her to question, not even as she detailed Asrael's tight grip on his scrotum.

“So... I left... and came here...” Neda grabbed her left elbow and looked up at the tall, flowerless stalk ponderously. Maribelle cleared her throat and struggled to think of anything other than Asrael’s nutsack and muttered a hushed; “O-oh my...” Recovering from her stupor, the gentle mother continued; “W-well... For what it’s worth, I think you’re better off here. That disgusting man has no business having a beauty like you around him- especially if he doesn’t appreciate you. Honestly; those two are cut from the same cloth.” Maribelle shook her head.

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

Neda looked to Maribelle and choked back her desire to protest and instead asked; “Those two?” Maribelle nodded. “Yeah, Kessie hasn’t been here to visit us once, you know. He’s always so busy with that inn of his that he’s-…" She looked about the arboretum before leaning close to Neda to whisper; “He hasn’t fucked me in months.” Whether due to the unexpectedness of her offhanded comment or due to the message itself; Neda could not stop herself from giggling.

Mirroring Maribelle, she glanced about and whispered; “I’ve never been. Unless you count Lena’s fingers, but I don’t really think that counts...”

Maribelle seemed surprised to hear it and questioned; “So you and that man- you never...” She made some motions with her hands, but Neda shook her head. “No. D’you think we should’ve?” Maribelle seemed relieved to hear it and shook her head.

“Gods no. Not with him... Gerathar, though... I mean; he’s got it all- look at this place. And he’s handsome.” Neda could scarcely disagree, but...

“Y-yeah... but I’m not sure if I’d react the same way if Gerathar been doing that stuff with that whore. I’m confused... I mean; As-… that guy’s so ugly. He’s mean and nasty, but I was so sad when I saw it. It hurt here.” Neda motioned for the bottom of her neck. Surprisingly; Maribelle seemed to understand her plight and nodded.

“Yeah, it happens. Us girls are complicated, that way... But I think maybe you’re confusing your feelings there. Maybe you’re just worried about losing him as your buddy? If that girl’s everything you say she is, then maybe you’re scared of her replacing you.” Neda raised her hand to her chin ponderously... it made sense. What could she give Asrael that the white-haired beauty couldn’t? According to him; she was a powerful magus and she was beautiful, to boot... simply spoken; she was everything Neda was and then endlessly more. Maribelle leaned forwards to touch the flower’s long, thin stalk and smile.

“Don’t let him ruin what you could have here with Gerathar. It’s obvious he likes you, you know.” Perhaps he did- perhaps she liked him in turn, but... Neda could not shake the sensation that something about Gerathar was slightly... off. More so than with Asrael.

Maribelle eventually giggled and motioned between the two. “Look at us; having a girl’s talk. I bet those boys are out there- drinking and dancing as if we never even existed.” Neda followed the demonstrative finger and took a measure of solace in that, despite what would ever happen between her and the necromancer, at least she would have a friend in the tavernkeeper’s wife.

----------------------------------------

“Now, slave, I need you to pay close attention. These needles are coated with the poison we made this morning. It is important you do not stick yourself with any of these needles.” Asrael motioned for the needles laid out atop several papers atop the desk of their cramped, filthy room. Kester sat on the bed- rocking back and forth while shaking his head- hoping he could somehow blot the frightening man out from his mind as he continued; “Your dreath would invoncenience me... now, the three rooms next to us are occupied; the first from the left with two inhabitants, the other two with two. It will allow us to test all the different concentrations I concocted- are you paying attention!?” Kester yelped and hurriedly nodded.

“Y-yes, but for fuck’s sake- I'm not an assassin! I’m a tavernkeeper!” Asrael raised his pale, flat palm at him and corrected; “You are a failed tavernkeeper... but you may prove a capable assassin- how would you dismiss it without ever having tried your hand at it? No- that is not important now. What is important is that we find the concentration to paralyze our foe without killing them.”

Kester swallowed the contents of his dry mouth and continued rocking back and forth. “S-so... this is... deadly stuff?” Asrael dragged a hand over his face and nodded.

“I swear; you are trying to irk me. Yes. It is extremely toxic- in fact; suffering from its undiluted toxin is said to be one of the worst imaginable forms of death. Your skin will blister, you will develop a fever the likes of which no bacterium can provoke and finally; every nerve in your body will send jolts of pain to-”

Kester raised his hands dismissively and shook his head. “Gods above, man... what if I prick myself on one of those things!?”

Asrael scratched his chin and looked to the four needles in turn ponderously. “As much as I appreciate your dedication to the sciences, I have need for you. If you must, then try not to inject yourself with more than one of the different concentrations.” Kester rubbed his face aggressively while choking back more tears. Could he really do it? Kill those people?

“Now, go! They should be fast asleep- I did not have you spend two-dozen gold pieces on inebriating them, only for you to dawdle here. Now go!” Kester stepped over towards the table and hesitantly took one of the fine, long needles and stepped out in the dark hallway, where he cautiously stepped up to rest his hand on the first door on the right. He pondered which one of them it’d been- which one of the tavern’s visitors would be the one misfortunate enough to suffer his assault first.

The rusted hinges creaked open to reveal a still-dressed man in tattered rags- the vagrant who had drunk nearly everything Kester had offered him throughout the evening. He lay on the bed in a chaotic mess of arms and legs- unconscious as could be by the expensive spirits now coursing through his vasculature. He leaned down to his bedside and raised the needle in between his tremoring fingers and paused just above his skin. A loud, elongated groan sounded from the man’s pillow- startling the wayward tavernkeeper enough to provide him the necessary motivation to jab the needle forward and finally jab it through his eyelid. Kester’s stomach coiled in knots as he delivered the lethal payload and immediately jerked the needle back to throw it to the far corner of the room... what had he done? If, by some miracle, the necromancer wasn’t insane, then he had just killed this man- cursed him to suffer a long, drawn-out death by poison. He felt nauseous to the pit in his stomach- disgusted with his own wrongdoing. The man jerked upright- clenching his left eye while scanning the darkness with a slack jaw and a wild gaze. A moment later; the man slammed back onto his pillow and groaned aloud.

He could not bear to watch the man suffer and thusly; he immediately bolted out the door and leapt back into the chamber of his oppression to suffer the glare of his unnerving companion, whose impatient taps on the table signaled his displeasure.

“Well!? Take the next needle and get to it!” Kester turned around to protest, only to shirk away at the sight of the green, bagged eyes.

“N-no, I w-won't!” The Necromancer shot up from the chair and widened his eyes demonstratively. “Listen to mee, you oaf. These toxins need to be tested tonight if we are to stick to our strict schedule. Either you do it on the other visitors or I test them on you- beginning with the weakest, of course. I am certain that, in time, we will find the right balance to bring you to the brink of death... then... I will keep you there- paralyzed, feverish and I will cut-” Kester raised his hands and signaled his understanding that once again... there really was no choice.

“F-fine... I’ll- I’ll do it... but their blood is on your hands- this isn’t my doing!” Asrael looked to the slave with a suspicious, sideways smirk.

“If it makes you feel morally superior, I will take the burden of their deaths from you. Blame me all you wish, but get to it.”

Asrael waited impatiently for the slow tavernkeeper to finish his work. If this project led to the sought-after results, then they would be well on their way to finally building his army... all he needed was more of the potent toxin- not much, by his account... but at least one more flower. Dreadfully, there was only one place he could imagine the harlot had gotten her hands on one of the rare plants in the first place- that disgusting, boot-licking fool... that Gerathar. Just thinking about the man made his blood boil- thinking of asking for his assistance made him feel as filthy as he viewed the wildling girl. No... he would never stoop so low- not when he could use his simpleton companions to do his bidding.

“Perhaps the girl can be useful, after all...”