The aftermath of the second attack was quiet and calm. Once Idris had been collected from the guard post, Lila settled him on the steps of the local tavern and went to help Kurellan collect the bodies. Twelve guards died.

Idris sat, numb, taking account. Pieces of wood were littered on the cobblestones. Papers and scrolls had blown out of broken windows. The townsfolk poked their heads out of their homes, checking to see if it was safe. The bells around town sang death arias, deep and pure and untainted, but Idris did not wish to hear them. If he could have blocked them from his brain, he would, but even if all of the bells were shattered, the notes would still cry in his ears.

Eventually, Willard settled beside him and patted his left knee. Lila had been kind enough to bring a blanket, to hide the missing foot.

“We’ll get you inside,” the hedge witch said softly, “somewhere you can rest, eh?”

Idris shifted.

“No.”

Willard raised his eyebrows. “No?”

“No, I… I have to study. There are things I do not know, that I need to know. I need books, and… and crystals…”

The only solution for ignorance was study. Idris needed a library, to rebuild his confidence, and he needed it now, or he would not sleep or eat without worry. The black figure had thrown down the gauntlet and Idris needed to pick it up and run with it.

“Idris… I ain’t been a-knowing you for long,” said Willard, “but you look poorly. Thin and sleepy. You can’t work like this.”

“Sir Idris,” said Kurellan, approaching. He took one look at Idris’s drawn face and his whole demeanour shifted from business to concern. “Lila? Girl?” he said instead. Behind him, Lila’s head popped up from around a cart. “Come. Take your master to a room in the diplomatic bureau. Bathe him, feed him, put him to bed. We will deal with this in the morning.”

“No, I must tell you what I learned,” said Idris, suddenly feeling feverish, like his voice was too loud. He tried to push himself up, forgetting his foot; Willard held him down with friendly force while Kurellan finally unlocked the manacles from around Idris’s hands. “The… the necromancer, he was…”

“I will not hear you until sun-up tomorrow,” said Kurellan, turning around and returning to his work.

Lila came past Kurellan, and without a word wrapped her arms around Idris and hugged him tight. He held her fiercely and, finally, he felt like all of the weight he had been carrying was gone. The tears started to come in his breath, and she squeezed him harder.

“Not here,” she whispered. “Come. Gently, now. Willard, do you have him?” she asked, pulling away.

“Aye.”

“On your feet, Sir Idris. Slowly.”

“Lila, please, I will only go to bed if you take these notes to Kurellan,” Idris begged. She nodded, her arm around his back, Willard holding up his shoulders. “I need supplies. Crystals and bells. Salts. Wine. Water. Texts. I… I think I know which ones I want – The Necromancer’s Almanac and, um… oh, Circles and Lines. And… um…”

“That is quite enough,” said Lila amicably. “I will get it done.”

Inch by inch, they made their way back to the building where Idris had very recently been imprisoned. Instead of downstairs, Willard investigated the upstairs and found a diplomat’s study that was not in use, with a full bath, a desk and a bed.

“And a copy of Aria Stances in Practice,” Idris said, remembering suddenly.

“He like this all the time?” said Willard, lending his hand again. Lila smiled.

“He is. Yes.” To Idris, “This is going to be some jumping, Sir Idris.”

“I… yes, I have it.”

The study was a small island of calm and soft orange light. Willard drew water for a bath while Lila inspected Idris’s condition.

“Are you hurt?” she said, holding both of his hands.

“I… yes. Everywhere.”

“You can cry now, if you want.”

The girl who knelt before him was not the girl he remembered from court. She was still his friend, his perfect confidant, but she looked like a young soldier, her hair tied in a thick braid, her clothing dirtied and torn and stinking of horse and mud.

“Oh Lila,” he whispered, letting the tears fall, “I am so sorry.”

“No, none of that,” she said, hugging him again. “I am glad you are alive and that I found you.”

He could not express all the hatred, twisting and vicious, that lived inside him, so he did not try. Instead, he hugged her and cried, and she rubbed his back and told him everything was going to be taken care of. Eventually, she turned to Willard to help Idris to the bath, and she left with the list of books to procure.

“Now then, Master Dead-Talker,” said Willard kindly, “a real bath, eh? No need to be shy. We’ll get the muck out of your hair and some new clothes, too. Steady there.”

They rested his stump on the lip of the bath; Willard tended to that, first, while Idris scrubbed the dirt off his skin.

“Miss Lila was right worried,” the hedge witch said. “Why’d you go a-running off like that? Thought we were going to go together.”

It seemed like the right thing to do at the time, but Idris could hardly say so. Instead, he shook his head and picked dirt out of his fingernails, examined the chafed bruises on his wrists. Willard watched, his dark eyes filled with more understanding than Idris deserved.

“Well.” Willard tied his hair up. “It’s a good job she’s smart as a hare. Elsewise I think you’d have been in a right pickle all over again.”

Lila brought clothes and some of the supplies Idris had asked for; she had helped Idris bathe so many times that she did not bat an eye. She promised that the archivists were looking for the texts and all he had to worry about was sleeping through the night.

By the time Idris was dressed in bedclothes and settled, his brain felt empty. He ate the medicines Willard gave him and accepted the lotions that Lila rubbed on his sore muscles, and he fell asleep with the green glow still haunting the back of his eyelids.

*

“… Idris would not want you to –“

“He accepted it! Because… because he thinks that is all he deserves.”

“Steady, Miss Lila, he’s still a-sleeping. I know it’s painful, but…”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Idris kept his eyes closed and his back turned. Even from that small snippet of conversation, he knew immediately that Lila had found out about his treatment at Kurellan’s hands, and he did not want to talk about it. All of the inadequacies from yesterday bubbled up from his stomach and he lay, stiller than a sleeping person should, waiting for someone to tell him he was a failure.

“Maybe,” Willard continued softly, “that’s why he hurried off alone, eh? Because he guessed it would be bad? He wouldn’t’ve wanted you to see that, Miss Lila. You couldn’t’ve done nothing to help.”

“Kurellan crippled his only hope of beating that…” Lila flailed for the word, and found none. “The Queen will not stand for this. Not when she finds out.”

“That’s for another time.”

Involuntarily, Idris coughed, groaned at the dull ache it caused in his chest and spine, and instantly Lila and Willard abandoned their talk and came to his side. Lila pressed the back of her hand to his brow.

“Morning, sleepy-head,” said Willard, his smile genuine and wide. “Bright dreams?”

“I am quite well, Lila,” said Idris. “Not feverish at all.”

“It never hurts to check, Sir Idris,” she said. “I brought breakfast. I must insist you eat before you do anything else.”

He nodded.

It was easy to be fussed over, and Idris supposed it was necessary. While he tackled a meal and a pot of tea, Willard threw small medicinal cakes and mashes amidst the bread and cheese and made sure Idris ate them, and Lila washed and combed his hair, although she pulled more than she usually did. They could not prevent him from having Circles and Lines open under his left hand while these things took place.

He did not want to think about his imprisonment or the subsequent realisation of his worthlessness. All he wanted to do was learn how to beat this when he faced it a third time. If he stayed busy, nobody could ask him about the bruises on his wrists and knees, or the graze beside his eye, or why he was so thirsty all the time. It was clear, though, that questions were all Lila and Willard had. Every time Idris saw them open their mouths or settle against the desk beside him, he began detailing the lessons he was relearning or pointing out things to look for in his form next time.

“Lila,” he said at last, “I would like my boot. I must investigate the breakage in the gate, and –“

But when he turned, Lila had her arms folded tight, and Willard made himself scarce, citing that he wanted to fetch some mountain herbs for more poultices.

“I will pull rank if necessary,” said Idris quietly, seeing the dissent on Lila’s face.

“You should not have a boot on with your leg the way it is. Sir,” she added firmly. “And besides…”

“I do not have the luxury of time, Lila. The other necromancer will only have come through Harran Pass to reach the kingdom proper and there are several small villages on the way that cannot stand against him.” Idris picked up his crutches that Willard had brought. “If you will not fetch it, I will fetch it myself.”

“The person who hates you the most has always been you, and you know it,” Lila said, with terrible force, and then it was so quiet that Idris could have sworn the death arias stopped, too.

Slowly, he placed the crutches back down and returned to his book, but he did not take in anything on the page.

“How could you let him treat you that way?” said Lila. “Like… like an animal? Like a common thief? You could have – if you had waited, we could be halfway home by now. Why didn’t you tell me what he did?”

“Because I knew you would be upset, and what Kurellan chose to do matters very little right now,” said Idris, without turning.

“I could smack you,” she seethed.

“If it would make you feel better, you are well within your rights to.”

“You need to rest. You need to eat and sleep and take care of your body,” she said, gentler now, coming to his side. “You cannot hope to fight this other… whatever he is if –“

“If I do not study, if I do not find out how I failed,” he started, and then he fell quiet, his voice choked with tears. Lila put a careful hand on his shoulder. “The command did not even leave a mark on me,” Idris said. “On him. On anything. The aria was in me and I breathed and felt it but… something was wrong, I…”

“You are hurt,” she said. “Even Magus Arundale would struggle in this state.”

“Maybe you are right.”

“Give yourself some credit, Sir Idris.”

He shook his head. “I deserve none.”

There was a quiet knock on the door behind them. Lila stiffened, like a hunting dog.

“If that is Kurellan,” she said.

“Let him in,” said Idris.

She sighed, then said, “Yes, Sir Idris.”

Usually, Lila would greet Kurellan, but this time, she said nothing as she opened the door. Idris turned to see if there was a problem and saw her leaving Kurellan at the door as she tidied up the room. The old judge stood awkwardly for a moment, then glanced at the desk.

“Working hard I see, Sir Idris,” he said. Idris nodded.

“Yes. The casualties?”

“The pyre is burning as we speak.” Idris nodded again, but Kurellan did not settle into his usual, self-important behaviour. Instead, he put his tongue in his cheek, looked at the prosthetic foot sitting at the end of the bed. “We should talk,” he said.

“I cannot travel far.”

“I understand.”

“Lila?” She took a deep breath, cast a sulky look at Idris. “Would you give us a moment? I am sure Willard will be grateful for anything you can do to assist him.”

“Sir Idris,” she said, bowing, and practically shoved past Kurellan on her way out.

“She is… rather upset,” said Idris, turning his chair around. “It would be wise to apologise to her.”

Kurellan simply nodded, his brow furrowed. Idris motioned him to a seat on the bed, and Kurellan sat, placing his sheathed sword on the sheets.

“Tell me everything,” Kurellan said, his voice low and husky.

Idris did so. The judge did not interrupt, nodded occasionally, sucked his cheeks. When the story was done and Idris had finished detailing everything he saw from the guard bridge, Kurellan stirred and shrugged.

“We can’t hurt those… faces,” he said. “No amount of stabbing or arrow-fire will pierce them.”

“They are, categorically, undead. The question is how, and from where. But I cannot stress enough, Your Honour, how different the aria felt. How… tainted. There was something else in it. And the wielder, he hardly seemed tired. He walked with ease.” Idris paused, scared to admit to his gruff superior what he would not admit to Willard or Lila. “I was powerless against it,” he said. “I could not… could not grasp the aria. I could follow it. It was mine. Or, rather, it was ours. But whatever else was inside the aria, it barred me from entering.”

“Hence…” Kurellan waved at the books, and Idris nodded.

The tension between them was more awkward and embarrassed than bitter. Kurellan, usually eagle-eyed and focused on Idris, had his eyes cast anywhere but the desk and the chair. The boot sat between them, silent and damning.

“The city guard has started repairs,” Kurellan said. “No civilian casualties.”

“That is a blessing.”

“You… you were right,” the old judge said. “About the wounds. Blades, I reckon. But I saw nobody. Nothing but the faces.”

“It is hard to see anything when the green light is obscuring everything.”

“True.”

Idris supposed he would have to break the ice. “Judge Kurellan… you do not need to feel… I understand why you thought it was me. I hold no ill-will –“

“Prejudice is not supposed to be the bread and butter of a good judge,” Kurellan interrupted, finally looking at Idris. “I treated you harshly. You and the girl both. My personal opinion of the art of necromancy should not have affected my decisions. Neither should my fear. And…” His eyes flicked down to Idris’s wrapped stump. “If I had known –“

“Then you would have treated me differently since the first day we met, and I do not wish to be given any special treatment,” said Idris flatly. “I can work. It is largely cosmetic.”

“Losing a whole foot is not what I would call ‘cosmetic’. I… assumed you lost it in the war, but…”

“Long before then.”

“I see.”

“It is mostly my pride which stings, but that will pass.” Idris picked up his crutches. “Will you accompany me? I should investigate the scene, but Lila insisted I stayed inside.”

“Certainly, Sir Idris.”

Kurellan walked with Idris all up and down Harran Pass. He held crutches when Idris knelt to examine residue and blood splatters and shielded him from the soldiers when they passed. Idris’s investigation told him what he already guessed – the green glow left nothing behind but an aria and the corpses burning in the field outside the gate were not created by them. He stood outside the diplomatic outpost, frowning, wondering.

“What?” said Kurellan, seeing the look on his face.

“I have questions I cannot answer here. How quickly can we leave?”

“Leave Harran Pass? Are you sure you want to do that?”

“I am. I need to see this other necromancer when he is not at work, and he is currently ahead of us. I will not allow him to raze a town of civilians, not without us two steps behind him.”

“To mobilise any of the guards or soldiers, it could take two days.”

“Then we leave without any.”

“Sir Idris –“

“Give me the answer you would give me if you did not know about my missing limb,” said Idris, more firmly than he wanted to. Kurellan paused.

“Then we will leave at dawn,” the old man said.

“Thank you.”

The frustration in Idris’s shoulders was nothing new. He had long ago got bored of euphemistic conversations and decisions regarding his leg; it was one of the reasons why he disliked people knowing anything about it. Perhaps Kurellan did deserve a little cold treatment, but not for this. This was not his fault.

Lila was back in the room when they returned, tapping her foot, with Willard preparing more mixtures and powders for Idris’s care. She turned pink when he came back with Kurellan, who bowed low to her and offered her an incredibly sincere apology. Lips pursed, she nodded her acceptance, and told Idris to sit so he could rest properly.

“No time,” he said. “We leave at dawn.”

“We?” said Willard, looking up.

“We have a necromancer to catch,” said Idris, picking up the copy of The Necromancer’s Almanac on the bed. “And I have reading to do.”