Judge Kurellan’s office was in the main palace complex and Idris had been there twice. The first time was his first official job as Court Necromancer, when he was barely eighteen, and he had knocked over a bust of Kurellan’s grandfather with his new prosthetic foot and left in shame not long after. After that, he had tried to visit as little as possible, so the second time he only went because the Queen commanded it, and it was war time, after all. There were a good many stairs that led up the tower to the room, which Idris always forgot about and cursed when he found himself at the bottom of them.

“This is a punishment,” he whispered to himself as he gripped the rail.

The prosthetic that had been put on him that afternoon was his ‘house foot’, as he called it – comfortable, dull and bootless. It was the final ‘temporary’ foot that had been made for him before he stopped growing, around age nineteen, and as such it was worn and softer on his skin. He masked it with long trousers but it made a wooden clunk with every step; it was more pegleg than foot. He had tried to coax Lila into giving him his best, but she fixed him with a steely glare and pulled the straps tight.

“Judge Kurellan should be coming to you,” she had said, “not making you walk all the way over there in your state, sir.”

It was a fair comment, but he did not want the pity of his noble colleagues, so he bit his tongue and let Lila finish.

He was the final person up the hexagonal tower. Willard, standing by the door, smiled and shuffled aside to let him in. Idris, sweaty and breathless, bowed his head at Kurellan and Riette. Cressida, seated at the table, raised her eyebrows at his foot.

“I haven’t seen that old thing for many years,” she said.

“It does not get public outings usually, Majesty, but by now everyone in here has seen me much worse. Your Honour, forgive my state,” he added; Kurellan shrugged. “Lady Riette, it is unbecoming for a lady such as yourself to have to look upon me this way. I apologise.”

“It is good to see you well rested, noble sir,” Riette said, pulling out a chair for him. “Willard, please do join us.”

“Lila is on the way, she had an errand,” Idris added as he sat, “so leave the door ajar, if you would.”

“Aye.”

Willard himself looked transformed. The palace staff had clearly taken the liberty of providing him with clothes more befitting to his new apprenticeship – a smart leaf-green shirt and a handsome brown coat, with turned-up mustard trousers to match, but when he sat, Willard wriggled his bare toes at Idris and winked.

“They’ll never get me in boots,” he whispered. Idris smiled.

“Remind me to give you my store of hair ribbons, now I no longer need them.”

Willard neatened the green bow that held his hair up and beamed at him.

“’Spose I’m fancy palacefolk now.”

“You are a fae noble, and should be treated as such,” Idris reminded him.

“Ah, hush now, Master Dead-Talker,” said Willard, nudging his thigh. “Still plain old Willard, thank you.”

While they waited for Lila, Idris reacquainted himself with Kurellan’s office. Where they sat was a huge map desk, which now had a map of Braemar spread over its surface, complete with model guard towers and walls that Kurellan kept in a chest on the shelves. The room was made of the same coral marble as the rest of the palace but it felt dark, with the red-and-brown tiles on the floor and the mahogany furniture dotted around the space. Beside the writing desk was the infamous bust on a plinth; behind the desk hung Kurellan’s broadsword, and a set of show armour sat on a dummy by the door. The remaining trappings of the room told the story of a well-educated soldier, who prized justice above all. It was the room Idris would have designed for Kurellan, had he had the chance.

“Apologies,” said Lila, bowing at the door. “I had acquisitions to collect from the library.” She did her greetings, bowing to all those who were ranked higher than herself, and was surprised when she was offered a seat at the table. “Majesty?” she checked.

“Lila, you are Sir Idris’s attendant, and you will be required for this venture to succeed. You are also rather fearsome with a sword and I would like to use that particular skill,” Cressida said.

Lila nervously bunched her skirt in her fists, but she sank into a chair at Idris’s side and nodded to him.

“Sir.”

“Lila.”

“Good, we are all here,” said Kurellan, looking up at the table. “Then we will begin.”

He set out the pawns – one of Cressida’s sea serpent, one of a magpie, one of a mountain cat which Idris assumed was the crest of the DeTrentavilles, two black clematis, one larger than the other, and a freshly carved plump pig.

“Braemar is an industrial city just west of Veridia,” said Kurellan, as if briefing a roomful of soldiers. “It comprises of roughly six thousand residents, a thousand of which

are military or guard personnel, and around a hundred of which are aria adept. The city is ringed by a wall made of grey brick and has a total of twelve functioning guard posts and towers, as you can see on the map. Outside of Braemar are two stretches of arable land, mostly kept for horses and cattle. Here, West Edge Field. And here, Braemar Field.”

Kurellan placed a yellow painted marker on Braemar Field. Idris suppressed a shiver and pursed his lips. On the map, it looked miniscule. He remembered it larger, running seemingly forever towards the horizon, littered with bodies as the wall crumbled behind him.

“Three major roads run into and out of Braemar. East to west, north to south, and one diagonal that heads alongside Braemar Field and is the official trade route through town. The walls on either side of this trade route entrance, thanks to the war, are dilapidated and undergoing repairs, and currently feature heavy scaffolding.” Kurellan placed red markers along the wall where the damage was heaviest. “Lady DeTrentaville and I believe that if our necromancer is approaching Veridia and needs a ready supply of necrotic energy, it will be down this road, across Braemar Field, and through the wall, using the trade route to reach the palace.”

“I have spoken with the captain of the Braemar guard,” said Riette, leaning forwards, “and he knows he can cover the road with the forces he has. He is in the process of teaching the soldiers about the green ghosts and preparing them to face the necromancer.”

“The other issue,” said Kurellan, “is that we believe the necromancer has planted dissidents along his route.” He dropped small black squares along the road, inside of Braemar’s walls. “We have no way of identifying these people but they have good weaponry and have been taught how to kill.”

“They usually aim for the neck,” said Idris, indicating the spot on his jugular. “They also have burned weapon racks and killed horses to prevent retaliation or escape, so they have been instructed in basic warfare.”

“So, we evacuate, correct?” said Cressida, raising an eyebrow. “If we clear the houses, the dissidents must leave or face arrest.”

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“Evacuating Braemar would decimate the captain’s available forces,” said Riette. “It can be done, but it will make our work more difficult.”

“It is one man,” said the Queen, but Lila cleared her throat.

“If I may, Majesty?”

“Proceed.”

“The necromancer is… trained, I think. Not in necromancy, but as a knight, or a soldier. And he is armoured. I do not believe we should take him for granted.”

“That, and the more the dagger kills, the more energy it receives,” Idris added. “If he is forced to use it, it will only make him stronger.”

“The evacuation of Braemar would have to start today,” said Kurellan firmly, looking right at Cressida. “It would signal to the necromancer that he has a free run at us,

that we know what his plan is.”

“If the people stay,” said Willard, then, “oh, but I do beg your pardons, noble sirs and ladies –“

Cressida waved him to continue, and he puffed out his chest slightly and went on.

“The necromancer, he ain’t interested in the common folk. He ain’t hurt no citizens, only soldiers. Evacuating wouldn’t help no-one. It would only show him our dice.”

“True,” said Idris.

“Curfew,” Cressida said now, and the collected group nodded.

“Sir Idris?” said Kurellan, glancing his way now. “Your plan?”

Idris surveyed the map. He considered all of the information he had now, the work they had done. Gently, he lifted Kurellan’s magpie and placed it at the gate.

“We need the best men here. Barring entry. Soldiers three deep behind, to protect the flanks from attacks from inside the city. Lady DeTrentaville –“ He moved the mountain cat to the trade road, “- with the guards, watching the streets. Arresting any and all not adhering to the curfew.” He sighed. “The problem is that I need to be close. As in, he could stab me, close. If I am not close, the shard in my cane will not harm the dagger.”

“We need to trap him,” said Cressida.

“We need to trap us both,” said Idris.

It was silent. Riette tapped an area close to the trade gate.

“Braemar has a large public bath, with an underground drain and aqueduct. Your Majesty, may I?” she said, and Cressida nodded. “If we can lure him into the sewer – make him think the road ahead is impassable – then Sir Idris can be waiting for him below. It is narrow and there will not be any dissidents down there.”

Cressida leaned forwards, took her sea serpent and placed it on the trade route.

“I can stage a flash flood,” she said.

“That could work.”

Idris placed his clematis on the public bathhouse.

“Lila?” he said, handing her the smaller flower. She put it right beside his.

“A necromancer’s attendant’s job is to protect the casting necromancer,” she said clearly. “So I will be nearby. I will make sure he gets to you.”

“Master Willard?” said Kurellan. Willard twisted his lips.

“Might be I can call in a favour,” he said. “Me dad’s a pretty powerful fae prince. I figure he owes me. Are there woods nearby?”

“I am concerned about including the fae,” said Kurellan, but Cressida shook her head.

“As far as Master Willard has stated, he is family. The fae take that very seriously. If he can encourage co-operation about destroying a fae-made artefact? I am willing to send a contingent of soldiers to protect his entry into a fairy circle,” she said. “That is, if you feel safe enough to do so, Master Willard.”

“I do,” said Willard.

“I will provide barter for you,” said the Queen. “You will not go unprotected again. In House Naga, we protect our family, Master Willard. You have my backing.”

Willard blushed fiercely, but he nodded and bowed his head in thanks. Kurellan put the pig on the dark green edge of the map.

“Lady DeTrentaville and I will make the necessary arrangements,” he said. “Please provide my assistants with anything you provide to succeed. Hopefully, we can stop this madman in his tracks.”

“Do we know what he wants, yet?” said Cressida.

“No.”

“It is too close to the anniversary of the treaty to be a coincidence,” said Idris. “I wonder if he is attempting to derail the royal meeting.”

“A disruption from House Orrost?” said Riette, frowning. “I thought all of Lord Orrost’s sons signed the treaty, too?”

“We cannot know for sure unless we catch him,” said Cressida. “Meanwhile, I need people looking for any of these dissidents inside Veridia. We cannot have them armed in the city.”

The military people made military plans; Idris gazed wordlessly at the map, thinking of rain and sweat and the sound of crumbling masonry.

Once they were released, he returned to his rooms and delved into the texts Lila had procured for him, ancient scrolls with indecipherable runes and crudely drawn images. Willard sat on the floor, separating the papers into piles; Lila helped to make notes.

“Here it is,” Idris blurted out, several hours into the afternoon. “Here, the Spirit Glass armour.”

His companions huddled around his shoulders. On the tatty piece of parchment under his hand was a fearsome drawing of a knight in black armour, glowing green around him, holding a staff high in one hand and a dagger in the other. Horrific faces swirled around him. Soldiers ran in terror.

“What’s this language?” said Willard, frowning. Idris sighed.

“It is Old Imperial. I cannot read it. However…” He sifted through another text. “This book, it mentions this scroll specifically and provides a loose translation. ‘Here, the Dead Walker. Here, his victims, in endless misery. Here, fae cruelty and human ferocity combine.’” Idris ran his finger down the companion text. “It states the drawing is rather accurate. The author claims to have seen the pauldrons and the staff, before the staff was claimed by the fae.”

“Why would anyone make this?” said Lila.

“People make abominable things in war time,” said Idris.

“Does it say how to use it? How to break it?” said Willard, leaning in.

“It claims the knight wearing the armour must exert less will than the man holding only one artefact. With all the pieces together, they… feed each other,” read Idris. “The use of Spirit Glass requires only a rudimentary knowledge of aria existence and the

sheer strength of bodily energy of the user. In plainer speech,” he added, seeing Willard raise an eyebrow, “the Spirit Glass uses your life energy to work.”

Lila shuddered. “It… sucks life from you?” she said.

“It seems that way.” Idris read on. “The author says he saw a second image, likely lost to time. One where the knight takes off the helmet, and there is only a skull beneath.”

They did not speak. Idris sat back in his chair, looking out at the spring sunshine. The cane lay at the top of his desk.

“One thing that’s strange to me,” said Willard. “All these things do is make ghosts. Why is that bad? The ghosts don’t hurt no-one.”

“I fear without the full set, we may never know,” said Idris. “Perhaps with a more skilled user…”

“Do not tell me you are mourning the loss of this terrible armour,” said Lila firmly. “Think of what it would do to you.”

“You wouldn’t put it on, would you, Idris?” said Willard, his eyes concerned.

Idris did not answer. He did not know what to say.

Lila slapped him on the back of the head.

“Ow,” he protested, reaching up to rub the sting.

“I want you to feel that whenever you think about this Dead Walker armour,” she said, snatching up the book and picture. “For all your book learning, Sir Idris, you can be remarkably stupid.”

Willard watched her stomp into her quarters with the old admiration.

“She is beauty incarnate,” he whispered, leaning against the desk to better appreciate her.

“She is mean,” said Idris, still nursing the back of his head.

“She is right, though,” the hedge witch said, turning back to Idris. “That Spirit Glass is more knotty than we prolly think. I say we break that dagger and throw a party after.”

“Of course,” said Idris, although his mind was whirring.

It was late when the Court Historian responded to his request. Lila let him in with a suspicious glance towards Idris.

“I must insist you get good rest tonight,” she said, taking his wash basin through to his bedroom.

“This will only take a moment, Lila. Thank you. Please, sit,” Idris said to Archivist Uther, a stout gentleman with a thick beard and delicate hands.

“I spoke to the treasurers,” Uther said, settling onto Idris’s couch. “I must say, they were confused about your description. They said they had never seen the like. But I dug into the kingdom’s vault records and…”

He produced a ledger, opened it on his lap. Idris’s mouth was suddenly dry.

“One set of cursed pauldrons,” Uther read. “Dangerous to the touch. Encased and condemned.”

“Encased and condemned, what does that mean?” said Idris.

“It means a special chest was created to hold them, so they cannot harm anyone. Likely lined with sapping crystals. ‘Condemned’ means they are in the deepest section of the vault, quarantined from the rest. There are bricked-in cubbies where such items are kept.”

Bricked in. There was no way to retrieve them, then.

“My sincerest thanks, Archivist,” said Idris, bowing his head. “I am glad for the treasurers’ diligence in protecting the kingdom from such items.”

“In your note,” Uther said carefully, “you suggested there might be another item? A breastplate?”

“It is possible.”

“I will continue my research and return if and when I have news.”

“Excellent.”

Lila smacked him again when she passed, once Uther was gone.

“Do you not realise that this is why people don’t trust necromancers?” she fumed.

“I am merely curious, you do not need to assault me.”

“Go to bed.”

He did as he was told. He did not want any fresh bruises, after all.