Malik was a simple man. If he saw something tasty, he ate it. If he saw something interesting, he studied it. If he saw a body prime for resurrection, there was no force on Azura that could prevent him from trying to use it for his own nefarious means.
At least, no force outside of James Holter. The Jarl had a pact with Malik, one that described rules of engagement and respect for the dead. A stupid rule that had impeded the necromancer’s studies. In his humble opinion, the dead were already dead, their bodies nothing more than fodder and fertilizer. At least until he put it to use.
Malik thought it stupid that people ‘respected’ the dead. A corpse was useless on its own, it’s only saving grace being that of food for the worms in the dirt. Even then, in the harsh climate of Valenfrost, such a benefit for nature was short-lived. Not to mention those things that Holter feared. Bodies being burnt was an even bigger waste.
From the necromancer’s point of view, a dead body was an opportunity. An opportunity for the deceased to become useful after death. To actually have their death mean something. Not like the men who had ‘sacrificed’ their lives in Vindis. The men whose deaths did nothing but delay the inevitable.
If it hadn’t been for Malik’s army of dead, the Battle for Vindis would’ve ended very differently. Yet he was never thanked for such a feat. No, all the credit went to that dead veteran and dwarf, their ‘sacrifices’ credited for helping in their victory.
‘I’ll make them know my power. I’ll have them in awe of what I can do.’
Malik grinned as he approached the mountain path’s end, which led into the cave that had once held the Beholder Eye before that meddling Outlander had interfered. He walked into the cave, the hall lit with candles. While this place held no artifacts, it was still important for Malik.
Ley lines had a tendency to converge at certain points, most commonly in mountains and forests, where life usually prospered. While unimpressive in size and spectacle, the ley lines here converged into an interconnected web. Even cracked and shattered, these lines of power were still very useful, especially for Malik.
The necromancer stepped into the large chamber, the one that had once summoned James to this world. Where the Beholder Eye was held before that Outlander had destroyed it for good. Not that Malik cared for it. He was never going to get even close to unlocking its secrets without implanting it inside his own sockets. While crazy to some degree, Malik was more or less careful when it came to meddling with otherworldly beings that could drive him to insanity.
It wouldn’t do him any good to turn mad right when he was on the verge of figuring out immortality. True immortality.
‘Ah, but of course, that is for another time.’
Malik turned his gaze to the pitch black pool of water that sat in the chamber. It now held something else instead of that demonic eye. A corpse, wrapped in bandages and sealed with drawn glyphs. Malik had set this body here earlier this morning, before that meeting in the longhouse. He had planned to get to work on it the other day, but events had prevented him from doing so.
Malik had set up glyphs and a ritual circle around the pool of water, a line of salt drawn in a small circle in front of it. That was for him. While the chance of a rogue undead was small, Malik didn’t want to take chances. He had heard more than his fair share of stories about fellow necromancers getting killed by their own creations.
Malik reached into the satchel he brought along, his hand digging out a small crystalline jewel that glowed a soft purple. There was a tinge of red that lurked within the soul gem, the glow increasing as a result. Malik grinned.
“Almost, Marion. We’re almost there,” he cooed. The necromancer tucked it back into the satchel before he took out a thick grimoire, the leather cover wilted at the edges. The text on its front was written in Godspeak, the runic characters worn and nearly ineligible.
Malik reread the instructions for the ritual, the one designed to break divine blessings and engravings. It wouldn’t work on all divine magic, especially if it was recently blessed by Delphine herself, but the blessings on this particular body had eroded with time. Of course, the curses and binding glyphs Malik had placed on it weren’t making it any better.
He muttered to himself as he flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning the faded ink and drawn circles. After refreshing his memory, the necromancer placed the grimoire aside and cracked his knuckles. He let out a couple practice whispers and chants, his eyes closing as he prepared himself.
Malik soon lowered himself into the lukewarm pool of water, the bottom of his robes rising as he waded through. He reached the wrapped cadaver in the middle, his left hand placing itself over where the heart was. Malik then chanted.
His words came out as whispers, unintelligible for normal ears to pick up. Then his voice grew in volume, and the glyphs around him began to glow. The water shifted and splashed as time went on, yet the body did not react. Malik continued to chant, his tongue speaking a mixture of Godspeak and Azuran.
The body before him soon began to shudder, its back arching as it levitated. It floated a few centimeters from the pool of water, the glyphs on its bandages brightening to the point of blinding the necromancer. Malik grinned as his chanting grew intense, his words coming out in shouts and yells as the water formed into a cyclone of darkness.
Before he knew it, the glyphs on the cadaver were snuffed out in a display of sparks, the ritual circle’s glow growing dim. The pool of water grew still, and the body dropped back into it, sending out a wave.
Still grinning, Malik examined the body with a critical eye. After a moment, he laughed heartily. His hand reached into his robes, their fingers pulling out the same gem as before. Malik raised it over the body; the bandages around the heart burnt and loosened enough to showcase the bare chest of the dead woman.
“Summon Encased Soul.”
The gem glowed a bright purple, mist excreting from its crystalline surface. It flowed down the body below, converging around it.
Storing souls—imprints—in gems was an art that only he knew. He had learned it long ago from a fellow caster who had once been bent on creating dungeons near the Lumen province. The idiot had been following tradition, which involved him fighting an unwinnable war against the Lumen Kingdom—or Empire as it was called back then. Of course, this fool had died not long after Malik met him. Thankfully for the necromancer, however, the man had left him something very very useful.
“Now for the final piece of this puzzle,” he muttered as he pressed his hand against the cold corpse’s skin. The mist converged around his fingers, almost excitedly. Malik breathed in deeply, his eyes closing as he focused. This was another art he needed to be careful with, for if he misstepped, he could risk losing everything.
“Warmth to You. Bestow Life.”
Malik felt as a small well of power—separate from his key lines—deep inside him burned away a single reserve. Immediately after, a section of Malik’s memory was whisked away like a village being taken by a tidal wave. He didn’t know what it was he lost, only that he had made peace with losing it prior to the ritual. Perhaps it was a section of his past, something personal. All he knew was that it was thankfully not a part of his vast knowledge of magic.
A ‘Life,’ as he called the reserve, only needed memories. The more important, the more the caster can Converge. While basic knowledge can be used, it was something the necromancer cherished deeply. He’d much rather lose all memory of his past than the information he had accumulated over the years.
His Life reserve was transferred to the body, and as a result, the mist that surrounded it reacted immediately. Wispy tendrils raised and stabbed into the exposed flesh, rushing into the corpse with ease. Malik made sure to focus his ritual on the body and not himself. The last thing he wanted was to waste one of his precious reserves to rejuvenate himself by a few years.
Malik watched as the body twitched and reacted, the mist slowly dissipating. He sighed and turned around, stepping out of the pool. As he waited for the process to finish, Malik decided to change into a new set of robes, which he made sure to bring along. He always liked to be prepared.
Once he was out of his wet clothes, Malik turned just in time to see the body stop its movements. He watched as it sank into the pool of water, disappearing within its depths. He checked the soul gem he had used for the ritual; its surface was no longer glowing, and its color was reduced to a dunn gray.
There was then a splash and Malik watched as someone bursted from the pool. They stood in the waist high water, flailing around as they caught their breath. Before he knew it, the person was still. She panted heavily, the bandages still wrapped around most of her body. She then quickly tore off the ones that covered most of her head, revealing long pale blond hair and eyes that glowed a soft maroon color.
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“Welcome back Marion, it’s been some time since we’ve last seen each other,” Malik said.
Marion tensed up at the sound of his voice, her body stiffening as she turned to the necromancer. She stared at him for a moment before straightening herself out. Her breathing grew quiet immediately, and her posture changed to that of a servant.
“Master Ymir,” she spoke, her voice a soft croak. Her vocal cords were still warming up. “You look different. How long has it been?”
Malik waved off the question. “You can call me Malik, my dear. I’ve grown tired of the whole master thing anyway.”
“I see,” Marion whispered. “Master Malik, why have you summoned me? The last time you did so…”
“It was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up,” Malik said, ignoring the fact that Marion had still used the master title regardless of what he had said. “You see, I’ve been in the service of this… Outlander. He is an interesting case but downright ridiculous with his morals and boundaries. It hinders me and my work, leaving me with little wiggle room to perform the rituals I need.”
“Lack of bodies, then?” Marion asked with curiosity.
“Not entirely,” Malik said. “Admittedly, his actions alone have dropped more corpses these past months than I ever did running that shitty hideout in the Copper District. No, the real reason is the lack of specific bodies.”
“Virgins,” Marion muttered. “Right?”
Malik snapped his fingers. “Right, you are. Finding a virgin is already hard enough. To find one that just so happens to be a marauder or raider? I’d have better luck convincing Delphine not to smite me.”
“Yet, you summoned me,” Marion said, her hand moving to her neck. There was a long scar that ran across the throat and neck. It was the wound that killed the original person. Of course, Malik wasn’t the one who dealt the blow. That had come from someone else. Thankfully, she still technically counted as an enemy, so it didn’t go against the pact’s conditions.
“Lumen Knight,” Malik said. “They’re all celibates, all chosen by Delphine. Thankfully for us, this woman’s soul left her body long ago. With a little magic trickery and some rituals, I’ve managed to get rid of whatever holy blessing was left on her. Leaving only the body.”
“I see,” Marion muttered. She looked down at her new body, her hands rising above her head as she examined herself. “These new bones are quite small. Strong, but smaller than the last set I inhabited.”
“Well, we can’t be picky,” Malik said with a shrug. “Besides, your role shall be to support and assist.”
“I appreciate your generosity, Master Malik,” Marion whispered. “But why waste your time and reserves on summoning me if you only require an assistant? Surely, you could use a conjuration or even hire an apprentice.”
“Conjurations could only help so much,” Malik answered as he tapped the side of his head. “No brain in those noggins. Apprentices would be nice if I had the coin. Even if I did, the last witch I hired went to work with Lumen bastards after our departure. No, Marion, I’d rather have an assistant who could think and perform magic like me, all with the undying loyalty of a summon.”
“You flatter me, Master Malik,” Marion said with a soft smile.
“Please,” Malik chuckled as he waved. “I am simply thinking rationally. Besides, I doubt I’d have a better chance to summon you back into my service. Aside from the lack of virgin bodies, I have found that Holter tends to get himself into precarious situations. Better I have a backup, just in case I find myself… disposed of.”
“Of course, Master Malik,” Marion softly murmured. She did a small curtsy in the water, her head bowing before the necromancer. “I am at your service, then. Until my body gives out, of course.”
“Good to hear,” Malik sighed. “Now, dry yourself off and get dressed. We have much work to do.”
The necromancer had to give that other Outlander some credit. She had managed to offload so much pointless researching and studying when she destroyed that damned eye. Malik never felt more free of such a burden. Of course, that didn’t mean she was getting off that easy. She had undermined his power and taunted him by tripping him off that damn cliff.
No magic, no great power, just childish tricks. Malik had to use his advanced spell, Flight, just to even survive the fall. By the time he had come back up, she was long gone. She had ridiculed Malik. That wasn’t so easily forgiven.
‘I’m almost glad that Holter’s own underling had ordered me to find the brat.’
Malik grinned as he started to prepare another ritual within the chamber, his hands drawing chalk runes on the walls. He could see how Marion quickly dressed herself in new clothes, her form illuminated by the candles in the room. She wore a black dress that extended past her ankles, dragging on the floor. The sleeves of her dress reached to her knuckles, their bagginess apparent. It was oversized for her.
‘No matter. We can get her better clothes another time.’
Marion didn’t even seem bothered by the big clothes. She instead rolled up the sleeves and picked up the long skirt to make it easier for her to walk over to his satchel. Marion picked through it before she took out a piece of chalk. Without saying a word, she was already drawing new glyphs onto the stone walls, the runes complimenting Malik’s own.
‘Ah, she already knows what ritual we’re performing.’
Marion was Malik’s favorite for a reason. While she wasn’t as strong or as powerful as most of the imprints in his soul gems, she was the brightest of them. She knew exactly what Malik needed and didn’t question him when it came to fulfilling those needs.
The perfect assistant. Oh, how Malik missed this companionship. He would have to reward such efforts later. After they find the Outlander, of course.
There was work to be done.
----------------------------------------
Seamus groaned as he sat on the barstool, his left hand massaging the place where James had struck him earlier that day. It was still radiating pain and no doubt left a bruise. Yet he didn’t really mind it. He knew exactly what he was getting into and expected to get hurt.
“The fight was yours, Seamus,” Kate murmured to his right. Seamus turned to the guardswoman, who already had a tankard of ale in her hand. He frowned at the drink but said nothing. The last thing he needed was another argument about day drinking.
“Right it was,” Dirk said to his left. “Holter was on his last legs.”
“I suppose so,” Seamus sighed as he leaned on the bar. He had come to the tavern in an attempt to get something substantial to eat. While he could always head to the eateries by the marketplace, he usually trusted Gladis to actually give him something that wasn’t terribly overpriced. The tavern was also the closest to the training grounds.
Usually, James and Dahlia would join him after a day of training. However, they had gone off with Helen to write a draft for the message they would send to Jarl Ivan, regarding terms. Which left Seamus alone at the tavern with only Kate and Dirk by his side.
He tapped on the wooden surface of the bar, his thoughts drifting toward the sparring match he had with James. It had come close, even if it was short-lived.
‘The adrenaline rush alone…’
Seamus hadn’t felt so on edge during a fight since Eli. James was someone he never expected to move the way he did. Then again, he doubted he’d ever seen the Jarl fight like that. Sure, he had seen James fight off conjured skeletons and draugr, but he had never gone all out like he had during that match.
This was the first time they had even sparred with each other. Of course, Seamus didn’t count the one time he was under a dreamweaver’s influence. That didn’t count since he was unconscious during the entire ordeal.
“If the fight only lasted a little longer, I’m sure you would’ve knocked him out,” Kate said proudly, her hand grabbing Seamus’ shoulder. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, which instantly made him flush red. “You’re a winner in my book.”
“I…” Seamus started. He paused for a moment before he shook his head. “I should’ve lost.”
“Huh?” Dirk asked. “No way! You had him!”
Seamus shook his head again. “I was panicking toward the end. I only managed to block that last attack out of sheer instinct. After that, it was only a matter of time. If those swords didn’t break, there’s no doubt in my mind he would’ve been able to overpower me. He’s stronger.”
“You’re faster,” Kate said with a frown.
“I know, but…” Seamus trailed off as Gladis came by. The barwoman set down a bowl of porridge for him, which steamed with the scent of pork fat. He thanked her with a handful of silver before he dug in.
“James can take my hits,” he mumbled between bites. “But I nearly lost consciousness when he punched me.”
Seamus had temporarily blacked out when James hit him with that left hook. Had it not been for his own instinct to block the attack after that, he would’ve definitely lost.
The entire fight had told Seamus one thing. His training, despite the years of keeping keen, meant nothing if he couldn’t account for his opponent’s ability. He had no idea James was as strong as he was now. How could he? James had only been here for a year. That time alone shouldn’t have produced a warrior like him.
‘Yet, he had nearly died two times over. He shouldn’t have gotten this far in the first place.’
In a strange way, it was almost like fate was favoring James. Like the world itself was working to keep him alive for a greater purpose. For what, Seamus couldn’t fathom it.
‘I’m thinking about this too much.’
Seamus turned his attention to his porridge, his spoon picking at the bowl as he sighed. He took another bite, his thoughts going back to the sparring match. James was stronger than him. Not faster, of course, but he was getting to the point where speed wouldn’t matter anymore. Seamus holding his own for as long as he did was done mostly out of instinct. In other words…
“I got lucky,” Seamus said as he swallowed.
“Wait, are you telling us…?” Kate started before Seamus nodded.
“James would’ve won.”