On a request from his mages Corin had lead a group into some of the ruins that was close to where they had currently set up their camp. The sun above beat down on them relentlessly. Corin was surprised that he was not pouring sweat. A quick scan of his group had shown they each had seemed to be taking the heat of the sun well. It certainly was hot. Corin felt the sensation of the heat underneath his clothes. He could feel the burn of the metal whenever the pommel of his saber brushed against exposed skin. It was just no longer unbearable. The wights seemed to have the most physical reaction to the heat. Their black veins seemed to swell under their pale skin. They continued on without a complaint. The unnamed man had been correct in calling this a gift. The conquest of an oasis would be easier with soldiers that could resist the heat.

“Lord, we are getting closer,” A mage beside him said.

Corin wasn’t sure when they had started addressing him as lord. He wasn’t opposed to it, but it was strange. Corin noticed the mage was waiting for some kind of response and nodded his head. They had opted to go on foot as it became known throughout the camp that they could travel farther than their pack animals would be able to. If it weren’t for the speed and height advantage of the horses Corin would have been tempted to do away with the animals all together. The mage that had been staying at his side broke off to talk to the others. Corin was mildly curious as to how they had been faring in the heat, but figured that there must have been some spell at work. They still wore the robes that covered their entire body.

Corin made his way to walk with the wights. He had left Amil back at the camp. It would be a good opportunity for Amil. Watching over greater numbers would help him as his group grew in number. Corin only recognized one of the wights in his group. The rest were still new. They had previously been parts of other merchant groups or in other occasions, different mercenary bands. The wight he recognized was the son that had been so filled with fear. There hadn’t been a hint of the man he had been before.

“Lord,” Said the wight.

Corin nodded and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Lukos, Lord.”

Corin nodded again, “Tell me about your father Lukos.”

“What do you wish to know?”

“Is he a good leader?”

Lukos grunted an affirmative. Corin had put in a few more attempts for a conversation, but the wight provided only short answers. They remained loyal, but dying had taken something from them. He wanted to put a little work into vetting Lukos’s father Ro. Corin planned on expanding The Venerated Razors and having a proper command structure would be helpful. He needed more people. Corin made his way back toward the mages. Everyone was walking in silence. It would be a few more days before they reached their destination. Corin was curious to see if any of the building he saw in the ruins were similar to those in his dreams.

They crested a dune and saw a camp. From what Corin could see there were four tents. He ordered his men to stay hidden. They discussed possible plans and a variety of signals. At first Corin had wanted to bring more men, The numbers would be helpful but a larger number of people would make others suspicious. When he settled on a plan Corin decided on going himself and taking along a mage to help sell a sense of distress. It took far longer for the two of them to reach the camp thanks to an uphill climb on sand. They had been spotted by the camp’s guards long before they had even been close. If Corin had to guess, there were at least three guards as well as seven others with an unknown capacity.

“Would you be able to kill three potential mages?” Corin asked.

“I could probably kill the whole camp, Lord.” The mage answered.

“I hope it doesn’t come to killing all of them,” said Corin, “But, I do appreciate the confidence.”

He had remembered the results of raising dead mages from one of the fallen companies and making them a wight. He was hoping for mage that had the stamina of a wight. The result had just been another wight. The two had difficulty with climbing the dune. One of the guards from the camp threw down a rope which they both used. They were both greeted with water and food, which was the custom.

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“Where did you come from?” asked one of the guards with an undertone of distrust.

“None of that now, they look tired,” said an older guard.

“Before we let you in, we’ll need your weapons.” Said the suspicious guard

The older guard shrugged and nodded. The mage looked at Corin. Corin knew he could still fight without his weapon. He nodded at the mage. Corin removed his saber and the mage removed his rapier. The suspicious guard collected their weapons and went inside a tent. He had been watching them closely as he had taken their weapons. He probably had noticed their lack of sweat, although Corin had seen his fair share of people dying of dehydration. They were lead to separate tents to cool down in the shade.

“I have to apologize for taking your weapons, but it is for our security.” The older guard said, “Thank you for handing them over to us though.”

Corin drank heavily from the water skin. He fell back on the ground and groaned his thanks. Satisfied, the older guard left Corin.

—

“I figure it would be a good time to meet one of your teachers,” Mirabelle told her apprentice.

“Isn’t that you?” asked Amie.

“Yes and no. I figured we might get this out of the way first, before it becomes too much of an issue.”

“So, where is this teacher?” asked Amie.

“Just follow me,” Mirabelle said.

As they were about to leave Mirabelle pulled a bag from under her desk. Amie recognized it as the one she had given to Mirabelle at her request. They chatted for a little until their path became more and more familiar. Amie grew quiet. Mirabelle beckoned Amie in.

“Crypt 50-17c,” said Amie.

“Volunteer crypt 50-17c,” corrected Mirabelle.

“Are we raising my teacher from the dead?” asked Amie.

“That’s a fair question, but I’m no reanimation specialist,” answered Mirabelle, “We’re only doing light necromancy.”

Mirabelle started pouring exact mixes of powders into three holes that Amie had now noticed were drilled into the floor.

“Any elementalist is expensive to train, and we want to ensure that you get the skills that you need for your trade.” Mirabelle said.

“So I’ll be talking to a ghost?”

“Essentially.”

“This person, they did this willingly?”

Mirabelle shrugged, “Probably?”

“Will I have become a ghost too?” asked Amie

“Only if you’re good at what you do,” chuckled Mirabelle

Amie sighed, “That’s more being voluntold instead of volunteering.”

Mirabel laughed as she continued her task, “You get used to it as a wizard.”

She fixed a mask to her face and started drawing lines with a metallic dust.

“It’s aluminum. During the process it will convert to mithril,” she explained, “You don’t want to breath in either.”

There was a mobile shield that had been angled to create a space between the rest of the room and the corner. Amie stood near it watching Mirabelle carefully. Amie had always heard the horror stories of the undead and she wasn’t sure how she felt about Mirabelle preparing this ritual.

“When the magic is released in the room the aluminum will conduct the mana into a gem,” Mirabelle said, “The resulting Mithril will be sold. Its a nice way to help cover costs.”

Amie’s eyebrows rose in alarm, “That’s a lot of power for a spell!”

“We’ve got shielding.”

When the last of the aluminum powder had been put into place, Mirabelle sunk the steel rods into the three holes.

“It’s just a shame that the steel is a waste,” Mirabelle said, “Maybe someday someone will figure out a use for it.”

Mirabel made her way back to the center of the ritual circle. She pulled a carved gem and slotted it into the notch in the center of the room.

“We’re using quartz. It’s especially good with channeling the dead.”

“I thought we would have to use something a bit less common.”

“Well, this one has flecks of blue and green,” said Mirabelle with a laugh.

Mirabelle and Amie went behind the shielding. Amie pushed a button that had been set into the wall. There was a sustained flash of light followed by loud crackling. When the light ended Amie moved to get out from behind the barrier. A tug on her skirt kept her from leaving their corner.

“Not yet, we still have to wait for a few minutes.”

“There should be a way to do this without any risk of magical mutation,” Amie commented.

“It’s been tried with varying levels of success.” Said Mirabelle, “but unfortunately for your trade the old ways are best.”

When the aluminum in the middle of the room stopped reacting to the magic that had been driven through it both Mirabelle and Amie emerged from behind the shielding. Mirabel removed the gem from the slot with a pair of wooden tongs. She then wrapped it in a cloth with metallic fibers woven in. Amie pulled the door release. A crew had been waiting outside for the ritual and set about removing the mithril. A man used a pair of wooden tongs to remove the spell worn steel, depositing them into a ceramic container which he promptly sealed and placed on a cart. Amie followed Mirabel back to her office.