Dirge for a Necromancer by Ash Stinson Page A

into him, turning his veins cold, making the hair on his arms and neck stand up—but he didn’t know from where the power came. None of the scholars could tell him that either, though one said she suspected the book was written five thousand years ago, shortly after the elves abandoned the Creator God to live their own lives. That was why it was written in both Taurkyna and Zykyna, she had told Raettonus—the elves had spoken both languages back then. That was why it had so many rituals and incantations meant to protect from the gods.
    The elves had made their choice to live freely, and they feared divine retribution. Typical, Raettonus thought.
    Slowly, Raettonus turned the pages. They were brittle and ragged at the edges, but they were still in good condition for a book so old. There were illustrations of a number of creatures done in fading inks—all drawn without any eyes—tearing apart the world, or fighting one another, or killing creatures that were drawn with eyes. He flipped through the pages, glancing at the illustrations, until he came upon the incantation he desired. In the strange characters of Zykyna, the page declared Dur Ghana’iis Pel’lukhro—the Spell of Hiding.
    Raettonus stood and drew his rapier, the book still open in his left hand. He began to carve a symbol into the stone in the middle of one of the walls. “Faerha,” he read from the book as he carved it. He went to each of the corners of the room and carved a different symbol in each one, saying its name as he did. “Dulla. Kaemur. Nygrii. Erhiin.”
    There was a glow about the symbols as Raettonus took to the center of the room. They were lines of direct power, to the source of elemental magic in the realm of Zylx—the Elemental Pillars of light, shadow, fire, wind, and rock. It wasn’t the sort of magic system Raettonus was used to working under, but he could put it to use in a pinch. This definitely qualified as a pinch. He lifted his sword and began the incantation proper, in the language of the gods.
    “Dae balui fa sep; dae dubhra khoriin sep,” he read from it, not understanding all the words. With his sword he pointed to each of the symbols he had made in the stone. “Faerha laeka. Dulla lyka. Kaemur lorha. Nygrii lahba. Erhiin laesha.”
    For a moment he felt ill, as though he might collapse onto his knees and vomit until his stomach was dry. He endured and the moment passed, though it left him feeling extremely weak. The symbols he had carved glowed in white and black and red and blue and gray—all the colors of the elements they represented—and then disappeared into the stone. Closing the book and sliding his sword into his belt, Raettonus collapsed onto his bed. All he wanted was to sleep for days and days, until his muscles were atrophied and he was covered in sores. It felt as though he had ran a marathon all at once, and then gone out and fought a war all by himself. Yet, at the same time, he felt serene. He was in a peaceful place now, protected from the prying energies of gods and mortals alike. Raettonus closed his eyes and dozed for a while.
    He was awoken not much later by Brecan and Daeblau at his door. Groggily, he put the old book back onto his shelf before going out to meet them in the hall. Daeblau lifted the visor of his helm and frowned as he looked Raettonus over. “You’re going to wear the same clothes as you were wearing earlier?” he asked, leaning on his halberd.
    “What’s wrong with that?” asked Raettonus, glaring up at him.
    Daeblau shrugged half-heartedly. “Your tunic’s pretty ratty,” he murmured. “Surely you’ve got something a little fresher you could wear?”
    Raettonus crossed his arms. “I don’t really see the point,” he said. “Now, sir, if I’m not mistaken, you are not, in fact, my mother. Would you kindly just do your job and show us the way?”
    Daeblau cleared his throat and, letting his visor slide back down, said, “Certainly. With me, if you