The Journeys of a Different Necromancer by James J. Crofoot Page B

but Season didn’t have time to get to her feet before
Thomas and her were surrounded. One bandit held a dagger to
Thomas’s gut. If it weren’t for the necromancer sucking it in, the
dagger would have been in him.
    “ Damn,” whispered Season, as she bowed her head. “You could
have made it Thomas. I’m so sorry.”
    The leader came from a side passage carrying a torch. He
walked a steady, straight line, but his eyes were bloodshot. The
screaming woman told the chief about Christina taking off and the
leader cursed.
    “ Again?” he hissed through clenched teeth. He pointed to two
of the less staggering men. “You two, go get ’er.” He then looked
to Season and Thomas. “Put her back in the cage and just kill
’im.”
    “ I can raise her,” he stated quickly. “I can give life back to
her. She’s dead, isn’t she?”
    The leader stared at the necromancer. The other bandits
waited, their breaths held, and waited for their chief to
speak.
    “ Yes,” the leader said at last. “She died a few hours ago.”
Tears could be seen in his eyes, but they didn’t fall. “What did
you say about raising her? You can bring her back.”
    Thomas heard the desperation in the man’s voice.
    “ I’m a necromancer. My teacher was a great mage who taught me
to bring people back from the dead.”
    The leader took a step closer to Thomas and his eyes narrowed.
“You better not be lying to me,” he said, his voice low. “I cannot
describe to you the pain your girl here will go through before you
die.”
    “ I can do it. But, you must promise to let us go. You must set
us free, as payment.”
    The leader continued to stare for a moment. “All right,” he
said, suspicion heavy in his tone. “You have my word.”
    “ Where do you bury your dead?”
    * * *
*
    No stones or grave symbols marked the place where the dead
lay. The only indication people lay here, were the mounds of grave
dirt. Thomas thought it a rather sad thing they would not be
remembered in any other way. Time would erode these small hills,
and that would be that. He dug into one of the mounds and found it
shallow.
    Thomas stood over the remains as the bandit guards backed away
holding their noses. Thomas chuckled to himself. Picking up a
nearby rock, he smashed the teeth from the skull.
    “’ Ere now.” One of the guards stepped forward holding his torch
in front of him to ward off the dark. “What are ya doing to my
friend? Don’t ya ’ave any respect for the dead?”
    The necromancer picked up the teeth he’d just dislodged and
poured them into his newly returned pouch. “You want the chief’s
girl back? You want me to tell him you wouldn’t let me gather what
I need?”
    “ No, no,” he replied, raising one hand palm forward and waving
it.
    “ Since you’re so interested in my work, come here and help me
shovel some of this soil into my other pouch.”
    The bandit’s face squelched together as he looked at the
remains.
    “ You’re a squeamish one, aren’t you?” Thomas pulled his other
pouch out of his shoulder bag.
    The bandit still hesitated.
    “ I think I need to talk with your chief.”
    “ No, I’ll do it.” The man handed his torch to his friend and
walked over to pick up the shovel. With his face turned to the
side, he did as instructed. He then threw the tool to the ground as
if afraid to catch his death from it. Slapping his hands together
to get any dirt off them, he backed away again. Seeing his
companion smirk, he snatched his torch back.
    By the time he returned to the cave, the first rays of
sunlight colored the horizon. Season sat by the rekindled fire and
looked up with a mix of fear and curiosity in her eyes.
    Christina had been returned from her escapade to face her
punishment. One bandit held her arms behind her.
    “ Yer not getting away,” said a second bandit standing in front
of her. He slapped her across the face. “You’re here as our
servant, since we can’t sell ya! Yer not leaving to fetch