Darkness Rising 1 - Chained

Chapter 16: The Necromancer

Time had little meaning for Aldred in the secret chamber. He sat regarding his bloodied knuckles, slumped against the sealed door. Smears of blood on its surface marked his efforts to escape.

Aldred rubbed his sore eyes. His tears had eventually dried, much in the same way they had when mourning for his mother. The room was as silent as a tomb.

“Come on, Aldred,” he said. “This is no way for a true Thetorian to act.”

He got to his feet to explore the chamber further. On the tables were a selection of blades and sharp instruments. He picked one up and weighed it in his hand.

“Well that’ll be a lot of use against Quigor, won’t it?” Aldred said. “Steel against a necromancer. As useful as sand in a desert! Come on! Think less impetuously and more logically.”

A chill came with the thought of being discovered by Quigor. It was much the same as that feeling of trepidation one would get as a child when you had broken some expensive parental possession and awaited the wrath of discovery.

He dismissed the fear and continued ferreting through the chamber. The numerous shady alcoves that bordered the rooms were a good choice for concealment.

“Let’s hide some of the evidence first, eh?” he said to himself. His voice gave the room a sense of life.

His first move was to clean the silver bowl he had vomited in. A rudimentary sink was tucked in an alcove with a tarnished tap, presumably piped from the castle well. It creaked alarmingly as it sputtered water into the bowl.

“No point starving before Quigor arrives is there? Let’s hope this is really wine.”

Sipping from the goblet he strolled around the shelves, reading the grisly jars. A myriad collection of fantastical labels sent his mind spinning: ground Troll’s teeth, gullet of Craven, hair of maid, heart of a spurned lover, breath of a fresh grave. A long trestle table held a collection of jars, tubes and bottles, full of brightly coloured liquids.

He had wandered to the plinth the book sat upon. Aldred realised it was bound with skin, stretched taut over the thick pages. The language was completely alien to him, its runes written in blue ink. The yellowed paper was decorated with unsettling illustrations: twisted representations of humans being tortured by tall blue creatures. There were pictures of corpses rising from graves and black beams pouring like liquid night from the hands of sorcerers.

Such was his fascination that he almost forgot to replace the open book to its original page. It depicted a blue stone held aloft with a dotted line passing to a body with all its organs showing.

“Oh father, what in Mortis’s name are you letting Quigor do?”

He left the plinth and slumped in an alcove. The wine made him feel weary. He rested his head against the stone.

He had perhaps had a transient nap when he heard the click of the door opening and to his credit was instantly alert. His hand gripped the dagger he had taken from the table.

From his hiding place he saw Quigor enter the room, the reddish glow lighting his greasy face. Across the chamber he could see the door wide open.

Quigor seemed preoccupied and walked straight past his plush chair and diminished cheese-board. He took a large jar from a shelf and placed it beside his alchemy bottles on the table. He pulled out two eye balls, a severed nose and a long tongue, and then placed them on the table.

Quigor stepped back and held out his hands. Strange words came from his mouth, macabre and convoluted.

The collection of pickled flesh began to glow a purple colour and then rose into the air. Aldred stared in fascination. Although he had met a number of mages socially at the prince’s functions, he had never seen true spells and as a consequence it was a greater shock when the floating eyes, nose and tongue began to speak.