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The Oath

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2/17/2009 20:25:39   
Alixander Fey
Member


After a series of mysterious grave robbings, an aging bartender named Beret pulls a few contacts. He calls in Agrathan, a ranger famous for traveling with the Mage of Tower BlackThorne. Tara and Agrathan arrive, eager to uncover the source of these strange robbings. But something is out of place, more out of place than missing corpses. Most of the bodies have been put back.

Something dark lurks on the outskirts of RiverFord. Something powerful. And something protected by an unbreakable oath.

_____________________________
DF  Post #: 1
3/5/2009 21:59:37   
Alixander Fey
Member

The Oath



Silence.

Tara MageBorn glided across the grass, acutely aware that he could not hear his own footfalls. Three paces to his left, a ranger mimicked his motions with hushed fervor. Even Tara’s magically-enhanced senses detected nothing from the man. Agrathan paid little attention to his companion’s concern, stopping to inspect a crumpling slab of stone.

Brushing his black cloak aside, Tara stopped as well, turning to a waist-high obelisk hidden beneath a willow. He knelt beside the stone spire, tracing runes with his fingers, until he found what he sought: a name. Della SouthFlame, dead now for fifteen years.

The earth beneath him had been moved recently. He knew because he could not feel life there: no rabbit holes, ant colonies, or even worm tunnels. The absence felt like a wound in the life of this place, a silence in the quiet whisper of vitality that droned below the funeral dirge of the cemetery. Tara smiled. Yes, even here, where we humans come to honor our dead, life thrives.

He motioned to Agrathan, and the ranger came running with his shovel. The back of his mind registered the absence of sound, just like the absence of life beneath him. “Here,” he whispered. Even his voice seemed muted, more so than he had intended. “I think they’ve been digging here.”

The ranger nodded and stuck his shovel to the dirt. He turned a few spade-full s aside, allowing Tara access to the coffin hidden beneath. With a tiny burst of magic, he moved more of the dirt aside and raised the casket from its resting place.

Agrathan mouthed something like “Why did you make me dig if you could do it all with magic?” but Tara ignored him, citing the strange numbness of sound as an excuse. His hands fell to the latches on the coffin, and he snapped them open with a flick of his wrists. The lid fell away, revealing a body age-worn and lifeless, clinging to the last remnants of flesh that covered its dusty bones. Whatever embalming these villagers did, it must have been magical. After more than a decade of decay, there should be no trace of skin. With a grim scowl, he covered the casket and lowered the box into its place. Standing, he left Agrathan to cover the grave.

Tara stood with his back towards the obelisk, running gloved hands down the shaft of his sorcerer’s staff. What is going on here? he asked himself. When he sensed the magic of this graveyard, he felt nothing. Not an unnatural nothing, but a good nothing. No dark spirits haunted the crypts, no specters lurked to devour unsuspecting prey. Dragon spirits charged the air, but that was expected: dragon spirits were the fuel for almost all magic.

“This town must be honorable indeed,” he whispered. The thickness of the air stopped his voice before it could reach Agrathan, but Tara continued anyway. “In any other cemetery, I would expect to find wayward spirits, bemoaning one injustice or another. But this place is clean, unpolluted. There’s barely even a dark tint to the magic.”

The ranger must have caught some of Tara’s words as he joined the sorcerer with his shovel in hand. “What does it mean?”

Tara shrugged. “Nothing, really. It means the people of this town are good honest farmers. But it also means there’s no reason to dig up their graves.”



Tara collapsed onto the barroom stool. Agrathan sat opposite him, both eyes trained on the door. Drunk men and women crowded them on all sides, ignoring the black-robed sorcerer and his ranger companion as they leapt and danced and sang their bar songs. A fight broke out in the far corner, drawing attention further away from the shadowed pair.

“Would you like a drink?” Beret, the hefty bartender who ran the place, stood behind Agrathan with a large mug in each hand. Tara shook his head, but Agrathan accepted. Casting a wary to the other patrons, Beret took a seat, sliding one mug towards the ranger. “How went the search?”

Agrathan shrugged. “We searched all the graves with obelisk tombstones, just like you said. We’d still be out there, except it’s too dark to see.”

Tara grinned. He could have conjured a light spell without effort. They had returned because he wanted answers.

Beret leaned closer. “Well, what did you find?”

This time the sorcerer spoke. “Seven graves, Beret. And all of them had been disturbed.” That brought the count to nearly thirty. Thirty graves had been unearthed, and then recovered minutes later.

The bartender wanted more. He scooted closer to Tara, keeping his voice low. “And the bodies?”

Agrathan lowered his mug, wiping foam from his beard. “Two were missing. The rest were undisturbed.” Tugging on the ends of his cape, he sank farther into the shadows to avoid being heard. “What kind of grave robber leaves more than half the bodies he digs up?”

“The kind of grave robber who’s looking for something.” Before the bartender could react, Tara pressed a dirk to the man’s side. “Something very specific. And I’m wonder just what it is you’re looking for.”

Beret stammered and tried to shy away from the wizard, but Agrathan stopped him with a firm hand. “I don’t know!” he said. “That’s why I’ve hired you! I want to know what’s going on with this crazy town.”

Tara twisted the knife, drawing a wince from the older man. “And how are we to believe you’re not after the same thing this grave robber wants?”

Shirking free of the ranger’s grasp, Beret retreated across the table. “All I know is graves are being dug up, but whoever’s doing it doesn’t want all the bodies. I just want to find out what’s going on, and who’s behind it.”

Tara met the man’s gaze, holding it as he sheathed his dagger. The fear in his eyes said he was telling the truth. “Very well, then. But I need to speak with a local magicker. Do you have a wizard in RiverFord?”

Beret’s eyes shifted away. “He’s just as bad as the rest of these crank villagers. But yes. His name is Gamiel. Two blocks down, third door on your right. You can’t miss it.”

Agrathan and Tara faded into the crowd, abandoning Beret to the harsh music of the tavern.



“Did you notice anything unnatural in the graveyard?” Agrathan slowed his gait as they approached the wizard’s house, keeping his voice so low that only Tara could hear him.

The sorcerer nodded as he ascended the short flight of stairs leading to Gamiel’s shop. “It seemed very… quiet. Like something was dampening the sound.”

“That’s what I thought,” the ranger agreed as he rapped three times on the heavy wooden door. “Could that be magic?”

Before Tara could answer “Yes,” the door swung open, revealing a tall, weathered man in long brown robes. The candle in his left hand burned with blue fire that cast an eerie glow on his face. Without a word, he backed away to admit the pair into his house. “Hello, fellow travelers. What business of yours requires the hand of an expert wizard?”

Tara narrowed his eyes, trying to read the man’s emotions. He should know I’m a magicker. What game is he playing?

With a bow, Agrathan motioned to a parlor just beyond the robed wizard. “May we sit down?”

The man seemed flustered. “Of course,” he said as he shuffled towards one of the couches. “Is it fortune-telling you seek? Healing? A rare potion?”

The ranger offered a polite smile as he sank into one of the plush chairs. Tara mimicked him, preferring to stay silent while his friend did the talking. “We need information,” Agrathan said. “We have been hired by one of the townspeople to investigate a… curious anomaly in your graveyard.”

Wrinkles creased Gamiel’s face when he heard the word graveyard. He straightened his back, regaining his composure before speaking. “Oh? May I ask who?”

“We won’t reveal our employer’s identity without his permission. Do you know anything about the grave robbing?”

The wizard’s composure held this time; he kept his expression clear of emotion. “I have heard some rumors about graves being dug and recovered.”

“That’s right,” Agrathan said. “Strange thing is, only a few of the bodies are missing. The rest are still in their coffins, apparently undisturbed. Do you have any idea why someone would do that?”

Gamiel shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’ve lived in this village for a very long time, and I’ve never met a man who had anything worth stealing in life, much less in death.”

Agrathan leaned forward, eyes gleaming in the candlelight. “Did you know that only the graves with a certain kind of tombstone are being robbed?” Tara watched Gamiel’s face carefully, and he could tell the man did now. “It’s always a shoulder-high obelisk. Do you know why? What’s different about those graves?”

“Each generation has its own style of tombstone. My father’s tombstone resembled a perched eagle, his father’s a sword. The generation after mine has chosen a pentagram. So anyone with an obelisk tombstone would be from my generation. Many of us have died in the past fifteen years or so.”

Tara focused on the mental images in his mind, recalling the dates inscribed on the tombstones. Agrathan’s memory served him just as well, because he answered before the sorcerer could. “Yes, I believe they were all marked as dead in the last eighteen years. That was during the Great Famine, yes? Many would have died then.”

“Yes, indeed.” His lips trembled as he spoke. “The Famine was a terrible, terrible time. Many of our number died.”

They sat in silence for several seconds. Then, Tara stood, shifting his gaze across the room. His scrutiny unnerved Gamiel, who stood as well. “Is something wrong?”

Leaning heavily on his staff, Tara cast spells that made his eyes glow green. The magic allowed him to see even in the darkest corners, but he had learned to use it to intimidate. “Why isn’t the graveyard haunted?”

At this, both the wizard and the ranger fixed their gazes on him. “What do you mean?” Gamiel asked. “We have no necromancers here. The spirits of the dead have no reason to haunt us.”

Tara smiled. “You are a wizard, yes? You should know as well as anyone that some spirits do not move on after death. Some souls remain, walking the plains of Aduil in search of revenge, or forgiveness, or vindication. Why have I sensed none in your town?”

Gamiel’s face quivered. “I have seen… many spirits. Many, many spirits in RiverFord. They are everywhere, just like in any other town. Perhaps the problem lies with your sight.”

Tara replied with a snarl. “I am a sorcerer of the forty-third tier. Nothing escapes my sight.” He anticipated Gamiel’s reaction; the wizard couldn’t have been higher than twentieth tier himself. “But since you know this town so well, can you direct me to one of your ghosts? I’d like to speak with a soul that has passed on.”

Gamiel reached for a dagger hidden beneath his robes, but Agrathan drew his sword and ignited it with a word. The threat of the flaming brand kept the wizard’s hands at his side. “Speak to the dead?” he exclaimed. “Are you a necromancer?”

“I’ve never practiced the dark arts,” he said in truth. The dark arts? No, never. But the forbidden magics? He was a master. “But I served as a Master of Passing for several years. I have some skill in conversing with wild spirits.” That was also true, and it usually assuaged the fears of those who had seen a glimpse of what he really was.

“Very well,” Gamiel said after several seconds. “There is a woman who haunts this very street. Wait at the town plaza and you will see her. She is very… regular in her appearances.”

“Thank you,” Tara said with a bow. “We’ll return to you in the morning if we have any trouble.” He and Agrathan turned to leave, eliciting a feeling of relief from Gamiel so great he could sense it in the magic. Tara stopped. “Oh, and one more thing. Have you worked a spell of silencing?”

The question threw the wizard off. “Not in the past three years,” he stammered.

Without explaining his question, Tara led Agrathan out the door and into the street.



Tara MageBorn stood in the center of the town square, his ebony robes swirling around him. A translucent blue fire sparked in his palm, spreading until it consumed his entire hand. The flame emitted no heat, only an unnatural resonance that nearly hypnotized Agrathan as he watched the sorcerer work.

“What is that?” the ranger asked after several minutes of silence.

Tara waved his hand, showing how the fire left a blazing white trail where it had passed. “It’s a beacon,” he explained. “A summons to any spirits in the area. It tells them that I want an audience.”

Agrathan raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re not a necromancer?” When the sorcerer didn’t reply, he continued. “What is this about anyway? Do you think the spirits know who is robbing the graves?”

“The spirits see many things,” he said with a smile. “And sometimes they will tell you, for a price.”

“What could a dead soul possibly want?” Agrathan’s voice trailed off when he saw that Tara’s eyes had glazed over. He muttered a little cursed and scanned the plaza for anything that looked like what Tara called “wild spirits.”

Once his eyes opened to the spirit world, Tara barely registered Agrathan’s presence. His gaze pierced flesh, stone, and wood, and he could see the dazzle of bright stars that was the town of RiverFord. The souls scintillated against the grey, muted hues of the bodies that held them.

More than that, he could see the spirits of ancient dragons twirling through the air, dancing with the eased grace of a being with all the time he could ever need. The dragons would not threaten him; their souls were docile, tame, made so by Avohil when he decreed that they would serve as the fuel for magic. With a little exertion, Tara could draw on their power. In fact, he was drawing on their power; several spirits swirled around him, dominated by the spells he had worked in his body.

The beacon in his hand beamed brighter than the sun to his spiritsight; any wild souls for miles would be sure to see it. The power of his magic would draw them, like gnats to a lantern. They would come.

Before long, a lone spirit drifted into the courtyard. Instead of taking the form of a bright star, as did the souls still attached to bodies, this spirit resembled a human woman in every way. Blue, transparent skin glimmered in the light of his beacon, shifting as she walked with cat-like grace impossible for a real body.

Tara reached out with his mind, touching the edges of the woman’s soul. He expected to meet resistance; hatred, bitterness, and rebellion were common traits among those souls forbidden to move on. Instead, he found a docile creature, much like the dragon spirits that floated above him. She never reacted to his touch or his beacon, walking through the plaza with swift, determined steps. When she reached the sorcerer, she passed him without a backward glance.

“Spirit,” he commanded. “Stop.”

The soul’s ghost legs slowed to a halt. Turning, the woman fixed her gaze with his. “Yes?”

A shiver of fright chilled Tara’s spine. No wild spirit should be so under control. He continued to touch the woman’s mind, probing, poking, prodding. She had a sense of purpose, of direction. She had a destination. “You do not thrash and wail like others of your kind. Why?”

The spirit eyed him with contempt. “You lit a beacon to ask me that?”

Tara scowled, prepared to dominate the soul with the force of his will. “No,” he spat. “I lit the beacon to summon you. I asked you that when you ignored my beacon.”

“I ignored your beacon because it is not important,” the woman replied.

Tara leveled his staff, chanting a spell that threw the spirit to the floor. “I am a spirit mage,” he growled. “You will obey me.”

The soul flailed in denial. “There hasn’t been another spirit mage in years! The magic is forbidden!”

Tara twisted his staff, sending explosions of pain rushing down the woman’s translucent back. “Where are you going?” he demanded.

The specter offered him an obscene gesture and threw her mind against his. He staggered backwards as bright flashes seared his eyes, forcing him to release his grasp.

Before she disappeared, he heard her utter a final word: “Home.”

Tara collapsed to the floor, hands covering his damaged eyes. He felt two strong hands grasp his shoulders; Agrathan, worrying about him as always. The ranger couldn’t have seen his assailant, but more than likely, he heard the entire conversation. Tara grasped the man’s arm and hoisted himself to his feet. “That didn’t quite go as planned,” was all he managed to say as the ranger helped him limp back to the tavern.



< Message edited by Alixander Fey -- 3/5/2009 22:00:10 >
DF  Post #: 2
3/5/2009 22:01:57   
Alixander Fey
Member

The next morning, Tara slumped back in the tavern booth, with Agrathan still at his side. Beret stood over him, anger showing through the cracks in his polite demeanor.

“We don’t need that business here,” he said. “You’ll only invite evil into our town.”

Tara shook his head. “You don’t understand. I didn’t bring the spirit back from the dead. It was already wandering the town. I just asked a few questions.”

“And? What use were the dead to you?”

“The spirit told me much,” he snarled. “I am a spirit mage. This is my life’s work. And I can tell when something is wrong with the dead. The spirit I called had a purpose, a destination. I think someone was controlling her.”

Beret slammed his mug against the sturdy tabletop. “No one in RiverFord would meddle with the dead!” He stopped at the foolishness of his statement. He had called them to investigate grave robbings. Of course someone was meddling with the dead. “Do you think it’s connected to the grave robbers?”

The sorcerer wrung his hands and leaned forward. “It must be. There’s something wrong with your graveyards, too; no spirits walk the cemetery. And now this; a soul under the influence of someone else? There’s no other answer.”

Beret raised an eyebrow. “So it’s magic, then. Could it be another spirit mage?”

“Not possible. I’m the only practicing spirit mage on Aduil.”

The bartender raised his eyebrow higher.

“Not to say there aren’t others with powers similar to mine. Only no one else has my purpose. What we’re dealing with is a necromancer.” Tara shrank into the shadows of the booth, tugging his cloak a little tighter around his face.

“A necromancer? But why would he take some bodies and leave others? And where is he taking the corpses?”

Tara said nothing. Instead, Agrathan leaned forward, one hand clasping his sword-hilt. “How well do you know Gamiel?”



Another fruitless day of grave hunting led Tara to the church steeple, the tallest structure in RiverFord. He and Agrathan slipped in uninvited, keeping their purpose a secret; an ignorant priest who walked in on Tara’s ritual would accuse him of practicing necromancy in the church. Only the greatest bishops would know that spirit mage’s were held most dear in the worship of Avohil. In times past, the spirit mages had used churches as their base to help troubled souls move on to the next world. He didn’t expect to find a great bishop in a small town like RiverFord.

Once atop the steeple, Tara drew a runed circle to protect him from attack, imbuing it with spells strong enough to stop the most powerful of sorcerers. Once the circle had been drawn, he cast a few spells of shielding on Agrathan, to hide him from the spirit’s sight. Then, the sorcerer laid his staff outside the circle and began to chant.

His eyes faded quickly to the world of flesh, and in moments he could see the spirits. Multicolored dragons flew above him, dancing and twirling as he drew on their power for his spells. He could see the souls of individuals in the town—Beret, the bartender; his daughter, Erika; Gamiel, the mage; and a host of others milling sleeping safely with their families. Casting another spell, he filtered those souls out, then the dragon spirits, then even the dull grey luster of houses and shops. The town became invisible to him, one translucent sheet, and all he could see were the wild spirits.

Human souls, if killed unjustly or before their life’s work was ended, would remain on Aduil, haunting their relatives as they searched for a means to pass to the next world. As spirit mage, he took the responsibility of hearing them, and, if he deemed them worthy, of sending them on.

Tormented as they were by guilt, remorse, or desire for vengeance, these outcast souls had earned their title as “wild spirits.” They acted like crazed beasts, thrashing, wailing, and attacking everything they could see (although often they could do no damage to mortal flesh.)

Not these spirits. Like the woman he had encountered in the town plaza, the souls he saw stalking the streets of RiverFord walked with purpose and determination. It took Tara less than a second to realize they were all heading in the same direction; north. He could not see their destination through a shroud of blackness, but he had a feeling whoever was controlling these spirits waited for them there. Was the black veil a magic shield, designed to keep away unwanted eyes? He would need to find out. Dissolving the magic, Tara uncrossed his legs and retrieved his staff.

Agrathan’s eyes, dull with incomprehension, met his. The ranger knew next to nothing about magic, besides how to activate his enchanted sword. Still, he followed Tara loyally, supporting him and helping him through rituals most would consider sacrilege. He was a good man.

The sorcerer took his friend’s outstretched hand and stood. “Did you find anything?” the ranger asked.

Tara shook his head. “Just confirmed a hunch. We still have plenty of work to do.”

* * *

They met with Beret again the next morning, perusing a map of RiverFord over mugs of cold ale. The bartender waved his hands over the darkened portion of the map, spitting as he spoke. “It’s not on any of our maps,” he promised. “No one goes up there. It’s taboo. Has been for as long as I’ve lived here.”

Not surprised, Tara only nodded. “I wonder if the necromancer does his work there because it’s taboo, or if it’s taboo because the necromancer does his work there.”

Beret’s blank expression evidenced his inability to follow the sorcerer’s logic. “What’s the difference?”

“If no one travels north because they road is blocked by a necromancer,” Agrathan supplied, “then someone knows about the necromancer. Most likely more than one someone.”

Comprehension sparkled in Beret’s eyes. “I see. So, do you want to go look?”

Agrathan shook his head. “Not yet. I’m pretty sure Tara and I both have an idea about the grave robbing.”

The sorcerer raised an eyebrow, barely visible beneath his hood. “We do?”

Agrathan returned a surprised glance. “You don’t?”

“I have no idea.”

The ranger laughed and pointed to the east and west sides of the map, where they had recorded information about the grave’s they had visited. “There’s a pattern,” he said. “Can’t you see?”

Tara scanned the left-most list, reading the names out loud. “Della SouthFlame, died 1172. Michael FrozenWind, died 1179. Carmon SunSpire, died 1172. Sorry, Agrathan, not seeing it.”

Thrusting his finger towards the names, Agrathan explained. “Keep reading, and look at who got robbed and who didn’t. Della’s body was put back, as was Carmon’s, but not Michael’s. Erika’s, Sara’s, Gerunds, Porel’s, and Derek’s body were all left, too. And what do they have in common with Della and Camron?” Tara stared at the numbers, but he saw nothing. “They all died before 1172. Every body marked 1173 and on has been removed. And look, there’re hardly any of those bodies. Like people just stopped dying for a few years. Do you see it?”

Stunned by the revelation, Tara stepped back. “Excellent, Agrathan. I wouldn’t have seen that on my own. So only those who died in the past fourteen years are being taken!” Then, he turned to Beret. “What happened fourteen years ago?”

The bartender only shrugged. “Don’t ask me; I’ve barely lived here six years. Wasn’t there a Famine?”

A small scrape drew their attention to the other side of the tavern. A young girl stepped forward, blond curls bouncing across her shoulders.

Beret slammed his mug against the table. “Erika, get back upstairs. I asked you not to interrupt us—” The look on his daughter’s face stopped the older man mid-sentence.

“Daddy, I think Thomas knows. He told me something once, about some sort of curse. Do you think that might be it?”

“Sweetheart, Thomas is a good man, but I think he was just trying to scare you. Thank you for trying to help, no please go back to your room until I’m ready to open the bar.”

Tara clasped a hand on Beret’s shoulder. “Erika, wait. How old is Thomas?”

“Nineteen,” the girl said. “And he said the curse happened when he was five. That’s fourteen years, right?”

The mage nodded. “And how do you know this Thomas?”

The preteen girl squinted. “He’s Ben’s older brother. Thomas FrozenWind. He’s gonna be a sailor, and—”

Tara’s eyes flashed to the map. Michael FrozenWind, died 1179. Body Taken. “Erika, does Ben have a father?”

The girl’s eyes darkened. Even at her age, she knew what it meant to lose a parent. Tara noted he had seen nothing of Beret’s wife. “No,” she said at last. “His dad died a while back. His mom and Thomas work real hard so they can have enough money.”

Agrathan shot a quick glance to Beret. “Sir, with your permission, we’d like to see Thomas.”

The bartender was quick to shake his head. “I know where the FrozenWind’s live. I’ll take you there. Erika, go back to your room.”

The girl scowled her disappointment. She wants to go, Tara thought. She wants to be on an adventure. He waited in the back, until both Beret and Agrathan had left. Erika still stood there, face wrinkled. The sorcerer placed a gloved hand on her shoulder, kneeling so his gaze met hers. “Erika, you want to come with us, don’t you?”

The girl nodded, curls bouncing. Tara realized she had inferred the wrong meaning from his question. “Do you know why you can’t come, Erika?” Her bright eyes stared, uncomprehending. Tara scooted closer. “You can’t go because your daddy loves you more than anything. And if something happened to you, your daddy’s heart would break.”

Sadness crept into her expression, distorting her pretty features. “How do you know?”

He smiled, a sad twist of his lips that reminded him of too many things he wanted to forget. “Because I once loved somebody as much as your daddy loves you. And I lost her. And now my heart is broken.”

Erika’s sadness turned to pity as she realized what Tara meant. She knows what love means, he realized. Before he could react, the girl reached forward, knocked his cowl aside—yes, the black hood intended to scare others—and kissed him on the cheek. “Did that help, mister?”

Tara’s mouth dropped. His heart ripped open, spilling crimson pain into his chest, pain that seared like caustic poison. His mind flashed to one of his last conversations with Myra, a conversation about their future. I wanted… we wanted a daughter. His chest cracked open, and he stomped the pain out before Erika could sense it.

Her innocent gaze brought him back to the present. “Yes, I think that helped very much.” He raised a hand, removing a small silver ring from his pinkie finger. He withdrew a chain from his pocket, snapped it around the ring, and handed it to the girl. “I want you to have this,” he said. “So I’ll never forget you, and then you’ll never forget how much your daddy loves you. Okay?”

She smiled and hung the chain over her neck. “Thank you mister. Can I call you Tara?”

“Only if I can call you Erika.”

She nodded with a playful laugh. Before she could say anything else, Tara MageBorn disappeared out the door.



The FrozenWinds lived only a few blocks from Beret’s house. Tara and Agrathan made sure to stand behind Beret, so whoever answered the door would see them only as an afterthought. The wooden portal creaked aside, revealing a handsome young man with broad shoulders and bright blond hair. When he saw Beret, his eyes darkened; his face twisted into a scowl when he saw the ranger and the sorcerer behind him. “Hey, Beret.” Although strained, his tone still held a hint of friendliness. “You need something?”

The bartender kept his smile fixed. “Can I talk to you about something, Thomas?”

Beret’s serious tone struck the young man. He closed the door and descended the steps. “This is about the grave robbers, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s about that. See, we think we know what’s going on. And Erika mentioned a story you told, something about a curse. You know what she’s talking about?”

His jaw tightened, offering a brief glimpse of what he would look like when he came to full manhood. Tara could feel the turmoil running off him; Thomas was agonizing over whether or not to say anything.

“I’m not sure I can help you,” he said at last. “You’re one of us, Beret, but you’ve brought outsiders. We don’t like to share our troubles, you know? RiverFord’s problems are RiverFord’s problems.”

Agrathan stepped forward, flashing the hilt of his sword. “Except when RiverFord’s problems start including necromancer’s and grave robbers. Tara is a sorcerer. Do you know what a sorcerer is, Thomas? They only send in sorcerers when there’s a real big problem. We’re talking dragon-sized problem. Or maybe a demon.”

Thomas’s lips quivered. “I… I need to go.” He turned, to see his mother standing at the door. “Uh, hey mom.” Her glare was cold, disapproving. Like a wolf with his tail between his legs, Thomas ascended the steps and disappeared into the house.

The woman turned her glare on Beret and his companions. “You need to leave, wizard. Do it quick, before we get Gamiel to force you out.”

Tara barely contained his laugh when the woman slammed the door shut.



“So where does that leave us? Back at the beginning?”

Tara shook his head and leaned over the table. “Not at all. We’ve got more than I ever expected.” The ranger grumbled, so he offered a quick concession. “With Agrathan’s help, of course. I wouldn’t have seen the pattern without him.”

The ranger brought a map to the table. “So, we know that someone is robbing graves, but he or she is only interested in people who were alive fourteen years ago. And from what we’ve seen, he’ll take everyone who died in the last fourteen years. We haven’t found a grave dated after 1173 that hasn’t been robbed.”

Tara pointed to the darkened spot north of the town. “We know there is something wrong with the spirits in this town. Someone, or something, is guiding them. We know that the spirits who still walk this town are moving to one location. And we know that someone is robbing graves. We can only assume they are connected.”

“And,” Beret completed, “we know there is only one magic-user in this town. Gamiel. But you laughed when Adela FrozenWind said he would force you out. Why?”

The sorcerer shrugged. “I could be wrong. There are ways to hide your power. But I think in a fight I would leave him drooling and trying to chase his tail.”

The bartender’s face twisted in shock. “You have that kind of power?”

“That’s nothing,” he said with a shrug. “Breaking a mind is a simple act of wizardry. I’m far beyond that.”

Beret reacted like every mundane did when they first glimpsed a sorcerer’s power. “So you can talk to dead, and break the mind of a wizard. What else can you do?”

“I can gaze into the future and tell you what will happen if we make certain decisions.”

At this, both Beret and Agrathan backed away. The ranger had never heard anything about premonitions. “Really?” the bartender asked after a silent moment. “Like… like what?”

“Well, I can tell you if you walk outside naked and try to call fire from heaven, the old lady two doors town will think you are very, very strange.”

The ranger and the bartender exchanged nervous glances, unsure of what to do. After several awkward heartbeats, the sorcerer broke into chuckles. “But I don’t need magic to tell me that.” The other men joined in his laughter, and he could feel the tension and stress drain from the room.

“So what should we do next?” Beret asked as he reached for another ale.

“Well, the way I see it, we have three options. And I notice there are three of us here. We need to find out if Gamiel has anything to do with the spirits. We need to figure out what exactly rests to the north of this town. And we need to know out what happened fourteen years ago. Should we split up?”

Beret and Agrathan stared at the sorcerer, blinking. Finally, Beret scooted away from the table. “I’ll look into the curse Thomas was talking about. Maybe I can ask him when his mother’s not around.”

The ranger nodded. “I’ll try to figure out where the spirits were heading. Hopefullywithout going there myself. If there villagers avoid going north, someone has to know why.”

Tara stood, summoning his staff to his hands. “Excellent. I’ll talk to Gamiel. We’ll meet back here when the pub opens at dark?”

The muttered a chorus of affirmatives and shuffled outside the tavern.

DF  Post #: 3
3/5/2009 22:08:09   
Alixander Fey
Member

Agrathan set his eighth mug down when the girl with the red hair left the tavern. The only pub open at this time of day, the Dreadful Dragon attracted a quieter clientele than most. Which was good, because his query wasn’t nearly as wild as her hair suggested. He swept his cape back, lowered his cowl, and donned a nice smile. He wouldn’t want her to think he was some kind of rapist.

Red Hair interacted well with her friends, but her demeanor practically screamed “naďve.” He trailed her for several minutes undetected; she carried no weapons, took too many deserted streets, and never looked behind her. Naďve, indeed. Practically a target for the scum and filth that infested Aduil.

When he materialized on her front porch, she screamed and dropped her basket of bread. He made no motion to retrieve the bread, but he did offer her a friendly hand. “I’m Agrathan Thoulurd. And you have beautiful hair.”

Shock haunted her face as she bent to reassemble her grocery basket. Red Hair tried her hardest not to look alarmed, but failed. “It’s good to meet you, Agrathan. May I ask why you decided to scare me instead of introducing yourself like a normal man would?”

He smiled. Naďve, but she had a backbone. “I’m pretty new to this town, but I have a drinking buddy who has a friend who knows this guy, and I’m told your mother was Della SouthFlame.”

This time her anger flared as red as her hair. “Yes, she was. And why would that be important? She died when I was very young.”

He nodded. “I noticed. Someone dug up her grave. Do you know why?”

Her stiff head rotated left, then right, then left again; a forced expression of “no.” “I… I heard someone was robbing the graves. I don’t know why they would.”

Agrathan leaned closer, flashing a rogue smile. “I heard it has something to do with… a curse, fourteen years ago. Ever heard a rumor about that?”

Her gaze turned to steel. Red Hair spun on her heels and stormed into her house. Before she managed to slam the door, the ranger wedged his foot into the crack. “Ms. SouthFlame, where is your father buried?”

She said nothing, but her fleeting glance northward gave him all the answer he needed.



Tara stood alone in the center of the graveyard, listening. He heard… silence. An echo so empty it felt like a scream inside his heard. Although all around him he could feel the tiny, bright souls of birds, insects, and rodents, none of them made a sound.

He stamped his feet against the dirt. Nothing.

He tried against, this time striking stone. Still nothing.

He clapped his hands. Then he summoned magic and clapped again. The spell, a sonic shockwave, whispered over the grass as silent as the wind. He hadn’t heard his spell-words, either.

The last time he and Agrathan had been to the graveyard, they had spoken to each other. And now he could not hear a spell designed to stun with loud noise. Curious indeed.



Beret stepped into the abandoned alley as soon as he knew Thomas was alone. The young man had taken this crowded shortcut home from the town’s small dock, leaving his friends with a few hearty slaps on the back. His face darkened as soon as he saw the bartender approach.

“Beret…” His voice was low, barely a whisper. “Beret, I can’t tell you anything. Please, don’t make me do this.”

The bartender raised a hand. “Hold on, young man. I’m not making you do anything. This isn’t a threat. This is approaching you while your mother’s not breathing down your neck.”

Thomas smiled. “Thanks for that. You nearly got me cooked. But still… I’m sorry I said anything to your daughter. I thought she was one of us, you know? I didn’t think you’d call in a mage and a ranger. What did you want to do, arrest us?” The boy gained confidence as he spoke, drawing strength from a misguided conviction that he had to hide the truth from Beret. The bartender could see it in the way he puffed out his chest.

“Have you done anything that needs arresting? I just want to find out why the graves are being robbed. Are you and your friends behind it?”

“Are you crazy? You think we want to mess with the dead?” The boy backed away, fists raised.

“No, I really think you’re smarter then that. You wanna tell me what’s up, then? Surely you’ve heard something about the grave robbings. There has to be a rumor going around somewhere.”

A hint of fear wavered across the boy’s face, disappearing as fast as it had come. “Look, there are rumors about a curse that happened a few years back. And then there’s these grave robbings. But they have nothing to do with each other. They can’t.”

“You sure about that?”

Thomas nodded his head, all traces of fear purged.

“Then how come the only bodies that are being stolen died in the past fourteen years ago? How come it’s only the bodies affected by that curse of yours?”

Fear returned, twisting the boy’s face into a mask of uncertainty. “It must be… just a coincidence. They can’t have anything to do with each other. It’s not possible.” Lowering his shoulder, the boy charged towards him. Before Beret could move to stop him, Thomas batted the older man aside and dashed into the open street.



The flavor was off.

Tara hid in the back room of a small grocer, using magic to hide from unwanted eyes. Lost in a sort of meditation, he stretched his presence forward, wrapping it around the house just one door down. He could feel the magic of Gamiel’s shop, not weak, but not strong. His original assessment had been exact; Gamiel stood no chance against his power. The wizard had just barely reached the nineteenth tier, if that. Not that he was doing poorly; a mage was considered accomplished if he reached the twenty-seventh tier in his lifetime. And Gamiel had at least twenty years more to live, if he kept his body healthy.

But it ruled him out as the necromancer controlling the undead. Although a skilled mage and a competent wizard, Gamiel had never touched sorcery. And without sorcery, necromancy was impossible.

Besides, the flavor was off.

Every soul had a fingerprint, a tinge of their own unique presence. It could not be forged, stolen, or changed. Mages trained in certain arts could track a man just by following the fingerprint of his spirit. Tara had never received such training, but he could taste the hint of Gamiel’s soul in the magic surrounding his shop. And it was different than the fingerprint left on the silence spell in the graveyard.

Thus, the flavor was off. Gamiel couldn’t be the necromancer. They had another enemy, one as yet unseen. And Tara had to find him before the monster could finish looting the corpses. Whatever this necromancer had in mind, RiverFord needed his help.



They gathered just before dusk, in time for Beret to open the tavern. Tara and Agrathan shifted to their usual table in the back corner, while the bartender shined the last set of mugs. Erika sat at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for them to talk about the day’s business. He doubted Beret knew about her subterfuge, but Tara could feel the magic of his silver ring, hanging just around the corner. He decided to stay silent about the girl’s presence.

“So, who’s going to start?” This from Agrathan, impatient as always. Tara didn’t mind; it meant the ranger brought good news.

“I’ll go,” Beret said with a sigh. “I got nothing from Thomas. And I asked around a few more times. No one is talking about whatever happened fourteen years ago. But…” He paused for a moment. “Thomas seemed very sure that the curse and these grave robbings weren’t related. He said they couldn’t be.”

“That’s impossible,” Agrathan said. “This is too much to be a coincidence.”

Beret shrugged. “Are you sure? If this has something to do with… I don’t know, whatever happened when Thomas was five, why did the grave robber wait until now to start digging up corpses? Fourteen years is a long time to wait for anything. Besides, there was the Famine too. Maybe it’s about the Famine.”

Tara nodded. “True enough. We’ll need to continue questioning Thomas. Perhaps I’ll try again in a few days. For my part, I didn’t speak with Gamiel. But I am certain that he’s not our necromancer. For one, he’s not strong enough. And I did a little digging and found evidence of another magicker at work. You have any other mages in RiverFord?” The bartender shook his head. “That’s what I thought. Well, then what I detected must have been the necromancer. So at the very least we know Gamiel has a master.”

“You still think he’s involved?”

“I do. He knew too much when we spoke to him.”

Agrathan chuckled and took another sip from his mug. “Well, it looks like I’m the only one with good news, then. I did a little thinking. You notice we didn’t get a lot of repeat names in our search? Like, we found Mrs. SouthFlame, but no Mr. SouthFlame? Well, I tracked down Ms. SouthFlame junior, a beautiful little red-head on the west side of town. And I asked her where her father is buried. She didn’t say anything, but…”

“Let me guess,” Tara said. “North?”

The ranger nodded, smiling. “You might remember that we didn’t find a lot of bodies buried in the last fourteen years. Funny, when you remember the Famine. I mentioned it earlier, because it bugged me a lot. Well, I think I know the answer. There must be a third graveyard, one separate from the two flanking the town.”

A grin creased across Tara’s cowled face. “Good work, Agrathan. How about we go do some more exploring?”

“Not yet,” Beret said as he opened the tavern doors. “Because right now, I’ve got a bar to run. We’ll go tonight, and I’m coming with you.”



They found the north gate abandoned. Nothing about the landscape changed, but Tara noted that none of the villagers milled near the outer palisade. Guards patrolled the town’s other two gates; here, only a large padlock sealed the portal from the outside. Beret tapped the iron working with his spiked mace. “It’s locked,” he muttered.

Tara raised an eyebrow. “I thought it was for decoration.”

The bartender shot him an annoyed glare. “Can you open it?”

Reaching up a gloved hand, he caressed the thick iron. Laying his staff against the door, he poked a finger into the large keyhole. “Obviously, this lock is meant to keep everyone out. I wonder why?” He flexed his fingers, preparing to cast a spell, when a sharp voice from behind broke his conversation.

“Hey, what are you doing there?”

The three companions turned to see a tall man in a soldier’s uniform. “Dang, we got militiamen up here,” Beret whispered. The larger man raised his mace, making his threat clear. Tara waved him aside.

Agrathan stepped forward, sweeping his cloak forward to hide his sword. “Friend, why are the gates locked in a free land like RiverFord?”

The militiaman placed on hand on his sword. “By order of the people, that gate is forbidden!”

Tara stepped forward. “So then, by order of the people, you should open the gate.” He touched the man’s mind, looking for cracks in his resolve. He found many. This guard was a weak-minded fool.

The man shook his head. “No. We are forbidden to use the north gate.”

“Why?” Questioned, the man tried to wrap his mind around the answer. Tara slipped into his weakened mind, sifting through his memories like a noble choosing from a menu. He started with the guard’s first sighting of them, moved on to their faces, their voices, and their appearances. Clutching the thoughts, Tara ripped them from the fools head. In the gap left by the lost memories, he inserted the image of the abandoned gate. Then, he sent the man stumbling away.

When he turned back to break the lock, he saw Agrathan and Beret gazing at him open-mouthed. Tara chanted a short word to break the iron lock and ushered them through the gate.



Three hundred paces north of the town, they found a small opening in the jagged rocks of the DragonTeeth Mountains. The narrow fissure led to a third graveyard, enclosed within a gothic iron fence. Even from outside the closed cemetery, Tara could see that all the gravestones were waist-high obelisks.

By now, night had forced the daystar into retreat, plunging the entire valley into darkness. The idea of investigating a cemetery this late unsettled both Agrathan and Beret; they turned to Tara to voice their discontent.

Agrathan moved his mouth, but no sound came. Tara raised his eyebrows. The silence spell? Clapping his hands, he cursed. Nothing. Beret and Agrathan shot glances back and forth, worried as well.

Raising a hand, Tara cast spells that scrolled his words into the air. This is a powerful silence spell. I believe it’s centered on this graveyard. We should try to break it.

Both men nodded and looked towards the cemetery. For the first time, Tara noticed a large crypt framed in the midst of the gravestones. Let’s try there— Before he could say more, harsh light exploded behind them. Covering his eyes, Tara spun towards RiverFord. A column of fire leapt from the center of the town—leapt from Beret’s tavern.

Agrathan and Tara came to the same conclusion. Tara followed the men as they sprinted back towards the town, chest heaving with their silent breaths. By the time they reached the north gate, the sound spell had dissipated and he could hear their footfalls above the crackling flame. They twisted through the tangle streets of the city until they came to the street were Beret’s ruined tavern sat. A small crowd had gather, gawkers dressed in nightclothes and tavern-goers from the neighboring bars. Agrathan rushed ahead, pushing the crowd aside as they sped towards the flame. Beret followed, unleashing a string of curses that threw people back as fast as the ranger’s shoves.

“My daughter!” The bartender rushed forward, ready to leap into the flames, but Agrathan stopped him. Beret cursed again, fighting the ranger’s grasp. Agrathan shot a pleading glance towards the sorcerer, and Tara replied with a nod.

Instead of trying to douse the flames, the sorcerer drained their elemental power. The tongues of fire flickered and died, leaving the tavern a burnt husk, edges glowing with the heat of the flame. He released the magic in a magical burst of icy wind that froze the remaining embers.

Beret screamed and shoved past Agrathan; with a glance at the doused flames, the ranger let him go. He charged into the ruins of the bar, stomping through the ashes, screaming his daughters name. “Erika! Erika!” Dropping to his knees, he shifted through the ruble where the stairs had been. “Erika!”

Tara’s heart cracked open again as he thought of the man’s beautiful daughter. Without thinking, he fingered the silver ring on his right pinkie finger. He could still feel the thrumming of the twin ring, the one he had given Erika. He closed his eyes, ignoring Beret’s desperate cries, and followed the magic of the ring. He could feel it flowing, northward, far beyond the ruined building. His eyes shot open. “She’s not dead!”

Beret whirled towards him, eyes ablaze with grief. “How can you tell?”

Tara dropped his hand. “I gave your daughter magic ring before we left. I can still sense the ring, and it’s not in the ruins of your bar. She wasn’t inside when the tavern burned.”

Beret’s shoulder’s heaved, but he relaxed visibly. “How in Lihova’s thrice-cursed name did this fire start? I doused every flame before we left!”

Agrathan glanced at Tara. “We saw the flash from the north graveyard. This wasn’t a fire; it was an explosion.” He nodded towards the sorcerer. “Magic?”

“I’m not sure,” he said with a shrug. “Without seeing the fire start, it’s hard to tell. But I think so.” Turning towards Gamiel’s house, Tara nodded. “And we both know where to start looking for wizard’s fire.”

Beret’s eyes flared again. “Gamiel, that goddess-loving fool!” Before either Tara or Agrathan could stop him, he sprinted towards the wizard’s shop.



The door cracked in two as Beret burst into the wizard’s parlor. His face twisted in rage, the bartender crashed over the plush sofa and tackled Gamiel. Caught off guard, the elder mage flailed beneath Beret’s blows. He flexed his fingers, hurling the man across the room with magic.

Agrathan rushed into the parlor just in time to catch Beret. He wrapped his arms around the man’s torso. “Calm down!” the ranger spat as he dragged the bartender to his feet. “Calm down. We don’t know anything yet.”

Beret ignored his friend’s warning. “What did you do with my daughter, you son of the Dark Goddess? What did you do?”

Tara joined Agrathan at the doorstep, placing a gloved hand on Beret’s shoulder. “Sleep,” he commanded. Echoing the command in draconic, he flooded power into the man’s body. Beret slumped to his knees, snoring.

Tara met Gamiel’s panicked eyes. “I’m sorry. We tried to stop him.”

The wizard pulled himself to his feet and dusted his battered robes. “What’s all that about, then?”

Agrathan dropped Beret and stepped forward. “Beret’s bar was just burned down. Wizard’s fire.”

Gamiel’s eyes widened in genuine surprise—Tara could feel the shock echoed in his magic aura. He staggered backwards, glancing from the sleeping man to the smoke curling outside his window. “And his daughter? Is she safe?”

Tara’s black hood shook. “She has a magical item of mine; I can feel it north of here. We need to find her.” He leaned against his staff and stepped forward. “But not tonight. I don’t sense any pain or fear from her. If she was kidnapped, she’ll keep till morning.”

The wizard stepped back. “You think I had something to do with this?”

Agrathan’s hand fell to his sword. “We never said that. But now we have no where to stay.”

“I can’t house you,” he stammered as he backed away. “I don’t have room.”

The ranger glanced towards his black-cowled companion. “He’s forty-first tier. You have no choice but to help him. It’s law.”

Gamiel’s neck clenched. “You don’t understand. I would help you if I could, but—”

“Let me make myself clear.” Tara brandished his staff in a clear threat to the older wizard. “I am going upstairs to find a room for the night. In the morning, I’m going to come downstairs and find that man’s daughter, and I’m going kill anyone who gets in my way.”

“If you’re so worried about her, why don’t you leave now?”

Tara smiled as he guided Agrathan towards the steps. “If she’s being held for ransom, we can’t do anything until her kidnapper contacts us. If not, she’s dead and haste will help nothing.” He helped Agrathan hoist the sleeping bartender onto his shoulders. “And I’m giving you the night to decide whose side you’re on; mine, or my enemies.”



< Message edited by Alixander Fey -- 3/5/2009 22:11:24 >
DF  Post #: 4
3/5/2009 22:14:44   
Alixander Fey
Member

Inside their commandeered room, Tara cast spells to quiet Beret’s troubled dreams. Agrathan dropped his sword and leather armor, folding himself into a dark corner to sleep. The ranger’s dark eyes stayed fixed on his friend, watching as he drew ruins in a pile of sand. “What are you doing?” he asked after a few minutes of silent scribbling.

Tara ignored him. Standing, he removed his cloak, revealing a head of bronze hair and deep grey eyes. He folded the robs and set them aside with his staff. Then he returned to his sand and continued writing. “I’m using runes to summon an item of magic from my tower,” he said after a while. “Something that will terrify Gamiel into helping us.”

The ranger raised an eyebrow. “Why do you want his help so badly?”

“He knows more than he’s letting on. Whatever is going on, he’s terrified. If you could sense his magic aura, you’d understand.”

He rolled over. “So what’s going to scare him more than… whatever he’s already scared of?”

“Do you remember when we traveled to the Endless Sands? The LoreMaster’s abbey?”

The ranger shuddered. “I remember zombies, a dragon, and a power-crazed immortal sorcerer who had an army of spirits following him around.”

“You’re forgetting the best part.”

“The Orbs of Power?” Agrathan rolled over just as Tara completed his spell. A flash of light burned the sand into ash, leaving a clear ball resting on the stone. The orb glowed with pure, white light. “Three Gods, I didn’t know you kept them. I thought you locked them up when you broke the spells that let people inside the Library!”

Tara smiled and cupped the orb in his hands. “I came looking for the orbs. Did you think I would leave such a powerful prize behind? But, you were right to think I hid them. I haven’t told anyone about them. Not even the dean of the four schools.”

At this, the ranger rose. “So Gamiel would think they are still legend?”

The sorcerer nodded. He closed his eyes, cocking his head like he did every time he touched magic. “I haven’t made my own yet, but I can use the LoreMaster’s well enough. I don’t know how he managed to fill all seven. This is the only one I’ve ever used and it’s only two-thirds filled.”

Agrathan shrank back into the corner, covering his face with a cloak. “You say that like you need the power.”

Tara rose, hid the orb within his cloak, and splayed across the wooden floor. A glance towards Beret confirmed that the bartender still felt the full effects of his sleeping spell. “Erika has one of my rings. When I searched for the ring, I felt it northward. North, remember? The third graveyard. It can’t be coincidence. And I’m worried about the silence spell I felt there.”

“Why would someone use a spell to quiet a graveyard?”

The sorcerer smiled. “There are very few reasons to ever use a silence spell. One is to stop a wizard from casting spells. Another is to hide the spells you are casting.”

“So someone is casting spells in the graveyard? Loud enough that he needs to silence himself?”

Tara shrugged. “I doubt it. But I’m sure someone is hiding something.” He paused. “Go to bed, Agrathan. Tomorrow, I’m going to bring the silence spell down and find out what’s going on in the third graveyard. Everything will keep until morning.”



Tara woke to a burst of magic. He felt rather than heard the explosion; it manifested itself as a dull vibration in the back of his skull. Spirit magic.

He sprang to his feet, drawing his dagger and sprinting towards the door. Beret started awake when the mage tripped over his sleeping form. He ignored the bartender and raced down the stairs.

Ash caked every inch of Gamiel’s parlor. The magic trinkets and potions that had lined the shells now lay strewn across the floor. Rushing into the back room, Tara kicked past a shattered table and nearly tripped of the wizard’s corpse.
Gamiel’s body had been hacked to pieces, but the cuts were too clean to be mundane. Someone with powerful magic had tortured him before his death. From the looks of it, he suffered greatly. And whoever did this used a silence spell, or else I would have heard.

Agrathan and Beret tumbled down the stairs an instant later, weapons drawn. The bartender entered the back room first; when he saw the dead wizard, he gasped and staggered backwards into Agrathan. “Did you…?”

Tara leveled him with a gaze that chilled his blood. Then, ignoring the bartender, the sorcerer sank to his knees and examined Gamiel’s body. Ichor pooled around his neck his wrists; deep burn scars dug through his forearms and ankles. This torture had been intended to cause pain, not to garner information. Whoever did this surely had the power to break his sixth warding and enter his mind unhindered. Whoever did this wanted him to suffer.

Shoulder’s heavy, Tara stood. “It seems that we have just witnessed the terrible cost of helping outsiders.”

Agrathan peered over his shoulder, no doubt scanning the body just as Tara had seconds earlier. But the ranger’s gaze stopped on the dead wizard’s neck. He pointed. “Do you see that?”

Tara shot a glance towards the corpse. “What?”

Agrathan shoved him aside and knelt by Gamiel’s body. Gripping the tunic at the neck line, he tore it in two. The same burns scarring much of the wizard’s body stretched to his chest; but instead of random marks of brutality, these scars etched coherent symbols. Three words had been seared into Gamiel’s flesh: Swear the Oath.

Tara took two steps back, then turned to Beret. “I’d bet three coppers that this Oath was sword fourteen years ago.”

The bartender matched his gaze. “And that most of the people who swore it were buried beneath obelisk gravestones. What does this mean?”

“It means are plans have changed.” Agrathan stood and swept his cloak aside, planting both hands on his sword-hilt. “Your daughter’s kidnappers have contacted us. Now you know their ransom demand.”



Thomas stepped backwards, pushing through the door with his shoulder. He staggered into the storehouse, struggling beneath the heavy barrel until he found its intended resting place. Relieved to be free of his burden, he dropped the barrel and turned to the door—until he saw a wraith-like figure blocking his way.

The sable-cloaked man spoke words in a strange language, and darkness filled the room. He backed away, hand falling to a short dagger sheathed on his hip. Unthreatened, the figure advanced. A gloved hand stretched from beneath the robes, clenching into a fist that lifted him from the ground. Thomas uttered a curse, flailing his legs towards the strange man, but his blows fell short. Before he thought to throw the dagger, two strong arms gripped him from behind and dragged him to the floor. He spun on his newest attacker—then stopped when he saw Beret’s face.

“Three Gods,” he muttered. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t—”

“Cut the filth, Thomas. My tavern was burned down last night. And my daughter is missing.” The hate in the man’s eyes frightened Thomas; he thought for a moment that the bartender would snap his neck.

“Look, I swear, it has nothing to do with the curse! It can’t!”

The black-robed figure, the wizard—no, sorcerer, whatever in the God’s name that was—that Beret had called to investigate the robbed graves, stepped over Thomas, brandishing his staff like a cudgel. “Gamiel is dead. We found his body burned and scarred, and whoever did it left us a message: Swear the Oath.”

Thomas felt the blood drain from his face. That wasn’t possible—his mother had told him the story dozens of times. They had ended the threat. They had broken the Oath. No one could hold them to their vows. “I…” His voice faltered. “I’ll tell you what I know. I’ll tell you about our Oath.”



They called it the Great Famine (Thomas said, sitting cross-legged on the warehouse floor). But it was more than a famine—a great plague swept across the land, targeting not the children or the cattle, but the crops. The harvest failed. Many died that winter, but things grew worse; the plague had left the ground fallow. Our fathers tried to plant crops, but nothing would grow. They slaughtered cattle, and for a time we lived off our herds. Then we sold all our possessions to by grain. Many more died the second winter, but the Great Famine spread to our neighboring towns, and they had nothing to sell us when the snows cleared. Our fathers’ crops still failed. By the end of the third winter, almost all of the children had died cruel, gruesome deaths.

That is when Kalladon came. He had great magical power, but whether he was a mage, a wizard, or a sorcerer I could not say. Perhaps when I tell of his power, you can make that judgment yourself. I know nothing of magic.

At first, Kalladon endeared himself to those still living by healing the sick and purifying the land. My father was the first to see his crops grow. But the success was bitter—all of his children were dead. Please (Thomas said as he raised a hand), let me finish. I will explain. Kalladon saw our problem, and he left us for a time, promising to return with help.

A month later, he did return. Many of the villagers had planted crops, even though they had almost no money. It appeared that our village would press on, although only the adults had survived. Many of them were too old to have children. Many feared that our entire village would die of old age.

Kalladon called a meeting of the town elders and made his offer. He had the power to restore the town’s children to life. He could give them back what the Great Famine had taken.

(At this, Thomas shifted. He could sense the disapproval in the wizard’s glare.) I was dead at the time, so I cannot imagine the grief that my parents felt when they heard Kalladon’s words. But I have seen the anguish in her eyes when she told me the story. They loved us, and they could not bear to live without us. But, although the people are RiverFord are ignorant of magic, we are not naďve. My father asked what Kalladon wanted in return.

At this, our savior grinned wickedly. He told the villagers that such a spell would require great power, and deplete much of his magical collection. He promised to do it, in exchange for an Oath. Every parent who had a child returned to life would be allowed to die a natural death. But they had to pledge to serve Kalladon in death, for as many years as his spell gave their children.

This unnerved the villagers. They asked many questions, drilling Kalladon about the nature of his spell. After weeks, my father stood and addressed the people. “It comes down to this very thing,” he said. “We are being asked to sacrifice ourselves to save our children. We need not give of our lives—only our deaths. Kalladon is asking for time that we would not have without his power. We loose nothing, and we gain our children.”

My father’s speech moved the townspeople. Gamiel, our only wizard, warned against swearing the Oath, but in the end he was outvoted. He acquiesced, and every living soul in RiverFord swore the Oath. They pledged to give as many years to Kalladon in death as he gave to their children in life. The next morning, we—and by that I mean my entire generation—returned to the loving arms of our parents. To us, it seemed like we had fallen asleep for a very long time. When we were older, our parents told us of the Oath. But at first, we had no idea.

For a time, the people still loved Kalladon. He built a small home to the north of the town and continued to practice his magic. He still served us a healer, and he taught Gamiel much of what he knew.
He read clouds and he blessed babies. During harvest, he helped the farmers gather their crop. Although he had healed the land, our harvest was still poor. Many feared we would not survive the winter—again.

That was when Kalladon started bringing us food. The villagers questioned where he had gotten the food himself, but he always smiled and answered “Magic.” When the winter began to wane, and word reached our ears of more famine in our neighboring villages, my father grew suspicious. He and a troop of villagers marched to Kalladon’s house in the dark of night, demanding answers. What they found shocked even Gamiel.

A small army surrounded Kalladon’s house. Many of the men following my father left at the sight of the fearsome warriors, but my father and Gamiel pressed on. When they neared the men, my father cried in surprise. He recognized some of the faces! Kalladon had used necromancy—an evil, perverted form of the magic used to provide life to the children—to raise an army from the grave. He had been robbing our graves for weeks, taking corpses for his army. And with this army, he had raided the neighboring villages. We were growing fat on the food of our dying neighbors.

My father was outraged. Together with Gamiel, he returned to the village and told them about Kalladon’s crimes. The next night, the entire village stormed the wizard’s house with pitchforks and torches, threatening to burn him to ashes if he did not dispel his dark army. Kalladon used the Oath against them, claiming that they had sworn their souls to him, so they could not fight him. My father replied that he had promised his soul in death, not in life, and he ran his pitchfork through Kalladon’s chest.

(Thomas paused, drawing a deep breath.) And that is what I mean when I say these grave robbings have nothing to do with the Oath. My father killed Kalladon. My father broke the Oath.

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