A Shocking Revelation

 

Nartesis closed the Necromancers’ Book of Census with a resounding thump and pushed the massive volume across the table.

Ousel stood at Nartesis’s bedchamber door wringing his hands, his hedgehog bond’s head hanging out of his chest pocket.

Nartesis waved at the man. “You may take the book back now.” He fought back his annoyance at the man’s panic-stricken appearance before turning his attention to the brown parchment on the table.

With a gratified sigh, the minister snatched up the thick volume and swept through the chamber door, the tome cradled to his bosom.

Nartesis drummed his bone fingers on the chair’s arms as he skimmed the list of names he had scrawled down the brown parchment, his new minion forgotten.

Briean

BreeAnna

Bria

Brianne

BryAnn

BrieAnna

The list went on. Twenty-two given names in all, ending with the name he had expected to find—Breanen Sagamore, the sovereign prince’s wife. But it was not just the names’ resemblance that made him pause. It was the timing of each name’s appearance in the Book of Census. Each woman, most rising to the level of grandmaster, had entered the Necromancers Order as a teen between five and ten years after the death of the previous incarnation on the list. The pattern was too predictable to be a coincidence.

So why has no one paid notice to this before me? Nartesis pondered as he stroked the small lump in his breast pocket. He shook his head, then pushed the parchment away with a frustrated sigh. “Don’t be a fool, Nartesis. Only someone looking for the pattern would see it.” Which was, in itself, ingenious. Too much time passed between each successive name for anyone to recognize the lineage for what it was.

Old memories flared to life, dancing visions of the years following his escape from Thanatos’s destruction to a time when he had been gripped by an obsession to own all the powerful Fettering Stones. He’d needed an able-bodied assistant, a thief of sorts, to achieve his objective, and BrieAnn had been a thief like no other. Of course, BrieAnn had not been her real name. Spirits from the Psychic planes had no name—at least not names they shared. This spirit had adopted the name BrieAnn from one of the first vessels he had summoned the spirit into. A fiery young Bremenn priestess, as he recalled, who had met a most untimely demise—a death most deserving for the atrocities the woman had committed against him and his fledgling order. And the perfect vessel for the work Nartesis had needed done.

Nartesis rose and let his fingers glide down the parchment, reading each name again in the flickering light of his fireplace, coming to rest on the last. “My dear BrieAnn,” he mumbled as he tapped the parchment. “What have you been up to all these centuries?”

Naturally, that was not the most critical question. Nartesis stretched, groaning at the snapping of wizened muscles as they expanded. He had devised the method of using Fettering Stones to summon spirits to the Physical plane and give them life, a technique he had never shared with anyone. So then who else had gained the knowledge to summon this being that called itself BrieAnn? From the pathetic examples of undead he had observed around Thanatos, it appeared no one had the keen skills necessary for such a necromantic feat. The notion that there might be powerful Necromancers hiding in the dark gave him chills ... and a sense of excitement.

BrieAnn had been brought back ... what? Twenty-two times at least, over five centuries. So, who had passed this knowledge down through the centuries? And how had it been kept secret? What was the purpose of bringing this one spirit back over and over again? And had BrieAnn repeatedly returned to the Necromancers Order of her own volition, or had she been commanded to do so?

And, of course, there was the question of this rare Fettering Stone. Shazarack slipped the amulet from the pouch at his waist—the one he had removed from around Breanen Sagamore’s neck—and held it to the light. The brilliant bands of blue swirled and sparked from the onyx stone, casting dancing shadows of his meager, hunched frame along the walls. Nartesis had gathered and used every stone not locked away deep in the dark vaults of Aldemeer, under the protection of Bremenn priests ... or, as he had learned from Ousel, protected now by the Paladins Order. Where had this stone come from?

And finally, if the spirit he had come to know as BrieAnn had been summoned to the Physical plane as he suspected, what was the chance others were summoned as well? Were other spirits from her plane walking the firm terra of Gaia, living and breathing as if they had been born into Gaia?

He shoved the amulet back into his pouch. He had no doubt his BrieAnn had spent much of the past five hundred years right here in Thanatos.

Nartesis contemplated taking this information to Galan, the sovereign prince of the Necromancers. Perhaps this would help smooth out the tension growing between them. But Lord Galan stewed over Breanen Sagamore’s death. It would be a while before the man was amiable to being swayed to believe any story other than that Nartesis had murdered his wife. Besides, how does one go about telling another that the woman he’d loved his entire life had been—well, not really alive? Living, yes. But something else. Nartesis chuckled at the thought. But no. Sharing such knowledge would only cause more havoc.

Nartesis shuffled to the fireplace, the parchment with the list of names rolled tight in his fist, and tossed the paper onto the fire. His thoughts flickered like the flames greedily eating the parchment as he arranged the steps ahead. A smile that looked more like a wince crossed his lips. Nothing like a good mystery to occupy my interest!

Perhaps Lord Galan would even serve him better as angry adversary than as comrade-in-arms.