3

In all the time Jorge Elhuyar had studied under his mentor, Anton Velikhov, master apothecary, he had never argued with the man. Until today.

He looked up from his work at the lab table and said, “I’m sorry, Master, but I must refuse.”

Velikhov tugged at his beard while he roamed aimlessly around their apartments. “I don’t mean a lot of blood, of course. Just a small amount to study. Jorge, you understand how significant this would be for the college. Blood that can raise the dead? Who knows what we could learn from such a thing. And if we could somehow duplicate it, the number of applications would be staggering.”

“I do understand, Master, but I’m asking you to also understand that Bhuidseach Rowena and her fellow Urram Le Bàs are considered sacred to their people. Merely to ask for a sample of her blood would be offensive.”

He stopped his wandering to look exasperatedly at Jorge. “You won’t even ask?”

“No, Master.”

Velikhov threw up his hands and stalked back to his bedroom, muttering to himself.

Jorge took no pleasure in refusing his master, but Rowena had taken him into her confidence, and he had sworn to respect the secrecy of the Uaine knowledge of necromancy. Even mentioning offhandedly to Velikhov that it was done by blood transference had been a mistake. That tiny bit of knowledge had sparked a hunger in the old master that Jorge had never seen before.

He sighed and returned to his work on the cold resistance potion he had been forced to put off yet again this past month. Not that he was complaining. It had been a supreme honor to stand in the college’s main lecture hall and present his findings on the Uaine herbs, plants, and fungi he had discovered during his time there.

But he’d been so busy that he’d had to decline Sonya’s invitation to return to the tundra to search for her fellow Rangers. Instead she’d taken Blaine. That was to be expected, of course, but Jorge still hadn’t sorted out his feelings about either of them. Even thinking about them being out there without him set his stomach into knots. Was it jealousy? If so, of whom was he jealous, exactly? Both of them? And why, when he knew that he could not marry either of them, did he continue to entertain notions of it? He should be happy for his friends that they had found each other. And yet…

There was a light knock on the door, which reminded Jorge that there was someone else he’d been neglecting while he’d been preparing for his lecture.

“Rowena, the door should be unlocked. Please come in.”

Bhuidseach Rowena Viridomarus drifted into the room like a tall, thin wraith. Her milk-white hair and skin was the mark of being a necromancer, or Death Touched. Traditionally, necromancers wore long brown robes, but lately Rowena had been experimenting with Izmorozian gowns generously provided by Galina Odoyevtseva Prozorova. The gown she wore today was lavender, and while Jorge wouldn’t exactly say that it made her eerie appearance any more attractive, he could not deny that her ghostly paleness, combined with the elegant gown, made her very striking.

“Do I interrupt ye?” she asked in her rolling brogue. She hadn’t picked up the language quite as well as Blaine, probably because she mostly kept to her own people, who occupied the abandoned garrison outside Gogoleth. The townspeople were still not comfortable with the Uaine undead warriors, called sluagh gorta, so it was probably for the best they remained separate.

“It’s no interruption,” he assured her. “I promised to help you. I’m only sorry it’s taken me this long to invite you over.”

She pulled a stool from the corner and sat down across from him. “I am in no rush.”

“Yes…”

He kept his tone neutral, but that was actually something that worried him a little. The Uaine had been brought over to liberate Izmoroz, and were then supposed to march on Magna Alto, capital and heart of the great Aureumian Empire, where they would no doubt be able to claim untold riches. Except they didn’t seem in any hurry to do so.

It was true the Uaine had suffered enormous casualties among their living warriors during the battle for Gogoleth. But the true power of the Uaine army was that any who were killed could be immediately resurrected as sluagh gorta, so their numbers had not actually diminished. In fact, since the sluagh gorta were nearly indestructible, the Uaine army was arguably even more formidable now. Jorge told himself that they were merely taking the time to recover from the fierce battle and devise the strategy for their invasion of Aureum. But each week that passed without any visible signs of preparation or progress made it harder to believe that.

“Does something trouble ye?” asked Rowena.

With both Sonya and Blaine gone, she was probably the closest friend he had in Gogoleth and he was tempted to unburden his worries to her. But it would certainly put her in an awkward position, so he shook his head and smiled.

“Nothing you could do anything about, I’m afraid,” he told her.

“Maybe ye miss Sonya en Blaine?” she suggested.

“That’s part of it, I’m sure. Perhaps I’m so used to having them around that I’m at a bit of a loss without them.”

“Do ye think they bring back more Bhuidseach like her?” she asked.

“The old Rangers?” He shrugged. “I’m honestly not sure. Our previous interaction with them was… not positive. And frankly, they didn’t seem all that interested in the affairs of regular humans in Izmoroz. They might prefer to stay where they are.”

She frowned. “But they es Bhuidseach. They have responsibility to their people.”

“Perhaps that’s how it’s seen among the Uaine. And that’s certainly how Sonya personally feels about it here in Izmoroz. But not all cultures insist that their… gifted members contribute so altruistically. Within my own culture, for example, the Viajero can perform extraordinary feats of magic. Some of them live in the cities and help people, but others join troupes that wander throughout the empire seeking fame and fortune. And still others enter one of the monasteries along El Fin Peninsula where they hope to strengthen their bridge to God in Heaven. Some even retreat in solitude to the Blindaje Desert, though I’m honestly not sure what they do out there.”

“I know little about Raíz,” said Rowena. “I would like to see it someday.”

“It’s a beautiful land, quite different from anywhere else on the continent.” Jorge smiled sadly, relishing the small pang of homesickness. Then he briskly rubbed his hands together. “Now, I promised to teach you how to make the salve that will prevent your sluagh gorta from freezing during your return trip across the tundra.”

“Aye.” She nodded.

“Before we begin, I must warn you, it is a complicated process that will require a great deal of time and patience to master.”

She gave him an odd, closed-mouth smile and leaned toward him so that a lock of white hair fell across her colorless eyes. “My friend Jorge, surely ye know by now there es nothing I won’t do to ensure the success of my people.”

“Wonderful. Then let’s get started.”