Suspicions indicated to him the work of magic. A guard, who called himself Hallons, recalled searching in vain with other to uncover the hideout of the kidnappers. When an errand boy was taken, his master attempted to follow, got lost, found again the trail when the night assisted through moonlight, and finally thwarted when the kidnappers faded away inexplicably. No trail was recovered that night.
Segrus had not arrived to the town-fort of Elid to look for lost young. His passing through was either a matter of fate or guidance to this crossroad, and met ill the circumstances of this place. Hallons spotted the squared black mantle which covered him and pulled him away into confidence. The middle-aged patrol explained the misery of a fortnight ago, and with silence Segrus listened intently. Misery, though, was not yet done with the fort. A friend of Hallons, who was mentored by the same within the fort’s militia, left less than a whisper behind when they too disappeared.
Segrus’ look began to unsettle the guard for the rapt attention given without word from the Necromancer. Finally, unclenching his jaw, Segrus gave assurance, “I will look into this matter. Tell me where to find the boy’s family.” Bright blue eyes transfixed Hallons whole being for a long moment.
Hallons did not look away until the man garbed in darkness was no longer in sight. Elid was on the edge of wilderness and none could be found here with any sense of sorcery. Desperation drove him to Segrus. Trust had to be made when all depend on each other for survival.
The deeply hooded look Hallons encountered here was a kind of hunger he hoped never to cross.
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Segrus left the fort’s protective interior, with its main thoroughfare and central activity, for the houses flanking the sides not walled by forest. Logged buildings with logged roofs contained all the homes and businesses of those exposed to harsher elements. Mud from the unkempt road was left splashed up to the knee from the travel of horses, the signpost of the labor involved.
He arrived as the sun dropped to just above the treetops. The home before him had seen better days, with the appearance of having stood since the time of the fort founding. There was scant activity within, compared to the houses of workers returning from labor. Segrus pulled back his hood, and holding his squared cloak against him knocked firmly with another hand.
A woman dressed in a coarse yellow frock responded quietly. She gave a perplexed look, markedly unsure what to make of Segrus, and took a moment before she stated softly, “Sir, if you have come for business to the fort, you shan’t find any here.” For a moment in return, Segrus observed her reaction while he calmed his manner. Hallons he met with strong-natured form, and that would do little good here. A shallow downcast movement in her eyes gained him the encouragement to begin.
“If you would entertain what I have to say, I would ask permission to enter,” Segrus finally stated. “I plan to take little of your time and I understand my presence is uncomfortable outright. Hallons sent me from the fort, on account of your son.”
She pursed her lips ever slightly tighter, Segrus noted from the shadow across her face changing in the failed light. “My meaning for being here is undoubtedly clear then. There is little ease I can provide with words. I would, though, seek to undertake the task of uncovering those who’ve done harm here.”
Her expression clouded deeper than before by Segrus’ estimation. Her manner of endurance against the world waned briefly. A hand gripped again the wood of the door while she considered. Her stance shifted from one foot to the other.
Brown eyes did not plead to him. She was not haggled down by sorrow enough to admit him. “I mustn’t. Please return to the fort,” came her reply.
She was poised for resistance, an effect of living so close to the forest and the people who made life here. Segrus offered no movement to the door or home though. He remained attentive to her words when he spoke.
“I pledge to leave then. My custom is to clasp hands in promise.” A hand raised, palm up, breaking the distance between them. Segrus saw her irresolute at his gesture. Her gaze met his steady hand equally until she acted as requested and retreated behind a closed door. He did not strive to react, only pulled himself back to a casual, then stiff stance.
The Necromancer rarely stared with concern at a spiritual presence, especially when the remembrance was pulled through the living. No child wandered the portal or in the window. A fantasy of a lifetime’s experience did not play before him. A horrible pulse quaked his perception. A void bent inwards harsher than tired pulled one into sleep. Greater was this force of emptiness than the earth’s strongarm. It was not larger in shape than a boy, but Segrus could not comprehend the edge where the world remained whole and the hole crumpled into shards of false, dark reality. Segrus focused tremendous will and tore away from the center of this remembrance and noticed a streak running into the forest. He played not being a medium lightly, for thus the small touch granted great evidence in the a murderer.
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The wood of Elid had grim scars for bark, and the foliage cast claws from the nighttime. Where wives choked not the ground a wave of deep-colored moss crept across the rocks. Such a look of stalwart trunks loomed overhead that Segrus was sure no guard could find their own dropped spear with a search party.
He was led deep into this forest. The mouth of the cave he found took longer to walk to than from the fort to its outer limits. A crack formed a path of the incomprehensible between her and the mother’s cabin. Without her, it became clear to Segrus a work of corcery hid all of the transgression from Hallons’ searchers. That which was hidden would be uncovered. Segrus braced his mind, prepared the long dagger at his side firmly in hand, and stalled no longer.
Three men waited as servants before a large stone obelisk. The carvings seemed ancient to him, and of a tongue he did not recognize. Of the three men, one dressed as a priest hovered over a rock slab holding up a large lump. The other two, though fitted with rags, could have once been fighters with their crouched posture.
As strange the sight was to him and the danger involved to his person, Segrus advanced within ten paces of the ritualists to make himself known. The movement cause their attention. A tattered man to the right of the priest grunted at the sight of Segrus’ drawn dagger. He pulled his own wicked blade and began to lunge for Segrus on the intention of someone to an intruder. Segrus reveled not in knife play. It came with significant risk from its close quarters nature. With rapid, practiced experience Segrus dropped low and brought his arms curled partially in front to obscure his profile.
Upon him was the cultist. A downward stab came for Segrus’ center, but missed its mark and lodged into the shoulder. Segrus did not miss. He shoved his blade deeper into the man’s breast, and a horrible groan breathed onto Segrus’ face. Feeling him slip as the energy to live drained away, Segrus shouldered the dead away with both weapons.
He could not consciously feel the wound as he rose to face the next challenger. The priest backed against the cave wall to leave the second lackey against Segrus, neither armed without Segrus giving up a defensive position to regain a weapon. His attacker was taller and had exploited the prior tussle to bear down in a grapple. Segrus struggled to find a grip on the cultist’s arms at first, which sought his throat.
Neither wore out the other in a first few moments. The cultist began to sweat—the granite of the cave granted more give. Segrus held their locked position and then edged away from unbalanced stance to equilibrium. Uncertainty entered the cultist’s mind, and he tried to reposition his grip on the black-garbed Necromancer. Segrus sensed the shift and pushed hard into the weakness.
Both men toppled onto the ground. Their initially confused tumble placed Segrus into the position of a wrapped arm around his opponent’s neck. The flailing lasted as long as it took before Segrus released and crawled to his feet.
The priest said nothing. No shout turned to threat. Finally, Segrus examined the last person who occupied the cave. Unnaturally wide eyes leered back, deep-set above a mouth which was no longer a mouth. Disfigured teeth protruded out of a chasm formed from what was once a throat. Segrus spent no more energy to come to terms with this cave of horror.
Inhuman in motion, the abomination lurched after him. Segrus was quick to dodge, yet sought not to escape and instead ran straight towards the altar. He yanked a thin sheet that covered a human sacrifice and presumed the dead body was Hallons’ missing guard.
Monstrous priest recovered its direction to face Segrus only to find two men standing. “I command you...tear...it apart,” Segrus whispered, out of breath from exertion. The fresh dead—the fresh undead—tore without pain or fear or hesitation. With the light of a couple torches casting shadows on their forms, the dead took revenge on the priest. No rest. No mercy.
When his pulse dimmed to a normal pace, the pain from his shoulder grew too great delay his leaving very long. The unconscious minion did not awaken, except in bound service past death. Three bodies in total were reanimated at a touch. Two minions were left to claw rock to rubble, and Hallons’ guard followed in stumbling gait out of the cave. Segrus rested against a tree until the work was completed and the unearthly pillar was destroyed. And with the crash the remembrance which led him here faded away.