The misadventures of the necromancer

She stops just before tumbling down the slope. Her heart pounding, she looks down, wondering for a moment whether it might be worth trying to jump.

The fall doesn’t seem too high, but the chance of getting hurt and stranded there is far too great.

In her mind, one thing matters most: distance. She has to get as far away from Saca and her little brother as possible.

It’s the only way she can see to protect them.

Looking ahead, she can see through the trees the sunlight sinking toward the horizon, reflecting on the waters of Clearwater Lake — a beautiful sight, if only it were under different circumstances.

She glances around, trying to decide which way to go since she can’t move forward. Finally, she turns to her right, thinking it’s the direction that leads farthest from the small grove of tall trees, where they’re supposed to meet again at sunrise.

While she wastes time standing there, she starts hearing people moving nearby.

Now all she can do is try to buy a little more time and pray the gods show mercy.

The noise seems to follow her as she tries to slip away, but because she doesn’t want to be discovered, she restrains herself from running.

Eventually, she hears the snap of a branch breaking, and she crouches behind a large tree — just in time, as a figure steps into view.

“Where could they be? I’m getting sick of this,” she hears Breg’s familiar voice grumbling.

He’s answered by his brother Vimar, “Stop whining and come on. We can’t be far now.”

The two brothers, though only a few years apart, could almost be twins for how much they look alike.

But what matters to her is that this might be her chance — if they don’t notice her, she could slip past them, and once she’s behind them, maybe she can escape.

Everything now depends on which way they go. Her heart beats so hard it feels like it might burst from her chest. But she can’t do anything; at this moment, her fate isn’t in her hands.

“Which way? Do you see any tracks?” Breg asks as his brother studies the ground carefully.

“Nothing… maybe she went toward the lake?” Vimar suggests, and the small smile that feels creeping across her lips shows her relief. That means they might head the wrong way.

But from behind her, another voice shouts, “Here!”

Turning, she finds Sabir, his eyes locked on her, a triumphant smile on his face — and more importantly, his sword in his hand.

Hearing the other two approach, she realizes what’s happened. The brothers had been making all that noise on purpose, driving her right toward Sabir.

A common hunter’s trick — one she’d heard them brag about many times — and she had fallen for it like a fool.

Her shaking head must make Sabir think she’s giving up or something, because he says,

“All you have to do is tell us where she is.”

For a moment, she actually considers lying to them, sending them the wrong way — but she doubts they’d believe her.

“Sena, just hand over the kid, and we can all go back to normal,” says Vimar, his voice calm, almost gentle.

But how could she possibly do that? How could she live with herself afterward?

So she says nothing — which provokes Sabir to step closer and slap her across the face with the back of his free hand, shouting, “Where are they!?”

Someone who, just a few days ago, wouldn’t have dared touch her, now does this! The blow and the shock of it knock her to the ground.

Half sitting, she tastes metal in her mouth — blood, no doubt — but doesn’t even bother checking. Instead, she shoots Sabir a defiant glare.

He grips his sword with a fervor she’s never seen before.

“Answer, or you die here! Everyone agreed — the clan doesn’t need traitors,” he declares. She’d expected it, but hearing the words still breaks her heart.

All those years, and she’s discarded just like that. She’s been with them since she was a child. But none of that matters. Everything she’s done with and for them means nothing.

“Sena!” Vimar calls, as if expecting that kind of threat to work. As if, after all this time, they still didn’t know her.

Sabir raises his sword. She can only look up at him — torn between death and betraying Saca.

There’s a bitter irony in it, considering what she’d thought of the girl when they first met. After all, they had both been competing for the same man’s attention.

And while the girl had proven to be better than she first thought, the man had turned out to be a disappointment. What they’d all planned and done… was simply—

Maybe it’s the expression on her face as she thinks, or maybe Sabir just grows tired of waiting. His gaze turns cold, and the sword descends.

As the sword comes down, she instinctively closes her eyes and lowers her head — but she knows her fate is sealed.

She can only hope that Saca and the baby are safe, that at least they survive.

Above her, there’s a sharp metallic clang — as if the sword struck something.

Then someone shouts, “What the—!”

And Breg’s voice yells, “Where the hell did—!?”

Amid the confusion, she slowly opens one eye and sees a closed fist above her.

For a second, she’s distracted, wondering why this person’s sleeve looks burned. The only explanation she can think of is that the damage is recent — any sensible person would’ve just cut off the ruined part and sewn it again.

Quickly, though, her mind snaps back to the strange fist above her head — until she truly realizes what she’s seeing. The hand is clenched because it’s grabbing the blade of Sabir’s sword.

He had been mid-strike when this stranger caught the weapon mid-swing, saving her.

Now the two struggle over control of the sword. Normally, the one holding the blade would be at a disadvantage — the edge would be cutting into their flesh.

But that’s not happening. This explains the confusion and shock on Sabir’s face. Especially since she knows how much he adores that sword. Always taking such care of it. Seeing its edge fail to cut someone must be the last thing he ever expected.

The stranger is a young man, perhaps a little younger than her, with dark hair and simple, somewhat shabby clothes — or maybe just clothes that could use better care.

And far from surprised, he actually looks annoyed.

As Sabir strains against the blade, the stranger’s eyes go cold. He pulls the sword toward himself in a single motion. The sudden force makes Sabir lose his grip — the weapon slipping from his hands.

All Sabir can do is stare at the stranger holding his sword and blurt out, “What??”

Despite the chaos, the whole thing must have lasted only a few moments.

Because now she can hear the brothers approaching fast, weapons drawn.

The stranger doesn’t seem worried. He just tilts his head slightly, scanning them all.

Finally, he glances down at the sword he’s still holding by the blade and says,

“You lot were making a hell of a racket. I hope you’ve got a damn good explanation for whatever’s going on here.”

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