The misadventures of the necromancer

“So which way?” echoes the voice behind him, not even bothering to hide its amusement at his frustration.

Oh, how he would love to punch the bastard.

The only thing that had stopped him from trying so far was the story he had heard from Esther. Of how the damned guy had taken on three men to defend a girl. And apparently, it had been a complete victory for him.

What should explain why this beggar was so comfortable with their mission, down in these tunnels.

So, he certainly was a good fighter, even if he didn’t look like one. And the fool must be counting on that to rescue the children.

“Well? Make a choice!” the bastard’s voice insists.

“What for?” he grumbles without controlling himself. His eyes sting, surely because of the smoke from the torch he carries beside him to light the way.

It’s not as if the bastard would follow his advice. Just as had happened so far.

Turning toward the wretch, who doesn’t seem even remotely bothered by the little outburst. He merely displays a smile that has grown steadily as they have walked through the tunnels.

A smile that worries him.

This man is showing far too many teeth while seeming to take sick pleasure in messing with him.

Still, he simply appears to be waiting for him to choose a direction.

The thought that has occurred to him most often in these tunnels is:

How did I get involved in this mess?

When the beggar and his companions had been planning to go through these tunnels with him alone, it hadn’t been difficult to point out that a single person couldn’t rescue anyone.

Of course, when the group of four or five, counting the beggar, though he hadn’t said much, closed ranks and insisted that their companion was more than capable of going alone, the force of the crowd had broken on their resistance.

Even so, he had stubbornly argued almost by himself, since even Esther seemed to support the damn idea.

That discussion had ended completely when one of the men pointed out that a large group would be easily detected in the tunnels, putting the hostages at risk. Meanwhile, only the beggar would be far harder to spot. Even without explaining why he was so certain the beggar would be difficult to discover, the logic and cold certainty with which it was presented had ended the argument.

So he had started suggesting how strange it was that this group of outsiders knew about a tunnel nobody in the city knew existed.

In the end, and to the confusion of his companions, the beggar declared he would accept taking a single companion, so as not to increase the risk too much.

He had immediately volunteered, claiming he wanted to help recover his cousin Taren. What wasn't a lie.

Esther’s emotional reaction, throwing herself into his arms in tears, had hurt. After all, Esther and her family had always treated him well.

So he could only dream of the best-case scenario, in which maybe he really could bring Taren back to her.

The beggar had merely asked for a rope, grumbling that this time he wouldn’t be able to go buy one. When someone handed him one, he jumped into the tunnel, saying:

“Come on then, cousin.”

Looking ahead and without thinking too hard, because there was no point, he pointed in one random direction.

Behind him, the boy makes a thoughtful hum, as if genuinely considering the route.

Just like the first time they had entered the tunnel, illuminated by the hastily acquired torch someone had handed him before he descended after the annoying bastard.

The tunnel stretched both left and right.

They had to choose one.

An important choice that could mean wasting a great deal of time.

Back then, the scene had been identical to this one.

He had even suggested the option most convenient to himself. that they split up and take different paths.

But the boy had merely repeated the question, asking which way they should go, wearing a bored expression.

And when he had generously pointed in one direction, the clown had simply turned and started walking the opposite way.

“Looks good,” the voice had commented as it began following the direction he had indicated.

That had been the first time!

And when he got his bearings, he realized he had chosen the wrong path.

Which had immediately forced him to chase after the bastard, saying:

“Are you sure?”

At the last fork, he had even tried throwing a small tantrum. He’d said that if the boy wasn’t going to follow his directions, they might as well split up.

Then he had remained where he was.

Unfortunately, the bastard had continued down the path he had chosen, waving one hand and saying goodbye.

When the boy disappeared into the darkness, and only his calm footsteps could be heard, he had no choice but to swallow his anger and follow after him.

“Yes, it seems like a good route,” the bastard says casually, as though they were out for a stroll.

Once again, he finds himself trying to catch up to the boy ahead of him, who moves at an almost leisurely pace.

“If you know the way, why do you ask?” he has to ask again.

“Oh, I don’t know the way,” the bastard replies in a tone bordering on mockery.

As he passes him, he can’t help noticing the sly grin on the man’s face.

“Yeah, of course you don’t,” he comments, unable to keep some bitterness out of his voice.

Moving ahead once again to illuminate the path, he can’t help noticing how the other man speeds up.

Which makes him realize that their pace has been controlled entirely by this beggar.

Relaxed when he himself is leading.

More demanding when Boris is.

Before he can decide how to feel about that discovery, the beggar’s voice sounds again, calm and almost friendly.

“I’m being honest. I don’t know the way.”

“But...” he continues, and Boris had already expected the but. “...if I remember correctly, these tunnels used to be occupied by bandits.”

For a moment, he almost blurts out, “Really.”

Because he hadn’t known that, assuming it was true.

“Bandits, cultists, renegades. Something like that,” the young man continues.

“The important thing is that whoever made this place was a bunch of lazy bastards who loved copy-paste.”

“What?” he hears himself say while trying to understand what he just heard.

What in the world was copy-paste?

“They reuse the same maps over and over. Or at least parts of them. Eventually, a person develops an instinct for them.”

The boy finishes as though he has just explained something.

The best Boris can make of it is that some group of bandits kept repeating the same tunnels.

But looking at the stone-carved walls around them, he can’t help doubting it.

After all, what kind of bandits go around digging tunnels like these?

Before he can ask for a better explanation, the other man speaks again.

“And you, boy, what do you do? What’s your job?”

That makes him look back.

Boy?

He’s probably five years older than the bastard.

But faced with the other’s amused smile and cold eyes, he has no choice but to turn back around and keep walking.

Maybe, despite looking like a young beggar, the young man really is older.

To end the uncomfortable silence, he has no choice but to answer.

“I’ve been working for the Grennsides.”

“Grennside. Hmm. Where have I heard that name before?”

“They’re some of the richest merchants in the city,” he comments, unable to stop thinking about how this idiot doesn’t even know something that simple.

“The owners of the house with the entrance to this place, right?”

Something in the man’s voice sends a chill down his spine.

As he realizes he may have said too much.

“Yes, yes. But they own a lot of things.”

He replies, while noticing he was just a little too slow.

So slow, in fact, that he could swear he feels the weight of the other man’s gaze on his back.

And he wonders whether it wouldn’t be better to walk behind instead of in front.

Everything had begun as an opportunity to make good money working for one of the richest families in the city.

All he had to do was gather some information and perform a few simple tasks.

How had it ended like this?

His favorite cousin’s son was kidnapped.

Esther herself was injured.

And he's down in these tunnels, feeling more and more endangered.

He doesn’t even need to look behind him to know he has no way of dealing with this mess alone.

His thoughts race.

The place they are heading toward is full of highly dangerous people.

So he can’t change sides now, no matter how confident the idiot behind him sounds.

While trying to decide what to do, he notices lights ahead.

And the sound of approaching footsteps.

Footsteps, they only hear now, because they themselves hadn’t been careful with their voices, surely alerting whoever was ahead.

He barely manages not to let out the relieved 'Finally' that wants to escape.

“Finally. I was beginning to think they’d never show up,” comes the beggar’s voice from behind him, sounding almost satisfied.

That makes him stop and look back at the young man.

At this moment, he truly does look young, with a huge grin on his face.

But not the pleasant smile of a normal person.

More like what he imagines the smile of a predator looks like after finding its prey.

Nero raises his hands and declares:

“Lesser Servant of Dekart.”

A light forms in each of his hands.

The light seems to contain something, but Boris can’t make out what.

Especially because behind him, he notices another light, accompanied by a sound like rushing wind.

Turning toward this new glow, he sees two circles of luminous symbols on the ground, almost overlapping one another.

From them emerge what look like ropes of white light.

And from those ropes, something begins to take shape.

Quickly, he realizes that skeletons are forming in the middle of the circles.

At last, the skeletons are complete. The circles vanish as if they had never existed.

Only the skeletons remain.

Nero's voice echoes once more, "Attack… if possible, I would prefer to have at least a few alive.’”

While the two skeletons advance down the tunnel to face whoever is approaching, he turns toward the source of the order. The mage remains where he is, lowering his hands. And Boris remembers that apparently, this guy’s missing companion had used magic. No one must have thought there was another mage present.

In this unexpected situation, he can only say, “What?” as he tries to understand what is happening.

“It was the stone, you know!” says the scruffy mage in front of him, which only increases the confusion he feels. The stone?!

“The stone that blocked access to this tunnel network…” he continues, gesturing with one hand to the surrounding tunnels, while the sound of the skeletons’ bones running echoes deeper inside.

“Yes, the stone that two guys were needed to move. Remember?” Of course, he remembers. He was there.

“Making it a little too difficult for someone on the inside to have placed there, no?” and swallowing hard, he cannot help but agree, because…

“Someone from the outside must have put it there. Someone who was then left behind during the attackers’ escape. Maybe they didn’t even participate in the attack themselves and only assisted the escape.”

His words give the impression that he is merely listing ideas, but the bastard’s eyes say I’ve got you.

Before he can contradict anything, the mage steps forward, which makes him step back. “But that could be anyone, right?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer and takes another step forward. “In the middle of that crowd, the most likely candidates would be those who didn’t even open their mouths. Or those who protested the most.”

As he retreats another step, Boris remembers that he was the one who tried the hardest to argue.

With another step forward, the mage continues speaking. “Which leaves one perfect candidate, right cousin!” At the end of this sentence, his eyes turn cold.

And his terrifying smile returns. “Which brings us to our little game down here. A game you just lost.”

The game was him asking for directions while Boris tried to stall by pointing them the wrong way, while the mage amused himself watching him. This guy is insane.

The mage takes another step toward him. This time, Boris stumbles and falls backward, dropping the torch, which goes out. Leaving them in darkness. At that moment, screams erupt, among which he recognizes a word in spoken in panic: “Undead!!!”

“The last light of magic.” And with that, a ball of light appears out of nowhere above the outstretched palm of the smiling mage, illuminating them.

Faced with this sight, Boris can only ask, “What the hell are you?!”

The smile on the mage’s face grows, and he shakes his index finger side to side, almost friendly: “Nah, nah…”

Then, the smile disappears, and his expression becomes serious. While the sound of screams echoing through the now-lit tunnel rises, the mage finishes.

“The one asking questions here is me!”

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