The misadventures of the necromancer

In the distance, the new group approaches. Even knowing that with Nero by his side it's unlikely anyone could really threaten them, Adar feels a weight in his stomach.

Especially when he realizes that the group is larger than theirs.

When they get close enough to be clearly seen, Adar can only turn to the mage beside him. “Nero!!”

The mage doesn’t reply, simply keeping his gaze fixed on the approaching caravan. His face shows no concern—but neither does it show his usual irritation or defiance.

Adar can understand the mage’s seriousness because even in this fading light, it's possible to see that members of this group are wearing armor. Not just the usual leather armor that is fairly common, but full metal plate armor.

The reddish light of the setting sun reflecting off that metal almost makes the knights look as though they are covered in blood. Or at least, that’s the image that comes to Adar’s mind.

Adar glances again at Nero, trying to figure out what the mage is thinking. But Nero still reveals nothing. Which forces Adar to make his own calculations.

These knights must be quite capable, or how else could they afford the resources that such armor represents? As they draw nearer, he also sees they are traveling with horses.

Big, beautiful horses, which must also cost a good deal of gold to buy and maintain. The knights are leading them on foot, all dismounted. For what reason, he can't even guess. The only comfort is that it will make a full cavalry charge more difficult, if not completely impossible.

Adar has seen Nero face groups larger than this. But, besides the mage they suspected was Seran, he doubts Nero has ever faced a group better trained or more prepared for a fight.

On the other hand, Nero’s spells appear to be more than powerful enough to take on anyone. To Adar, the necromancer would likely win any fight that starts. But the image of those armors won’t leave his mind.

“Grumpy, you go greet them,” Nero announces.

Adar, finding nothing else to say, nods. “Alright.” After all, what else can he say? It’s rarely a good idea to have Nero do the talking—normally the necromancer is only useful for pressuring people, usually with magic. How would a group of apparently capable warriors react to his comments?

“But what’s going on?” Adar hears Mira’s voice behind him, followed by approaching footsteps.

“Look, Adar and Nero are getting ready to deal with the situation. So we better stay back,” says their friend Seres sensibly. Having the priests nearby might complicate things.

At least in the case of a fight—but on the other hand, their presence might help de-escalate things. Adar will have to see how it plays out.

“But maybe we can be of some help!?” offers the ever-helpful Whit.

“Maybe!? But for now, let them handle it. If things go badly, it’s better to be behind Nero than in front of him. So stay here!” Seres insists, and Adar nearly applauds him—until he remembers that he will be the one in the line of fire, stuck between the necromancer and the strangers.

“Nero... you’re going to be careful, right?” he asks, his heart beginning to race at the image of the knights attacking and Nero responding by launching a fireball—straight at Adar.

“We’ll see how things go,” Nero replies seriously, doing nothing to ease Adar’s growing anxiety. But at this point, what else can he do?

Finally, they’re close enough for Adar to get a good look. The group consists of seven people, six of whom are clearly knights in full armor. None of them wear helmets, allowing Adar to see all their faces—and, to his relief, suggesting they don’t have hostile intentions, since surely they’d have their heads protected otherwise.

At the front are two men: a blond knight leading his horse, and the only unarmored member of this group, wearing an old brown robe—a middle-aged man with dark hair and a thick beard. For a moment, Adar considers that he might be a mage.

Bringing back memories of the last time they faced a real mage—an encounter that didn’t end particularly well for Nero, as it was the only time Adar saw the necromancer lose a fight, with Nero having to burn himself alive to escape.

But those thoughts vanish quickly because although he can’t explain it, Adar doesn’t believe the man is a mage. The way he moves reminds him much more of a warrior. There’s a precision to his movements that he’d only seen in people like Grint.

The blond man, noticing Adar’s gaze, raises a hand in a clear greeting, and with a smile so bright that Adar can see it from here, shouts, “Hey!!”

Good signs, no doubt, thinks Adar—just in time to hear, “Wake up.”

He turns to the side to find the necromancer gesturing with his head toward the approaching group. Signaling that Adar should go do his job. With difficulty, Adar reigned in his dread of being in front of Nero if things went badly for that could mean a very hot death for him.

So, taking a deep breath, he steps forward to speak with the knights.

The blond knight turns back and says something to his companions that Adar doesn’t catch. Then he and the unarmored man continue forward, while one of the others steps forward to take the reins of the blond man’s horse.

So it seems Adar will only be meeting with these two. Not that it makes much difference—if things go wrong, he doubts he could handle even one of these knights.

“Hello, friend,” the knight says cheerfully as they approach. Adar takes in the knight's impressive figure: tall, broad-shouldered, and with a friendly smile lighting up his face. On his back he carries a round shield that covers most of it, and at his hip hangs a beautiful longsword with gold accents on the hilt.

The other man beside him almost disappears in comparison, but Adar notices his sharp, attentive eyes scanning everything around.

“Hello, gentlemen. May I ask what brings you here?” Adar finally asks, deciding that with night falling, there’s no point wasting time on pleasantries.

“Ah, yes! You must be a bit concerned seeing so many armed folks show up out of nowhere,” the knight begins, stating the obvious—though given the man’s wealth, it seems unlikely they’re here to rob anyone.

The knight extends a hand in a clear gesture for Adar not to worry, then continues, “But don’t worry!! We mean no harm. As we were preparing to set up camp, we noticed your smoke in the distance and decided to check it out.”

The explanation makes sense—at least it explains why they weren’t riding. They're resting the horses. Adar nods for the man to go on.

“Oh, right!” the knight responds with a slightly embarrassed chuckle, realizing something.

“I haven’t even introduced myself, have I!? I’m Kael and my companions...” Here he turns and gestures toward the knights behind him, “We are knights of Áuron.”

That should be reassuring. After all, who hasn’t heard of the noble and respected Order of Áuron? Knights known for fighting evil wherever they find it.

Evil like, say, necromancers, this is simply wonderful.

“Knights of what?” Adar hears Nero’s voice behind him. Of course, he would ask this. Why wouldn’t he? If he didn’t, how else would they seem strange and suspicious?

Adar turns around, trying to signal the necromancer not to look so distrustful and rude. Speaking perhaps a little louder than necessary, he says, “Áuron, Nero! They belong to the famous Order of Áuron, one of the most well-known and powerful knightly orders. Celebrated for their fight for all that is good.”

Nero steps forward, studying Kael’s armor carefully. Adar finds the act borderline insulting, but thankfully—for now—the knight doesn’t seem to mind.

Of course, that probably won’t last. Eventually, Nero will open his mouth and declare he’s never heard of them, or worse, call them and their whole order weak—if not something even worse. But one thing is certain: the necromancer will say something to stir things up. And Adar will be caught in the middle.

“Are you part of the Hundred?” Nero asks calmly, though Adar doesn’t understand the question. What the hell does he mean by the Hundred?

Fortunately, the knight understands, and with an even wider smile replies, “Yes, yes. How did you know that the Order of Áuron descends from the group of the Hundred? Most people these days have never even heard of them.”

Which, in Adar’s mind, answers the question—if no one knows them, of course Nero knows them. If they were well-known, the mage surely wouldn’t.

Nero gestures to an insignia on Kael’s breastplate that Adar hadn't noticed and doesn’t recognize. “I recognized the insignia,” he says, then nodding upward adds nonchalantly, “Good faction.”

Adar doesn’t know what to think, for moments he even questions the term faction, but he ends simply staring at Nero slack-jawed. The necromancer not only didn’t insult the knights—he probably just gave them the highest compliment he’s ever uttered.

“Thanks, friend...” says Kael happily, but as if remembering something, turning toward his robed companion and introduces him respectfully. “Ah, and this is our companion, Delric.”

The man acknowledges the slightly delayed introduction with a nod. “I, for my part, belong to a small and lesser-known religious order—the Order of the Petal and the Flame.”

So they belong to different groups, Adar concludes, vaguely remembering hearing of this second order—but not where.

That is until he hears a faint sound of irritation beside him, which makes him look to see Nero’s displeased expression. Because of course, he’s heard of that order, and of course, he has nothing good to say about them.

All Adar can do is put a hand to his face in frustration, trying not to scream.

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