The castle clock announced the hour with ten resonant peals of its monstrous bell. Far below it, Nidian shivered, shrouded in the darkness of an alley. He looked up, only to see that the clock tower was hidden by the same thick mist that clung to him, chilling him to his very bones. Nidian ducked further into the alley when he heard the synchronized clip, clip of boots on cobblestone. Guards.
As they approached, Nidian readied himself and drew his wand. His heart rate quickened, and he concentrated, collecting his strength.
Clip, clip, clip.
Nidian felt like a lowly fugitive, but he couldn’t afford to be escorted back the castle, as he was already behind schedule. The guards turned into the alleyway, their magic lanterns bobbing serenely in front of them. Seconds seemed to move like hours as the lanterns illuminated Nidian’s hooded face.
“Prince—” one of the guards made a motion to bow before he was blown back ten paces by the burst of magic emitted from Nidian‘s wand.
Nidian turned to the other guard—whose face was now contorted with fear—and aimed.
“You will not speak of this.” Nidian snarled as another burst of blue light flashed from the tip of his rowan wand. The second guard shrieked as he flew through the air. He landed roughly and twitched for a few moments before becoming still. Wasting no time, Nidian sprinted over the unconscious guards—he’d be sure to seek them out and give them a promotion later—and out into the street. Keeping in the shadows, he let his breathing become regular.
While he ran, in long, ground-eating strides, he thanked the stars that everything was going according to plan—even if he was a little late. He reveled in the wind rushing through his hair and into his face. But most of all, he was grateful for a chance to finally see his father. After sixteen years and three days of lies—well-intentioned lies, but lies all the same—from his mother and her subjects, he would at last be able to see what the other half of his bloodline was like.
He continued this way for about a league, before he met the dense forests beyond his home city. Nidian drew his wand again, and allowed a pinprick of blue light to leak from the tip. Silently, so as not to disturb anything, Nidian tiptoed forward. It wasn’t long before he heard the hushed chuckling of water over rock. Nidian followed the sound until he almost tripped into the stream. He could now hear more than the babbling brook—the sound of chimes tinkling in the wind.
Nidian let more light escape from the tip of his wand and glanced around. Nothing was lurking, no hungry beasts hiding, waiting for the prince to let his guard down. He kneeled down by the stream, and dipped his left hand into the brook, wiggling his fingers. They made small disturbances in the water. Nidian waited.
The chiming stopped.
He wiggled his fingers again.
The chiming started once more.
“Oh, Prince,” A voice like a flute warbled. “I never thought you’d come back.” The chimes sounded again as a grey hand, fingers webbed together by a thin film, emerged and reached for Nidian’s, tugging gently. “What is it you desire, darling?” A flawless, heart-shaped face surfaced. With his free hand, Nidian shone his wand into the face of the nymph. Her toad-like eyes gleamed in the light. Long, wavy hair undulated in the rippling water. She smiled, and Nidian beamed back.
“Niamh. I’m glad you could come.” He let go of Niamh’s hand and stroked her clammy face.
“I can always make time for you, my love.”
Nidian flushed two shades of red and abruptly grew serious. “I, er, need your help. I’ve some business to attend to.”
“Oh,” Niamh smiled coyly. “Does your mother know of this?”
“No, she does not, and I’d prefer it to stay that way.”
The grave look of her friend, with furrowed brows and a mouth set in a hard line, suggested that secrecy was of the utmost importance. She did not, however, let the coyness fade from her pallid face.“Very well, young Prince,” Niamh’s laughter tinkled, “What is it that you need to know?”
Nidian sighed.“A werecat with a horse should have passed by not too long ago. Which way did they follow the water?”
"Why didn't you just ride your horse here, love? That most certainly would have been faster," Niamh winked as she said this.
"To avoid detection. I must be going, and soon. Can you tell me where they went?"
“Upstream, about two hundred paces. There will be a bend in the stream, and then a clearing.” Niamh giggled. “Hurry if you must, dear, but I’d prefer it if you’d stay here.” She took his hand once more, and pulled it with a hint of playful urgency.
Nidian pulled his hand away. “Thank you for your help, Honorable Niamh.” He said gruffly as he rose. “Next time I visit you, I shall be sure to stay longer.”
“Very well, my Prince.” That being said, she giggled once more and slipped back into the dark water.
Nidian watched the water ripple for a few moments before he set off. He kept alert, his power concentrated, should he encounter one of the wood’s many less-than-friendly denizens.
It did not take long until the stream doubled back on itself before making another sharp turn into the darkness of the thicket. At the first bend, a cluster of fairies glowed faintly on the steep bank, chattering amongst themselves. At the sight of the young prince, the small, timid creatures flurried into the air, over the stream, and into the deep shadows of the forest. Nidian looked around. Just as Niamh had promised, there was a clearing to his left. Hesitantly, he doused the light from his wand and crept into the open space.
A twig snapped behind him.
Nidian froze mid-stride.
“Fashionably late, as always, Niddy.” a familiar voice from behind the prince purred mockingly.
Nidian spun around, startled, and let a burst of bright light escape from his wand.
Nothing was there.
To the left, above Nidian’s head, the voice spoke again: “I thought you would’ve been in a hurry. It’s not every day that a Wizard goes to a resurrection.”
“Now is not the time for your jests and games, Amsi.” Nidian growled. “Show yourself.”
“As you wish, Highness.” Obscured by the darkness, a barely-discernible human form landed soundlessly in front of Nidian. When the prince shone his wand into the face of the shadow, the light revealed tanned skin, pointed ears, and high cheekbones. Almond-shaped eyes glinted green in the wandlight.
“Where is Stormbringer?” Nidian inquired, scanning the small meadow for his black Friesian stallion. Instead of the shining, high-spirited horse, his eyes landed on another creature: a small and unassuming paint pony, less than fourteen hands high--a far cry from Stormbringer’s sixteen hands of height. The mild-mannered mare was chewing on the soft grass, bearing a backwards saddle.
“If this is a jest,” Nidian began, sighing heavily, “then I am not amused.”
“I’m afraid I have no idea what you are talking about.” Amsi was nonchalantly leaning against a young aspen, examining his pointed nails. “That is your horse. I suggest you mount and go.”
“Amsi,” the prince shook his head as he undid the loose girth and righted the saddle and blanket. “One day I shall teach you to properly tack a horse.”
“I never cared much for the equine species,” Amsi replied flippantly.
“I can tell.” Nidian muttered as he mounted his less-than-glorious steed. He touched the tip of his wand to the mare’s flank, releasing stinging sparks. Startled, the mare immediately responded by taking off at a canter. Nidian goaded her into a gallop with a rough kick and a yell. They met the stream quickly, and through the hoof beats, the prince could hear the tinkling of chimes in the wind.
***
The paint pony needed constant encouragement to keep her current pace. Within about two leagues, foam was forming in the mare’s mouth from the exertion. Nidian’s anxiety and excitement made him a merciless rider.
The struggle between the prince and the pony went on for about one and a half hours. Nidian had decided that he would run the horse into the ground if he had to. He almost did when he stopped the wheezing mare in the middle of a sticky moor. Fog that smelled of sulfur and stale air swirled around the two, obscuring the path ahead. He let the small mare continue to cough, when without warning, the seemingly impermeable mist parted enough for the prince to see.
Nidian gasped.
A massive plateau jutted out of the ground before him, with a castle of black stone perched on the east end. Large, dark birds—vultures, perhaps—circled the towers. The sheer cliff had a narrow path that wound back and forth across the west side. Nidian dismounted the coughing horse and tied her to a fallen tree. He kept his wand at the ready—he had heard that the Necromancers had a habit of not tying their bear-sized hunting dogs up.
Trudging through the moor proved more difficult than it seemed from a horse’s back. The uneven ground was soft in some places and rock-hard in others. Twice Nidian lost his left boot. Despite the cold fog, the prince was sweating and breathing heavily by the time he reached the trail. He guessed that it was about fifteen minutes until midnight. Wiping his brow, he began to climb.
About three quarters of the path was behind Nidian when he realized that it would be nigh on impossible for a horse, no matter how sure-footed, to travel this way. It left him to wonder where the necromancers kept theirs. Maybe, he mused, maybe they kill them, drag them up here, and then resurrect them once on the top. But that seemed far-fetched, even for the necromancers.
He was still pondering this conundrum when he reached the summit. As he had climbed, the smell of sulfur had slowly given way to the sickly-sweet odor of decay. Now, by the castle, it was nearly unbearable. Nidian’s stomach churned, and he found himself retching a few moments later.
While on his hands and knees, he became aware that someone was standing over him. His green eyes rose to meet a pair of colorless ones.
“You.” the hulking figure rasped.
Despite his unsteadiness, Nidian stood up quickly, drawing his wand. His world spun for a moment. Now that he was standing, he found that he was a full two heads taller than his adversary. Cautiously, he spoke. “I am Prince Nidian,” he hesitated, as he was not accustomed to using his father’s name; “er, Lethrossi. I am here to attend the resurrection and reanimation--”
“I know what you are here for, Prince.” the old woman spat out the last word, as if it disgusted her.
“I know what you are here for, Prince.” the old woman spat out the last word, as if it disgusted her.
Anger flashed through Nidian. He raised his hand, about to hit her for interrupting him, but thought better of it. This was not his home turf.
“Follow me.” the woman began to hobble away. Nidian obeyed. She led him to a gigantic marble mausoleum that was surrounded by at least five hundred candles. Shadows and light danced together on the tomb. A dead hunting dog, as large as a black bear, lay on top of the stone chest. Its eyes were glassy, its tongue limp and grey. Outside the ring of candles, twenty-four of the late King Nystul Lethrossi’s most loyal subjects stood, garbed in black robes. The old woman, also in a black robe, joined them. Twenty-five pairs of colorless eyes narrowed as they fell upon the solitary wizard. Nidian found it to be unsettling, at the very least.
One woman broke the still silence. Her hair, as white as her pallid face, framed defined, slightly masculine features. Blood-red lips parted in a grimace-like smile. She moved with great grace, seeming to float. Nidian knew instinctively that she was no ordinary grave robber. She was Karavelia, queen of the Necromancers. Humbled, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head.
“Get up!” She snarled, yanking him up by the collar of his tunic. “Relinquish your wand.”
Nidian obeyed, and watched as his only weapon slid inside Karavelia’s robe. In his anxiety, he swallowed hard.
The queen gripped Nidian’s chin and turned his face to either side. “You look like him,” she said gently. “It’s a shame that his only son is illegitimate!” Karavelia slapped Nidian with all her might, sending him reeling. As he backpedaled, his heel caught on a rock. Nidian landed roughly on the parched ground. The small crowd surrounded him almost instantly, ripping off his tunic, and dragging him to the mausoleum through a gap in the candles. Nidian struggled fiercely, but to no avail.
“Blood from the first-born child, taken from a right limb,” Karavelia grinned as she slid a sharp knife across Nidian’s inner right arm. Crimson liquid began to flow freely, and at the sight and smell of it, Nidian grew nauseous again. The necromancer queen cupped her hands under the flow, and began to dribble it in a circle around the tomb. When she had completed the circle, she wrote runes in Nidian’s blood around the dead hunting dog.
Nidian was vaguely aware of chanting in the background. Several someones had wrapped his wound with his tunic, and then dropped him on the hard soil, away from the ceremony. The chanting grew louder and louder, and the congregation danced in circles around the tomb. Karavelia had a bell in each hand, drawing complex patterns in the air with them. She was laughing hysterically, with tears of ecstasy flowing down her face.
The chanting, dancing, and bell-ringing were reaching a climax. The unholy din was making Nidian’s head throb. He swam in and out of consciousness.
Everything went quiet.
The whole crowd was slumped onto their knees, as if exhausted.
Somewhere, a bird screeched.
More silence.
Suddenly, all the candles went out at once.
Something started breathing loudly. Nidian raised his head with difficulty as the dog rose gingerly, breath rattling. With a great thud, it landed on the ground. Karavelia’s face took on a tender look as she rushed to the dog.
“Nystul, oh, Nystul! Too long have I waited to bring you back, oh Nystul!” she hugged the animal tightly around its heavily-furred neck, sobbing into its thick, coal-black pelt. The beast began to work his mouth, as though it was chewing something.
“My Karavelia,” the dog finally rumbled, “too long, indeed.”
The old woman who had led Nidian to the ceremony rushed forth. “My son, oh, my glorious son!” after her, the whole congregation broke free of their silent bond and surrounded Nystul, chattering, crying, and laughing. Nystul’s eyes wandered from his wife, and fell upon the barely-conscious Nidian.
“Silence!” he barked, as if suddenly bothered by the attention. The crowd fell silent, just as he had ordered. Nystul broke free of his wife’s embrace, and crept towards his son. “Rise, boy.” he said brusquely, but not without a hint of tenderness.
Nidian, his world still spinning, rose to one knee with great difficulty. He bowed his head.
“Look at me.” the Nystul-dog ordered.
Nidian locked his gaze into his father’s eyes.
Without looking away, the fearsome canine ordered: “Karavelia, give him back his wand. My son deserves his dignity.”
Karavelia’s face donned an expression of shock. “How--”
“Do not ask. Just do.”
Karavelia obeyed.
“Speak to me, my son. Never before have I heard your voice.” Nystul requested in a whisper.
Nidian mustered a genuine smile. “Good evening, Your Majesty. I am Prince Nidian Lethrossi, and it is a great honor to meet you, my father, at last.”
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