Cathexis: Necromancer's Dagger (63 page)

He sent a passing warrior to find Razor, his
best lieutenant, and the only man who knew most of his plans and
secrets.

Back at the archery range, Quarrel
approached Elizabeth and said, “Well, it seems you owe me three
questions answered.”

“True,” Elizabeth acknowledged.

Quarrel gestured for her to walk down the
path and the two of them were soon out of casual earshot of the
others.

“There is more to you than what you are
showing, isn’t there?” he asked.

“Yes, quite a bit more,” she replied, and
then added, “That’s question number one.”

He smiled and said, “And I trust I don’t
need to remind you that you promised the truth?”

Elizabeth’s eyes just smiled at him.

“Are you really just here to become one of
Wernok’s lieutenants?” He asked.

“Well, I am here to do that…, but no, not
‘just’ that,” she replied. “That’s two questions.”

He considered that for a
moment
and then thought hard about his last
question. So far he hadn’t really learned much, he had just
confirmed his suspicions. He thought about asking her what she was
hiding, but then he decided to ask, “What are you here to
accomplish?”

Elizabeth considered how to tell the truth
without telling him too much. She noted his Autrany uniform and
made a decision, Quarrel wasn’t really one of the bandits. “I’m
here to bring down the Usurper, and I intend to start things
rolling by gaining control of this bandit group.”

Quarrel’s eyes widened at this bold
statement from the newly arrived woman, but then he saw the hard
resolve in those steel eyes and he suddenly smiled. Somehow,
someway, he suddenly had the feeling that this young warrior could
do the impossible and he knew he was her man from this moment on.
In
reply,
he said, “I’m with you,
Poison. When the time comes, you have my bow.”

Razor slipped into Wernok’s cabin like a
shadow through a window. Wernok looked up into the hypnotic eyes of
his chief lieutenant and personal killer. He had never met a man
more lethal. The man was virtually reptilian, he would sit without
movement, completely stationary, to the point where you did not
even think he blinked, but when he moved it was like the strike of
a slither. He was of average height and
build
until you looked closely at the corded muscle.
There was no fat on his body, just muscles,
bones,
and sinew. He had a curved hawk nose and thin
down-turned
lips. His eyes were
his most striking features; the irises were a motley brown, almost
yellow, making the pupils stand out in bold relief.

This was the only man the bandit leader
feared, but he knew Razor was no threat. His lieutenant had one
flaw; he needed someone else to be the leader. He could function as
a sub-commander as long as it didn’t interfere with his opportunity
to kill.

Wernok and Razor had a good working
relationship, both knew Razor could take Wernok and both knew he
never would. They had been together for eight years.

“So what do you think of her?” Wernok
asked.

Razor’s reply was in his normal breathy
whisper, “She’s dangerous.”

“I agree, but in what ways do you see her
that way?”

“She adapts, she learns, she studies. She
does not want to be a lieutenant, she wants to command,” he
whispered, staring into Wernok’s eyes.

The leader averted his eyes from the glaring
black pupils.

“Can you take her?”

“Yes,” the killer answered without pause,
the simplicity of his answer giving testament to his confidence.
“Do you wish me to kill her now?”

“Not yet, I want to find out more about her
motives. Is it personal power, or is she working for someone else?”
he pondered.

Razor remained silent, he did not care about
her motives; killing was his business and his only pleasure. He
brought up a new subject when he said, “Has ‘she’ contacted you
recently?”

“No, so I assume we’re to continue according
to plan. You leave for
Treaborr
in
seven days. If my sources are correct two of the smaller bandit
leaders are meeting there to discuss an alliance. Find them and
turn them
in to
the local militia
and then make sure they die in the ensuing battle. We can absorb
both of their groups before the final stage is set. ‘She’ will like
that, I’ll explain it when she next comes to call on us,” he
finished.

“Their names?” he asked, referring to the
bandit leaders.

“
Uriene
and
Tiwel
, they were both lieutenants
in the old regime. Be careful, they aren’t just farmers turned
bandit,” he cautioned, unnecessarily.

Razor ignored the warning, it didn’t deserve
a response.

“Why don’t I leave immediately?”

“I have another job for you; let’s put
together a little test for our newest bandit. I’ll put you in
command of the squad I’m sending to attack a Belorn merchant. Put
her in some danger and see how she handles it. Then kill the
captive merchants, better yet, assign her to kill them, we’ll see
how she reacts to an order to murder someone. If she refuses any
order, kill her,” Wernok commanded.

Razor stood and gave a simple nod to show he
understood and then left to ready his men.

Wernok stayed in his chair, his thoughts
going over the necromancer RIveK’s plans and his rewards for
carrying out those plans. His sick smile of anticipation was merely
a glimpse into his true hidden insanity.

Elizabeth walked further into the valley
community to where the log cabins stopped and lean-tos and tents
crowded together. This was the refugee camp. Here she found more
women and children. The women were the wives of the men who were
exiled from their homes by the Usurper, men who had loyally served
the rightful rulers of Autrany.

Here and there Elizabeth saw a child. Their
somber faces looking out from the edge of curtains and from behind
trees. Elizabeth was dressed in a warrior’s garb and these people
had learned to avoid the bandits whenever they could. They were a
necessary evil, protection of sorts from the Usurper's death squads
who hunted those still loyal to
Autrany's
royal line of succession.

One woman wearing rags for clothing looked
disdainfully at Elizabeth’s garb.

“Why do ya look at me in disgust?” Elizabeth
said, stopping to confront the woman.

“Excuse me, I
weren’t look
’in at you,” she replied.

“No, it’s all right; I promise that I won’t
get angry. I’m just not used
te
people looking at me with hate; I would like to know why?”
Elizabeth prompted.

“I’m sorry, yer
mistaken
, I don’t hate ya,” the older woman said.

“It’s because you don’t respect anyone who
kills for a living, right?” Elizabeth asked, having read that
answer from the woman’s mind.

“Yer a woman, ya should
be help
’in the needy, not
pranc’in
around in yer fine armor,” the woman
scolded, then looked up and down the path in fear, hoping no one
else had heard her outburst.

“Do you know why I’ve come over here?”
Elizabeth asked.

“No, ya should go back to yer kill’in kind,
over there,” she replied, gesturing toward the cabin area.

“I’m a healer and I’ve come to help. If
there are any children or adults that need attention please take me
to them. I have skills that may be of use,” she explained.

“You, with the knives to murder stick’in out
all over,” the woman ridiculed.

“You are here because you need protection
from the Usurper’s soldiers. You need the food that the bandits
bring from their attacks. My daggers are very similar; they are the
protection that I hide behind from evil men. They are the weapons
that allow me to survive in a world of
evil
so that I can help the side of
right
to triumph. Remember, weapons are not
evil, it is the people who misuse them that are evil.”

“You’ve come te help?” the woman said,
skepticism still in her voice.

“Yes, I’ve come to help you all,” she
replied.

“That’s a large order te fill
fer
one slight
lass
, but if ya really have some heal’in skills then
follow me. Young
Jerf
is down with
the ‘burn’, I don’t think he’ll be mak’in
it passed
tomorrow,” the woman explained, leading
Elizabeth through the maze of tents and lean-tos.

When they reached
Jerf’s
tent Elizabeth found the young six-year-old boy
lying on a cover. He was sweating profusely. His mother sat next to
him swabbing his brow with a damp cloth. Tracks from tears stained
her face.

The mother glanced up wearily and saw the
old woman. “He’s nearly gone,
Santhra
,” then she saw Elizabeth and was startled by the
stranger wearing armor, but
Santhra
reassured her that Elizabeth was a healer.

Her fear immediately turned to hope and
Elizabeth smiled back to her reassuringly.

The sorceress placed her hand on the young
boy's brow and to the watching women it looked as if she was
checking his temperature, but she was actually touching his aura.
She could see the flickers of black throughout his body’s aura; a
sickness ran through his blood unchecked.

She spoke to the mother quietly, “He is very
sick, but not beyond my skill.”

“You can save him? Please, save my son and
I’ll do
anyth’in
fer
ya. Just save my son, please,” the
distraught woman begged.

“Do not fear, he will recover,” she
promised. Placing her hand over his heart she began to heal the
aura. As the heart pumped the blood through the area of healing it
returned to the body untainted by the blackness. After a brief
time,
he was healed.

Now, something to cloak the magic,
Elizabeth thought and took out some simple cooking spice from her
belt pouch and placed it under the boy’s tongue. “That will take
care o’ him. When he wakes tonight, let him eat and drink as much
as he wishes, then after he rests a few days he should be back te
normal,” she told the woman.

The worried mother nodded, not quite
believing her son was cured.

Elizabeth stood and began to leave the tent.
The mother placed her hand on her son’s brow and then cried out in
some strange dialect, “
Misur
Ceranka
!” Then she exclaimed, “His
‘burn’ has yielded!”

Santhra stepped quickly to the boy’s side
and placed her hand on his forehead. After a moment she released it
and spoke to his mother, “G’lan has smiled on ya this day; the
‘burn’ is indeed gone.”

“How may I repay you?” the woman exclaimed
to Elizabeth.

The sorceress smiled as she looked at the
joyous face of the young mother and said, “I have already been
repaid by your joy.”

The mother looked puzzled, but she nodded
and returned to her recovering son’s side, weeping this time with
relief and joy.

Elizabeth and Santhra stepped outside and
the older woman stopped her for a moment, “There is more here than
the eyes can see, that was fast heal’in.”

And you’re smarter than I believed, I’ll
have to be more careful,
Elizabeth thought, and she said, “Yes,
I’m a healer, though my bark proclaims me another tree,” purposely
misunderstanding the woman’s reference to what was hidden.

“How are you at broken bones?” Santhra
asked.

“Let’s find out,” was Elizabeth’s
response.

Through the rest of the day Elizabeth was
careful to use mundane means of cure on some of the injuries she
tended: splints, poultices, thorough cleanings, and mixtures of
herbs for medicines, but underlying each of these methods, she
applied her aura healing powers to accelerate the process.

As she readied herself to leave the refugees
Santhra took her aside again and said, “I’m sorry I was hard on you
earlier, you are indeed a healer. Why don’t you stay here with
us?”

“Santhra, not all who fight are bandits. We
need leaders who will work
fer
more than the gain o’ round or the privileges o’ the powerful. I
want
te
see these people,” she
gestured across
Santhra’s
tent
community, “get the chance te return
te
their rightful land and lives. Te do that I’ll have te
play by the rules o’ those in charge, until I’m in charge. I need
the support o’ yer people; you outnumber the bandits thirty
te
one. With yer
support,
we can take our destiny into our own
hands. So I
go te
play their games
and fight under their rules te gain the foothold I need t’ make
changes. Try not te judge me harshly, and try te explain te more o’
yer people; I need their support.”

“I will,
Poison,
and good luck,” Santhra said. She turned to walk
back into her community, thinking,
Poison, what an odd name for
a healer.

Elizabeth returned to the bandit’s portion
of the camp.

A group of men told her that Wernok was
looking for her, so Elizabeth headed for the bandit leader's cabin.
The door was open, so she strolled in and took a seat. Wernok was
reading a document, so Elizabeth waited patiently to find out why
the bandit leader had called her into his cabin. She waited
quietly, not bothered by his silly game of silence, she could out
wait
a rock.

He finally realized that she was not going
to ask him about the summons, so after setting down a message he
had been pretending to read he laced his fingers together and
leaned forward onto his desk. “How are you acclimating with the
men?”

So,
Elizabeth thought,
now he
wants to sneak up on whatever it is he plans on telling me.
She
answered aloud, “Fine, they seem to accept me.”