Ward Against Darkness (Chronicles of a Reluctant Necromancer) (12 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Red colored the horizon as Ward climbed out his bedchamber window. He dropped to the ground into the rose bushes, fought his way out of the scratching thorns, and hustled to the stables. There, he found a shovel in a small room containing every tool imaginable for the maintenance of an estate. He hid his rucksack behind a dirt-encrusted saddle tossed in a corner with a handful of filthy rags and, with shovel in one hand and locket in the other, headed to the oak.

Assuming Habil had buried the reliquary with Ita was a long shot, but at some point, his luck had to change. Although, he’d rather his stealing the grimoires be that particular moment.

The hot summer breeze swept over the meadow, undulating the grass into giant, green waves. Stars dotted the darkening sky and, to the north, the Goddess star shimmered bright. True north had never seemed so uncertain even though She pointed the way with Her star. One little wake spell on Celia, and everything had changed.

When Celia and he had left Brawenal City, he’d thought he’d find peace and answers in the Holy City, Gyja. But Bakmeire, the Dominus’s right-hand man who’d plotted his death and was now in charge of the Gentilica, had set a hefty bounty on them to avoid any suspicion among his fellow criminals. The bounty hunters had attacked within a day of their leaving, and they’d been on the run ever since. Now, he wasn’t sure even Gyja held the solution to his morally murky problems.

Ward crested the hill. Before him towered the oak, its massive branches stretching high. It stood sentinel by a wrought-iron gate attached to the crumbling ruins of a chest-high stone fence—at least the highest remaining point was chest high. A wild white rose bush covered the wall in a profusion of blooms, leaves, and thorns. It twisted over stone, coiling around the gate, and crept up the side of the oak. As he stared, a bud pulsed with white light, once…twice…then unfurled.

Pain bit into his palm, the one curled around the locket. He yelped and dropped it. One quick burst of light flared from it, leaving the after-image burned across his vision.

More buds pulsed and unfurled into full bloom. The rose bush crackled and hissed. Thorns scraped against stone. The bush was alive and moving. Branches grew, curling around the wrought-iron fence. They crept up the oak’s trunk and slid along the lowest hanging branches.

Light flared from the locket again but not as intensely as the first time. Another flare and another. Then it settled into a steady, gentle pulse, like a heartbeat.

A petal floated from a rose hanging in the branches. It glided, suspended by a breeze Ward couldn’t feel, and landed a few feet from the locket. Another dropped from the bloom, landing on top of the first.

Nazarius had said the locket would reveal the location. Maybe the assumption the reliquary was buried beneath the oak wasn’t so wild after all.

Ward pocketed the glowing locket and pushed his shovel into the ground where the rose petals lay. If this was Ita’s grave, he could be digging a while.

All hints of red had bled from the mountaintops and night crowded the sky. The day’s heat cooled, easing the exertion of digging, but sweat still plastered his shirt to his chest and dripped from his brow and nose.

He thrust his shovel into the ground again. The hole was now at mid calf. If it were a grave, another two or three feet and he’d be at the body. The irony that he was likely digging up a corpse for a Quayestri wasn’t lost on him. This is what had gotten him in trouble in the first place. A part of him wished he were digging up a corpse for a necropsy, that he was still studying surgery and learning how to save lives. But he was no longer a physician. Here and now, he was a necromancer, a de’Ath. He’d never wanted his family’s business, but it seemed to want him.

He dug until the shovel hit something hard, the unmistakable hollow thunk of metal hitting a person-sized wooden box. He glanced up. The moon sat high in the sky. It would be midnight soon. He’d have enough time to get the reliquary from the coffin, return to the mansion, and clean up, but not to fill in the grave completely. Damn. Well, hopefully he and Celia would be gone before anyone noticed.

He cleared the dirt from the coffin. With feet braced on either side, he thrust the shovel into the lid. The strike boomed. Ward flinched and waited, holding his breath, but no one yelled or came running. Jabbing again, he cracked the aged lid. He tossed the shovel beside the pile of dirt, knelt, and yanked away a broken piece of worm-eaten wood.

Something rustled in the grass nearby.

He froze. If he remained where he was, kneeling in the grave, he’d stay hidden. Until someone noticed the huge pile of dirt.

Maybe, if he put up a fight, he’d be able to get away.

The rustle came again. Closer.

Ward leapt to his feet, grabbed the shovel, and turned.

Nazarius stopped mid step, his hands raised. “I see you’ve learned a few things.”

“A few.” Ward tightened his grip on the handle.

“Looks like you found the reliquary. I’m here to help.”

“You’re a little late.”

Nazarius crossed his arms. “Or you’re early. Isn’t grave robbing supposed to be done at midnight?”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I have a dinner date at midnight.”

“So you have plenty of time.”

“Not if I want to avoid announcing to everyone what I’ve been doing by being covered in mud.” Ward lowered the shovel. It wouldn’t do any good against the Tracker anyway. The man had enough martial prowess to easily overcome Ward.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here. I can finish the job.”

“I thought only I could get the reliquary.”

“The locket would only respond to you, and it has. You found it, but you don’t have to do all the labor. I can fill the grave back in.” He pursed his lips, his expression darkening for a moment. “We’re on the same side, Ward. Both the Seer’s men, even if reluctantly. For me, that counts for something.”

“All right.” He still didn’t trust Nazarius. If the Master told him Ward’s usefulness was at an end, Nazarius would probably be the one to kill him. Ward was, after all, still a criminal for—

He snorted. For doing exactly what he was doing now. Digging up bodies.

And now, Nazarius was helping.

Best not to point that out.

Ward tore away more chunks of the coffin lid, revealing a figure wrapped in a white shroud. He froze. The cloth was pristine, as if the body had been wrapped and buried yesterday. But Ita had been buried over 175 years ago. The shroud should have been shreds of browned linen among aged bones.

“Do you see it?” Nazarius asked.

“I ah—” The reliquary. They were there for that, not the corpse. But the mystery of what lay beneath that cloth—

“Ward?”

“Right.” Ward pulled away more wood, revealing half of a box resting on the corpse’s chest. Engravings similar to the shapes on the door to the east wing covered its surface, swirling to the center where a star-shaped indent lay. He ripped back another chunk of the lid, revealing all of the reliquary. His mouth went dry. It was rectangular and shallow. The size of Habil’s other two grimoires to be precise. Of course, what else would Habil hide, protected, with his lover?

“Is it there?”

Ward’s mind whirled. The Master of Brawenal’s Assassins’ Guild could not be allowed to have Habil’s Book of Souls. He steadied his breath. Ward had chosen to obey the Master, and now one of the most dangerous books in all of the Union of Principalities had been unearthed. If he lied or held it back, Nazarius would kill him. There were no other options but to hand it over.

He grabbed the reliquary. A shiver raced up his arms and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

Magic. Except he wasn’t supposed to be able to sense magic.

Unless Allette’s exercises had awakened his ability. He’d thought he’d seen something around Habil’s grimoires in Macerio’s private library as well.

He grabbed the reliquary again but didn’t feel any tingling this time. He squeezed harder and still nothing. It didn’t make him feel any better about handing it over to Nazarius. He worked the box free from the coffin and stood.

Nazarius held his hand out. “You should probably get back to the house.”

“I should.” Ward handed him the reliquary.

Nazarius tucked it under one arm and held out his hand again. What did he want now? Nazarius widened his stance and reached closer to Ward.

He was offering Ward help out of the grave.

Ward stared at his broad palm and calloused fingers. What a complete reversal. Only a week ago, the Tracker had threatened Ward’s life. Now they were partners of sorts…probably more like associates forced to work together.

“This really shouldn’t be a difficult decision,” Nazarius said.

Ward shook away his thoughts. He took Nazarius’s hand and climbed out.

“I’ll finish up here.” Nazarius grabbed the shovel. “Your job for the Seer is done. You and Carlyle’s girl should get out of here.”

“We will. There’s something I need to do first.”

“Something more than grabbing your bag filled with surgical things I’m not supposed to know about?”

If Ward hadn’t known any better, the Tracker sounded genuinely concerned.

“This house isn’t safe.” Nazarius drove the shovel into the pile of dirt, and tossed a load into the hole. Their interaction was over. Ward wasn’t inclined to trust the moment of kindness, but maybe his luck really was getting better.

With that thought, Ward headed back to the waystation. Before him, the mansion sat like a misshapen mound, backed by the barely discernible shadows of the Red Mountains. Lights glowed from windows like dozens of uneven eyes.

He didn’t want to return. Nazarius couldn’t be more right. The place wasn’t safe.

Lately, there had been a lot of things he hadn’t wanted to do but did anyway.

All he needed was to get through the evening. That seemed to be his new prayer. Just one more day. One more hour. Because he had to.

Besides, he’d ensured Macerio couldn’t have Habil’s third piece of grimoire. That Macerio hadn’t thought of digging up Ita’s grave in search of the book astounded Ward.

It seemed crazy Ward would have better luck than a powerful Innecroestri. Maybe his mystic blindness helped him see through the illusion Habil had cast on the book to hide it. How lovely—an actual use to his magical failing.

He squared his shoulders and picked up his pace. First, to see if Celia was at the stables, then to slip back inside, get cleaned up, and hide his filthy clothes. Finally, dinner, Allette’s spell, and escape. He could do this.

Something crunched behind him. Ward jumped, biting his tongue. He whirled as the copper tang of blood filled his mouth. A shadowy figure rose from the hillside, ambling toward him.

Had he been seen? He couldn’t get caught, and he couldn’t let anyone stop him.

He threw his hand out toward the shadow, fingers spread. Energy flashed through his mind’s eye. A bolt of magic lanced into whoever was there, intended to temporarily shove the person’s soul from his body.

The figure staggered.

Great Goddess! It worked.

The figure straightened, its width billowing, and took another staggering step forward.

Ward imagined another bolt. Bigger, stronger. He shoved it with more force. The figure grunted and collapsed. Ward inched forward, hand still held out ready. He’d done it! He’d finally cast a reverse wake.

Rodas lay at the top of the slope, unconscious. He wore all black and, without his wig, he blended into the darkness. Allette crouched at his side. She glanced at Ward and his dirt-encrusted clothes. “I thought you were supposed to be resting in preparation for this evening.”

A chill breathed over him. There was a new darkness to her voice…or was he imagining it now that he knew what she really was? It didn’t help that she was out here with Rodas.

His knowledge of the truth must be coloring his perception. “I had something I needed to take care of before we left.”

“And it’s done?”

“Yes. What are you doing out here?”

Her gaze darted to Ward’s hip then back to his eyes. “Ensuring Rodas cleaned up his mess.”

“What—?”

“You don’t want to know.” She stood and eased through the grass, standing a hand’s-breadth from him. “You grow stronger by the hour.”

He opened his mouth, but closed it and nodded instead. Confronting a vesperitti about her intentions alone in the dark wasn’t wise. If Allette decided to kill him, there wasn’t anything he could do. Nazarius might hear him scream, but he wouldn’t arrive in time. If he even cared to help. He could only pray his initial assumption about Allette was correct, and all she wanted was an end to her eternal slavery.

“I should get ready for dinner.” He stepped back.

She took his hand in hers, not seeming to care about the dirt. Her gaze returned to his hip—to the pocket where he’d put the locket.

Oh, Goddess, she could see the magic emanating from it. Of course she could; she was a vesperitti, a monster of magic. Nazarius had said Ward couldn’t be seen with the locket.

Her gaze jumped back to his face. “Ward.”

“Yes.” His heart pounded.

“Be careful. You’re coming into your strength, losing the block, but you’re still no match for Macerio.” She nudged her chin at Rodas still unconscious on the ground. Her eyes filled with worry. “Watch out for both of them.”

He forced himself to squeeze her hand. She looked like the terrified woman he’d first met two nights ago. “I’ll be careful.”

He wasn’t so foolish to assume he could ever be a match for Macerio. Casting the reverse wake on Rodas had been pure instinct, and the last time he’d tried, he’d failed. There was no guarantee he’d be able to repeat the spell.

But he had done it this time. He’d brought the flowers back to life, too. He couldn’t help but wonder what else he could do.

Nazarius tossed another shovelful of dirt into the grave. For a while, he’d feared the assignment wouldn’t be fulfilled, but he shouldn’t have doubted Severin. And as much as he hated to admit it, he shouldn’t have doubted Ward, either.

He stuck the shovel into the dirt.