Book of The Dead

Chapter 28: The Return

"Wake up you lazy sacks of bones. Time to get moving."

Rogil emphasised his words with a few targeted shoves with the side of his boot. Not enough to cause any harm, but enough to get his team moving. When he reached the rat's sleeping roll, he was pleased to see the young man already awake and lacing up his coat. That's how the young ones should be, especially if they wanted to make the jump from an untrained nobody to a qualified slayer. When the kid looked up at him he met his eye and gave him an approving nod before he stepped to his own things and started to pack them away with sharp, efficient movements.

The boy… Lukas, was his name wasn't it? He'd held up surprisingly well over the last few days, maintaining a respectable level of performance despite the long days and short nights. By now most rats would be out on their feet, more asleep than awake and delaying the team. Even a lot of newly graduated Iron rank slayers would be struggling at this point, so the team leader had nothing bad to say about his fortitude.

His knife work may have been sloppy, but it was better than most, those few levels and basic training in butchery saved a lot of time cutting out cores and they'd built up a reasonable, if small collection of high quality chitin that the armoury could make use of in the keep. What had been a short trip to keep his team on edge and blow off steam had turned into a nice little earner, their rat had paid for himself multiple times over. Even better, they hadn't had to baby him through fighting monsters. Rogil was more than happy to part with extra coin if it meant that he didn't have to waste time helping some kid flail away at a dismembered rift-kin. It lacked dignity.

Today was the final day of their planned patrol and he was determined to bring his friends and comrades back home safely. Almost all the worst incidents tended to happen towards the end of an expedition. People got tired, then they got sloppy. Rogil refused to allow himself to get sloppy.

"Arryl, finish your pack and get out there in one minute, I want eyes in the trees. I'll carry your gear."

The scout gave him a quick nod as her hands flitted about her roll, securing ties and checking pockets faster than his eyes could follow.

"Monica, check your supplies and give me an inventory. If we're short on anything I want to know."

"Leader," the mage confirmed as she began to carefully check her medical bag, eyeballing each pouch, container and vial against the list she'd pulled from her waist pouch.

"Rat, you're with me, once you've got your gear sorted we'll be standing guard until Monica is done."

"Got it, leader," came the reply and before long the kid was up and standing over the more experienced mage, spell ready in one hand and eyes scanning the woods for threats.

Where did this kid come from? Rogil wondered. He's way too good for a first timer. I guess Monica got lucky when she pulled him out of the crowd.

It only took Monica a few minutes to finish running through her supplies and report there was no meaningful shortage of any supplies. With that done, the team left the campsite and set off on their last patrol.

"We’ll be keeping to the east side of the broken lands today as well. The west is still looking a bit too dicey for my liking. We'll move close enough to have a good look at the rifts before we backtrack and cover ground further out. Once midday comes, we'll start the trip back to Woodsedge. Anyone not clear on the plan?"

Everyone voiced their understanding and Rogil grunted before he marched off into the woods and the others fell into line behind him, Arryl still stalking through the trees. It took a little over an hour for the group to reach the edge of the broken lands and another ten minutes to get close enough to get a clear view of the rifts. As expected, the activity of the rift-kin had increased, despite the work of the teams in the field. Rogil spent some time taking notes as he peered out over the shattered landscape and blurred horizon before he turned back and ordered the group to return the way they came. They ran into several packs of monsters in short succession on their way out which tested their skills and had Lukas sweating as he was interrupted multiple times whilst trying to extract cores.

Shortly after they ran into another team and briefly exchanged words before the two groups continued on their separate ways.

An hour after, Arryl emerged from behind a tree next to Lukas and called out.

"Leader. I've spotted something you probably want to see."

"Trouble?"

"Depends on your definition?"

"No bullshit in the field, Arryl," he snapped.

"Check for yourself."

She pointed up and Rogil followed the direction of her finger to find a strange blue bird staring down at them. The colour of the plumage was far from the last unusual feature of the creature, it possessed three eyes, each of them red as a ruby, and the light shimmered around it giving it an ethereal quality that made it seem as if it wasn't of this world.

Which of course, it wasn't.

"Wow. Is that an astral?" the rat wondered aloud as he stared up at the obviously magickal entity watching them from above.

"Eyes on the woods!" Rogil ordered before he leaned to the side and spat on the ground. "Stupid bastard couldn't wait half a day for us to get back? Typical."

He thought for a moment.

"Get some rest. We'll rest here for ten, I'll keep watch. I doubt he's far away if Farran is watching us."

"Okay," Monica replied and Arryn nodded.

Tyron looked confused as he glanced from the bird to the group and back again.

"It's our fourth member," Monica took pity on him and let him know with a smile, "he's a Summoner and Farran is the bird's name. He was caught up investigating the ritual that happened in town a while back and couldn't come out with us, that's why we're only doing a patrol rather than tackling the rifts head on. Since he's here I assume that his work in town is done."

For whatever reason the team's rat looked a little embarrassed at her words and she moved to comfort him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

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"Don’t worry about it. To be honest, Dove's a bit of a pain anyway, it's been nice to be out in the field without him."

"You know I can hear you through the bird, right?"

A man's voice echoed out from the creature above.

"Of course," Monica looked up to smile pleasantly at the summon.

"Just checking."

The mage turned her attention back to Tyron.

"It's been wonderful to get out and stretch our legs. Rogil thinks it's bad luck for a team to spend too long away from the field."

Tyron nodded.

"Yes I've heard the same thing from - … experienced people. That slayers who are out of action are toothless tigers."

"I've never heard it described that way," Monica chuckled, "but I do agree. This isn't the kind of work where you can afford to be even a little short. It only takes one mistake to get yourself killed, and then there's one less person working to contain the rifts."

"You take this work very seriously, don't you, Ms Monica?"

"Oh please, just call me Monica," she smiled, "and of course I do. We are trying to save the world!"

"You can take your hand off his shoulder now," that strange disembodied voice rang out again from above.

"Shut. Up. Dove," the mage ground out.

"Hey, it's not a crime, but I've heard some say it should be. Young people, only recently come into their class are susceptible, vulnerable even, to wily older people with designs on their innocence. The youth need our guidance and protection, Monica, not our lu-"

The mage flung a hand out and Farran, the unfortunate summon was immediately engulfed in flames that somehow left the branches and leaves completely unscathed, even though Tyron could feel the heat from where he was standing.

"Stupid fucker," Monica ground out before she gave his shoulder a final squeeze and stepped away. "Don't worry about Farran, he's back in the astral and Dove can summon him again in a day or so."

"R-right," Tyron replied.

Behind them Arryl had buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking from the effort of trying to contain her laughter. The group sat and didn't converse much until five minutes later they heard a loud rustling, followed by an irate looking man in mage robes who stomped into view.

"Monica, you FUCKING cow-ape! Why'd you burn my precious boy?! Farran is a treasure."

"He might be a treasure, but it's a shame he's attached to someone as vulgar as you, Dove."

"Vulgar?!" the man gaped. "From you?! You were practically molesting that poor boy!"

"I'll burn you, Dove. Don't think I won't."

"You know she's not joking, Dove," Rogil declared as he strode back into the clearing, "and if I ever have to rub ointment on your backside again because you couldn't keep your mouth shut I'll thrash you myself."

The new mage, Dove, held his hands up to the sky for a brief moment, as if to say "Why me?" before the four slayers stepped towards each other and shook hands, clapped shoulders and welcomed back their errant member while Tyron stood awkwardly to one side.

"I can't believe they let you go," Rogil chuckled as he roughly shook Dove by the shoulder, "I thought you'd be in irons receiving heinous torture by the time we got back and we'd have to mount a daring rescue to bust you loose."

"It nearly came to that I think. I was told that some of the marshals were less than pleased by my company and intended to make life difficult for me. Can you imagine?!"

"Oh, I think I can," Monica chuckled, her earlier ire evaporated. "Welcome back Dove."

"Good to be back. Arryl got injured while I was out?! What the hell have you been doing out here, woman? Don't tell me you've also been distracted by the young meat."

"I prefer mine a little more seasoned…"

"Old and wrinkly more like," the mage cackled. "But I shouldn't be rude."

Dove brushed past his comrades and approached Tyron, his eyes sweeping up and down the youth in one swift motion.

"A right hander I see, put her there," he extended a hand for the rat to shake.

"Ah, how did you know?" Tyron frowned as the older, skinny mage pumped his hand with far too much vigour, then realisation hit. "My scabbard, obviously."

"Unusual to keep your blade where you're forced to draw with your weaker hand," Dove chuckled.

"I don't remember you being so observant, Dove," Arryl drawled.

"You pick up a few things hanging around law enforcement, my dear friend," he turned back to Tyron. "As you've no doubt heard, I'm Dove, a Summoner and the fourth to this point sadly missing member of the team. Welcome aboard young…"

"Lukas."

"Lukas. I'm a little surprised to see they picked you up, we don't usually pick up rats for the trip, they tend to not make it back from the places we usually go."

"This one might well just," Rogil walked up and complimented the young man. "He's been surprisingly competent. Handy with a spell and a few levels in butchery to boot."

"Really? Not many are willing to spent a point on a skill they see as beneath a real slayer," Dove nodded, impressed. "Not many classes synergise with it either. That's a bold choice you made, kid."

"Ah, thanks?" Tyron smiled, unsure how to respond to this rare praise from the team leader.

Dove looked the young man in the eye for a short moment before he turned back to the others.

"Well, now that I'm back, how about we go and kick some monster butt and let off some steam. Who fancies a trip into the rifts? We can kill something big, get a fatass core and come home rich and happy."

Rogil smiled but shook his head slowly.

"No can do, and you know it. We only took supplies for a few days and you sure as hell know I won't poke my nose through a rift without a full scouting report and proper preparation. I'm sure you're pissed off and frustrated, but that doesn't mean we get careless and take risks. I want you pissed off and alive rather than satisfied and dead. Got it?"

"You are a rigid stick all the way up my arse, leader. I get it. I don't like it, but I get it."

"Come on then," Rogil threw an arm over his friend's shoulder, "let's head on back, get pissed and then we can start arranging our next sortie. Something with a little more meat on the bones, I've had enough cleaning up the small fry, that's Iron rank work."

With a little more cajoling, Rogil managed to get his team focused and on their way back to town, though now Tyron definitely felt like a third wheel as the others slotted so seamlessly together that there was essentially nothing for him to do, or a gap for him to slide into the conversation as the others bickered with the easy fluidity of very old friends. This didn't bother him too much, he was eager to return to Woodsedge and begin planning his own trip back out into these woods. A far more dangerous venture where he would attempt to recover whole skeletons from the sites he'd marked on his map, while dodging rift-kin.

"You'd never believe the shit I heard in town," Dove was saying to the others as they walked, their eyes constantly scanning the forest around them, "apparently there's a Necromancer on the loose in the western region."

"Really?" Monica replied sceptically. "I think I heard about them in academy. Isn't that class exceedingly rare?"

"Yep, but it can cause such a shit storm that people tend to remember it."

The change in topic was so sudden that Tyron nearly tripped over himself, caught completely unawares by the now dangerous conversation.

They have no reason to suspect me, he reassured himself, just stay calm. I might even learn something.

"What makes it so dangerous?" Arryl asked, not really paying attention.

"At the lower levels it's shit," Dove replied, "basic undead, the kind you can find in any place with too many dead and too much magick. If it gets levelled though, the number and type of dead that they can support starts to rocket up. According to what I know anyway."

"How do you know so much about it? And isn't this basically what you do? Bring in minions to do your dirty work?" Monica asked.

"First of all, most minion based classes learn about Necromancers at some point, it's a notorious class, and second, no! This isn't remotely like what I can do. I can summon three entities, tops, and each of them is going to be better than a fucking zombie, but it's possible to control literally thousands of zombies at a time. They can rip through villages and population centres single handed and never show their face. When they get strong enough, they can raise the remains at close to the strength they had when they were alive. But that's only at the tippy top level of Necromancer."

"Sounds ridiculous. How many times has something like that actually happened?"

"Once in the last two hundred years."

"Once?!"

"Once was enough, apparently. The class was blacklisted even before that happened, but they fucking hate Necromancers now."

Tyron kept his head down and tried not to look too much like he was listening, but he was focused on every word the skinny Summoner said.

"So what? Some illegal went rogue and now they're going to hunt them down? Happens every year, doesn't matter what the class is."

"Oh, ho. But this is where it gets juicy. Do you know who that kid is? Tyron fucking Steelarm."

"Who? No, wait. You aren't serious…"

"Oh I am very serious."

"That's fucked up. The Steelarm's kid? Illegal?" Arryl seemed particularly angry upon hearing the news and Tyron carefully watched his step as his heart pounded in his chest.

In a way, he wished Dove would stop talking, but also desperately wanted to hear, to learn whatever he could about his class, about his family. He fought to keep his breathing steady and his expression bland as he continued to walk in silence.

"You think that's bad? Wait till I give you the kicker. The magisters took this threat quite seriously. So seriously, they put their highest rank slayers on the task of hunting him down."

"That's bullshit!" Arryl exploded. "Are you fucking serious? They want them to hunt down their own kid?"

"They'll do more than that. They'll force them to it with the brand."

"That's horrific," Monica gasped.

"At this point I marched out of Woodsedge, gave the marshals the finger and caught up with you guys. I knew the magisters were sick fuckers, don't get me wrong, but this takes the fucking CAKE. The whole cake as well, sprinkles and frosting included. I was literally boiling with rage. I had to stick my balls in a barrel of cold water just to cool down."

"Dove, this is serious shit, can we please not bring your balls into it? Why do your balls always have to be mentioned?!" Monica complained.

"Just because they have too much hair on them for your tastes, doesn't mean they don't have value to others!"

"Shut up!"

"I think a lot of people aren't going to be happy about this," Rogil observed quietly.

"What do you mean?" Arryl asked him.

The team leader sighed heavily before he replied.

"Think about it. The Steelarms are heroes. The slayers in this province worship the ground they walk on and hate the magisters with a passion. There's going to be a lot of pissed off, powerful people when word of this gets around."

"Oh, I'm telling everyone I fucking see," Dove assured him.

"Tensions are already high. The rifts are playing up more and more. Taking the two best killers off the table and have them trying to hunt their own child at this time is idiotic at best and self-sabotage at worst. I don't see this ending well."

Silence descended over the group as they continued to walk and Tyron was happy for it as his mind whirled with what he had just learned. There were so many implications to this information he couldn't hope to process it in one go. He needed to sit. He needed to think.

After ten minutes of quiet, Dove finally spoke up again.

"Well, the marshals are getting serious about looking for him since he hasn't shown up yet. When I left they'd started demanding a status reading of everyone going in and out of Woodsedge."

The others in the team cursed, irritated by the delay caused by this bureaucratic nonsense but Tyron stopped walking and for a beat, standing stock still.

Status readings? He couldn't go back into town at all?!

He stood frozen for a long moment before he realised what he was doing was immensely suspicious and started walking again, flicking his eyes up to see if anyone had noticed his lapse. To his horror, he found the Summoner staring back at him with wide open eyes.

Dove nodded slowly to himself before he turned forwards again alongside his comrades. The group continued in silence until the walls of the keep came into sight, peeking through the foliage as Tyron thought desperately for an excuse to separate himself from the group. If he just ran, he'd look suspicious as hell, he needed a reason, but the harder he thought, the less plausible anything sounded to him, and the more panicked he became.

At that moment Dove stopped and spoke to the others.

"You guys go ahead. I want to have a quick word with the kid before we get to town."