The Different Necromancer Trilogy: The Different Necromancer Trilogy

The Journeys of a Different Necromancer

Book One

James Crofoot

Part One

G o on, Thomas, urged Brandon. You’re a baby if you don’t. He rose to his knees and puffed out his chest with self-importance. On your thirteenth birthday you must raise the dead. That’s the law.

Thomas’s blond-haired head poked over the hill the three boys hid behind. Waking the Dead was a rite of passage for a boy in his village. It consisted of knocking on the door of the dark magician’s tower, counting to ten, and then running away. If caught, he would turn into a mushroom or lizard, unnatural things for a boy to be.

The tower itself stood forty feet tall with a base of about thirty. Before their parents were born, the magician used dark stone blocks to build it. In the clearing where it stood, only a few twisted and stunted trees grew.

No one saw the man inside, except on those rare occasions when he came to the village for food.

Thomas had seen him on one of these rare occasions. Normally, parents pulled their children inside when he came, but Thomas hid once, eager to study this man the whole village seemed terrified of. From the bushes, Thomas watched.

This dark magician was old and bent, his face gaunt, his long hair and beard unkempt. The man walked as if there were nothing wrong with everyone running into their houses, barring every door and window and anxiously waiting for him to leave. He went to the storehouse, grabbed a bag of grain, put his coins on the barrel beside the door, always two gold, and left.

What did the old man do that made them so afraid, Thomas remembered thinking.

Thomas never told a single soul about that time, not even his friends here with him today, Brandon and Spencer.

Well, today he would find out what the old man knew. Over the hill he went.

Upon reaching the ancient door of oak and iron, the portal scared by the decades of sun’s heat and storms’ beating, he knocked. Thomas felt a great change about to take place, but he needed to know what secrets lay on the other side of this threshold. The count passed but still he stood there, wanting to know what secrets lay inside. Brandon and Spencer yelled for him to run, but he only knocked again. Thomas could hear a door slam on the other side of the door through the small, barred window just above his head.

Then footsteps.

Someone walking down stairs, someone coming closer. The door groaned on its hinges as it slowly opened and there stood the bent, gaunt old man. His hair and beard still in an unkempt manner, his clothes still dirty and torn. Now, with the old man closer, Thomas smelled death.

Thomas could see the inside of this mysterious place. Stacked on the shelves lining the walls and on a table that stood in the middle of the floor, the boy saw what he thought people called books, a word he learned from a passing merchant once.

What do you want? the old man asked with a scowl.

Sir. Thomas made a clumsy bow. I was curious to see what was in this great place and also to meet you. You don’t seem all that dangerous to me. May I come in?

The man scowled some more and walked away, leaving the door open.

SEVERAL HOURS LATER, Thomas stood at the edge of his small village, just looking at the houses where everyone he had ever known lived. He then tilted his head to gaze up at the full moon.

His parents would never agree, but he had to get out of this speck of a place, too small to even have a name. How would he see the kingdom, or Targon, its capital, if he could not read and write? He needed to learn the things only Xavier could teach him. Knowing the task would not be easy, he would already be in trouble for being so late, with a steadying breath, he walked to the place he called home.

I WENT FISHING, MUM, Thomas said upon being questioned as to his whereabouts.

And who did you go with? she questioned further. Your friends, Brandon and Spencer? They were home hours ago. And where’s the fish?

Thomas looked at his da, smoking his pipe at the table. He sighed and sat down across from the man.

Well? his mum said, banging his wooden plate of stew down on the table in front of him.

Thomas glanced at his da again; his blue eyes looked back at him from under a mop of unruly blond hair.

Answer your mother, his da ordered.

I was with Xavier, Thomas replied. With head bowed, he stared at his stew, sensing he would not be allowed to eat.

Who? His mother’s voice. Her angry, high-pitched voice.

Thomas looked up at his father to see a pipe halfway to a gaping mouth. Xavier, you know, he lives in the tower. He wants to teach me to read and write. He wants me to be his apprentice.

His mother sat down and stared at him.

He’s got lots of books, scores of them. He showed me a book with lots of animals in it.

His da sat back in his chair, silent. His mum folded her hands in her lap, also silent.

Think of it, Thomas continued excitedly. Think of the things I could do if I could read. I could go and work for the prince in Targon, I could see the whole kingdom.

Go to bed, Thomas, Da said.

The boy gazed down at his untouched food. It smelled good and looked even better, but his father had spoken. Thomas got up and climbed the ladder to his loft. Deep into the night, even after his parents stopped their whispered arguing, he lay in bed thinking of the map Xavier had shown him of the kingdom. He would find a way. He would be...what word had Xavier used? Necromancer. He would be a necromancer and he would see the whole kingdom.

IN THE MORNING, THOMAS awoke to the smell of porridge. Having had no dinner the night before, he hurried down the ladder. There he found his da already eating. His mum ladled his share into a bowl and then got some for herself.

We’ve decided you may learn to read and write. None of that dark stuff, though. You hear? No digging up of graves, his da said. We want more for your life, Thomas. Now then, what does this friend of yours want in return? We can’t afford to pay anything. I suppose he mentioned a price.

Thomas looked at his mum as she sat down. She folded her hands in her lap and remained quiet.

He said it would cost nothing. He just wants someone to teach. Xavier said he’s getting old and just wants someone to pass on some of ’is... Thomas paused trying to remember the word. ...knowledge.

Da wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Then we’ll give it a try. Only til ’arvest, though. You’ll be needed in the fields then. Anything after that and we’ll see.

A month and a half, Thomas thought excitedly. I have a month and a half!

No good will come of this, his mum remarked. Mark my words, that man never did any good for anyone.

Thomas finished his breakfast in a gulp and got up to run from the house. He stopped just outside the door to pick up his favorite stick and heard his da say, I want better for him, Sonya. This life is no life for my son. He’s smarter than this.

A MONTH PASSED AND Thomas studied. He studied geography; the world turned out to be a lot bigger than he imagined. He learned arithmetic, how to count to a thousand. Then moved on to reading and writing, eight to nine hours a day he went through the books and scrolls. On the second and third floors of the tower stood skeletons of various animals, there he learned science, anatomy, and biology.

The fourth floor, however, Xavier said he needed to learn a good deal more before being ready for that.

"The villagers are shunning me, he said to Xavier one day after learning the word. They whisper about me whenever I pass. Even my friends. Yesterday I waved to them and started walking, to tell them what I was learning, and they turned their backs and ran away."

Xavier looked up from the book he held. "People, for the most part, are very small-minded. They shun what they do not understand or things that are different."

Was that the way it was with you when you first started studying to be a necromancer?

People always thought me to be a little different. Look, Thomas, you will see more, you will do more, than they can imagine in their empty heads. You will learn to create life from death.

Thomas thought about these words for some time. He wanted to do more than just plant and harvest. He wanted to travel this world, especially the sea to the west, to see more than just this tiny village too small for a name. He decided he liked being different. He was already learning more than they ever would. Did not that make him better?

THEN THE DAY CAME WHEN the rider from the prince arrived. The army of Kross marched against the kingdom and the prince wanted everyone to come to the capital city of Targon to defend it and protect him. It caused uproar. Why isn’t the prince defending our homes and crops? they wondered. Then the idea of Xavier defending the village came to mind. The more they thought about this, the more adamant they became. He must do something for them, they allowed him to live so close, practicing his evil magic and putting them in danger for all these years!

The boys of the village approached Thomas first, catching him on the way to the tower; four days after the message came. They surrounded him.

You and your master must do something to protect us, Tom, Spencer said.

Thomas looked around apprehensively at the boys. Weren’t these his friends? What had he done to deserve such hateful ways? Maybe they were jealous. He learned to spell that word a few days before.

Why don’t you go to Targon, like the prince said? he asked, avoiding eye contact.

We don’t want to leave our homes and lands. We’ve worked hard for these crops ready to bring in. You expect us to just give them to the soldiers of Kross? Ronald asked. Ronald stood over him by a foot and had three years on Thomas as well.

I’ll ask Xavier if he can help, okay?

Ronald looked at him and smiled, a malicious spark in his eye. Thomas knew that look, it meant trouble. Sure enough, Ronald pushed him to the ground. You’d better get that old man to help, or else I might not be so nice next time.

The rest of the boys laughed.

THEY LAUGHED AT ME, Xavier, Thomas said. They pushed me down and laughed at me. He picked a piece of gravel from the scrape on his elbow and winced. They want you to fight the army that’s on the way for them.

Xavier watched his student being tender with the wounds and started thinking of ways to punish the villagers for the outrage. People, Xavier spat. People are always wanting others to do everything for them while they continue on with their selfish lives. They should flee—go to the prince as instructed instead of bothering us.

What will we do? asked Thomas. I can’t go home. Not right now anyway. He added the last words in a hurry.

Do you see, boy? Do you see how jealous and lazy people are?

Are you going to help them? It won’t sit well with them if you say no. There is my mum and da, they’re not really that bad.

Xavier grumbled and walked away.

That night, outside the tower, a loud din could be heard approaching. Then came the pounding on the ancient oak and iron door.

Come out, mage! Thomas recognized the speaker as Ronald’s father, Jim. He also used force, and his size, as his favorite way of dealing with most situations. Come down here and protect us. You owe us for letting you live here. Open up or we’ll break down this door of yours and burn this tower!

With anger burning in his eyes, Xavier opened the door. Thomas thought he stood taller. What is it you want from me? All I’ve ever wanted was to be left alone. Now you come to my home and threaten me. What have I ever done to any of you?

Jim stepped back a little, his eyes wide, having not expected Xavier’s bold glare. However, with the village men behind him, Jim laughed. Don’t think we don’t know about you digging up our dead, dead that should be left buried, in peace. Don’t think we don’t know about your dark ways practiced in this tower. You’ve put us all in such danger for thirty years. Now we demand payment for all those years of that peril.

The mob quickly shouted their approval, waving clubs and torches in the air. We demand you help us! You must!

Xavier glared harder at the man on his doorstep and again Jim took a step back. Be in the village square tomorrow at noon and I will give the help I can. With those words, Xavier slammed the door in Jim’s fear-filled face.

Are you going to help them, then? Thomas asked.

Ah, yes, Xavier answered. They will be able to defend themselves alright.

The boy watched Xavier pull several books from their places on the shelves and then start upstairs. Are you going to the top floor? he asked. May I help?

Xavier stopped and turned to look at Thomas with a blank expression. You are the very first boy I’ve ever taught. In thirty years, there has been no other to show an interest in what I can teach. But you are not ready yet.

Thomas looked back at the fire, at the white-hot coals in its bed, as he remembered the crowd that had come to the door. He had heard his father’s voice in that throng of men. He could not help but wonder what his father would do, now that his son knew so much more than he did. Not a single word came from his da as to his son's wellbeing, only angry shouts of his selfish wants. Perhaps Xavier was right about people.

The boy stayed the night curled up in the threadbare chair in front of the fire.

THE NEXT DAY, XAVIER showed up with Thomas in tow.

In the middle of the village, gathered as instructed, stood its people.

You must all get as close together as you can, the necromancer said, producing a scroll from his shoulder bag. You’re sure this is what you want? You will not go to Targon?

The crowd moved restlessly, insisting again he should protect them. Thomas even heard his mum, given courage by Xavier showing up upon command, say, It’s about time you did something for us. Then he heard Brandon’s mum complain, It’s hot out here, can’t you hurry up, mage?

Is this going to help us keep our homes and crops, our possessions? Jim asked. Are you going to protect us?

Oh yes, Xavier assured, looking the appointed mob leader in the eye. This is going to keep the village safe. No soldier of Kross will want to enter here.

They all pushed together until they could get no closer. Thomas started to join them, but his teacher restrained him with a hand on the shoulder and a stern look. Thomas looked at his mum and da, then at Spencer and Brandon. They did not seem to want to include him, as they avoided his gaze.

He listened as his teacher started to read from the scroll in a language the boy could not understand. The villagers quickly grew impatient, and one by one, began to itch their scalps.

Thomas watched as the villagers could do nothing but scratch. He looked at his parents again. There they stood, now ripping the hair from their heads and screaming. Thomas watched impassively as his friends began to scrape the flesh from their bones. He remembered how they laughed when Ronald pushed him to the ground.

In minutes, it ended.

Skeletons now stood where people once stood. Those people who, only last night, demanded on pain of death, that Xavier defend them. Red flames now burned in the sockets where eyes once looked out. The thought to pity them passed through his head, but they did get what they asked for. Xavier had done what they demanded of him. No soldier of Kross would wish to enter this village.

I command you to protect this village, Xavier said. Thomas looked up to see his teacher’s eyes resting on him. Come, boy. I think it’s time you started studying on that fourth floor.

DAYS LATER, A SCORE of Kross’s soldiers came to the tower. They wore red leather armor and carried shields emblazoned with stylized red griffins. Their swords were two feet long and curved. A mounted lieutenant led them, but stopped and let the footmen approach the black stone tower in the middle of the desolate clearing. When the footmen got close, though, they screamed and burst into a fine red mist.

Did you do that, Xavier? asked Thomas, standing beside Xavier on the tower roof.

Yes, his teacher said as he watched the horseman looking up at him. I put in place a powerful ward while you slept last night. Any one of them that comes closer than I want will end the same way.

The lieutenant cautiously approached to within yelling distance. Old man, is that your work in the village south of here?

Yes. It’s my work, Xavier shouted in reply. Just leave me alone. That’s all I want.

Thomas watched as the horseman looked around him. With his horse neighing, prancing nervously, and spinning around, he had to keep turning his head. Then the lieutenant stopped trying to keep the horse in place as it tried to run. He pulled its head around with the reins and galloped away.

Thomas looked up at his teacher in awe of the power the old man controlled. He, one man, had turned back not only the men below, but surely the whole of the army. Will they return, do you think?

If they want to lose more men. Xavier turned to his student. Come, boy, time to get back to your studies.

Part Two

The Necromancer’s Tower

An Army

Ten years passed and Thomas continued to learn. He came to appreciate his teacher’s views on the living, how they always seemed jealous and selfish, always despising those who were different. Granted, Thomas’s dealings with people became limited with his village gone, but the village two days’ away supplied them with food and the people there reinforced his teacher’s way of thinking.

Then, one day in late summer, Xavier proved himself mortal. Despite a lifetime of giving life to the dead, he could not maintain his own. Now the student stood over the grave of his one-time teacher and contemplated whether or not to give life back to the man. However, although Thomas agreed with the man who taught him many things, he could not agree the things brought back from the grave had that spark of life, that spirit original in people.

He thought of the army which defeated the kingdom of his youth and how that army bypassed the village he called home until the age of thirteen. The same army that bypassed his and Xavier’s home when shown the power his teacher called forth. The new king wrote often before his teacher died. In his letters he would always request of Xavier to raise an army of the creatures, like those still guarding the village to the south.

But all Xavier wanted, when alive, was to be left alone. Therefore, the letters went unanswered.

Thomas now held the latest letter in his hand, yet another asking for an army. The reason he became a student in the first place had been to see this city of Targon and now the letter gave him a ticket to go. He did not want to be left alone, especially not in this crypt of a tower.

The next morning, he packed Xavier’s shoulder bag and left.

UPON REACHING THE CAPITAL city, Thomas bought new clothes. A new tan leather tunic and green hose, which did not reek of unspeakable stains, now made up his wardrobe. A very hot bath, costing a silver coin, washed away a good many other unpleasant odors. A fact which the people of this place seemed to notice greatly with hands to their noses and in their backing away from him as he walked down the street.

Then he explored the city. He tasted many different foods with a voracious appetite. The worst of which, tasted much better than the mush that made up his diet for the last ten years. He also studied the people of Targon, the way they talked to each other, the way they ate and laughed, and discovered he really didn’t know how to deal with the living at all. On the fourth day, he decided he would pay the king a visit.

The soldiers at the gate of the castle wore the same red leather armor, bore the same curved swords, and griffin-emblazoned, round shields he remembered from ten years before.

My name is Thomas, I am a student of Xavier the Necromancer, he said, addressing the sergeant of the gate, using the words he had practiced all the way from the tower, feeling sure they would immediately take him to the king.

And that’s supposed to mean what? The sergeant wore a sneer and did not even stand up from his game of dice.

I have come to see the king, Thomas stated, more than a bit confused. Why were these men not bowing? Then he remembered the latest letter and produced it from his shoulder bag.

The sergeant wore the grin right up until he saw the king’s seal on the parchment.

Who did you say you were?

Thomas repeated his rehearsed speech.

Corporal, go get the captain, ordered the sergeant after another moment of thought.

Several minutes later, the corporal returned with a thin man wearing the same uniform as the others, except this uniform bore gold braids on the shoulders and gold thread on the cuffs. The men snapped to attention. The sergeant saluted and handed the letter to this new man, obviously the captain.

Who did you say you were? asked the captain.

Again, now growing impatient with these mere soldiers, Thomas repeated his introduction.

This letter is addressed to Xavier, not his student, stated the captain.

My teacher is dead. Thomas felt he should say more about the man who had taught him so much, but, for some reason, that’s all that came out.

The captain looked at the letter again and back at Thomas. Can you deliver what this letter asks?

Yes, Thomas assured him, his tone rising in irritation. Now take me to the king.

Corporal. The captain handed the letter to the corporal. Take this man to the chamberlain.

THE CHAMBERLAIN SAT behind his desk dressed in his bright red robes of office. The pudgy man with pudgy fingers wore a very neat and well-kept hairstyle. Thomas doubted a hard day’s work had ever entered this man’s thirty or so years. The man sat there, reading the papers stacked ever so neatly on the desk in front of him, and paid absolutely no attention to Thomas.

After two minutes of the complete lack of even an acknowledgement, the necromancer’s student became even more irritated than when he first sat down. I have come to serve your king, he stated, unable to hold his tongue an instant longer.

Yes, yes, the soft, pudgy man replied. However, you have stated yourself that you are just a student of this Xavier. How do I know you can do what is asked for in this letter?

Because I say I can. Why would I say such a thing if I couldn’t do as I say?

Yes, yes. Nevertheless, I can’t just present everyone to the king who says they wish to serve him. Do you know how many people I would have to present to him if I took every one to him with matters they consider important? Do you know the paperwork involved? The man flipped over a piece of parchment. You will not be able to get an appointment for at least a month.

Sick of dealing with the self-important buffoon before of him, Thomas stood and reached into his shoulder bag. He pulled out a pouch and dropped it on the chamberlain’s desk. This is grave dirt, as if you need to know. He reached back into his shoulder bag and produced another pouch. These are the teeth from a score of dead. This bag, too, he dropped on the desk, purposefully in the middle of the stack of paperwork there.

The chamberlain pushed himself back from the ingredients on his desk, a look of disgust and indignation plain on his large-jowled face. He opened his mouth to say something, but Thomas put up a finger.

Be quiet, moron, and I will show you what a necromancer can do, Thomas stated between clenched teeth.

He pulled forth a tooth and placed it on the desk. On top of this, he placed a pinch of the grave dirt. Thomas started to speak the words taught him by Xavier. The tooth rocked back and forth under the dirt and then began to grow. The eyes of the chamberlain grew wide as the tooth grew arms and legs. It grew to three inches. Feet and hands grew from the legs and arms. The head formed at two feet and it continued to grow. At four feet, it kept growing. At five feet, the chamberlain dove under his desk.

Come out, moron, Thomas commanded. Come out, now!

The chamberlain crawled from under his desk and stared at the five and a half foot skeleton on his desk. C...C...Can it move?

Look at the moron.

The skeleton turned its cold, blue-flame gaze to the sweating man in red.

THOMAS STOOD BEFORE the gilt, eight-foot, arched double doors with the still sweating chamberlain to one side and his bone-risen to his other. As the man next to him tugged here and there at his tunic and shifted from foot to foot, the young necromancer remembered another door he once stood at years ago. That door, weathered and thick, designed to keep the world out, had held secrets behind it he needed to know. Now he held that knowledge. Now he stood at a door to a kingdom. Here he would use his teacher’s power to create an army.

The heavy doors swung open soundlessly on hidden counterweights to reveal an audience hall into which he strode with long strides.

Five alabaster columns with intricate reliefs of vines lined either side. They stood five feet from walls covered in silver-threaded, blue silk.

The throne of Regis lay at the other end.

Thomas wished for better clothes.

So, the magician Xavier is dead? the king asked from the blue-cushioned throne. A thin but tautly muscled man, he sat with a gaudy, gold crown atop a mop of jet black, shoulder-length hair. The temples’ grey wisps seemed to be the only indication of his age.

Yes, Thomas replied. My teacher is dead. He did teach me a great many things, though, as you can see.

King Mathis rose from his throne and adjusted his crown. May I approach it? His right hand went to his sword hilt at his waist.

Yes, Thomas said. It will only do as I command.

Your Majesty, is it safe? muttered the chamberlain.

Shut-up, fool, ordered the king as he walked down the raised dais to approach the creature.

The man reeked of stale alcohol.

I remember the eyes of these in that village were red. The king stared into the sockets. Why are these blue?

It is a slightly different spell. In order to create those with red eyes I would need an army of volunteers.

I could arrange that, offered the king.

That spell requires a great deal of power. Thomas looked