Warpfarer

By Jason Embry

Among all the planets devastated by the Hundred World Death, La Monde is the most surrounded by vril, mutants and magic. A warpfarer meets an estranged barbarian. A brother and sister, each gifted with magic, struggle to survive on their own. A white knight wants to protect her people while a dark knight wants to help them escape. A sorcerer who never saw the limits of his own power wants to eliminate the seer emperor. A synthetic man lived a thousand years struggles to remember them again. And an empathic bard finally returns home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781365019388

Book preview

Warpfarer

Warpfarer

Jason Embry

Part I:  Death’s Regime

Prologue

On the third day of the fifth month, 1027 years after the fall of the comet, Emperor Ixen Sungazer lay in his bed, restless in his slumber.  He was an ancient ruin, tall and proud.  His simple crown sat by his bedside brandishing the all-seeing eye on the forehead.  But, this night, his power to touch anything and see its past wouldn’t help him.  His ability to postulate a most likely future from all the collected past was eerily silent.  A swash of useless images came to him.  In his delirium, he asked himself if he’d lost control of his powers to this degree. 

But as he concentrated, he found more clarity.  His eyes peered into spaces unknown, and he looked upon something towering over him.  Like a brilliant metallic statue the thing posed.  A wave that sounded like the ocean crashed, then the statue smiled, She would speak with you.  I will be your translator.  I am called the Watcher.

He could sense the currents of charge, the flow of energies he couldn’t understand.  So he was silent.

Thirty years before your reign, the first telescopes were invented.  More efficient techniques for metallurgy were pioneered and simple machines were invented nearly twenty years before your reign.  This isn’t unprecedented.  Without any dogma to get in the way of your invention, humanity can advance alarmingly quickly.

Ixen nodded, It’s always been my policy to encourage free invention.

Indeed, and in fact, it is the war against the demons that brought this empire together, no?

Ixen nodded again.

And would you say that your encouragement of technological growth fostered the rapid increase in development?

Rapid? Ixen asked.  He knew his laboratory and that of Scytha had grown by leaps and bounds, but that was partly because of…

Yes, rapid! The steel man exclaimed excitedly, In your 27-year reign, you’ve helped develop steam power, basic electricity, engines, mechanized production, and even primitive flying machines!

Ixen shook his head.  He took a little pride in it, but he leveled with his host, Steam power was Scytha, and they’ve partnered with us to distribute electrical power.

You don’t find yourself at all impressive, do you?  And why wouldn’t you?  You don’t have any frame of reference.  You know that other civilizations have taken 500 years to do what yours has done in 50?  And they had oil, coal, natural gas in this period of development.  You do not.

Ixen blinked.  What other civilizations?  What was... coal?

It’s an energy source, and a source for creating synthetic materials.

Like our cosma… Ixen said quietly.  Ever since anyone could remember, the eerie blue ore was used to build only the most superb weapons and armor as alloys with iron.  But they found out when heat was applied to it, it would generate electricity.  Spent cosma became evla.  A black metal that could be used in the same way to generate lift.  Used to make flying ships.  And spent evla would turn into ladon.  Gray, still retaining most of its strength and original properties, but drained of its energy.  After a time, ladon would become cosma again, but nobody really understood the mechanism.

A sound like thunder resonated about the dark room.  The Watcher trembled and said, I’ve said too much.

Ixen felt like his brain lurched forward in time, like he couldn’t remember some of the conversation now.  He shook his head, stirring in his slumber again.  He’d have to reclaim that memory later with his powers.

Are you certain we’re questioning the right person?  Sounds like Katja would be an excellent candidate for one of our interviews, the Watcher said, awaiting a reply.  He nodded understanding when another wave crashed.

At once the host turned back to Ixen, asking, Do you know what vril is?

It’s a particle, Ixen replied, Our methods of studying the microscopic aren’t the best… yet, but from what we can tell they’re virtual particles.  Just force carriers for…. gnosis.

And what you call gnosis, the Watcher said.

It’s being able to affect reality with the mind…  They called it magic in the old days.

This time the wave crash was more like a hum.  The Watcher responded, Even your predecessors couldn’t do that.

After a minute, the statuesque man smiled, Ixen, our time is over.  In time, we may contact you again.  Until then, I will be watching.

And he jolted awake.  He sat, safely in his bed as if the dream was truly a dream.  But it didn’t take a master of akashic memory to recognize it wasn’t. 

Done in 50 years what others had done in 500?  Was it the ore?  What others?  He’d always wondered… history only stretched back to a point when people were recording it, but his ability to delve into collective memory took him back even farther than that.  And now he knew, that humanity went back even farther still.  He’d always thought there was something more.  And his people were advancing faster than those precursors.

But was it because of them?  Besides actual memories of times past, the emperor could tap into a wealth of knowledge he still had not fully explored.  From this part of the akashic memory he could only recall the knowledge, not how it was attained.  But it was unerring.  It taught him about electricity, nuclear forces, gravity.  The implications were too numerous to mention.  Ixen forced himself to pause.  He had questions to answer about this meeting.

Was that Deus?  The Trivarian god.  The religion that was most widespread in his empire.  It seemed to match the description Trivarius gave in his writings 700 years hence.  Ixen smiled as he turned to set his feet on the floor.  He’d been one of the few with direct contact with Deus.

But then, wasn’t Deus supposed to be an all powerful being?  All knowing, all wise?  Why, then, would it ask him the question, What is vril?  It begs the question, ‘what is Deus?’  He paused again.  Whatever the answer to that, Deus’ question was now paramount to him.  Now he was doing a god’s work.

What is vril? He asked.

1. What is my name?

Nesari peered to her desk and it rose from the ground.  She flipped her hand, causing the desk to rest upside down on the ceiling.  Then she looked over to the table and chairs, reaching out once again with her mind to lift them from the ground. 

Actually... she murmured, separating her favorite chair from the rest, planting those others on the ceiling.

Nesari sat in that red leather chair, left by the last governor of Bloodpool.  Her favorite part of the week was coming up.  So, she sat patiently, going over her performance before show time. 

As Necrologer, paperwork encompassed the majority of her time, Requisitions form, Tax Collection, Census Data, Interred Corpse Data.

How did such a gifted student from the Ivory Tower come to such a low point in her career?

Student?  She thought, chuckling, Career?

She let her mind wander.  How long had it been since Groshek OneEye taught her what she would teach these kids today?  The Gorn slipped a dab of sparkling powder on her tongue, making the world take on a strange color.  Everything was brighter, and the shudders on her mind slammed open against the wood of her stale consciousness.  Where was Groshek now?  Probably dead, killed by Gorn-bashers.  You saw lot of that these days.  Random killings of Gorns.  And warpfarers.

She was sent here because she was a warpfarer.  Her kind dealt with demons and fey for their magic.  Though… she hadn’t done any big time summoning for ages.  And demons weren’t evil spirits created by Gods like everybody used to think.  Demons were just extraterrestrials; a band of interplanetary vandals, weaving a path of plunder and devastation in their wake as they flew through the dark beyond.  The only reason they failed on La Monde was the great power and ingenuity of its people.

But even after the witch hunts, the warpfarers came back and helped fight off the demons.  It was the warpfarers who contained them.  Even then, the old hatreds remained.

Nesari caught herself nodding off.  She tensed her muscles immediately.  But her long hours studying into the night won out.

Grandfather, what is vril? A little voice asked.  In this dream, little girl Nesari had the same shimmering blues eyes as her father, but not yet the gray hair of the present.

"What makes you think I’ll tell ya?  Gnosis is mostly a man’s game in Dharta.  Not like those Imperials, teaching their women gnosis.  And not like the Azurites, who think gnosis is only for women.  But they’d never accept a dark-skinned Dhartan like us into their lot," he smiled.

Who says women can’t do gnosis?! She shouted.

Personal, I don’t care one way or the other, he patted her on her brown mop of hair, Your mom’d have my hide if I taught ye what I knew.  The Sorcerer King in Vijinagara forbade it.

I’m not asking you to teach me.  I just want to know what it is.

Mind your own work, young one.  I ain’t-a poisoning the minds of the youth.  Curiosity will be your undoing, they paused, her refilling his glass with water and him taking another drink. 

Why d’you ask?  You think having vril’d save you from trips to the well everyday?  You think you could work gnosis and create water and food for us to drink?  It don’t work that way, child.

She shook her head, voice very small, I’m sure I could figure something out.  Won’t have to walk the path eight times a day.

He chuckled at her, Everythin’ must be paid for.

Paid for?

"Yeah.  Some say gnosis can do anythin’.  Used to call it magic, but it can’t create somethin’ from nothing.’  You can do a lot, long as you’re willin’ to pay the price, grandfather replied.  Then he grinned wide, leaning over, I know a girl like you’ll find what you want whether I tell you or not.  Just mark my words, make sure ye know what you’re doing when you do it."

A small knock at the door.  She shook herself back to the present.

Come in, she smiled. 

The children poured in.  One of the smaller ones jumped up on her lap without a word.  She handpicked these kids from the school to learn gnosis.  And one other, who’d tried to pick Nesari’s pocket with kinetics.

Good morning, kids, she smiled.  All her life she’d been a loner.  Even at the Ivory Tower.  But she was a role model to these kids.

Good morning, Miss Nesari!

Let’s do a quick review, she rose, and the little girl hopped off her lap. 

Here was where the warpfarer needed to impress, to keep the new ones coming back.  She reached out with her mind.  Sensing her own ward placed on the ceiling furniture, she quietly changed the parameters of it so that it encompassed all the chairs but one.  This chair fell from the ceiling and stopped just right over the kid’s heads.  She focused and raised her hand to illustrate what she was doing.

Gnosis is using knowledge of an object, place, or person to create a sympathetic connection of your vril to an object.  The more knowledge you have, and the more vril you use, the more powerful the effect.  At higher levels, you can change the world.  At basic levels, you can… move objects.  Kinetics is basic elementalism.  Just reaching out and moving things.  Can anyone tell me, the three steps to basic gnosis? She kept the chair in her grasp but lowered her hand.

All the regulars raised their hands.

But the new girl spoke out, Focus.

Right, Nesari smiled, Focus your mind on the object.

Visualize! A little boy yelled.

Good, she replied, Visualize the part of the object you wish to change in appropriate detail and visualize that change.  A lot of grown-ups think that we casters can just do whatever we want.  We could… in theory.  If I knew the exactly where the center of gravity for one of the moons was, and had more vril than has ever existed, I could move a moon with my kinetics.

A boy raised his hand, Can you move something you can’t see?

That’s an astute observation.  If you can’t see something, you don’t know exactly where it is.  It is much harder, but it can be done. Step Three?

Manifest, the pickpocket said.  She got a few funny looks.  None of the other children knew that word and some of them began to wonder what was different about her.

Some call it that.  I tend to call it ‘Cast.’  Anybody else want to try? She motioned to the chair.

No hands. 

Let me have one of my regulars, she continued, and a little blond boy stood up.  One of the younger, more promising ones, he knew what to do by now.  The little boy reached out with his hand, felt the boundaries of the chair.  Nesari could feel him exerting force on the object.  Not enough to lift it, but enough to be noticeable.

Good.  Well done.

Miss Nesari? Another asked, How can you tell he’s doing anything?

It’s the arcane eye, the ability to sense vril.  Another basic gnosis.

Finally, the little boy got tired and Nesari had to pick up the slack.  The chair stayed there, hovering as she sat back down in her favorite.

What you all know is how basic gnosis works.  Does anybody know what vril is?

The new girl raised her hand.

Yes?

Our bodies make vril.  Even the danes, though they might not use it.

Danes? Nesari sighed, approaching the girl, I hate that word.  Don’t ever use that word in my presence.

I’m sorry… ma’am, she blushed.  She’d forgotten that not everyone used words like that.  Where’d she heard it the most?  Her brother picked it up from their father.

Well? Nesari asked, "Is anyone going to answer my question?  What is vril?"

She paused, waiting through silence.

Nobody knows, one of the children replied.

We have ideas, Nesari said.

Gift from the gods? Another child replied.

Hah, gods, Nesari sneered, The closest thing we have to gods are Eidolons.  The ancient spirits that stay to protect their families, to finish that which they didn’t in life, and those that just can’t let go, she paused, grinning, And desire power.  I hear Malveridan is still around as an eidolon.

She could feel their trepidation rising. 

BING …. BONG.  The clock tower struck 10 am.

Nesari sighed, I guess that’s it.  Next time, pressure, temperature, charge and work.  The four basic properties we change with gnosis.

After they left, she pulled the door shut and went about resetting the furniture. 

Why don’t you just extend their time?  30 minutes once a week and they’ll never retain anything, a voice said from the darkness.  He formed in the corner of the room of nothingness.  Small like a child at four feet tall but covered in tiny iridescent black scales and a single horn on his head with no clothes to speak of.

It’s a wonder their parents let them study at all.

Well, they are pretty backward, the imp chuckled.

Because, Zigbis, they already have a busy life.  It’s a wonder their parents let them go to school at all, let alone gnosis lessons.  Common people don’t see the point, Nesari began sweeping now.

I’m sorry, I would help you with your housekeeping, but you know my curse all too well, the imp grinned.

She shook her head, Sometimes I think you chose to be a Book Imp because you like to see other people work.  Here.

She sat back in the chair and the broom continued sweeping by itself.  Brushing her paperwork aside, the warpfarer picked up a prod and a little clockwork device and set to work.

Other demons told me I was gifted at avoiding work, he grinned a smile all canines, What you working on?

Just a pocket watch.  Technology is just a hobby, she smiled.

Have you heard the latest release from the Emperor’s house?

I think they quit that.  All the new stuff has been coming from Scytha, she replied.

Right.  I bet there’re demons involved.

What makes you say that? She asked, a little insulted, Humans are perfectly capable of inventing on their own.

Just the speed they come up with new tech.  I hear things from the other house demons.  That the emperor is bringing back old human technology, and the Scythans are pirating demon technology.

The door inched open.  Zigbis disappeared into the shadow.

Who’s there? Nesari turned, a little angry that she hadn’t knocked.  She paused, not saying a word.

It was the new girl.  After a moment, she spoke softly, I had more questions for you.

Next time, knock, Nesari scolded, then softened noticeably.  It was nice to find someone interested in the art, What do you need?

She shut the door behind her.

Ah, one of those types of questions.  The broom stacked itself in the corner where it began.

Do you know anything about ‘talents?’

You mean like gnosis without training? It’s called ‘sundering.’  What you got?

Like your friend, I can meld into shadow.

Good senses too, Nesari smiled, Come on out Zigbis, she can see you.

Eh, He shrugged, plopped back down on the red chair and opened up his newspaper to read.

What is he? The girl asked.

I’m an imp, He grinned a little, and his nose looked ever more pointed.

A demon race, the girl said, I thought we drove them off the planet.

Most of the bigger guys are gone, Zigbis chuckled, But the ‘powerful warpfarers’ kept some of us little guys around because we’re useful.  And then, the Ghostlands has its share of refugee demons.

Nesari took a seat on her desk now, speaking to the girl directly, You know, the first casters were like you.  Their powers came out in times of passion or clarity.  They pooled their talents, taught each other and codified the whole process.  You hold on to that power.  If you train it, it will always be your greatest.

What was your talent?

Nesari paused, Not everybody has them.

Are you going to ask why I came back? The girl asked.

I figured it out.  I’m not that dense, the warpfarer crooned, You want to know the answer.  Your curiosity overcame you.  What is vril?  What is gnosis?  At your age, I wanted to know the same thing.  The truth may shock you.

A cloud passed overhead, making the room darken noticeably.  The girl peered into the warpfarer’s sky blue eyes, glinting ever so slightly in the darkness.

Nobody knows, Nesari said finally.

Nobody? The girl asked, They know it started with the comet.  You’re saying that in a thousand-or-so years, none of the trained Ivory Tower magi or the truly gifted hedgers or the desperate warpfarers have learned anything?

I’m not saying that, Nesari replied.

Then what do we know?

"We know it wasn’t because of evolution.  The comet fell and created the Ghostlands, killing Ur Nod and Ur Desh in a hellish firestorm.  Whatever vril is, it changes those it touches.  It causes mutation.  Alvin Tessalyn knew that before he established Tessalyn City."

So… what then? The girl asked. 

Nesari sat there, hanging on the moment.  How did this girl know these things?  Who was she…?

I can tell you what its not.  It isn’t religion.  It isn’t a gift from Deus, like the Trivarian Church seems to think.  It has nothing to do with your soul.  Your soul is different and has been measured by vril.

Could you train me? The girl said abruptly.

How about now?  Want to learn more evocation?

The girl nodded emphatically.

Here, Nesari said, and handed her a mug. 

What’s this?

Cold coffee.  See, evocation is split up between the classical elements and a couple others.  It’s being able to control heat or charge or whatever else.  Properties and energies.  ‘Fire’ is just being able to control heat, she held the kettle in her own hand, Just close your eyes.

She did.

You already know what vril feels like.  I know.  I’ve seen you move it.  All you need to do to control heat is know that when something is hot, its particles just dance.  Just make them vibrate.

Nesari’s kettle began to boil.  She touched her other hand to the mug, which had grown lukewarm.

You’re a natural.  Not much vril built up yet, but we can work on that.  It’s like a muscle, Nesari smiled, What’s your name, girl?

Dahlia.  I’ve got to go, my brother is waiting for me, the girl smiled back, slid out just as quietly as she entered. 

Nesari watched the girl as she left, thinking about her.  Did she –

She didn’t tell you her last name, did she? The imp asked.

No.  No she didn’t.

***

Somewhere in the western wilds, a tall man stepped out of a solitary cabin sitting on a hill.  The cold of the morning bit at his bearded face as he tightened the leather belt around his heavy cloth jerkin.  Throwing a simple woodsman’s axe over his shoulder, Khoren scratched between the short hairs on his scalp.  A generally good day to be alive. 

He gathered some herbs and roots and threw them in his sack for later, then set to work chopping the old oak that had been bearing down on a nearby farm, ready to topple and destroy their fence.  After skillfully directing the tree to fall away from damaging anything or hurting anyone, the farmer paid him a small fee, and he took what he wanted of the living wood to throw on his fire. 

Khoren said very little in his interactions.  A smile, a nod.  It was just as well.  He didn’t want to be well known.  There was nothing special about Khoren.  As he took the road back to his humble shack deep in the woods the roads seemed to darken.  No birds, no animals.  Strange.  He heard a rustle.  Dropping his pack, he put his other hand on his axe.  Khoren sniffed, took in his surroundings.  Crossing the way he’d come, there was a trail of blood he hadn’t noticed the first time.

I shouldn’t get involved here.  He thought.  I’m just a woodsman.

He edged forward.  Something snapped.  Grabbing his pack, he followed the bloody path, only to find himself coming around the front of the farm.  It led up onto the front porch, where the dog lay dead on the doorstep.  He pushed the door open.  Nobody inside.

He felt that sense of foreboding again.  These people were alive just moments ago...  The footprints ended.  The family’s lunch was even still hot.  But nobody was home.  Khoren turned to leave, immediately.  He ran down the dirt road this time, heading towards civilization.  That was when he made his fatal error.

He hailed a horse-drawn cart.

Hey!  There’s been a kidnapping! He yelled.

A man on a horse came up beside him, Yeah, he smiled, Yours.

Then he clubbed him on the head and it all went black.  He awoke to being splashed with cold river water, stripped naked and shaven.  Just like the arena days.  The men in the wagon had just come from the arena in Empire City.  So they were to be slaves, then.  He recognized a couple of lucky old men amidst the group.  Now with little clothes to speak of, Khoren noted the cuts and bruises dotting his pale skin.  The sun kissed the emerald moon as it pulled itself down over the horizon. 

How long have I been out? Khoren whispered to one of the survivors.

He shook his head, a feral glint in his eye.  Shooting his gaze emphatically toward the man on horseback tailing them, it told Khoren in the dead of night would be a better time to talk.  So he slept for a while.

In and out of slumber, Khoren tested the long scar on his scalp.  That scar wasn’t from these jailors.  It even predated the arena.  No, it was from the war. 

That war.  That damnable war.  It always came back to him.  What a meaningless debacle.  Thoren sent him on this fool’s errand.  To stop the Empire’s expansion.  To take back that which was lost in the Demon War.  No use. His people were doomed.  Khoren just wanted to live his life in peace.  He wasn’t a general anymore, and he had a wife.  But he was commanded one more battle for the sake of his people’s conquest.  His people, the Azurites.  And all for nothing.  It was just as well; he had nothing.  He was nothing.  She was all he had.  But not anymore.  All of it was meaningless without her.

He turned his head silently, casting those cold eyes on the hunter following them on horseback.

You know this is illegal, right?

It is none of your concern, barbarian, the hunter replied.  Khoren stifled a grin.  Even after all this time it was clear he wasn’t a local.

Barbarian?  Krom’s army was going to crush you.  Thank the demon invasion for your life, Khoren said, It took them to unite you.  Warring states becomes alliance becomes empire.  For all your technology, our might was greater.

"Was.  Azurites are always so quick to remind us.  But your time has passed.  Your lands melted into a molten sea.  And now you hide in caves.  Do you not know what you are, dog?"

I am a simple woodsman.  Nothing more, he smirked.

Huh, a man in a cage is a dog, the hunter smiled, When I was young, I thought nobody deserved to be a slave.  ‘Surely everyone has the right to freedom.’  I was a fool then.

Now! The old survivor from earlier shouted, and the men all leaning on the bars pushed, causing the cart to lean until the spokes broke.  The metal door twisted with a metallic groan, spooking the horses into a dead run.  Khoren summoned his might and kicked the door off with his bare foot. 

The hunter brought his horse into a full run, aiming an arrow for any escapees.  He loosed the first, but Khoren used the door’s wooden frame to block. 

As the hunter brought himself alongside to get a closer shot, Khoren watched. 

Anybody who wants to live, jump after me! Khoren shouted over the pounding hooves.

He leapt.  It seemed several seconds passed as Khoren hung in midair.  The hunter could not move his mount in time, and Khoren was behind him. 

As many men as were able jumped out before the speeding cart went into a roll.  It shattered to splinters at the bottom of the hill.

The hunter elbowed Khoren in the face, but he returned with a double-hand hit to the back of the head.  Not the right spot.  The hunter turned to try and push him off, but Khoren grabbed his arms.  Arms locked, the men fought, not noticing the horse galloping faster and faster.  Khoren head butted the man, causing him to wobble, and finally fall.  He smiled.  A tree branch caught him right in the face, sending him flat on his back. 

Khoren’s head swam.

I am cursed.  He thought, sleep overtaking him.  His eyes fluttered as an indeterminate amount of time passed.  Body felt cold, surroundings much darker.

Grab that one.  Feed the rest to your ghouls, the voice said.

Khoren lapsed in and out.  His head ached.

Am I dead? His mind wandered, what happened?

Khoren’s finger slipped across the itch on the back of his skull.  The wound.  It always came back to that wound.  It had been stitched closed haphazardly.

His eyes finally focused.  Fire lashed his face, clearing the smokiness of mind as he involuntarily rolled away.  His arm immediately slapped cold corpse flesh.  The jostle sent bodies toppling over in his direction.  Bodies in every direction, rolling on top of him now.  Khoren growled, tossing the corpses into the fire behind.  The azurite kicked and clawed to be free of the broiling carcass pit. 

Is this hell?  No. He climbed and climbed.  He grabbed the side of a beautiful lady, put his foot in an old man’s pocket, and swam through the macabre sea.

Khoren rose up full body from the pit, standing on the backs of two children.  His naked body met with the cold air of the room.  Full of corpses.  Why would there be so many corpses being burned here?

Khoren pushed out the door into the cooler hallway, and finally felt like he could breathe.

He came to a door marked in imperial language.  Khoren grimaced.  His vision blurred, he staggered.  He threw open the door in front of him and the imp, Zigbis vanished.

Who’s there?

He caught himself in the doorframe.  She readied gnosis to cut him down if need be.

More than anything, Nesari was a curious person.  Who are you? She asked.

Nesari? He spoke with a confused sense but a confident tone, Kaffff… He trailed off, collapsed face-first on the floor. 

When he awoke, he was laying on a long leather couch, with a blanket over his nakedness.  It looked like he had been laying for a while now.

Ah, she sat in front of him on the table, Are you alright?  I haven’t called a doctor yet, but I can.

Where am I? For the first time, she looked him over.  He was tall, strong, with deep blue eyes full of spirit.  His voice seemed to demand respect.

During her pause, he studied her as well.  She was medium height, medium build, wearing a simple dark tunic and breeches instead of the robes a lot of casters favor.  Her hair was a matted cloth of shoulder length, premature gray in desperate need of a comb.

You stumbled into the Necrologer’s office.  Naked, I might add, she smirked.

Necrologer? He rubbed his aching head, Where?  He didn’t have any qualms about showing his body.

You are out of it, aren’t you?  This is Bloodpool, in Darkhaven, Nesari paused, a thought springing to mind, I remember you.

Ahh, yes, she reached into the hefty stack of vellum papers at the side of her desk, licking her dry lips.

Remember? He asked, leaning in a little bit to see if he could see what she was doing.

My assistant filed a report about an unnamed corpse, probably a warrior.

Who’s that? Khoren asked.

Rupert, the Necron, Nesari replied.

Khoren wondered if the name ‘Rupert’ was meant to strike terror in the hearts of his enemies.  He chuckled to himself.

Ah! She pulled a piece of paper triumphantly, Found it.

What?

The report.  It identifies you as…

Her sky-blue eyes looked him up and down, Brown hair, dark blue eyes…

True.

…muscular…

Khoren flexed his biceps reflexively.

…with a tattoo of a large land mammal…

His memory flashed.  The hazy form of it came to him in a cave far north in the Azure.  As a boy, he wandered endlessly to find this creature… the black snout and dark eyes offset by the pure white fur.  Those black paws bearing down upon him; leaning in upon him.  He fought against the lackadaisical strength of a huge bear having just awoken from a hundred years of hibernation.  Such immense power...

His mind returned as Nesari pressed her hand against his back, revealing the tattoo of the polar bear roaring from one side of his spine to the other.  She marveled.

What is this thing?

It’s called a Polar Bear.  They’re extinct.

Ah, so you’ve never seen this thing? She said sardonically.

"I never said that.  Just that there are no living polar bears left, he replied, Not only humans can live on as spirits."

Hmm… she murmured, …and straight scars down the left and across the right shin…

And again… Khoren could feel the razor-sharp cut of an enemy’s knife as it slipped its wet blade against the left shin.  Warriors to the left of him and the right of him…standing in a circle. 

Khoren felt his own hands, carrying a hand axe, the other used for balance.  His mind sped over the moment, unable to process the burning stillness of the fight.  Moments of tension stood out to him, but no clear picture appeared:  I knocked him to the ground… chopped him in the back.  Khoren remembered that when he turned to walk away the victor, the other warrior stabbed his dagger into Khoren’s shin, piercing it halfway through. 

His mind returned to the present, I am called Khoren Angrom.

You were part of the wagon that crashed about a half mile outside the city.  The slave train, she said, You were one of only five survivors.  The rest of them perished from their wounds.  We thought you had too.  Rupert tried to raise you, but I guess he failed.

He shook his head, They were arena men, drugged in the capital.  I am a simple woodsman.

Who attacked the wagon?

What is the word… deyrwythe, he paused.

Undead?  We call them revenants.

You’re sure everybody died?

Every last one, Nesari replied coldly.  He took a moment.  What fiend would call such creatures into being?  The living dead.  Every one of them dead…

His brain caught something, Wait, you tried to animate me?  Was it this woman’s doing that caused the others to perish?

When he looked up, she was behind her desk, Can’t animate what isn’t dead.

Tell me something, He rose, paced over to her desk, Was it you?

What?

You’re the necrologer aren’t you?  Was it your… revenants that killed them?

They killed your captors too, she replied.

He seethed in silence.

Relax, barbarian.  I’m not a necron.  I only know a little necrognosis, not enough to raise the dead, she turned down a piece of parchment and began to fill it out.

His eye twitched.  He hated when imperials called the Azurites barbarians.  Khoren would show her the same hospitality.

"Well, you are the necrologer, what’s the difference?  You’re not a necron?"

Don’t confuse me with these people, Nesari scowled.

Why not?  Aren’t all you witches the same? Khoren grinned, Just a lot of fancy tricks to avoid a real fight.

I am a demonologist.  A warpfarer, she growled, Not one of your folk witches.  I know a little about the demons your people fear so much.  She took a breath, then shook her head condescendingly, Aren’t your people thugs and thieves now?  It must be hard to have all your lands taken from you.

That’s the demon loving Scuts.  We helped you finish off the demons.  If it weren’t for us, you’d be a slave now.

"If it were for you and only you, we’d be your slaves.  How’s that any different?" she said coolly.

Khoren shrugged, his wounds hurting.

I wouldn’t expect such a young necron to know about foreign history.

I’m not a necron!

She scribbled a few more words on the page.

What are you doing? He asked.

Changing the records, she flipped to a different page, Now I’m going to document your being here.

He folded his arms, remembering the endless streams of paperwork that had to be filled out for his release from arena contract.  His was back at his cabin.  And the others’ were worthless pieces of paper now.  He supposed that he was logged in a ledger in the dead slave master’s wagon. 

Her eyes shot up to his, You barbarians believe in revenge, right?

"Don’t call me barbarian!" He shouted.

Don’t call me necron, she replied, Barbarian!  She giggled.

His brow furrowed, Call me barbarian… one more time.

Nesari smiled.

Barbarian, she said sweetly.

Khoren’s eyes narrowed, Just what are you trying to do?

Her eye twinkled.

I get it.  You’re curious, aren’t you?

About what?

Want to see if I’m a berserker, don’t you?  Not a chance.  I won’t bend or break for you or anyone else...

"I didn’t hear a no, she tapped her finger on the desk.  Perhaps the Azurite Barbarians were not as naïve as the tales said, Not just a simple woodsman now, are you?  Tell me Khoren, how do you feel about revenge?"

What do you want to know of revenge? He asked finally.

Well, she sat on the front of her desk, It’s an imperial problem.  Rogue revenants, or even worse, necrons.  But if you wanted to help, I could help you out.  Might even be a reward in it for you.

Why would I want your help?

You seem to be having problems with supplies right now.  And lodging.  I can requisition equipment from the armory.  All you need to do is what you would have done anyway.

What’s the catch?

I just need somebody to do the legwork, that’s all, she moved behind the desk again, and pulled out a blank form.

You said something about a reward?

Yeah, officially there’s no monetary reward, but I could pull something from the coffers.  I have that power as governor.

Khoren shrugged.  Seemed harmless enough. 

Nesari scooted a small pen to his end of the desk, turning the paper to face him. 

Please, sign on the bottom.

Khoren looked up into her pale blue eyes. 

What am I signing?

I’m deputizing you.

A barbarian working for the empire?  Combat was a source of pain, and pain was a good teacher.  Maybe it was time for another career change.  People can cut their own damn trees for a little while; hunt their own damn foxes and wolves.  Maybe he should be hunting the creatures that killed his best customers instead.

Silently, Khoren grasped the pen, signing at the bottom.

Nesari rolled the paper, filing it away in a case, then in a drawer. 

To deal with warpfarers is to bargain with the devil.

An old adage.  Where did you hear it?  She looked back up to him.

Not sure.

So, what would you have me do first? He folded his arms.

Nesari slipped out another piece of parchment, spreading it onto her desk.

Here’s the missive, she said, skimming it.  The warpfarer’s eyes trailed down the page, and her emotionless expression didn’t change.

I’m not sure it’s befitting someone of your awfully terrible prowess, she said sardonically.

Out with it.  I’ve no patience for your head games.

Farmer Braun has repeatedly asked the constable to send out a night watchman to his farm.  Naturally…

They didn’t want to spare the manpower, he interrupted.

Yep.  So, the constable posted this on the freelance boards, Nesari scooted the paper out to him, They’re like bounties and odd jobs.

Khoren folded his arms, You said something about armaments?  I need directions too.

Nesari laid down another parchment, scribbling with her pen on it, then waved it in Khoren’s face, Take this to the requisitions locker.

As he took the order, he also grabbed the missive.

Show that to the constable.  He can give you directions to Braun’s Farmstead.

Khoren nodded.

Come back in one piece! She yelled. 

Did she fear for his safety?  For now, he paid it no mind. 

The azurite walked down the hall from the little office to the half-door marked similarly in less elaborate symbols as Nesari’s.  The window abruptly slid open, though no slit had been apparent.

Yes? The soldier within asked, What are you looking for?

Who is that? A man’s haughty voice called from the next room, and a thin, spindly head peeked around the doorway in the back.  His long brown hair made his face seem even gaunter.  Adjusting his glasses, he sneered at the barbarian, Well?  Who are you?

He took a moment to lean in and study the robed man’s face.

Khoren, he replied, Nesari’s sending me on a job.

Ah yes, the corpse, his thin, unusually red lips curled, Don’t break too many bones.  I might need them later.

As he turned back into his lab, the barbarian’s eye caught a tattoo on the back of his neck.  Like a spyglass, his vision heightened telescopically, taking in the minute details of the symbol.  A snake eating the world.  Khoren rubbed his eyes.  They’d never done that before. 

The guard sighed unexcitedly, What do you need?

Hmm... Chain Shirt.  Do you have one? 

The guard hoisted it from the back wall… and a glint caught his eye.

How about that?

A greataxe.

He nodded, and it laid on the countertop.

First, as is natural, Khoren grasped it in two hands. 

Feels light, he said, testing the swing.  It was forged for war, rather than cutting trees.  It felt more natural to set it in motion with his offhand, doing the swing with his main hand.  Another swing – whirling around his back.  Another swing – back and forth across his chest.  Another – spinning himself around.

Err… the soldier gaped.

Hmm?

You make it look easy, he laid out the chain shirt.

One more swing, It’s not as easy as it looks.

Sliding on greaves, chain shirt, then helmet, Khoren wrapped a cloak around his shoulders. 

Feel like I need a ranged weapon, he said out loud.  Though it’d be impossible to get his hands on anything from back home.   Could I have a longbow and some arrows?

Sure.

The quiver strapped around his body, he slung the greataxe though a loop in it and put the strung bow around his body:  under one shoulder, over the other. 

2. Thieves

Though the city herself was large (and heavily fortified), Khoren took little time to get to his destination. 

Bloodpool gave Khoren an uneasy feeling.  The black stone buildings seemed to stretch impossibly into the air, each toting unique sets of gargoyles and picturesque tresses and formations.  The barbarian wondered if the fixtures were meant to scare off invaders or to extend a sense of danger to its people.  There was a dark majesty to it, but just like Nesari it was evil swaddled in regal finery. 

This city has a dark soul of its own, he thought, as if some hostile power resides here.

The constable’s oak door groaned like a waking wolf.

Oy, freelance boards over there, the desk man called uncaringly.  The office was a mess of confusion – people rushing to meet their deadlines and file their paperwork before closing. 

Khoren stepped toward the desk, laying the missive upon it without word.

Ahhhh, I see, he adjusted his glasses, Want me to write the directions on the page?

Actually, draw me a map, if you wouldn’t mind, the azurite replied. 

The constable grimaced as he scribbled, If every freelancer came in here wanting me to draw pretty pictures, we’d have no justice ‘round ‘ere.

The paper slid back across the desk with a generous illustration and he was gone – out of the city and into the wilderness. 

Jogging down the path through the woods felt natural.  Khoren took a deep breath, energized by the cool afternoon breeze.  The darkness of the city seeped away miles behind.  Birds sang, cows grazed, otters swam in off-color water.  Whatever necromantic malaise that fell over the city didn’t extend beyond its walls.

The people of the region went about their daily lives, a few of them giving a wave to the barbarian, others not looking up from their hard work.  Accustomed to necrons ruling over them, or unaware of it.

Khoren passed a Darkhaven fort, right at a fork.  The soldiers paid him no notice. 

About a thousand feet past the fort, a small voice called to him, Excuse me sir.

Khoren looked around, not breaking his stride, Who is that?

You see… I need some help, she said.

Khoren turned his head.  Nothing.  Whoever she was, she seemed to be jogging with him now… and very good at hiding.

Where are you? he asked.

Oh sorry, she said.  And out of Khoren’s shadow, the figure hopped to his side, still keeping pace with him.  A sprightly child – a little black-haired girl with a red cap with dirt-smudges on her face.  The brown plain dress approached the charm of a burlap sack.  She smiled innocently.

What do you want, kid?  His eyes met her, still jogging.

I’m sorry sir, but my older brother fell in a cave on the other side of that ridge.  You look strong.  We just need someone tough to pull him out.

Got a rope?

Sure do, she hoisted a silk rope far too expensive for the dirt-stained girl.  The glimmer in her eyes told him that she’d just stolen it from the guard station.

That made him grin. 

Show me.

They were over the ridge without incident. 

Brother! She cried down the hole.

An echo of a voice answered within the deep cavern.  Khoren held his nose.

What is it? She turned to him.

Rotting flesh.

Lower the rope! the boy’s voice called, closer now.

She dropped the end, Khoren grasping the opposite.  He tied it to a nearby shrub.

Ready?

Go ahead!

He pulled with all his strength, and out came… a brown sack.

What’s this?

Well... we were searching the cave and found this, she batted her eyes, almost as if on command, You can have a cut of course.

The barbarian rolled his eyes, Great, another dame who gets me to do her dirty work.  And this one’s a ten year old.

I’m 14! She huffed.

Whatever, he chuckled, Let’s just pull your brother out.

Hoisting the boy took a moment.  He was quite a bit heavier, about 16, full of hard-earned muscle.  The boy shared the same black hair as his sister, though his eyes were a harsh hazel in contrast to her nearly black brown that made her eyes seem impossibly wide.

The boy jerked at the rope on the sack, sitting down with it between them, Let’s see what we got.

The sack opened to reveal ancient gold coins, and a few minor gems, a white cloak (not tarnished having been in that dingy, foul-smelling cave).

The barbarian stood tall, Now I see why you didn’t want the guards to come.  Afraid they’d confiscate it.  You didn’t ask them, did you?

The girl smiled.

What makes you think I won’t take it? He grinned.

Brother and sister exchanged a glance, You wouldn’t, right?

Such a kind man wouldn’t take from children, would he? The girl flashed her eyelashes.

Cute, kid.  They have a word for women who use their charms that way.

Eh?

Nevermind.  I won’t take it all.  Just a few gold.  And that rock.  In my people’s sigils, it’s covered in ‘death’.

She handed it up to him, Your people?  Who are you?

He thought about it.  Surely… no harm in telling a couple of kids.

I’m an Azurite.  Name’s Khoren.

They seemed to flinch at that word. The… the barbarians? 

I don’t like that name, Khoren grimaced.

How about this one?  Rabid frost-eating cave-dwellers, his lip curled.

You know, one of my best friends keeps a string of ears.  Of all the imperials he’s killed, he smiled threateningly.  Of course, he had no intention of acting on my threats.  The boy needed a good lesson though, swift kick in the ass.

What are your names? He said finally.

Dahlia, the girl said finally, Dahlia Cormain.

The boy’s eyes flashed in fear and anger, But, he’s one of the savages!

Oh, be quiet Roy.  If he wanted to hurt us, he would have already.  Besides, how could we stop him?

Khoren interrupted them, Where do you kids live, Bloodpool?

No, Dahlia gathered her