Book of The Dead

Not even as a youth, in more innocent times, when he’d spent most of his time studying, practising spellwork or reading history, had Tyron ever imagined he would be called upon to teach. He’d pictured his future as an archmage, left to his own devices in a tower somewhere, called upon to drop lightning, storms and fire upon the kin when things got really out of hand. Now, he found himself responsible for a dozen youths, some of them newly Classed Mages—Necromancers, like himself—who couldn’t speak a single word of power, let alone a phrase!

How could he possibly get through this without getting too frustrated and losing his temper?

That happened far too often these days. He was irritable, impatient, and quick to anger, which was leading him to make rash decisions. He didn’t remember being this susceptible to it. The rage he felt deep within, a slow-burning but white-hot anger born when his parents had died, was always present, but now it was so difficult to keep it under control. If he wanted to make useful allies of these newly Awakened, then he couldn’t be roaring at them every time they wasted remains or incorrectly cast a spell.

Which meant he would need to be careful.

It had taken a day to prepare his initial lessons, time not spent on his projects, but he was prepared to accept that, it was a price he needed to pay to gain in the future. As light crept over the horizon and night gave way to day, Tyron took stock of his skeletons.

His army of undead, reinforced since the last time he’d been here, now with the cauldrons to help them battle, were easily capable of handling the kin streaming from the rift, even without his active interference. The skeletons possessed overwhelming numbers and firepower to deal with such weak kin, although the ice-mammoths still posed a significant threat, requiring him to coordinate the fighting personally.

What worried him wasn’t the kin coming through, but the rapid expansion of the rift itself. Not that it had grown a lot, but it was still growing too fast. At this rate, it would only be a few years until larger creatures would emerge, and things like the mammoths would cross with greater frequency. Then, more rifts would form nearby, increasing the number of kin who could cross each day, which would lead to greater and faster expansion, which lead to more rifts.

The doomed cycle had already begun here in Cragwhistle. Before long, more slayers would be needed to contain it, more meat for the grinder, the already stretched Slayers in the province being inched that little bit closer to the brink. There hadn’t been any major disasters since the last break, but it wouldn’t be long before the province suffered for the lack of Magnin and Beory. They had always been called upon to plug the gaps in the past, and they had willingly done so. Soon, the Magisters would be forced to send the gold slayers back out into the field, let them slip the leash. That would help, for a while. Eventually, perhaps in a few hundred years, even that wouldn’t be enough.

“Tyron, are you there?”

“Elsbeth? Give me a second, I’ll be right out.”

He dragged his mind away from these thoughts. It didn’t matter to him if the Empire was facing collapse. He wasn’t going to wait that long to enact his vengeance, and would likely be dead before the rifts deteriorated to that extent. One last glance over the table and he gathered up what he needed for the day. Brushing aside the blanket keeping the warmth inside his cave, he stepped out into the light and blinked when he saw Elsbeth standing in the clearing by herself.

“I thought the students were coming with you?” he asked, looking around, wondering if they were hiding behind the trees.

The Priestess of the Three reddened.

“I thought I’d come and talk to you alone first, see if you were ready before I dropped them on your lap.”

She wanted to see if I was in a good enough mood to receive them.

It was telling how quickly his temper had become known by those around him.

“I’m fine, Beth,” he said, forcing a smile. “I’ve been preparing to teach and am ready to help them get started on their new Classes. Don’t worry, I won’t bite their heads off.”

“I didn’t think you would,” she insisted, “I just didn’t want to bother you if there was something important happening up here.” Her eyes softened as she looked up at him. “Are you eating? Sleeping alright?”

The Necromancer chuckled.

“Yes, I am. More than I used to, certainly. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten what we discussed. I’m taking care of myself.”

“Good. Well… that’s… good. I’ll go and get your new students, Master Steelarm.”

Tyron groaned.

“Suddenly, I feel so old.”

“You’ve been Master Almsfield for ages!”

“That’s different.”

“If you say so….”

Elsbeth turned and left, returning five minutes later with three young folk, two boys and a girl, though he should probably think of them as adults, given that’s what they were, post-awakening. As they stepped forward, following behind Elsbeth like ducklings behind their mother, he struggled to picture himself as being that young. It wasn’t that long ago he’d Awakened, all things considered, but in his mind, it felt like decades in the past.

Then again, I haven’t exactly had a normal experience. Things escalated rather quickly for me. Hopefully, their path will be a little smoother.

As she drew close, Elsbeth had the three students line up as she fussed over them before she turned and beamed at him with forced cheeriness.

“Tyron, these are the three who Awakened the Necromancer Class last week. From left to right, we have Georg, Briss and Richard.”

Each of the three ducked their heads, but seemed to struggle to look at him directly, refusing to meet his eye. He probably couldn’t blame them, all things considered. With a little time, they would become more comfortable. At least, he hoped so. It would be difficult to teach people who were terrified to be anywhere near him.

“Hello,” he said, trying to sound unthreatening. “Welcome to your first lesson. Are you intending to stay, Elsbeth?”

“No, I will leave you to it. I’ll be back in a few hours when time is up.”

Two of the students, George and Briss, sent desperate, pleading glances toward the Priestess, but Elsbeth was resolute. With a friendly wave, she was off down the mountain, leaving the three alone with their new teacher.

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Tyron sighed.

“Come and sit, please,” he said, gesturing to the area he had prepared.

It wasn’t much, five relatively flat-topped stones around a fire pit not too far from the cave entrance, but it would do for now. It took a few seconds for the three to start moving, but eventually they did, still avoiding his gaze as they sat down, not saying anything.

“This is going to be difficult for you, very difficult, because what I have to teach is hard to do. Necromancy is complex magick, with a myriad of different methods and techniques required to get the best out of your Class.

“It’s going to be much, much harder, if you can’t bring yourselves to even look at me. I’m not here to hurt you, or poison your minds, but to help you get a good start with the Class. It’s something I wished I’d had starting out, and you’ll regret it if you don’t make the most of our time together.”

He paused to let them think about that.

“Now, let’s be civilised adults. I would appreciate it, if the three of you would do me the courtesy of meeting my eyes.”

They were hesitant, shifting on their seats. Richard was the first to raise his head, followed by Briss, then Georg, but they did do it. Now that he had a proper look at them, Tyron was able to begin forming an impression of the three.

Richard had the look of a bookish sort, probably not from a farm workers family. Merchant’s son, perhaps, or a Clerk or Bookkeeper of some sort. Clear blue eyes under a short-cut, well-combed head of blonde hair, his gaze wavered a few times as Tyron considered him, but held firm in the end.

Briss was slight of frame to the point she appeared almost malnourished; the Constitution she was going to get as a Necromancer was probably going to be of great help to her when winter came. She too had blonde hair, though hers was wispy, so thin it seemed there were strands wafting in the air in defiance of gravity. Although she hesitated a long time, she eventually looked directly at him, locking her gaze on his with some effort.

Georg was a farmboy; it was written all over him. From the way he dressed, to the stained nature of his clothes, or the workmanlike boots he wore, there wasn’t a single thing about him that pointed to any other origin. His eyes flicked this way and that, darting toward Tyron and then away, though it was hard to keep track of them through the mess of curls that hung down over his face. With the thick, callused hands of someone who worked with them every day from a young age, it would be difficult for him to acquire the dexterity needed for proper sigil work, but as long as he was willing to practise, he should get there.

“Nice to meet you all. As I said earlier, my name is Tyron Steelarm, though you can call me Tyron. I Awakened as a Necromancer over four years ago, and am currently level forty-five.”

Though he did need to perform the Status ritual soon. It had been a long time.

When they heard his level, the three of them jumped a little on their seats, surprised.

“I’ve advanced very quickly,” he agreed, “and you can too. This is a Class that lends itself well to rapid growth, but as with all things, it depends on the strength of your fundamentals. I trust you’ve all taken some time to grapple with the information the Unseen granted you upon Awakening?”

Each of them nodded with some measure of reluctance. The Raise Dead spell had been difficult to untangle for Tyron and his first attempt at a complete ritual had been crude, to say the least. Without any form of magickal training, that bundle of knowledge must have seemed totally impenetrable.

“The ritual granted at level one, Raise Dead, is a complex, multi-stage magick that will take almost an hour to cast on your first attempt,” he told them. “Without proper training and preparation, you are not only almost guaranteed to fail, but run a high risk of doing yourself an injury. I myself ran dry of magick on my first cast and passed out on the spot.”

He’d been hoping to get a smile out of them, but they barely even blinked. This was going to be more difficult than he assumed.

“Let’s start with the basics, then. Has anyone here had any training at all in magick? Even the slightest thing.”

Unsurprisingly, only Richard put his hand up.

“I was taught a few phrases and gestures,” he admitted softly. “Nothing much. I’ve never cast a spell in my life.”

“I thought as much,” Tyron said. “Which is why we are going to have to start with basic magick before we can even talk about being a Necromancer. Without a good understanding of the words of power, spellwork, and hand sigils, your odds of casting anything are nill. I can see now why my notes weren’t particularly useful to you. I wasn’t considering that your starting point would be so different than mine.”

He rubbed at his chin as he looked at the three young people, then he sighed. He was trying hard to be patient, but already he could feel the effort it was taking him.

“Unfortunately, I’m something of a perfectionist,” he told them, “which is going to mean my standards are higher than they need to be.” It was fully expected that they would struggle with even the basics, and Tyron was trying to gird himself to have the patience necessary, but he was constantly aware of time passing. If he wasn’t progressing, then his goals were getting further away.

“I have a question for you all, and I want an honest answer. Do you want me to give you a fast path to power, or build you up from the fundamentals? I can teach you just what you need to cast Raise Dead and the basic Necromancer spells. You’ll be up and running much quicker, able to create undead and fight kin to gain levels. Or, I can give you a proper basis in magick. It will take a long time, require gruelling, repetitive practice, but you’ll come out with a basic education in spellwork and sigils that you can apply to a wider variety of abilities. I can’t say I can replace several years of training in an academy, but it’ll be better than nothing. You choose.”

Richard spoke up immediately.

“I want to learn the fundamentals.” The others looked at him and he shrugged his shoulders, uncomfortable with all the attention. “My father told me just how expensive it can be to learn the kinds of things Mr Steelarm is offering to teach us for free. It’s a lot.”

Mr Steelarm? Nobody in my family has ever been called Mr Steelarm.

“Please, just call me Tyron,” he said, holding up a hand.

The image of his father laughing hysterically at him being called Mr Steelarm wouldn’t leave his head.

“What about you two?”

Surprisingly, it was the farmboy, Georg, who spoke next. He still averted his gaze as he spoke quietly.

“Working slow and proper is faster than rushing. That’s what me mam always said, and it’s true.”

Tyron turned to Briss.

“I’ll go with what the others want,” she said softly.

It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear, but it was easier for him if they all wanted to learn the same things, so he shrugged and decided to get started.

“Alright then, basic spellwork is where we begin. It’s a lot neater than butchering corpses, which is a plus.” He started rifling through the papers he’d prepared until he found what he wanted and handed each of them a page. “Right now, I know about two thousand words of power, which isn’t many in the grand scheme of things. On this page, I’ve written out pronunciation guides for ten, along with descriptions of the matching hand gestures required to form the sigils. These make some of the most common phrases you’ll come across in any spellwork.”

The three looked at the pages with bewildered expressions and only now did Tyron realise something.

“You can all read, right?”

All three nodded.

“Thank the Unseen. Alright. Now I know that it looks confusing, but don’t worry, I’m going to go through each word and phrase one by one, and I’ll demonstrate the hand gestures. In addition to this, I have another page…” he rifled around until he found it, handing a copy to each of the three. “... which details some simple drills and stretches you can use to increase your finger dexterity, along with vocal exercises. Breath control and endurance are completely necessary to cast complex Rituals, which you need as Necromancy is almost entirely Rituals. We will go through these as well before we finish today, but I expect you to dedicate as much time as you possibly can to them.

“Don’t practise so much you injure your hands or make yourself hoarse, but you’ll need to push yourselves hard if you want to make the most out of the time we have together. Now, this first word is Rhuam. R-hu-ah-em. It is vital you pronounce each syllable perfectly, no mistakes. We start by speaking it slowly, one piece at a time, until we’re sure we have all of them right, and only then do we try and put it all together. Now, repeat after me…”

This was going to take a long time, but strangely, he found himself enjoying it. After all, what was more interesting than magick?