83. Long live the king: the power of a blessing

They locked me in a room in a cellar of the house, and every day for about four hours at a stretch, they forced me to reveal secrets of necromancy. At first, my answers were hesitant, but the Albino, overcoming his new-found fear of me, firmed up my answers by dint of caning and whacking. Well, if they thought Frashluc would succeed in turning himself into a nakrus like that, they were fooling themselves.

By the second day, the old nail-pincher had recovered from his cough, but not from his obsession with learning my secrets. And he was clawing them out of me. He would have ripped out my insides if he thought the truth was written there.

Usually, it was the Albino who brought me out of the cellar in the early afternoon to the living room. On the fifth day, however, Frashluc came to fetch me alone in my room in the middle of the night. He had to shake me forcefully to wake me up. Lying on my bed, I lifted my head and blinked at the light. I felt faint, because every night before I went to sleep, the Albino gave me drugged water. I think he was nervous about having a necromancer in the house, and he wanted to make sure that I did not open my eyes all night. And indeed, he didn’t go half-way, for I had not slept so much and so deeply in a very long time.

Still half asleep, I heard Frashluc’s words:

“Tell me, boy. How long do you think it will be before I can transform?”

He looked distressed. Frashluc, distressed! He had placed a wrinkled hand on my chest. I swallowed.

“I-I don’t know, sir.”

I’d told him that before. Frashluc gritted his teeth.

“Coldpalm failed in her attempt, I will not fail,” he muttered. “I will not leave my kingdom to my son. Darys is an incompetent, and my grandson is only twelve. It would ruin everything I’ve built. I can’t die now.”

I realized that he was not talking to me, but to himself. I said nothing, and gradually woke up, fighting the effects of the soporific. I did not sit up, for Frashluc still had his hand on my chest. The room was silent. And then…

“You’re afraid of me,” Frashluc whispered. “Everyone is afraid of me. That was the point. Terrify them and you will win,” he pronounced. He gave me a light sharp tap on the chest, and I gasped as he asserted, “Submit them and you will be king of the underworld.”

After another silence during which Frashluc was deep in thought, I blurted out:

“Are you going to die, sir?”

Frashluc turned his gaze to me, and a mocking glint appeared in his eyes.

“Would my death make you happy, gwak?”

I regretted having opened my mouth. I stammered:

“No, sir!”

Frashluc snorted with skepticism and mockery.

“You’ll die along with me,” I then heard him declare, horrified. “Unless I transform. If that happens, boy, I’ll outlive you by a lot. Three thousand years,” he said.

I looked at him, my eyes wide. Good mother! This sajit was losing his mind but bestial. I had to find a way out. If only I could be sure that everyone in the house was asleep and run away right away…

“I can’t do it,” I said with a sudden rage.

A dangerous glint passed into Frashluc’s eyes.

“What are you saying?”

“I can’t,” I repeated. “I don’t know how. Please send me back to the tunnels. I don’t mind having to put my rags back on, I’ll get the rats out of all the tunnels, I’ll leave them all shiny, I swear to you, sir, but don’t ask me to do something I don’t know how to do.”

I had pushed his hand away and knelt before his bent figure. And now I wondered: should I continue to beg, or should I leg it at once? For a terrible moment, Frashluc said nothing. He breathed heavily, with the faltering breathing of an old man. Then he gave a dull, sarcastic laugh, and suddenly he pushed me with unexpected strength and put a knife to my throat.

“So be it,” he growled. “So be it, useless gwak. Then tell me where I can find your master. If I can’t transform within two moons, I’ll cut your head off. Remember that.”

I breathed in and stammered something incomprehensible. I tried to remember the name of the place where my master had gone, but in this moment of stress, I could not recall it. I groaned, held out my hands imploringly, and Frashluc spat:

“Dammit.”

At that moment, I thought the old nail-pincher was so eager to turn himself into a bag of bones and so disgusted with my uselessness that he was going to cut my throat for good right there. Dismayed, I sent him a mortic discharge. I had barely been able to build up any energy, but it was effective: Frashluc screamed, dropped the knife, and put his hand to his chest before falling to the ground. He was not unconscious, he was convulsing. Suddenly, I saw the door open wide, and I thought to myself, “This is it, I am dead”. I was very surprised when, instead of seeing the Albino, I saw the grandson, Lowen. And I was even more surprised when, finding his grandfather on the floor, the young nail-pincher did not cry out, but rushed to him and said:

“Grandpa?”

Grandfather had stopped convulsing, and was now propping his chest up to his heart. He let out a whisper which I did not understand, and then a death rattle. After which, Lowen stepped back from the old man and turned to me, his hands trembling. I, Mor-eldal, had remained paralyzed in my place without moving an inch, like a complete isturbag. By now, a clever gwak would have been running for his life to reach some safe place, he would have acted… but, as I say, I was a complete isturbag.

Lowen said in a strangely serene voice:

“He’s dead. Come. You have to get out of here.”

He held out a hand, and I almost threw a mortic shock at him too—this one more powerful, because I was preparing it—but what he said made me hold it back. I swallowed my urge to shout a “blasthell, thunders, and embers!” that would have echoed through the house, and nodded. I stood up and let Frashluc’s grandson lead me. We came out of the cellar, and instead of going into the hall, we went into his room. There he opened the window and whispered:

“They cut the branch off the cherry tree. You’ll have to jump. You can’t go through the exit door below: there’s a guard.”

I nodded and took him by the arm, my heart frozen.

“Why, Lowen?”

In the bluish light of the Gem I could see his pale face. He whispered:

“Grandpa said, ‘Save him’.” He hesitated and added, “Besides, we’re comrades, aren’t we?”

I was deeply moved, and, caught up in a sudden impulse, I gave him a strong gwak hug, stammering:

“Thanks, comrade. You’re the best.”

My hug seemed to make him uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and said:

“Wait a minute. I’ll give you my old cloak. Here.”

I breathed in disbelief. Was he offering it to me for real? I refrained from giving him another hug and put on the cloak, trying to regain some composure, which was no small feat because, devils, I had just caused the death of the greatest kap of the Cats! And his grandson—no more and no less than his grandson—was helping me escape. I sat astride the window and looked down. There was a good ten-foot drop. Lowen handed me the end of a sheet, and I understood his intention. He pulled me down a good section, and I arrived at the ground safely. I waved an “ayo” towards the figure of my nail-pincher friend and walked away, surrounded by harmonic shadows, down the deserted street of Atuerzo, my heart still frozen.

Save him, Frashluc had said. Well, he most likely had said “save it”, referring to his kingdom and not his assassin. But who could tell now. The case was that Lowen had heard his last whisper in the best possible way, but he was one of a kind. As for the Cats working for Frashluc, they were going to resent me to death. And I couldn’t hope anymore that the Black Daggers would help me get a refuge.

I huffed nervously as I walked the streets of the upper part of the Cats. Now I had four options. Either I sneaked into the tunnel at The Crazy Nut and flew to the Underground, or I popped myself off directly, or waited for Frashluc’s men or the Black Daggers to do so, or I followed Arik’s example and legged it to the Crypt. Of all these options, the one that appealed to me the most, of course, was the latter. But I wasn’t happy about it, because I didn’t want to be left alone like a lost soul. Luckily, as I say, there were always other options.

Four o’clock in the morning had struck shortly before I reached Swift’s alley. Everyone was sleeping. I walked between the disordered bodies, looking for my cronies. I found them near Little Wolf and Rogan. I shook all four of them.

“Wake up, comrades,” I whispered.

Rogan opened his eyes.

“What’s going on?” he muttered.

“I’ve got to leg it away from the Rock on the double,” I explained. “And I was wondering if you wanted to come with me.”

Dil looked up in surprise; Manras muttered something, half awake; and Rogan straightened on one elbow, stunned:

“Leg… what… how? Wait, wait.” The Priest sat up completely and pinched his cheeks to wake up. “Why do you have to leg it?”

I sighed, shook Manras with one hand, and pulled on the Priest.

“I’ll explain on the way. Now, are you coming or not?” I had a sudden idea and threw it out, “If you come, you’ll be the best comrades I ever had.”

Rogan let out a snort that sounded like he was asking for some time to think. The problem was, there was no time. I tugged at him again, insisting:

“So, are you coming or not? I gotta go right now, now, now. Do you understand?”

“And I have to snooze, Sharpy,” Manras protested. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“No, it can’t,” I said. There was a silence. Then I saw myself, for a moment, leaving the capital alone. Blasthell. I didn’t want that. I gritted my teeth, hesitated, then whispered, “Please, comrades.” I swallowed, and as my companions said nothing, I snorted, suddenly feeling betrayed, and I said: “Whatever, do what you want, so long guys—”

“Where do you want to go?” the Priest interrupted.

I was about to walk away to make them decide, but I stopped short. Where was I going to go? I hadn’t thought much about that. I shrugged my shoulders.

“Lysentam. What do you say?”

I guessed his smile.

“Look, let’s make a deal, Sharpy. I leg it with you, but then you explain everything and let me choose where we go, how about that?”

I could only rejoice and say:

“Runs for me ragingly, Priest. Come on! Shyurs, did you hear that? Priest is leaving too. Move it, let’s go.”

I shook Dil, and he and Manras finally stood up. The Priest took Little Wolf on his shoulders, and we were about to leave the dead end when I heard a clearing of the throat.

“You don’t even say ayo to me, Sharpy?”

I sighed. I’d woken Swift and who knows how many others. I turned around.

“I’m sorry, Swift. It’s a matter of life and death.”

“I believe you,” the redheaded elf affirmed as he stood up and approached. “But that’s no reason to sneak away without even saying goodbye to the best of your three kaps.”

I pouted.

“Now I only have one, Swift. You.”

“Huh. I see. Frashluc has fired you, huh?” No, I fired him to hell, I thought. He clicked his tongue. “I told you, Sharpy. Wherever you go, act like a cripple; otherwise, you’ll get into trouble like in Estergat, ya know? I’m sure we’ll meet again one day. Here, these are the siatos left over from your reserve. I didn’t steal a nail, believe me. Good luck, namesake.”

He patted me on the shoulder. I smiled, accepting the money.

“Thanks, kap. Perhaps one day I will succeed in sending you guys a letter if I learn to write as the spirits dictate. I’ll send it to Yarras, the ruffian of the White. Say! What if we create a network in Arkolda and found the first organized gwakery in the Republic and…?”

Swift laughed, poking my head.

“Quit your isturbiades, shyur.”

I said a quick farewell to those who had awakened, Rogan and my cronies did the same, I taught Little Wolf to wave his little hand, and we set off from there at a good pace. We took the same route I had taken the day I left Estergat: we went along Tarmil Avenue, through the neighborhood and along the river through the Evening Park to the Red Docks. My cronies, especially Manras, asked me several times: why, Sharpy? What happened? And I told them: I’ll explain later, don’t be annoying, now, onward, onward, and faster than that.

We were passing by the Orelief Bridge, not far from Riskel, when a figure broke from the shadows and approached us. Blasthell. Was it really coming towards us or was I becoming paranoid?

It seemed that I was really getting paranoid, because the hooded sajit continued on his way without barely looking at us. I sighed with relief, stopping, and caught Rogan’s questioning look. I shook my head and resumed walking.

We left Estergat without incident, without even attracting the attention of the guards. It was already dawn when, pausing for a moment, we turned off the Imperial Road and stopped near the canal which connected the river of Estergat with the river of Urzen. There were houses and gardens there, and villages which had come together, but we were no longer in the capital.

We were thirsty and bought milk from a couple who were selling to travellers with their cart full of jugs at the side of the road. I looked at them curiously, wondering: what if I did that for a living? They looked so peaceful! We bought them biscuits too, and soon the five of us were sitting by the canal, chewing and watching the day break and the barges and carts go by. But I knew that Rogan was waiting for an explanation.

A large flake of ash landed on Little Wolf’s head. I ruffled his hair, and receiving his blue gaze, I stood him up, took out some coins, and said:

“Cronies. Go to that inn over there, the one with the red sign, see it? Ask for some bottles to drink. If they’re small, buy two.”

“Why does it always have to be us?” Manras complained.

I rolled my eyes in exasperation.

“What do you mean, always? And who’s been bringing in the money the last few weeks, huh? The wind? Don’t be a nail-pincher and go. Two bottles.”

Manras deflated his cheeks and stood up reluctantly.

“Of wine?” Dil asked.

“Whatever they have, it’s for the journey,” I explained. “Take Little Wolf along. And don’t be long!”

Both of them walked away with the little boy. Dil, who was usually more perceptive than Manras, glanced at me as if to say, “That’s not fair, we want to know too”. But he walked away anyway. The Priest, after following with his gaze the run of a messenger on horseback, cleared his throat:

“Well, are you going to tell me now?”

I stopped pulling handfuls of grass and nodded.

“I am, I am. But I…” I hesitated. “Promise me that you won’t tell anyone.”

Rogan arched an eyebrow under his top hat.

“I won’t tell a soul,” he promised.

“And that you won’t look at me like I’m a monster,” I added.

My friend arched his other eyebrow, increasingly puzzled.

“Well, it runs. What happened with Frashluc?”

I breathed in and tried to sort out my agitated thoughts.

“No,” I said at last with a decided gesture. “That comes later. I have to explain it to you from the beginning. Otherwise, you won’t understand. About my master and… Say, Priest, you’re my best friend, right?”

Rogan huffed.

“Of course. Don’t worry. You tell your story; I’ll keep quiet. I’ll be the priest and you the one who confesses. I’m good at that,” he assured me. And he smiled, uncovering his missing tooth. “Spill your guts, shyur.”

I did. I told him everything. About necromancy, about my master, about my hand. All in one go, almost without breathing, almost without daring to look at my friend for fear of seeing the repulsion on his face. And I finished by saying:

“Frashluc wanted me to transform him, and I didn’t know how. Tonight, I told him the truth, and he went like mad with his knife. So I sent him a shock, and the old man’s ticker couldn’t take it. I thought… At the time, I thought he wanted to pop me off. But now I’m not so sure. Maybe he just wanted to scare me. And me… Bah. I don’t know.”

I fell silent. Rogan was looking at me with eyes as round as plates. He stared at my right hand every time I moved it to express my confusion. After an awkward silence, I saw him shake his head as if inviting himself to take it all in.

“A necromancer,” he muttered. “Gosh, shyur. Put it that way, it sounds creepy.”

I swallowed.

“It’s not that bad,” I assured. “It’s like… it’s like with Arik. People think all vampires are bad but Arik wasn’t bad, right? Well, it’s the same for me. And the same goes for…”

I shut up in time. Oh, dear. It was one thing to reveal my secret and another to reveal the secret of Korther, Rolg, and Ab. I made an effort to remember and more or less quoted something I had read in the book Korther lent me during my spying sessions with the Purple Orb:

“Everything strange seems to us monstrous or divine. Verse forty-three,” I lied.

Rogan rolled his eyes and pushed off my cap.

“You have no idea what verse forty-three says, Sharpy, don’t blaspheme.” And he played with his hat under my anxious gaze before conceding, “I guess you’re right. I don’t know anything about these things. I didn’t even know necromancy really existed. So that’s what you used to save me in the hospital?”

“I strengthened your jaypu using our bone morjas,” I confirmed. “Mine and yours.”

Rogan stared at me again. Then he shrugged.

“Gosh. Well, what do you want me to say, shyur? You could have told me before. I wouldn’t have tattled, you know?”

A terrible relief came over me. The Priest was not really angry at my silence, nor was he put off by my actions.

“I know. I’m sorry, Rogan. It’s just that my master told me I shouldn’t tell anyone.”

“You told your cousin,” he remarked.

“Only him. The others guessed,” I grumbled. “And now… I wonder, Rogan. You believe in evil spirits, don’t you? So, do you think I could be possessed? I say that because… it could be. I’m serious. Maybe you should bless me or do something…”

Rogan put a hand on my shoulder with a broad smile.

“It runs, Sharpy, I’m gonna bless you. Kneel down, that’s it, very good. Take off your hat… Scaluftard, you can’t put your fingers like that, you always forget, shyur! All right, then. Are you ready?”

I nodded, slightly apprehensive, my palms on my forehead and my eyes fixed on my lap. Rogan stood before me and placed a hand on my head.

“I bless you, my son…” He launched into a religious tirade about I don’t know what virtues, ancestors, and life conducts—all very seriously—and, finally, he ended, “and the evil spirits that inhabit your body will have set you free when you say: peace and virtue.”

I frowned, caught in a sudden thought.

“Say, don’t you think it’s taking those gwaks a long time to come back?”

Rogan sighed.

“Peace and virtue, Sharpy.”

Oops.

“Peace and virtue!” I pronounced solemnly.

And I jumped up, just to see that my cronies were already coming back. Running. And without the bottles. What the hell? I took a step, gasped, and said, “Hey, shyurs, what’s up!” and suddenly noticed the figure standing just a few feet away from us. It was a miracle that I didn’t die of a heart attack myself at that instant. It was Aberyl in his blue scarf. He looked at us as if he had been waiting there for a long time, with all the serenity in the world.

“Sharpyyyyy!” Manras shouted as he approached. Dil was coming up behind, carrying Little Wolf. “Sharpy, Priest, we’ve been hooked of our nails!”

He almost pushed Aberyl as he came in. I did not react. I just stood there looking at the Black Dagger, as if petrified in time. Rogan snorted.

“And how the blasthell did you get hooked, shyurs? Did a wizard put a spell on you or something?”

“Something like that!” Manras assured. “We didn’t even see his face. I leave the nails on the counter and… paf. I look again and ayo, the nails. I told the tavern keeper. But he kicked us out, saying we were liars and tatterdemons.”

“He said tatterdemalions,” Dil panted as he set Little Wolf down.

And he glanced at me curiously. Suddenly noticing my immobility, Rogan asked:

“What’s up with y…? Oh,” he murmured then, looking at Aberyl as if he had suddenly noticed his presence. “You know him?”

I managed to move my head in an almost imperceptible sign of affirmation. And I heard him murmur, “Blasthell”. Yes, blasthell, blasthell, blasthell! Why on earth did the Black Daggers insist on spiriting me off? Aberyl cleared his throat slowly.

“We finally found you, boy. I’m not here to hurt you, don’t worry.”

Yeah, sure, I thought. But I didn’t want to leg it before my comrades, so I stood firm, looked the demon in the eye, and said:

“What do you want?”

“Mm…” Ab shoved his hands in his pockets. “First, that you relax and believe me: we’re not going to hurt you. Second, that you allow me to talk to you alone. Will you?”

I blinked several times. My confusion was increasing by the second.

“You’re not going to kill me?”

I saw him roll his eyes.

“No, boy. I’m not gonna kill you.”

“Tell him what you have to say,” Rogan interjected. “But stay away. Is he one of Frashluc or a Black Dagger?” he added, whispering in my ear.

“Black Dagger,” I replied in a whisper.

“Spirits, I can’t believe it,” Aberyl gasped. “Will you stop saying too much every time you open your mouth? I wouldn’t be surprised if, one of these days, I see you giving the flies a list with all our names on it.”

Swallowing my shame, I gave him a defiant look back.

“Rogan is my friend. He has a right to know. My comrades don’t snitch.”

“Oh? Then I won’t mind speaking either: we’ve got your friend, the one who tried to run off into the forest,” I heard him announce, horrified. “We got him a fortnight ago, actually. And we haven’t been able to get much out of him because the kap doesn’t trust the hobbits anymore, and he has no intention of handing over our guest to that prince of Tamisabra. So, we were wondering if you would be so kind as to ease our communication and calm Arik down.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. Arik had been captured by the Black Daggers before he even got to the forest? Damn the Black Daggers! But at least it seemed that they hadn’t killed him nor had handed him over to the prince. I drew in a sharp breath and struck my forehead with my fist. Rogan gave me a slap to stop me before asking Aberyl:

“Arik? Arik is with you? What did you guys do to him?”

“Nothing,” Aberyl assured. “We just tried to talk with him, and I taught him how to play cards. Forks. Old nails. He’s good at it. He’s a smart boy. He also more or less let us know how he got out of the Hostel with you, Draen. Apparently, he had an extremely interesting magara. But it turns out he lost it, according to him.”

Under his half-mocking, half-inquisitive gaze, I bit my lower lip nervously. Aberyl was referring to the door-opener wand. But he didn’t have to know that I was the one who had it, hidden in one of the pipes of my music necklace.

Aberyl’s eyes suddenly widened, and he cried out:

“Mothers of Light!”

He was looking towards the canal. I turned around and… when I saw Little Wolf floating on a wooden box, drifting, a good two meters from the river bank, I thought I lost my mind. I shouted:

“LITTLE WOLF!”

I ran towards him. My intention was to get enough momentum to jump and grab the crate and Little Wolf. Aberyl ruined my plan by stopping me just before I jumped.

“Wait! You can swim, right?”

“I can’t,” I gasped. I couldn’t and neither could my companions.

Aberyl muttered something through his teeth, and taking off his cloak and scarf in an instant, he dove into the canal. I watched the hero, my heart racing.

“Little Wolf, don’t move!” Rogan shouted at him.

The little one was on all fours on the box. At first, he had been very focused on pitching the box as he sat or moved, but now, at our cries, he looked at us and… tried to see if he could walk on the water. What an isturbag! He disappeared beneath the surface, and I thought I would die. Fortunately, Aberyl was already reaching the box, and he managed to catch him. He brought him safely to the shore, spitting water and coughing. As soon as I saw him breathing normally, I took the little one in my arms and did not let him go, stammering:

“But what an isturbag, blasthell, what an isturbag…”

“Thank you, sir,” Rogan said, his voice full of gratitude.

Aberyl was dripping with water.

“I don’t like water for all that,” the Black Dagger growled, trying to wring out his soaked clothes.

He took off his boots to empty them. I watched him in disbelief. I looked at him, moved. And I finally said myself:

“Thank you, Ab. I’m so sorry.”

Aberyl glanced at me while shaking his boots. Finally, he smiled.

“People will end up calling me the Hero of the Gwaks, really. I’m a sentimentalist. How’s the kiddo? He doesn’t say a word…”

“He’s fine,” I assured him, my breathing still a little slurred. Little Wolf, on the other hand, was already looking quite serene.

Manras and Dil sat next to me. Rogan was scratching his head, examining the Black Dagger who was pouting and grimacing at his soaked clothes and muttering, oh, no, my watch, oh, no, what a disaster… I bit my lip, thinking: that Black Dagger who was Korther’s best friend and to whom I had sent a shock, betraying him… that very man had saved Little Wolf. He had lost a watch and some magara, he mumbled, and all to save Little Wolf!

Finally catching my gaze, Aberyl gave me a pout as if to say, “It’s okay, I’ll replace it all later”. And then he looked at me more attentively and smiled.

“All right, Draen. If I ask you now to follow me without question, will you do it?”

I did not hesitate. I nodded and said fervently:

“Yes.”