Defiant Necromancer (Book 2 stubbing July 3)

Samara blinked awake and felt the ship hop up and down again. There was a storm outside, rocking the vessel in the water.

Right. It was a dream. Just a dream. There was a strange feeling of disappointment in the realization, followed by the inevitable sense of guilt for being disappointed. She had betrayed the Goddess, broken her vows, been with a man - even if it had been only a fantasy - and now she was disappointed that it hadn’t been real. The way the dream had unfolded made it even more obvious that it was more like a repressed wish. I hadn’t realized I had this in me… I must pray more earnestly for guidance.

Though her lustful dream encounter hadn’t severed her connection to the Goddess, it almost felt worse to know she had committed the crime but would not receive her punishment.

She could still see those intense green irises, could feel them boring into her when she shut her eyelids. The sinful words she’d spoken still echoed through her mind.

The paladin tried to ignore the stickiness between her thighs as she rose from her bed. The dream had been so intense this time that she imagined she even felt soreness inside herself - as if that night had truly been her first time lying with a man.

But she remained untouched. Would forever remain chaste and untouched.

Praise the Goddess, she thought, trying not to notice how hollow the words felt.

The phantom pain faded as she moved around her cabin.

She distracted herself from the unclean feeling in her heart by praying, chanting Goddess mantras, but she kept missing words. Her brain just wasn’t in it. She was still there, under him. Disappointed that the man in the dream wasn’t real, even as a part of her wondered if she was being seduced by a dark god. That was the only explanation for why he blasphemed against the Goddess. A little part of her had known it at the time.

But you still kept going. Still wanted it… wanted him.

She tried bathing to wash off the scent of her own lust, which she imagined would be palpable to others. But even as the water woke her up, it took actual discipline not to touch herself when she cleaned between her legs.

She hadn’t felt the sensation of arousal in years prior to these night encounters. Now it was slipping into her waking life, like she was in thrall to some drug.

The dreams are wearing away at the strength of my vows.

She dried herself hastily, dressed, and left her room to do something about this.

She walked down to the engineering deck, where Ludwig’s artificers had made themselves at home. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but hopefully, it would be early enough that the old dwarf himself wasn’t there. She would rather avoid his scrutiny.

As she reached the exterior, she paused and tried to think of what to say. Then she shook her head. She was a paladin. Lies did not become her. Some version of the truth would suffice. Preferably a less humiliating version than admitting that some man in her dreams was distracting her from sleep with violent sexual pleasure.

Samara rapped on the door that led into the lowest level of the ship, and after a moment, a slat at the paladin’s chest level slid aside to reveal a pair of surprised eyes.

Then the door opened.

“Lady Samara?” asked the dwarf, who she dimly remembered was named Wilhelm.

“That’s right, Wilhelm,” she said, forcing her lips into a smile. “Sorry to bother you at this hour. There was just a small problem I was dealing with, and I felt I needed an artificer to assist me.”

“Uh, understood, ma’am,” Wilhelm said, looking like he did not think he understood but was willing to play along. “I’ll get the chief.”

“Oh, you don’t need to wake Ludwig,” Samara said hurriedly.

He tilted his head, a faint trace of suspicion in his eyes.

“Then I will get the chief apprentice,” he said after a moment.

Samara didn’t dare to object or suggest that the two of them could work something out. She wasn’t made of money anyway.

A few minutes later, she found herself standing in front of a blonde human woman who wore her long hair in a braid down her back. This was the only human member of Ludwig’s crew. She must have been competent to have been chosen as chief apprentice over any of the seven dwarves who were older and surely more experienced. The blonde looked sleepy but was dressed in her professional attire, gray coveralls, boots, and thick padded gloves, goggles sitting in their usual place on her forehead.

For the life of her, Samara could not remember the woman’s name.

“What brings you to our shop, Lady Samara?” the blonde asked.

“I’ve been having strange dreams lately,” the paladin said. “Ever since I set out on this journey. Nothing harmful, understand. Just… I want to be in my best condition for the next phase of our travels. Discussion with the Walian branch of the Divine Trust, and what comes after, when we eventually make it to Niet. I know we make port shortly. So, what I came down here for is, I wanted to know if there’s any… drug you could contrive that might keep me from having them. The dreams, that is.”

“What I think you’re talking about would probably constitute an illicit substance under the laws of the Walian Empire,” the other woman said sleepily. “Unless you just wanted to stay awake longer. But something that would alter your mental state, even in your sleep, is probably something the Walians regulate. If you want me to violate the law and risk a long prison sentence, you’re going to have to actually start paying me. Right now, my colleagues and I are along with you because our master owed your teacher a favor. But, no offense, ‘favor’ doesn’t extend to risking a long prison sentence or being forced to fight in the gladiatorial arena. The Walians don’t play around.”

“So, what, you’re a lawyer now?” Samara asked, unable to keep an edge from her voice.

“I’m kind of a do-everything sort of person, honestly… which leaves me constantly busy, as you might imagine.” The latter felt like a pointed addition, with an obvious meaning: Can we hurry this up?

“Can’t you… make something for me, and I’ll put the finishing touches on it myself? You can pretend you didn’t know what I wanted the ingredients for.”

“I don’t think this task - brewing drugs for you, omitting the last step so you can try and figure it out for yourself, you probably failing and wasting more of both of our time - constitutes an urgent matter critical to our mission.”

“I think I’m the one best positioned to judge that!” the paladin fumed, barely keeping a rein on her rising temper.

“Then you could always come back when Ludwig’s here and make your case to him,” the blonde replied indifferently.

The artificer walked off through a doorway that led into a back room, leaving Samara staring after her, blinking slowly, confused.

“Ah, don’t mind her,” said one of the dwarves. His name escaped Samara in her mingled fury, confusion, and residual sleepiness. “Kris’s a bit special. She doesn’t like to think about much of anything besides her work. But there’s no one like her for coming up with something new on the fly.”

“Right,” Samara said slowly. “I… don’t suppose I could get you to help me?”

“Look, miss, if the chief apprentice refused you, on the grounds that we’d be violating the law of the country we’re making port in… I’m not likely to go around her and stick my neck out for you, am I?”

“I suppose not,” the paladin said. “Well, thank you for your time.”

She turned and walked out and back to her chambers.

It’s fine, Samara told herself as she sat down in her bed. The dreams mean nothing. They’re not real. That man isn’t real.

But even so, she didn’t go back to sleep.

A few hours later, the ship docked in the Walian port of Rawal - the Empire’s only significant port city, often thought of as a de facto capital, though it was of less importance to the Walians themselves, as trade was usually thought of as beneath the warrior people.

Samara went out to meet the port authorities, since this was her expedition.

“Greetings, ship’s representative…?” said the inspector who seemed to be in charge, a man with dusky skin much like Samara’s.

“Greetings. I am Lady Samara, a paladin,” she replied in rusty Walian. “Our ship carries magical technology of the third tier- ”

He waved a hand and cut her off, then motioned for the two inspectors flanking him to move off.

“Never mind, then, Lady Samara, never mind. We only concern ourselves with the importation of sin products and with tariffs on legitimate goods. But you are a paladin, and as such, I cannot imagine you are here to engage in trade.”

“That’s correct, inspector. I am here to meet with the Walian Divine Trust.”

“Oh, interesting.” He barked an order to one of the subordinates he’d sent off, and Samara barely understood the quick, terse Walian - it was most of her lifetime since she’d held a rapid-fire conversation in what was technically her native tongue. But he definitely mentioned the Trust. He turned back to Samara and continued in his slower Walian, more tailored to foreign visitors, “I am called Zayd. It is interesting to me that you felt the need to mention the tier of weapons you bring with you. The fear of weapons is usually thought of here as naught but cowardice.”

Of course. Vika devotees. Sometimes I forget that they’re like this.

Those who devoted themselves too fully to the worship of one of the two great deities sometimes seemed to become unbalanced from the perspective of common believers, she had noticed. Samara trusted that she herself had avoided that trap.

“Perhaps you are correct,” she replied. “I reported only because it is standard in all ports I have visited before.”

“Ah, those foreigners. Unnecessary, unnecessary… and to question a paladin that way, too. Particularly- ” He snorted with amusement- “if you’ll pardon my frankness, one who is here in a dwarven vessel, with Royal Navy markings from Breckinderh. We have no quarrel with King Yorick presently, and…” He looked at her, then chuckled quietly again. “I suppose I can say this, since you’re a fellow countrywoman. If we did have a quarrel with him, we’d win.”

The Walian reputation for martial hubris is well earned, it seems.

She forced a smile. “One of ours is worth ten of theirs, as they say?”

“Only if it’s a Walian worth their salt! Ah, I’ve sent a man to see about an appointment with the Trust for you.”

Samara’s smile became more genuine, and she fell into small talk with the inspector. She couldn’t say much about the Empire, because she hadn’t spent much time there since she was a child, but she could always make herself genial to someone who was willing to be helpful to her.

Finally, the inspector’s subordinate returned and took her to the Divine Trust’s office, a stately old building prominently located near the port in a piece of prime real estate. No one would slight the Trust by putting them in a lesser place.

She was seated in the duty inquisitor’s waiting room… where she sat waiting for several hours.

I should have brought a book to read, Samara thought ruefully. She wondered if the Trust was actually busy or if this was a power move. There was always a little tension between the authorities of the Temple system and the Divine Trust, due to their overlapping missions. The public didn’t know much of it, but at times, it had approached near to war.

That was ancient history, of course.

“Inquisitor Bram will see you now,” said an aide who looked about as old as the building - which was to say, ancient.

Samara knocked, entered the office, and bowed politely to the Inquisitor, who rose from his seat and bowed in turn. Good. All niceties were being observed by both sides thus far.

She noticed that the middle-aged man had the pale, dark-haired look common to Nietians and wondered what had brought him to this country - but resolved not to waste time asking unless they ended up spending an extended period together.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting, my lady,” said the Inquisitor. “We have had some trouble with heretics in the Central Walian region, lately, and as you can imagine, managing logistics so far from headquarters is a headache-inducing task.”

Samara avoided raising an eyebrow or showing any sign of surprise or disagreement - though frankly, she considered much of the religion-policing the Trust did as completely unnecessary or even counterproductive. One man’s heresy was another’s way of communing with their god or goddess.

“The Goddess bolsters my patience for such matters as important as these, honored Inquisitor,” she replied.

“Please, call me Bram.”

“Then you may call me Samara.”

He smiled. “Wonderful. And what brings you to my city, Samara?”

“You,” she said straightforwardly.

He raised an eyebrow. “Me?”

“I believe the Temple needs your support.” She drew her sister’s letter out from her clothing and passed it to him.

Bram took it and read it briskly, eyes widening as he went along. His brow furrowed as he finished.

“Hammad!” he barked.

The aide entered through the same door Samara had come through.

“Yes, Master Inquisitor?” he asked.

“Set down a copy of this, immediately. High quality, no omissions, no shorthand. Perfect copy.”

“Yes, Master Inquisitor.” He bowed, took the letter, and left.

“I, um- ” Samara began.

“Apologies, Lady Samara. You will have your original back, but I must leave a paper trail in case something should happen to me on our journey. I intend to accompany you personally, and we must ensure that if the worst occurs, others will take up our trail.”

“Oh, of course, Inquisitor.” The paladin was responding to this much more urgently than the Hero had - as she had hoped. He understood the threat.

“I must say that I am surprised High Priestess Asha requested the intervention of the Party of Heroes in this matter directly. Not the Divine Trust. This is within our purview.” There was the hint of reproach that Samara would have expected, and she knew how to blunt it.

“Of course, the Hero is a unique figure,” the paladin said. “But I personally felt that it would be valuable to consult you.”

“Especially since you’re here without the Hero?” he asked with a slightly twisted smile. “Forgive me, but I did briefly ask around about your vessel.”

I’m glad you were able to put my hours of sitting in your waiting room to good use. I suppose this city is as full of spies as any city with a Divine Trust office. That inspector, Zayd? Perhaps one of his subordinates? Did someone board the ship, or did they talk to a sailor? But I suppose it doesn’t matter. I’m not here on a mission of espionage.

“May I speak frankly, Bram?”

“Please do.”

“The Hero has not yet fully matured into his calling. He is… more concerned with winning hearts and establishing his legend than about honing or using his mind.”

Perhaps a slightly unfair characterization, but it was the Hero’s own fault that it was only her, Hailgrim, and Mischa here. If it was the full Party of Heroes, they would have probably bypassed the Divine Trust visit entirely, discourteous though it might be.

“I would imagine that a paladin of Goddess Astara would be the ideal person to reform that sort of misbehavior - if I am taking your meaning correctly.”

She began to nod.

“Assuming your own heart remains true,” Bram finished. His eyes seemed to bore into hers.

“I have done nothing to shame my paladin vows,” Samara replied in a slightly testy voice.

“There are many things a man and woman can do together, many heresies a person may believe, many mistakes one can make, all without severing the bond to the Goddess,” the Inquisitor observed.

Samara narrowed her eyes. I’m definitely not here to discuss my personal feelings with you, nor to get into a theological debate. The standard rebuttal by most paladins would be that a heretical paladin would be instantly stripped of their powers by the deity they served - and that, by implication, they were above scrutiny from organizations such as the Divine Trust.

The truth was grayer than that.

“Is this still a friendly conversation?” she asked, her voice as gentle as she could manage. “Only, I came here to seek unity against a threat to the divine order.”

“Forgive me,” Bram said, sounding only slightly contrite. “Professional habits, you know how it is.”

I’m not the morality police, so I emphatically do not, but no matter.

“So, you will help me?” she asked.

“Yes, Lady Samara. I can see the urgency in the High Priestess’s words, and the fact that you came here alone speaks volumes. It will take a week to assemble a proper strike team. We… perhaps dispersed our forces a bit unwisely, not anticipating something of this gravity. In that time, I will summon back a dozen holy knights, double that number of inquisitors, and a small group of assistants to help us.”

She forced herself to smile again. This was a good answer.

“Thank you, Inquisitor Bram. That sounds just fine.” They shook hands.

The delay emphatically was not fine, but what could she do? Her intuition had told her that she and her companions needed the help, especially without the rest of the Party.

What could happen in a matter of weeks anyway?