Defiant Necromancer (Book 2 stubbing July 3)

Tybalt and Dero found themselves in the water.

A thin mist shrouded everything, but Dero could tell they were roughly a mile from the patch of land she saw in the distance.

The necromancer turned and looked at her with a question in his eyes. She knew what he was wondering. Did they need to be that far away?

“Better safe than sorry,” she said in answer.

He nodded. He had already experienced what territory being protected against teleportation meant if someone tried to teleport in. The pieces of you would still be large enough to be recognizable, probably, but they might not be all the ones you needed.

Below their feet, Dero felt Tybalt’s flesh raft beginning to move, those long limbs rowing forward beneath the surface to propel them toward the shore.

The pair mostly stood in silence atop their mount, having already discussed their plans well in advance. There was also a silent feeling that hovered over them both, that they might need actual stealth to reach land. They both believed that they would be safe conducting diplomacy under the High Elf King’s roof, but they hadn’t reached his palace yet.

Misunderstandings could always occur.

As if summoned by their thoughts, figures began moving through the mist, standing on the distant shore. It was just sporadic at first, but as they reached within a half mile, the numbers started to grow.

Dero could tell from a distance that they bristled with spears and bows. Some of their eyes glowed green through the mist, and she thought she spied greenish colored skin too.

“A welcoming party?” Tybalt asked, half playful - or maybe entirely a disguise for slight concern. “But they look a little too well armed.”

“Wood elves,” Dero said. “You can tell by the green skin and eyes. The most distrustful of outsiders of all our people, if history is any guide to their current culture. I doubt they’re familiar with your language, so your wit will sadly be lost on them. But they might appreciate your well maintained skin as a liner for a canoe.”

“So you don’t think they’re friendly?” he asked, trying to smile convincingly.

He’s actually feeling vulnerable. If he wasn’t, he would have made a crack about me complimenting his skin.

The numbers kept growing, every new shape an armed figure.

Dero started to feel just slightly vulnerable herself. They were likely within the warded area now. She could tell Tybalt to turn the raft back. But that was their only route of retreat. Teleport might very well get them killed if they used it.

For the moment, she said nothing. They would not give up on the mission before it had even begun.

As they got to within a quarter mile, Dero heard chanting. Shouted threats? Spells? It was hard to be certain. The wood elves had their own distinctive culture, their own way of connecting with magic and with the gods.

They could be praying as easily as they could be preparing to attack.

The growing glow of mana was worrying, though.

“Get ready to fight,” Dero said, her voice low.

Against this number of wood elves - hundreds lined the shore now - she alone would not be sufficient. Probably the two of them together would not be. If they were hostile, she and the necromancer would be lucky to flee such an encounter successfully.

Tybalt nodded, and she sensed him gathering mana inside his chest and around both hands. He also raised one hand to where she knew he had his Undead Storage mark, ready to release the mummies and vampire knight he’d brought along.

As the raft moved slightly closer, the wood elves began loosing arrows. They had the power to reach just shy of where Tybalt and Dero were, but to the dark elf’s eyes, the archers appeared to be deliberately aiming to their sides.

“It’s a warning!” she barked. “They don’t want us to come any closer. We have to stop!”

Beneath them, the flesh raft immediately began rowing in the opposite direction, increasing its force to counter their existing momentum. The change in movement was so sudden and jerky that if she hadn’t been expecting it, it would have taken Dero momentarily off her feet.

As it was, she and Tybalt reached for each other instinctively and managed to remain upright.

Their little vessel moved further back, and the arrows stopped falling. The tall, slender, green-skinned figures, barely more than outlines in the mist, lowered their bows and seemed to just stare. It was like they were waiting for Tybalt and Dero to make the next move.

Dero noticed for the first time what they wore. Tree bark loincloths and leaves.

They’ve gone more… traditional since the last time I saw them.

“What do we do now?” Tybalt asked.

“Well, we don’t go forward, I can tell you that much,” she replied. “As much as you’re sometimes a pain with your arrogance and your slow human brain, I prefer you without lots of arrow holes in you.”

“It’s nice that you care.”

She was about to deny it, but realized with a start that it would actually be a lie. She wasn’t in love with him, that was perhaps something that would come years from now, but she was getting attached. It wasn’t even just the sex, though that was definitely part of it.

When did that happen? Dero thought with a slight smile. When did I start to get invested in reaching the end of his story?

“I think the other elves probably agree.”

“What?” she asked.

Did I miss him saying something else?

“The other elves probably agree that they prefer me without lots of arrow holes. At least if they want to use my skin to line a canoe, like you said.”

She sighed and shook her head. “On second thought, you move towards the shore, and I’ll start swimming the other way. Your jokes merit capital punishment.”

“Seriously, what do you think we should do next? I could have the raft circle around. Maybe to one of the other islands—”

Then she felt it, a pull that resonated all throughout her body. A disembodied force, tugging her upward. She couldn’t feel where it was coming from or sense the presence of the mage who had to be doing this, but as she turned her head, she saw the same force affecting Tybalt.

All right, probably the high elves. At least whoever it is doesn’t seem to be trying to separate us.

The necromancer was frowning and looking down at the flesh raft, though.

“What’s the matter?” she asked as their feet lifted off the raft.

“Whoever grabbed us is having trouble moving the raft,” he said. “Nothing the matter, exactly; it’s just interesting.”

She nodded to herself. Tybalt was trying to figure out what power was being used on them already. Nothing new there.

They began slowly but surely floating higher into the air, and as they passed through the layer of mist, Dero saw them. The floating islands of the high elves, levitating high above the ground. Perhaps a mile up.

Out of everyone left on Abadd - setting aside the exterminated dark elf population - there was no one who had a deeper understanding and a firmer grasp on the principles of magic than the high elves. The proof of it loomed above them.

Land masses that remained suspended out of reach of nearly all mortal attack. Only a dragon could assail these islands, as long as the spells that kept them in place held.

This wasn’t like the sort of ancient magic that Dero had taught Tybalt a little about before, the use of mystic runes to protect places, for example, against teleportation. The anti-Teleport rune worked by siphoning energy from the Teleport skill itself and preventing it from properly completing. Similar runes existed to ward against scrying, mental manipulation, and magical fire, among many other forms of attack.

That meant that those runes could be placed passively in a location by people with no knowledge of the underlying principles - even carved into a structure by someone who did not know how to use mana.

All magic required some energy source to work, but these defensive runes universally used the attacker’s energy as a source, so they remained in occasional use among those trained by master craftsmen. That was why the anti-Teleport rune would cause the Teleport user to emerge discombobulated. It wasn’t keeping them from arriving. It was draining the mana from the skill as they arrived, making it less likely that the teleporter arrived in one piece.

The magic that suspended these islands in the air, however, required constant maintenance, continual reinforcement.

There were archmage-level magic users on these islands, constantly working to keep them floating, taking the work in shifts or using magic to keep themselves awake.

It was an expensive price to pay to avoid the possibility of war with the humans, and it also meant the entire civilization was perched on a knife’s edge.

If, one day, an attack should come that brought their Kingdom to its knees, and the last archmage met his end during that offensive, then on that same day, the islands would fall. Virtually the entire high elf population would likely die.

Dero was annoyed to find that the possibility disturbed her, if only because of the uncomfortable reminder of her own sub-race’s fate.

I think I actually do want to have a baby, the more I think about it, Vidalia’s crass remark aside. Only because I don’t want to be one of the last dark elves, and I’m finally in a position where it arguably makes sense to build something.

Even if Tybalt didn’t feel any special loyalty toward the demihumans currently supporting him - which was hard to believe, since that was almost all his women - he would still create a country where nonhumans were welcome, if only to make room for his own minions.

She glanced to the side and saw that Tybalt was looking around, enjoying the view from above. There was a surprisingly child-like excitement about him as they floated hundreds of feet in the air and continued climbing. The necromancer was not yet so worldly that he was immune to awe.

“Look at that,” he said, his voice hushed as if he was conscious of scaring something away. He pointed at a massive blue-gray bulk in the ocean below them.

“Oh, a whale,” Dero said.

“They’re real,” Tybalt said, breathless. “I’ve never seen one outside of a book. Our sailors are afraid to go too far from shore, and they don’t come close, from what I’ve read. It’s so big.”

She chuckled quietly and took his hand in hers.

I wouldn’t mind if you showed this strange innocence more often, she thought. It’s one of the most charming things about a human lover. There’s so much you haven’t seen, so much you haven’t done, and your kind relish it so much. That never gets old. It reminds me of when that was a part of who I was. I guess… that’s something about myself that I miss.

“A copper for your thoughts?” he asked, looking at her curiously.

She repeated what she’d just been thinking. Perhaps it was the thin air that made her so open. Or whatever influence it was, pulling them both upward, was also altering the way she thought.

“Believe it or not, I experience that same feeling whenever I interact with children,” Tybalt said. “They have that sense of wonder, even more than a human adult.” He grinned, shook his head, and squeezed her hand.

Yeah, we’re going to have a kid, Dero thought. And it won’t be an I-guess-so, I-don’t-give-a-damn-about-anything decision. It’ll be a life-affirming one.

As the two rose to almost the same height as the bottoms of the islands, they got their first views of the great elven archipelago. The underside was a vast expanse of earth interlaced with hundreds or thousands of roots. Above it, there was a surprisingly restrained amount of greenery. Enough for the high elves to sustain themselves, Dero guessed, but nothing like the overflowing natural forest and jungle beauty the wood elves preferred.

In the distance, on the largest island that they were being pulled toward, a great city loomed.

In between, Dero and Tybalt saw a large party of elves - pale, cream-color complected, unmistakably high elves - waiting for them.

“I hope you’re ready for this,” Dero whispered as they drew closer.

“So do I!” Tybalt replied.

Despite his words, the necromancer smiled.