Dirge for a Necromancer - By Ash Stinson Page 0,12

you know.”

“Dragons aren’t interesting, anyway,” Dohrleht said. “We see them all the time, lurking up on the cliffs. Dad killed one two days ago.”

“His men did most of the work,” Maeleht said quietly. “But he struck the killing blow through its eye. Are you really going to teach us to do magic?”

Raettonus looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “That’s the plan, yes,” he said. “Though, really, it all depends on whether you can learn it or not. Some people don’t have it in them. Some people won’t work hard enough.”

“We’ll work hard,” Maeleht assured him, balling his tiny hands into fists. “I want to do magic!”

“You’ll have to do more than ‘want,’” Raettonus told him. “Magic comes hand in hand with pain, boy. That’s the kind of magic we do—the painful kind. The kind that kills.”

“Will you teach us other types of magic too?” the younger boy asked.

“He doesn’t want to kill,” Dohrleht said knowingly. “He’s afraid to.”

“I am not afraid!” Maeleht protested. “I just think it’d be neat to do other things with magic. That’s all.”

Raettonus straightened up from his place at the windowsill. “Yes, I can teach you other things, I suppose,” he said. “There are lots of non-lethal magics I could show you.”

“Could you show us right now?” Maeleht asked. “Some magic? Dad said you were the greatest magician in all of Zylx.”

“And outside of it,” Raettonus said. “Yes, I suppose I can show you something.”

He took a seat beside their table. The two boys’ attention was fully on him, but behind them Ebha was staring blankly at a wall, in her own little world. Raettonus lifted up one of his hands and reached forward into the empty air. He imagined himself reaching into a space between realms—a room unaffected by time with a few trinkets lying about inside it. His fingertips explored the space, sliding across cloth and steel and leather and cold flesh. He continued to probe that unseen place between places until his fingers brushed against a smooth, cold ceramic handle and he grabbed hold of it. Dohrleht and Maeleht gasped as Raettonus withdrew his hand, a red and black pitcher appearing in his grasp. The younger boy clapped his hands together. “You made a vase!” he exclaimed, reaching out one hand toward it. “And it’s so pretty too! What’s that gryphon on it for?”

“I didn’t make it,” Raettonus told him, pulling the pitcher out of his reach. The water inside rolled against the walls of the vessel. “I merely pulled it out of a holding place.”

“That’s not so great,” Dohrleht commented.

“Shut up,” said Maeleht. “It’s better than you can do.” He tuned his light blue eyes back toward Raettonus. “So, you’re going to teach us to do that?”

“Eventually,” he answered, cradling the pitcher in his lap. The water inside was dusty and cold. “Not today, though. I’m supposed to teach you other scholarly pursuits, and so we’ll start there.”

Dohrleht furrowed his brow. “Like what?”

“Maths, language, other things,” Raettonus said.

“We already know how to count and add,” Dohrleht said. “I don’t see why we need more math. We’re going to be magicians, not accountants.”

Raettonus scowled at the crippled boy. “Well,” he said coldly. “I can already tell we’re going to get on famously, you and I.”

“I want to learn,” Maeleht said. “What else will you teach us? Are you going to teach us the history of your world?”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t teach you much about that,” Raettonus said with a shrug. “I left my world a long, long time ago. It’s changed a lot since then.”

Maeleht frowned. “You don’t look very old,” he said. “How much could it have changed since you left it?”

“Stupid,” chided Dohrleht, punching his brother in the arm. He leaned in close to his little brother, but didn’t bother to drop his voice any. “This is the magician that doesn’t have a soul that they always talk about. The one from the plains. He’s immortal.”

Maeleht’s eyes widened. “O-oh. This is that magician?” he asked his brother. Dohrleht nodded. Maeleht quickly turned back to Raettonus. “I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Quite all right,” Raettonus answered, moving the red and black pitcher back into the holding space. He stood and wiped the dirt from his tunic. “That’ll be all today. We’ll begin our lessons tomorrow.”

“W-wait,” Maeleht weakly called after him as he strode to the door. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I—”

Raettonus closed the door, cutting off the sickly child’s plea. A soldier passed by and mumbled a