Family Heirloom

The pistol shot hit the wall, shattering the decaying brick and sending a few sparks flying.  These illuminated, for a brief second, Grim’s gaunt face, his lips drawn back in a snarl – the same that is found on a cornered fox that’s out of burrows to hide in.  And then the sword that Langley held fell from her hand and this time, when the metal sparked against the ground, sending little beacons up into the air around the two ‘mancer’s feet, Sabreur was ready.

He managed to get the trigger words out even though Langley was screaming, a long-drawn out cry, and despite the pain that was shooting up from his sternum in sympathy to whatever had just happened to his twin sister.  Fire blossomed around the bottom of Grim’s feet and caught onto his robe.  He screamed as well, flailed at it, and Sabreur broke into a run and caught his falling sister about the shoulders.  She choked and convulsed and Sabreur saw blood stream from her parted lips.  Her eyes were rolled back and her breathing labored.

“Component…” Sabreur whispered, “What did he use as a component!?”

Langley coughed up more blood, the drops splattering against his white lab coat.  That was his answer.  It took an effort of sheer will to let her go, to let his twin sister drop onto the ground to suffer alone.  It didn’t take such an effort to grab Grim around the neck with both hands and slam him against the wall of the basement hard enough to crack off more particles of brick.  The necromancer wailed, thinly, and kicked frantically, his eyes craned in their sockets to stare at the flame that was still eating his tattered robes.

“I’m on fire!” he screamed, “Let me go!”

“You drop the ‘mancy on my sister and I’ll drop mine,” Sabreur growled.  He shifted his hand so that it pressed against the man’s windpipe and let go with his other hand, muscles straining to keep the man in the air, and with his free hand grabbed Grim’s wrist and twisted it to turn his palm upright.

“Drop it.  You have your component.  Drop it.”

Blood dripped from Grim’s palm.  Behind them, Langley’s screams had subsided into sobs and then into a coughing, struggled gurgle.  Grim whimpered and kicked harder as the flames climbed higher on his robes.

“Peractio.”

It was a word that every ‘mancer knew.  It simply meant that something was finished, it was ended, regardless of whether it accomplished its purpose or not.  It was the universal keyword for ending a sustained ‘mancy working.  Sabreur’s ‘mancy did not need a keyword.  It was a simple, one-time thing – he triggered the fire and let it run its course.  So instead of dropping his own ‘mancy he dropped Grim, seizing the robe around the shoulders as he did so and tore it away, knocking the man onto the ground and nearly wrenching his arms out of his sockets.  Then he threw the robe aside and just let it burn.  Grim sat there, holding his throat and gasping.

“And I’ll set you on fire again if you try anything else,” Sabreur threatened, “We’re going to attract too much attention if we keep fighting.  Truce until we decide we want to kill each other again?”

“Truce,” Grim rasped.

Sabreur nodded and walked over to his sister.  She had managed to roll on her side and was now coughing uncontrollably.  Each time she did it brought up more blood.  A small puddle had formed around her chin and was staining the collar of her jacket.  Sabreur felt sick as he knelt and felt her brow.  Clammy.  She coughed again, brought a hand up to wipe her lips, and opened her eyes.

“I hate necromancers,” she whispered.

“Grim, if my sister dies-“

“She won’t die,” the man whined quickly, staring at his robe that was quickly becoming a pile of ash.  The smoke hung heavy in the room and he brought up his sleeve to filter the air somewhat, although with the confines of the basement it seemed to be a futile gesture.

“Then what is wrong with her?”

“It’s a blood-based ‘mancy.  I was filling her lungs with blood.  She’ll cough it all out.  Like water.”

“That is… so sick…” Langley gasped and managed to roll onto her lungs.  She coughed some more and this time Sabreur wasn’t sure if she was just coughing or if it was the precursor to throwing up.  He moved more to her side than in front of her, just in case it was both.

“You’ve, uh, come about the sword, haven’t you?” Grim asked nervously, edging further away from the twins, eyeing Sabreur carefully.  He looked a dangerous sort now, no longer some gawky bully that Grim had first pegged him for when he strode in on the remains of his door lock.  Maybe it was a poor decision to go after the girl first.  Then again, she was the one that had a sword to his throat.  He glanced at it and flinched.  The wretched thing had its eye open and was definitely staring at him again.

“How did you know?” Sabreur asked, his expression going from one of murderous intent to one of confused and unstable, barely restrained, murderous intent.  Beside him, Langley’s coughing turned into genuine dry heaves.  Grim felt his mouth go dry and hoped she wouldn’t actually throw up.  It had taken a while to develop a tolerance for dealing with corpses.  He hadn’t had time to develop a tolerance for smoke, blood, and people.

“It’s, uh, well, I’m the only necromancer around, after all.”

He sat down and stared at his hand.  Now that he had the time to look at it, the wound on his hand looked rather nasty.  The bullet had taken out a nice portion of his palm and was still bleeding rather profusely.  He felt faint now and for a moment he swayed, trying not to pass out.

“Just clot it,” Sabreur snapped and Grim stared at him in blank incomprehension.  “Oh hell.  You used blood as a component and yet you don’t know basic medical ‘mancy?  Make the blood clot, you idiot.”

Grim stared at his hand for another moment, this time out of the corner of his eye, just so he wouldn’t have to see it completely.  He had no idea what the pyromancer was talking about.  He’d have to settle for something else.  So he tore off a strip of his shirt and tied it around the wound.

“That’ll get infected,” the girl commented, finally recovered from her sickness enough to speak, “It’ll rot and fall off.”

“I can handle that,” Grim gasped.

“Figures.”

She sat up and scrubbed her mouth and chin with the back of her sleeve.  Turned her head aside and spat.

“I’m going to be tasting blood for weeks,” she growled, “I HATE necromancers.”

“That was established when you broke down my door and threatened to hand me to the Cadre,” Grim said, “So, uh, is that still in effect?  Cause if so I’d like to keep trying to kill you both.”

“We’ll see,” Sabreur replied, “Depends on how much you can tell us about the sword and some dead bodies we found in an alleyway.”

Grim considered briefly.  Dead bodies.  Well, he did have his sources for dead people.  A couple individuals that knew that when they brought them to his doorstep they vanished and were no longer anything to be concerned about.  Unfortunately, he hadn’t had any new ones in quite a while so he really didn’t know much about the ones these two seemed to be curious about.

“Sorry,” he said, “Probably just a random knifing.”

“Last I checked usually only one person gets knifed, not multiple people,” Langley replied quietly.

“Oh.  Then I really have no idea.”  He paused and considered his options.  The boy was still staring at him with murder in his eyes.  The girl seemed to have recovered enough to be coherent, although considerably weakened.  There was still the matter of the sword.  Yes, the sword.  It was still staring at him.  He licked his lips and decided to gamble.  “That sword might have something to do with it though.  It’s good at making lots of bodies.”

“Swords usually are,” Sabreur replied mildly.  Grim pressed on.

“It’s not right, see,” he said urgently, “Not right at all.  When the shopkeeper – you’ve met him, right? – got it I told him to get rid of it as soon as possible.  It’s not right.  You’re not supposed to make those things.  Even I know better.  But no one bought it and people were scared of it and… and… the cursed thing tried talking to me once.  Talking.  I stayed away since then.”

The twins just stared at him.  Grim shook his head, glanced at the sword, glanced at the smoldering remains of his robe, and decided to try and cut a deal.  Get out of this intact.

“Look, you both look Academy trained, right?  I’m guessing here.  So you fix up my hand, neglect to mention this to the Cadre, and forget about the dead bodies cause I know nothing about them and I’ll tell you what I know about the sword.  You need a necromancer on this one, trust me.”

The two put their heads together for a moment.  Langley gave Grim a suspicious glance before turning her attention to her brother.  After a moment they appeared to reach a decision and faced him again.

“Fine,” Sabreur said, “We won’t tell the Cadre.  Yet.  First off, what is so strange about this sword that’s scaring everyone?  It’s just an old weapon with the Stormrider crest.”

“Just?” Grim howled, “JUST?!  Pick it up and look at it!”

Sabreur shrugged and dragged the sword over.  Stood it up with the tip resting on the stone ground and Langley raised her head and they both studied it.  Their eyes traveled up until they rested at the pommel and the two were silent.  The sword stared back at them and blinked once.  Then closed its eye and it became a stone once again.

“Langley,” Sabreur finally said, “That sword was staring at us.”

“That was definitely an eyeball,” she confirmed.  Grim made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

“How long have you been carrying that?” he wheezed.

“Got it yesterday.”

“Then – don’t – carry it any more.  Lock it away somewhere and don’t touch it.”

The eyeball snapped open again.  Stared at Grim intently.  The necromancer whimpered.

“Langley,” Sabreur said, “Why does the sword have an eyeball?  Did the professors at the Academy mention this?  Was I skipping class at the time?”

“I skipped class, not you,” she replied, “And no, I don’t recall anything like this in our lessons.”

“Course not,” Grim interrupted, “The Academy doesn’t teach necromancy.  Can’t you smell it?  Even untrained?  That thing reeks.”

Sabreur muttered something about having masking odors around the Ark.  Grim decided to not ask what he meant by that.

“Look, it’s a necromantic sword,” he said, this time with a bit of impatience, “Someone took a sword and made it intelligent.  It sees, it hears, it thinks, and-“

It was around that point that he looked down at his hand again.  The twins were too busy staring at the sword, which was still staring at Grim, and only when its eye closed slowly, like it was contented, that the two noticed that Grim had stopped speaking.  That he had finally succumbed to a weak stomach and passed out, flat on his back.

“We’re going to have to take care of him now, aren’t we?” Sabreur whispered to his sister.  She was still staring at the sword.

“And then have a very long talk with Crystal,” she affirmed.

The sword half-opened its eye again.  Looked up at Langley and then at Sabreur before closing again.  If it weren’t for the fact that the only feature it had was an eyeball Langley would have sworn that the thing looked smug.

First Previous Next Current