Dermanassian sat in the back of a hollowed out canoe, paddling down the
slowly swirling Attaya River. In the four and a half months since he left
Glorious Tehare, the desert elf was once again hungry, tired, and uncertain of
his sanity.
He wondered whether he would ever find the Suti. Perhaps the ancient
necromancers had been devoured by this abominable place. Perhaps they were
not true people at all, but degenerates corrupted by their art. Perhaps he
should return to the cool caverns of Glorious Tehare to consult with his foster
brother. Together, they might find another way to get the knowledge he
needed.
He dipped his oar again.
The dark water was thick with plants clinging to the oar and dragging at the
canoe like desperate fingers. The stench of decay filled the wide river basin,
where the water abruptly split into channels separated by tufted marsh before
rejoining and splitting off anew. Along the river, trees vied to blot out the sun.
Their branches stretched toward the sky or hovered over the banks so that
their leaves dipped into the brown water. The occasional breeze sent murmurs
through the greenery, but, like the bursts of rain, did little to alleviate the
humidity.
Sweat dripped down his brow. Even in his desert homeland, he did not perspire
so. He cursed the river, imagining it flowed with moisture stolen from
unsuspecting travelers. He drank from a gourd to replenish his losses.
Dermanassian felt that he floated through a cave of shivering green, more
oppressive than any made of stone. He might have better pretended that the
jungle did not leave him ill at ease if it were not for the calls of unseen birds
breaking the quiet and the hoots of monkeys from the shore. His sharp black
eyes picked out flurries of color as creatures moved within the canopy. Worse
were the clouds of insects drifting above the water, shifting and rolling like
flocks of tiny birds. He learned immediately that the insects were
blood-suckers, for paddling through the cloud, it instantly turned into a
maelstrom of buzzing and biting. Cursing, he threw himself into the tepid water
and pushed his canoe until he left the angry insects behind.
Aboard the canoe once more, Dermanassian's wet braid stuck to his skin. He
scratched at the welts peppering his long-fingered hands, his neck, and his face.
The stings resisted what healing arts he commanded; the burning lessened, but
did not cease.
Yet another insect stabbed him, this time beneath his ear. When the itching
grew worse, he reached back to scratch at it. Instead, he felt the thin shaft of a
dart. Startled, he yanked it from his neck and squinted into the tree line, a
trickle of blood dripping down his neck. He struggled to draw the blue lotus
sword, but his hand fumbled uselessly and his vision darkened. He fell
backward in his dugout.
The canoe continued down the verdant tunnel, with Dermanassian's black hair
trailing in the hazy waters of the Attaya River...
slowly swirling Attaya River. In the four and a half months since he left
Glorious Tehare, the desert elf was once again hungry, tired, and uncertain of
his sanity.
He wondered whether he would ever find the Suti. Perhaps the ancient
necromancers had been devoured by this abominable place. Perhaps they were
not true people at all, but degenerates corrupted by their art. Perhaps he
should return to the cool caverns of Glorious Tehare to consult with his foster
brother. Together, they might find another way to get the knowledge he
needed.
He dipped his oar again.
The dark water was thick with plants clinging to the oar and dragging at the
canoe like desperate fingers. The stench of decay filled the wide river basin,
where the water abruptly split into channels separated by tufted marsh before
rejoining and splitting off anew. Along the river, trees vied to blot out the sun.
Their branches stretched toward the sky or hovered over the banks so that
their leaves dipped into the brown water. The occasional breeze sent murmurs
through the greenery, but, like the bursts of rain, did little to alleviate the
humidity.
Sweat dripped down his brow. Even in his desert homeland, he did not perspire
so. He cursed the river, imagining it flowed with moisture stolen from
unsuspecting travelers. He drank from a gourd to replenish his losses.
Dermanassian felt that he floated through a cave of shivering green, more
oppressive than any made of stone. He might have better pretended that the
jungle did not leave him ill at ease if it were not for the calls of unseen birds
breaking the quiet and the hoots of monkeys from the shore. His sharp black
eyes picked out flurries of color as creatures moved within the canopy. Worse
were the clouds of insects drifting above the water, shifting and rolling like
flocks of tiny birds. He learned immediately that the insects were
blood-suckers, for paddling through the cloud, it instantly turned into a
maelstrom of buzzing and biting. Cursing, he threw himself into the tepid water
and pushed his canoe until he left the angry insects behind.
Aboard the canoe once more, Dermanassian's wet braid stuck to his skin. He
scratched at the welts peppering his long-fingered hands, his neck, and his face.
The stings resisted what healing arts he commanded; the burning lessened, but
did not cease.
Yet another insect stabbed him, this time beneath his ear. When the itching
grew worse, he reached back to scratch at it. Instead, he felt the thin shaft of a
dart. Startled, he yanked it from his neck and squinted into the tree line, a
trickle of blood dripping down his neck. He struggled to draw the blue lotus
sword, but his hand fumbled uselessly and his vision darkened. He fell
backward in his dugout.
The canoe continued down the verdant tunnel, with Dermanassian's black hair
trailing in the hazy waters of the Attaya River...
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| Lessons in Necromancy, Rise of a Necromancer, Part 3 By SC Bryce |
Publication History |
Readers' Comments |
"First-rate..." "Evocative and atmospheric..." "Dark dread and foreboding..." "Genuinely horrifying..." "A bitter twist of the knife..." "Excellent..." "You have me hooked..." "Excellent writing and an interesting story..." "Captures the reader..." "Flows well..." "Chilling..." "An outstanding conclusion..." "I was absorbed..." "I loved your descriptions..." "Just beautiful..." "Great visual and tactile imagery..." "I got really creeped out..." "Truly wonderful..." "This world is consistent and believable..." "Your narrative is lyrical..." "Great descriptions..." "Very enjoyable..." "Tantalizing..." "Creepy..." "Exquisite..." "You have a knack for building atmosphere..." "A wonderfully moody and imaginative tale..." "Vivid and distinct..." "Superb plot development..." "Very primal..." "Ghastly and scary..." "Compelling stuff..." "Inventive..." "Intense..." "Effective and succinct..." "Meaningful and compelling..." "I love your word pictures..." "Very lush..." "Very real..." "I wish I'd written this..." "Top notch..." "Fascinating..." "Unique..." "Gripping and suspenseful..." "Stupendous world-building..." "Marvelous scene-setting..." "A great story with memorable characters..." "I will be looking for Part 4..." |
First Printing:
Flashing Swords, Vol. 2, Issue 8, (Nov.
2007).
Flashing Swords, Vol. 2, Issue 8, (Nov.
2007).
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