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Trisne’s corpse made for a rather convincing duplicate once I dressed her in some of my shabbier travel clothes and old boots I’d traded out for the new ones I wore now. A wide-brimmed felt hat pulled low across her brow solved any other issues of someone noticing the dupe from afar. And I perched myself on the furthest building’s roof I could manage while keeping the body in sight, so the necromantic spell I cast would be the most effective to control her movements.

It wasn’t a spell I particularly enjoyed using or wholly removing myself of guilt from. Considering my other option was to be captured and possibly tortured by Nebold and his cronies, this was the only way I could fulfill the most basic of the demands laid against me. I also wanted to measure Nebold’s reaction to her resurrection. If he gave even the smallest indication of recognition or surprise at her appearance, I would have enough proof to pursue his involvement in her murder.

He could deliver his message to my double, and if he didn’t piss me all the way off, I would keep my more violent tendencies to myself. Stewing in my momentary hatred of the guildmaster filled the last few moments of Trisne’s slow walk as her body crossed the empty street. She had almost made it up the main stairs when the first snag in my plan came unraveled.

As soon as my double hit the top step, Trisne stuck in place like a bug caught in the spider’s web. A faint red sheen washed over her, but it didn’t seem like the two goons at the door were able to see that. It was the telltale sign of an activated ward.

I didn’t suspect Nebold to be this wily. He had the guild warded against revenants entering from the outside. Curiosity had me leaning over the edge of the roof I was perched on, waiting in twisted anticipation to see what his next move would be. It seemed we all watched in suspense, including the two guild members staring at the intruder, currently vibrating with a growing intensity.

In a last-ditch effort, I had the corpse drop the scroll held in her right hand with a flick of the wrist, with just enough force to roll it to the door. Both men jumped out of their skins and backed far away from the innocuous scroll.

“Oh, gather your balls,” I said through her mouth. The voice was distorted and raspy from being forced through a desiccated throat, but loud enough to reach the necromancers huddled against the doors like a couple of children. “I just came to deliver a response to the illustrious Nebold. Please make sure he gets this so he can promptly throw it in his fireplace.”

The guild’s doors slammed open, and Nebold hobbled out as fast as his crooked back and stiff legs would let him. He stumbled to a stop just beyond the threshold, eyes wide in his deeply wrinkled face as he took in the corpse suspended before him. But it wasn’t just shock that danced across his face.

He recognized Trisne. And he looked extremely pissed to see her stuck in his ward.

“Who brought you here?” he hissed. “Who would dare to send a revenant to the Necromancy Guild?”

“Let’s not play coy, Nebold.” He startled visibly hearing my voice come from Trisne’s mouth. “I was wondering if you knew anything about this young lady. Her father, Jinon Pid, camelooking for me, and I figured you were the one who pointed him in my direction.”

Now Nebold’s thin body was violently shaking. He couldn’t take his eyes from the body caught in the ward. And he looked about two seconds from heart failure. “You insolent w—” He had to stop himself from finishing the insult, with all these witnesses around. “What is wrong with your mind to think this was anything less than vagrant disrespect for poor Trisne’s body? Such tremendous talent is wasted on the likes of you—”

He sputtered to a stop, almost sounded like he gagged on something. The four guild members turned to look with varying degrees of concern and confusion. Maybe they didn’t realize the trap he just sprung on himself, but I did.

“How familiar areyouwith Lady Trisne, Nebold?” I used her mouth to deliver my accusation. “Was there something you wanted to say to her now that you’re face-to-face? Maybe an apology?” A bitter laugh came from her crumbling lips. “Silly me, you may not know what that is! See, an apology is when you admit you did something wrong and—”

“Silence!”

He looked about two seconds from keeling over, his face a mottled purple color as he shook violently like a leaf clinging to its branch in a storm. Nebold raised his staff and slammed it hard against the stone floor of the entry, causing a small crater from the blast of magic he released with it. The Wiran ruby flashed brightly from the top of the staff, just before black whips lashed from it and sliced clean through Trisne’s body, still suspended in the air. Pieces of her fell onto the steps with sickeningthudsand a notable lack of viscera as the ward dropped the rest of her. Where the whips had hit, the rotted flesh sizzled as if cauterized by fire.

Her head was still intact, rolling to a stop on the wide step. The hat I’d put on her landed a few steps lower, making the wholescene just a little more macabre. One of the guild members began to retch loudly by the main door.

“You will suffer dearly for this, Haron.” Nebold’s voice trembled, this time with unbridled rage. “Mark my words.”

With Trisne’s mouth still intact, I got in my last word. “Duly marked, wretch.”

I let my control over her corpse slip as a frustrated howl tore from Nebold’s lips. From a distance, I watched him lash at Trisne’s body with shadowy tendrils until pieces of her scattered across the entry steps. He was more than angry at my little display.

He wasscared.

Chapter Seven

Haron

I, as a devout scholar, dedicated to documenting everything I can, mourn the loss of all the potential knowledge still

trapped in the Clifftombs. A discovery team was sent last moon phase to assess the state of the kingdom, only to

find strong wards placed on the castle that prevented entry. Among the team were several staff of the royal family,

and even they could not pass. What secrets are the Clifftombs hiding? And when will they be divulged?

"The Tragic History of Julra," by High Scholar Yuret Wend, Year 37 of Ber's First Reign

Iwas wholly expecting a squadron to be banging on my door this morning, sure that Nebold had scurried off to report me to the guards for the scene I caused yesterday on the guild’s front steps. The unassuming scroll that was delivered by Lota, one of my personal favorite barmaids at The Hanging Cat, was a pleasant surprise. She bounced back rather quickly from Pid's knight roughing her up. He had just missed her bursting through the kitchen door with a massive cleaver when he left the tavern, and everyone in the room witnessed her violent threats if he ever came back.

“A messenger from the palace sent this over just before breakfast,” she said with a friendly smile. “You’ve been getting popular, Haron. What kind of trouble are you getting yourself into?”