The Nekromancer - 42. Chapter 42

Jakun walked through the dark alleys of the city, his eyes picking out the barest light, taking advantage of what he could get. He hadn't realized Methusda's home was so far from the shop, but the gnome was home now, and the amurrun needed to find his way back to the shop.

Book and blade sat on his hip, a spellcaster's harness holding his spellbook. The amurrun was loathe to leave the book anywhere, lest it be stolen, or worse, destroyed by Amnor Sen. He had done all he could to keep the contents neutral. But he had no idea how the elf approached such questions of morality.

A quiet rustling caught his attention, a low hoot following. Looking at a store closed up for the night, Jakun frowned.

'That was fake,' Anya said, Jakun looking around.

He saw a dwarf ducking around a corner, the catfolk's tail twitching nervously. Something was going on, and he didn't know what.

'We need to know what's happening,' Anya said, mentally nudging Jakun toward the shop.

"I don't want to…"

Still, the amurrun moved, looking around for an entrance. He saw a shape ducking out of a broken door, a human straightening up warily. Their eyes met, and the woman darted away, a loud clinking coming from her clothes.

"Hey!"

The amurrun sprinted after her, racing down the narrow alley. He yelped as a sharp pain lanced through his foot, the cat barreling through a layer of caltrops. Pausing briefly to yank a couple out of his foot, Jakun ran after the woman again, trying to figure out where she had gone in this maze of alleys.

A low blur caught his attention, a heavy weight crushing into his side. Jakun gasped as he was thrown to the ground, the dwarf from before pinning him down. A knife rose, Jakun panicking.

His arm swung between them, blocking the dwarf's. He cried out, trying to draw someone's attention, anyone's.

The amurrun's knee came up, slamming into the dwarf's crotch. He heard a loud grunt, the dwarf's pressure fading suddenly, allowing Jakun to shove him off. Rolling, the amurrun hissed at the dwarf, his opponent climbing back to his feet. His hisses grew into a yowl, the cat warning the dwarf. They fell on deaf ears, the dwarf lunging with his knife again.

Pain erupted in Jakun's arm, growing rapidly as the steel slid back out of his skin. The amurrun snarled, Anya pushing him forward, his hands swinging, claws slashing frantically. A claw caught the dwarf's throat, tearing it open, and the two fell, Jakun scratching at the dwarf, claws ripping his foe's body open. Blood flowed from them both, a blind raging pain driving the catfolk.

A heavy blow stunned Jakun, the cat falling off of the dwarf.

"Torag's beard… he ripped him apart…" a man's voice murmured, Jakun blinking blearily.

Darkness threatened to take the cat, but he fought it off. He had to talk, had to tell whoever it was about the woman.

"She… went that way…" he waved, his hand blurring in front of him.

Cold iron met his wrists, his hands bound suddenly. Jakun tried to pull away, only to be met with an unbreakable metal.

"Hey…"

"Get him to the prison. Mind his claws…"

Then there was motion, Jakun's stomach lurching as he let bile spew. A man snapped at him, the words all rushing together as the amurran was dragged through his mess.

"Damned drunk… tore a dwarf open… keep bound…"

A sudden light flared in his eyes, a torch blinding him with bright smoke. His stomach heaved again, vomit spraying in a human's face.

Laughter followed, and then a sharp blow, Jakun's neck twisting painfully. It reminded him of the pain in his arm, the amurrun slowly coming to his senses.

Now he could feel the agony of a splitting headache, the warm flow of blood dripping down his arm. He was in a wagon of some sort, enclosed in a tight space with his arms hanging from a hook overhead. The catfolk's arms were screaming, his body begging to collapse into a ball, the hook preventing such a relief.

"Anya… Anya… where are you…?"

'Watching.'

She couldn't do anything to help, not in an area bereft of magic.

Magic…

His eyes snapped down to his waist, the cat letting out a pained cry. His sword was gone, and his book besides.

"No… no, I need that!"

There was little overlap between his books. The spellbook he carried held spells he had worked out early in his days as a caster, spells written in blood and fear, under Loran's hand. He couldn't give it up.

'It's too late. Worry about your fate, and then we can worry about the book,' Anya said sharply.

Hanging his head, Jakun listened to the rattle of his chains. What was the point? Clearly the gods wanted him to fail. And now he would rot away in jail, his mission in life unfulfilled.

If they didn't kill him first.

He felt Anya leave him suddenly, the werewolf staring at him in shock. She was tiny, a mere pup compared to her normal form, but she was out.

"There's magic here?" Jakun breathed.

"Warped magic. If we do anything… we need to be careful," Anya muttered.

She looked up at the catfolk, starting to climb him to get to the handcuffs.

"Wait… they'll know I can use magic. If you free me…"

"We lose our advantage."

"I want my book back," Jakun growled. "I will get it back."

"Your summons won't help against an army of armed men. But they could be a distraction."

Anya glanced down at her body, contemplating.

"I am a spirit, not a spell. Projecting me is magic… but I'm out. It's the area, this part of the city, it's warped. But maybe I can get into the lower city, and find Amnor Sen…"

"Do it," Jakun breathed.

The werewolf nodded, her body becoming ethereal. She slipped through the moving cage, vanishing from sight, and Jakun let out a pained sigh, looking up at his bloody arm.

"Please let this work…"