The Nekromancer - 75. Chapter 75

Amnor Sen grunted as he pushed the barrel, his muscles straining at the weight. The wooden container held nearly eight hundred pounds of salted skate native to Nex, a delicacy elsewhere in the world. Thanks to Jeremy’s magic, he had ten minutes left to push the barrel up the gangplank and into the cargo hold before it returned to being fifteen hundred pounds in weight. The paladin took solace in the fact that the cleric was tackling his own burden, albeit a less heavy one.

The elf wondered why he had taken on a job meant for four men on his own. To show his usefulness to Captain Varis? The Garundi man had already told both him and Jeremy they were passengers, and would merely need to stay out of the way, once their gold was paid.

He did know the rest of the Wayfarer’s crew was grateful for Jeremy’s magic. Perhaps a little too grateful, but Jeremy knew better than to tease the sailors. They would be at sea for weeks, maybe even months, as they sailed north. Being around a crew of horny seamen would do no favours for either of them, though Amnor Sen had already located a few out of the way spots for midnight liaisons, because months without sex would be torture on them both, and he was not about to put Jeremy through forced celibacy. That would certainly be a recipe for disaster.

“That should be the last of the fish,” Nihm said, the orc first mate motioning a few sailors forward to tie a few ropes to the barrel.

The barrel was lowered, Amnor Sen letting out a grateful breath as he relaxed.

“You got our gold, right?”

“All fifteen hundred. You understand we only asked for a thousand, right?” the orc said.

“There may be another person teleporting onto the ship mid voyage. It is only right to pay his way too,” Amnor Sen replied. “Have you seen Jeremy?”

“The last I saw, your partner was heaving his guts over the railing,” the orc waved dismissively across the wide deck.

Amnor Sen frowned at the sight of Jeremy sitting against the ship’s port bulwark. The cleric was drinking like his life depended on it, and as Amnor Sen watched, he stuck his head through a hole in the bulwark, the sound of retching reaching the elf’s sensitive ears.

Sighing quietly, the paladin approached his husband, tugging the mug from Jeremy’s limp fingers. The cleric protested weakly, reaching for the cup.

“No Jeremy. I don’t think getting drunk will help you feel better this time,” Amnor Sen denied, pushing the hand away.

“Just let me try. I need to get to the right point for it to work…”

“Or, you could ask the God of Contests for aid so the sailors don’t show you up,” the paladin pointed.

“Yeah, but that’s not as much-”

Jeremy’s head turned, the cleric spewing his alcohol over the side of the ship again. He wiped at his mouth, groaning painfully.

“Come on, everything’s loaded. Why don’t we head back to the Griffon’s Roost and get you in bed? I still want to pick up a set of robes for Jakun, should he decide to join us on the ship.”

Throwing Jeremy’s arm over his shoulder, the paladin helped his husband off the ship, taking a moment to recover his balance on dry land before leading the cleric back into the city proper. It didn’t take long to reach the inn, Amnor Sen walking Jeremy up to their room.

“Go ahead and rest. I’ll be back in a couple of hours to check on you. And no more alcohol. There’s no point in wasting the drink and it can’t feel good coming back up,” the elf said, settling Jeremy into the bed.

He set the cleric’s mug on a table, kissing Jeremy’s forehead gently. Sliding the chamberpot over to the cleric, Amnor Sen stepped out of the room, eager to get his business done so he could take better care of his love.

An hour later, the paladin was pulling on a pair of gloves, praying they would help to dampen Jakun’s magic. He folded a set of brown robes neatly, picking up the lich’s phylactery from his bag.

“Mommy! Look what I made with the rock!”

Amnor Sen flinched as he opened the box, stuffing the robes in over Jakun’s spare spellbook. He closed the lid as the lich’s curse played out around him, eyes squeezing shut as Jakun was forced to murder his mother over and over again. No matter how often he saw it, or heard it, the spell tore at his heart, a wound that only worsened every time he heard those words. The amurrun had done his work well. No one who saw the illusion play out would be in the right frame of mind to destroy the phylactery after.

Stuffing the cursed item into his bag, Amnor Sen took a moment to recollect his nerves, peeling the useless gloves off his hands. For two silver, they had been worth the attempt, but he was disappointed they hadn’t protected him against the spell. There was no doubt in his mind he would be touching the phylactery again. Maybe he could ask Jakun if there was a way around the effects of the spell. Though it had been useful in stopping Jeremy from destroying the box the other day.

He set his bag on his shoulders, making his way back through the city. Soon, the paladin was setting his bag down in the bedroom, slipping out of his clothes so he could prepare for bed. Amnor Sen expected to be woken early the next day, the Wayfarer putting out nearly two weeks early. He would leave a message for Jakun, letting the amurrun know about the change of plans, but by the time Jakun returned, Amnor Sen had his doubts the message would remain. Fighting an undead dragon alone would no doubt prove to be a more difficult undertaking than the catfolk expected.