Dirge for a Necromancer by Ash Stinson Page A

fit shook his thin chest and he doubled over, hacking and rasping. Raettonus waited patiently for the fit to pass. They had only just resumed their lesson when Maeleht suffered a fainting spell, even before he could try again. His eyes rolled back in his head and he went limp, and Ebha went to his side to attend to him.
    Maeleht came to after a minute or so, but he was made to rest in the corner for the remainder of the lesson—a fact he didn’t seem pleased about. They worked until sun down, but Dohrleht couldn’t manage to make a sustainable flame. “Don’t worry about it,” Raettonus told him. “It’s plenty pathetic now, but we’ll work on it tomorrow.”
    “How long will it take until I can make an actual fireball?” asked the centaur.
    Raettonus brushed off the question with a shrug and turned to Maeleht. “Whatever your father believes, magic is no less strenuous than sword fighting,” he said. “You don’t seem like you’re strong enough for magic.”
    “N-no,” said Maeleht. “I am. I’m strong enough.” He was seized by another coughing fit, and he doubled over.
    “It’s going to kill you,” said Raettonus. He spoke the words with no emotion, just a pure statement of fact. “I had my doubts when I first saw you, but now I’m certain this is not a good idea for you.”
    “I want to do magic,” said Maeleht, struggling to get to his feet. Ebha tried to hold him back, but he swatted her across the jaw and she withdrew quickly. “I need to learn to do magic. I need to be useful.” The boy was beginning to cry and tremble. “I can’t lift a sword and I can’t run. If I can’t do magic, that means I’m going to be a disappointment to my father until the day I die. I’d rather die trying not to disgrace him.”
    “If you don’t care whether it kills you that’s your business,” Raettonus said, starting for the door. “I’m just informing you that it probably will. I’m not your mother. If you’re in here tomorrow, I’ll go on teaching you. It doesn’t matter to me.”
    “You’ll keep teaching me?” said Maeleht. He threw his arms around Raettonus and hugged him tightly. “Thank you. You don’t know what it means to me.”
    “I don’t care what it means to you,” said Raettonus, pushing the child away. He started once more toward the door. “If you’re here, I’ll teach you. If you’re not, I don’t care about that either.”
    With that, he left his students and went out into the hall. He thought of going down to visit Deggho, but quickly decided against it. Instead, he went to the courtyard to see if he could find Brecan. Alas, the unicorn was absent, and night was falling fast on the mountain. With a resigned sigh, Raettonus left the yard and made his way to his quarters, hoping his dinner had already been brought up.
    He entered his dark quarters and lit a fire in the brazier. Turning, he discovered a plate of food on his desk and, beside it, the carved gryphon and the phoenix, now joined by a white unicorn with its head lowered. Raettonus bit his lower lip and took a seat at the desk. The unicorn was familiar to him, but it took him a moment to place why. After some thought, he realized that it was the heraldry of Sir Rhodes’ house—a white unicorn on a field of gray and blue. “Christ,” muttered Raettonus, knocking down the unicorn with one finger. “Is he planning to flood me in little stone animals from all the banners I’ve ever seen?” He blinked and turned his gaze toward the phoenix. “Huh. Red…”
    He narrowed his eyes at the little garnet figurine. He pressed his thin lips hard together so that they grew even thinner. The little, glossy, carved eyes of the phoenix stared back at him blankly.
    After a time, he recovered himself. “Silly little thing,” he muttered, returning to his dinner.
    Still, as he ate, his gaze would sometimes stray from the plate, and he’d find himself chewing slowly and lethargically as he stared at the figurine,