Chapter 45: The Wanderer

Jack was at his wooden desk, staring at his open ledger. The numbers written on the parchment were excellent. The smoking sheds were completely full of cured beast meat. They had dozens of valuable pelts. Barnaby was currently hammering the scrap iron from the dead bandits to build the gears for their second ballista.

The village was finally safe from starvation. But those same numbers were also a massive problem.

Jack closed the ledger and leaned back in his chair. In a few weeks, the deep winter freeze would break. The snow blocking the mountain pass would slowly start to melt. When that happened, the spring merchant caravans would arrive.

Merchant Gary and the other traders would not find a frozen village begging for scraps. They would find a heavily fortified settlement overflowing with premium meat, furs, and high-quality coal.

Wealth attracted attention. And attention brought questions.

He thought back to the hidden diary his grandfather had written. The Holy Church had destroyed the Frost-Grip family centuries ago for practicing necromancy. The Church considered necromancy a deep heresy, an insult to the gods.

If the merchants came to trade and heard the villagers gossiping about Lord Jack’s “tireless, silent mages,” the rumors would travel south. It would only be a matter of time before an Inquisitor from the Holy Church rode up the mountain to see exactly what kind of magic the young lord was using to gather pine trunks from forest to village in the dead of night.

Jack could easily hide the Night Shift skeletons. He could lock them deep in the crypts when outsiders were near. He could hide Grim, the undead wolf. But how was he going to explain about his private mages, since in the village everyone knew of it, and he can’t just silence everyone.

Barnaby had clearly stated that the scrap iron from the bandits was only enough to build one extra ballista. Two ballistas were a good defense, but Jack knew it wouldn’t be enough if the massive, apex predators came down from the highest peaks. He needed his new general. Elias had to be out in the open, standing on the wooden palisade with the militia, ready to fight.

“You need a cover story,” Jack muttered to himself. “A completely normal reason to be here.”

Jack stood up, grabbed his cane, and walked down into the crypts.

Elias was standing exactly where Jack had left him, perfectly still in the dark. The dead mage’s eyes were dull and empty.

He draped a traveller’s cloak over Elias’s shoulders and pulled the deep hood up, casting a heavy shadow over the dead man’s pale, unblinking face.

Jack stepped back and inspected him. Elias looked exactly like a road-weary mercenary.

“Perfect,” Jack said. He sent a mental command down the thin thread connecting their minds. “Go out through the lower cellar chute. Circle wide around the base of the mountain. Walk up the main southern road toward the village gates.”

Elias turned and walked away into the dark, moving with silent, deadly grace.

Jack hurried back up the stairs to his bedroom. He stepped out onto his stone balcony, ignoring the biting cold wind. From here, he had a perfect view of the village gates far below.

Down below, Giles and three militiamen were standing on the wooden platform above the gatehouse. They were holding their spears, looking out over the deep trench and the snowy valley.

About an hour later, a lone figure appeared on the southern road.

“Movement!” one of the young militiamen shouted, pointing his heavily gloved hand toward the tree line.

Giles instantly stood up straight, gripping his spear. “Is it a beast?”

“No,” the militiaman squinted against the bright snow. “It looks like a man. Just one.”

Jack watched from the balcony. Elias was trudging slowly through the knee-deep snow, perfectly acting the part of an exhausted traveler. He approached the wooden ramp that crossed the spike-filled trench.

“Halt right there!” Giles roared from the top of the wall. “State your business! This is the Frost-Grip fief!”

Elias stopped at the base of the ramp.

Up on the balcony, Jack closed his eyes and braced himself. This was the hardest part. The physical combat took almost no effort, but forcing a dead man to speak required a massive surge of mana.

Jack drew a deep breath and pushed heavily on his Iron Core. He forced the magic down the tether, directly into Elias’s frozen chest.

Down at the gate, Elias slowly raised his head. Jack forced the dead lungs to expand, pulling in the freezing air, and then forced them to push the air back out through the vocal cords.

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“I am a wanderer,” Elias rasped. The voice was incredibly hoarse, sounding like a man whose throat had been ruined by the cold wind. “From the northern peaks. The winter has taken my camp. I seek shelter… and I offer my blade in return.”

Giles frowned, looking down at the lone man. The carpenter was naturally suspicious. “A blade? We have a wall and our own spears. We don’t take in beggars to eat our stores.”

Up on the balcony, Jack almost laughed out loud. A beggar? Jack had burned through a mountain of his own magical energy, fought a desperate mental battle, and drained himself dry just to reanimate a priceless, elite ancestral mage from the family crypts. And Giles was treating his ultimate weapon like a homeless peasant asking for loose change.

“I am no beggar,” Elias said smoothly, forced by Jack’s will. Jack made Elias reach up and casually brush his cloak aside, revealing the high-quality ancestral steel sword strapped to his hip.

Giles saw the sword and hesitated. A man surviving alone in the deep winter with a weapon like that was not a normal peasant. He was a veteran.

Jack turned away from the balcony. It was time to finish the act. He grabbed his cane and motioned to Bones, who was standing quietly in the corner of the room wearing his heavy iron armor and a dark cloak.

“Come on,” Jack said to the tall skeleton. “It looks bad if a lord meets a stranger without his personal guard.”

Jack and Bones hurried out of the castle and walked down the cleared mountain path toward the enclosed village below. By the time they reached the main gate, Giles was still glaring down at the wanderer, unsure of what to do.

Before Giles could argue further, Jack came down the mountain path to the village.

Jack walked out onto the wooden ramp, leaning on his cane. The towering, armored figure of Bones stepped silently right behind him, looking like a loyal bodyguard.