Necropolis (Book One of Book One) by Penn Fawn (the false prince .TXT) 📕

meet its counterpart together, given that his head and neck extended beyond the length of the bed.

At this point, he felt assured of how the device was to be used now. Surely, the sharp and angular blade above him, he said to himself, would be dropped onto his neck.

He felt his captors strap and fasten him firmly onto the slab on which he lay, so there was no chance he could stir to any significant degree, and what he now hoped for most was for the nefarious affair to be over.

The necromancer stood several feet away from him. Nyeusi, who got hold of the rope which held the blade aloft, looked at him for a sign of when to release it, and the last image their captive saw was the hooded figure give a thumbs down gesture.

The normally stoic Kifo’s felt like his heart skipped a beat after hearing the sound the blade made after it was released. The captive’s head now lay in a container, and blood poured from the neck of the victim’s torso.

Kifo was quick to remove the head from the container and put it aside, while Nyeusi watched the torso tremble under restraint as blood continued to pour from its neck.

Neither was stoic about what took place, but they were ever mindful the necromancer could not do his work if he were not the recipient of a sacrificial offering.

He needed to sample the element he was called upon to affect, not once, but on any occasion he was requested to render his services.

Nyeusi was granted a look into his crystal ball after he made an offering, the necromancer’s stone as it was known.

From there, he saw the alarming extent to which the scourge continued to exterminate the wildlife and destroy the habitat in the world beyond the lair.

“You are to return here in three days during the middle of the day,” the necromancer stated, and how he spoke sent a chill down their spines.

He was not next to them, yet his voice sounded as though it were coming from someone at their side, whispering into their ear.

“He would be stripped from his flesh then,” the necromancer added, “and, his bones dried and ground into a powder.”

Kifo swallowed, and his saliva felt like a lump of something solid going down his throat. Mindful of his accelerated heartbeat, he tried to breathe in a normal relaxed manner again.

The necromancer stated he would provide them with a vessel containing the powder, and he would give a specific set of instructions regarding how it should be used.

On the day they were to march toward the village of men, they were to whip it into a paste by adding a bit of water.

They were to then dip their finger into it, then use that finger to place a mark across the forehead of every man and beast they were to engage.

He added, “Have no fear of it being insufficient, stating they would soon discover its contents would not diminish or end until they used it on the last party they intended to employ.”

He further instructed them to observe the powder will behave like a pigment once applied. It would not disappear until they’d completed their mission.

His parting words, however, was using it would not guarantee a victory. Still, it would enable them and their animals to last a month without suffocating from thirst or want of water.

“I was hoping for more,” Kifo said shortly after they set foot outside of the cave.

“More?” Nyeusi returned.

“Yes,” he replied.

“More of what?” Nyeusi asked.

“I was hoping after all this, whatever he supplies us with will guarantee a victory,” he replied.

“Oh,” Nyeusi said. “That,” he added.

“Not so for you, huh?” Kifo asked.

“Well, maybe it will,” Nyeusi replied.

“And, you’re happy with that?” Kifo asked. “An uncertainty? After all this?”

“How long do you think we can last during our intended mission without refreshment or supplies?” Nyeusi asked.

“Not very long,” Kifo replied.

“So, there you go. The powder will be a great help.”

Kifo thought about it.

“You still don’t seem too convinced,” Nyeusi said.

“Oh, I am.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Mm, the tone of your voice, I guess. Your body language.”

“I’m sure the powder will help, but I couldn’t help but think about the fact that he vanquished an entire city singlehandedly.”

“We don’t know for sure how that came to be,” Nyeusi replied. “And, it’s not our place to ask.”

Kifo listened.

“What, how, or why he does what he does will always be a mystery. He will forever be an enigmatic figure,” Nyeusi added.

The crow that was dispatched with a message for the men of the north continued toward Yagan, which aside from Kimbilio, was another safe haven for men that existed after the fall of Sanctuary.

Tazama was the fellow sitting just outside the cave entrance located at the region’s highest mountainous peak when he thought he heard the voice of a familiar friend on the wind.

He got on his feet and looked intently at the sky, toward the direction he thought he heard the sound come from.

Jogoo, the crow, called out again, and Tazama caught sight of him.

The former, mindful Tazama was not fluent in Crowspeak, landed on the rock next to him and excitedly uttered some words in that language notwithstanding.

Tazama, aware any visit from his feathered friend could only mean he was there on a serious errand, looked at his leg and noticed a bit of paper attached to it.

“I see you’re here on business as usual,” he said.

Like Jogoo, meaning being mindful of the language barrier, he was sure to speak a bit slower than he usually did. He took greater pains to articulate his vowel and consonant sounds.

Jogoo, who understood a little bit of what was called Manspeak in his tongue, crowed back at him, stating he was correct.

“Very well,” Tazama, who understood him replied, for he knew the sound crows make to say ‘yes,’ in their language.

“I won’t keep you long then,” he added. “I will fetch Bosi immediately because