Staring out over the city of Doko, the largest city on the sandy northern coast of Alkebulan, Grand General Ekon Bankole watched the fleet of armoured ships steam out of the harbour. Even after two years of watching them move without sails, he was amazed at the wondrous ships. Who would have dreamed that steam engines could work such miracles.

Machines powered by steam were made before the war. They were marvellous creations, beautifully crafted and each one a work of art. But to make them big enough to move an iron ship, it was the dream of mad inventors who struggled to find patrons that would put forward the incredible sums to make their dreams reality. The few steam engines that had been made were toys for the wealthy, a means to show off and make a scene. Real work was done in the tried and tested ways.

And then the demons had come.

Suddenly gold and silver was being spent on anything that would help push back the enemy of mankind. Treasuries were emptied and people taxed until they squealed, all to pay for the new war machines. As the continent of Erebu had fallen, they had created weapons of war few people could even have dreamed of a decade ago.

Who needed a ship of steam, when someone could be quickly trained to guide the wind? Horses, camels and elephants were good enough to carry goods where ships couldn't go. Pumping water from mines with magic was more efficient than steam. What possible need was there to move mountains worth of goods across the plains and deserts? If you needed to send more cargo by ship, just make more wooden ships. It was all so easy. Coal was better spent keeping people warm in winter and making steel.

But now anyone with a talent for magic, was being turned into a healer or soldier. Even people who could only learn one or two spells, who would have spent their lives pumping water, pulverizing stone, or twisting the air to keep ships moving, were now vital. They were conscripted and made to learn that the generals and admirals decided was important.

A steam train blew its damnable whistle. The monstrosity moved along the steel tracks, hauling in food, metal, wood, cloth and more, that the city needed to build more weapons of war and to feed the population. They kept his city alive, and he would use them, but he hated riding in them and the racket they made. He'd been a passenger in one over a decade ago, a frivolous toy made by one of the Silver Lords, to carry guests to his summer estate. It had made him so sick, he'd needed a healer to keep from vomiting.

Hot air balloons hovered in the hazy, stinking air, watching for any sign of demons. They were useless, the ships would spot any enemies long before they reached the city, but it made the people and rulers feel safer. As far as he was concerned, they were another blemish on the city he had loved in his youth. The city air, never very clean, was now an ugly brown. The forges that had once numbered in the hundreds, making Doko the factory of the continent, were now in the thousands. The clanging of metal went on throughout the day and night, never ceasing.

The streets were so full of people, it was impossible to see the pavement from his vantage point in the Ivory Citadel. Workers and soldiers moved like ants far below him. They had come from around the continent, drawn by the promise of work in the factories, and glory in the army. Millions of them had come from Erebu, packed onto ships, fleeing the demons. They'd been eager to work and train, on the promise of one day freeing their homes.

But that promise was in the past.

Now the city was preparing for war. In no more than five years the last part of Erebu would fall, and it would be a continent of demons. No one doubted where they would strike next. The continent of Alkebulan was a mere fifteen hundred miles south of Erebu, and the Bitter Sea was full of islands that would be easily overrun. Artillery batteries covered the coast, steel fleets were being built, new weapons of war were made, and an entire generation prepared to fight for their lives.

He wondered if the Almighty, who watched over the entirety of the cosmos, would turn his eyes to the world for a moment. The Mother and Father of Erebu had failed their people, if they even existed. Could the Creator of All do better?

As he pondered his heretical thoughts, which he would never dare to voice, Ekon felt something bitterly cold clutch at his heart. It passed in a moment, leaving him shivering and weak-kneed. Below him the streets still milled with people, everything seemed to be as it should.

“I'm getting old,” he muttered. “Or it's a sign I shouldn't think such thoughts.”

The door to his study burst open. High Mage Dakarai came rushing in, which was very out of character for the normally formal to a fault old man.“General Ekon,” the High Mage said, “prepare the defences immediately.”

“Why, are the demons moving?” Ekon asked.

“I don't know, but we must prepare for such a disaster. Something is happening in Erebu, a ritual of such power I've only felt something like it three times in the past, and it's using necromantic energy.”

For the second time that day, the Grand General felt his heart grow cold. Most of the people on the continent didn't have the same hatred for necromancy that Erebu had, but the dark magic was treated with great caution. No one in Erebu had the talent to use necromantic spells to any great extent. If they were feeling the twisting of energy so far away, the only ones capable of the ritual would be the demons.

“Have our people in Erebu said anything about this?”

Dakarai looked off into the distance for a moment. “The messenger corp is talking to our agents now. No one seems to know what's happening. Please wait a moment.”

Ekon turned back to the city, thinking of his upcoming orders. He needed more information before sending out commands. If he couldn't wait half an hour to prepare his thoughts and plans properly, the city was doomed anyways.

The sun looked more baleful than before. An angry eye glaring down at the world, cursing it for the sins of man. Rubbing his clean shaven scalp, he wondered how long the streets of Doko would remain free of blood and war. Every able bodied man, and quite a few of the women had rifles and training to use them. Children and women had been taught field medicine to care for the wounded. Massive earthworks surrounded the city, topped by massive artillery pieces that required crews of forty strong men to use, creating kill zones that would make any human army shake in fear. Those were protected by tens of thousands of rocket batteries, the inaccurate, oversized fireworks were still the best defense they had against the flying demons.

And if a miracle occurred it might prove to be enough.

Dakarai cleared his throat. “General, I might have an answer as to what happened. There are rumours among the highest levels that the dead Necromancer Emperor Keir has been brought back to life. It hasn't been publicly declared, and the Eldritch Council is only letting the highest officials know of it.”

“You are saying the folktales of the dread emperor waiting to recreate his empire, are true?” Ekon managed to keep the disbelief from his voice out of respect for his colleague, but it was hard.

“That is the rumour. It is hard to believe, but so were demons when we first heard of them. However it would explain the ritual. Either they're resurrecting him now, or he is risen and raising an army of the dead.”

“So we have two possibilities. The demons are using necromantic magic, or a boogeyman from folktales has come to plague the world again. Continue gathering any information you can on this and have a report for me tomorrow morning. I'll prepare a proper recon force for Erebu, whether its the demons, the necromancer or something else, we need to know. It appears the continent isn't as dead as we had thought.”

The massive, rune covered golem strode between the iron topped wooden rails, pulling the cars loaded with supplies for the front line behind it. Heavily armed soldiers sat on the rail cars, ready to shoot anyone who looked like they were going to pillage the vital cargo. A small cage on the golem's back held a shackled prisoner, a convicted murderer and rapist. The man had a small flask of water and a half loaf of bread, the only sustenance he would have until late in the evening.

Yellow Mage Aleksandar Stojanovski felt no sympathy for the man who powered the golem. The convict had been given a choice by the judge, power a golem, join a penal legion, or be sent to a work group. Out of all of them, powering the golem was the kindest fate, and he would probably survive to the end of his sentence. Well he'd survive until the demons overran the city and he was left behind. They could always find someone else to power the golem, prisoners weren't a priority.

The city of Mesim was overflowing with refugees. Many of them desperately poor, struggling and fighting to survive, there was no room for pity or forgiveness when anyone stepped out of line. With the front lines a mere fifty miles away, weakness, corruption and lawlessness could see everyone die and the last refuge on Erebu fall to the demons.

“How many of these golems do we have?” he asked the quartermaster.

“Sixty-three. We're hoping to get another ten this week,” the man said, only half paying attention. He held a ledger in a clamp that had replaced his missing left hand, and was marking something down.

“And how effective are they?”

“If we had them five years ago, we might have won the war. Each one pulls about 90 tons, and can reach the front and return in less than a day. Give me five hundred of them and I'll have the soldiers drowning in shells and food.”

Aleksandar smiled thinly, the golems were working as expected. They weren't as good as the steam trains they were making on other continents, being slower and pulling less, and it took weeks to make a single one. However they didn't need coal or steel, all of which was in very short supply.

“We're ramping up production as quickly as we can,” he said. “The best I can promise you is another fifty by late Spring. Everyone is demanding as many as they can get.”

“Well I'll keep doing what I can with horses and oxen, but the soldiers are crying out for bullets and bread and I can't work miracles.”

“I understand, and in my report I'll make sure to emphasize what you have done.”

He was thinking about what to look at next for his report on how the new magi-tech was working in regards to the war effort, when he felt his soul tremble. Freezing cold fingers gripped his heart.

Falling to his knees as his muscles turned to water. Aleksandar grabbed his ears, trying to block out the screams filling his mind. Without conscious thought, his vision shifted showing the magic that filled the air. Dark necromantic energy roiled and coalesced into pitch black blobs, then exploded into millions of droplets, fading away as if they never existed.

“Mage Aleksander, are you alright?” the quartermaster asked.

“No,” he muttered. “Did you feel that?”

“I felt a slight chill, but that was all?”

“I don't know.” Getting to his feet, he wracked his brain, trying to gain some inkling of what just happened.

An hour later Aleksander was resting in his temporary quarters. No one seemed to know anything about the strange occurrence, just that it had happened all across the city. He wondered if it was some new trick by the demons.

There was a knock on the door. Aleksander opened it, wondering who would be visiting him at the odd hour. A messenger in the white livery of the Eldritch Council stepped inside without so much as a hello.

“Close the door,” the man said.

Unused to a servant treating him so brusquely, Aleksander did so and prepared a suitable tongue lashing. Then his voice caught in his throat. The messenger had turned into a woman, wearing the red robes of a high level Eldritch Council Mage.

His eyes fell on the glittering badge of office that was hard to copy, and was a death sentence for anyone foolish enough to wear it without permission. Years of training pushed away his surprise. Bowing his head, he waited for the mage to speak, ready to carry out whatever order she demanded.

“Mage Aleksander,” she said, “this evening at eight, you are going to board the steam ship Hope. You will arrive at the city of Argento in three days, where you will be advanced to the rank of Blue. You will be met by agents of the Council, and travel across Uzak Pass to Desolation Fort. You are to give us a full report of everything you see and hear.”

The orders were so sudden, he found his mind reeling. “I will obey, but it will be winter soon. Travelling over the pass will be nearly impossible.”

“You'll have fresh mounts each day, and dog sleds will be prepared if necessary. Time is of the essence.”

“May I ask why I am going there? I thought it was overrun by demons months ago.”

“The Necromancer has been resurrected by order of the Council. The Mage Von Asger who is supposed to be watching the Necromancer was recently hurt. There is now some doubt that he is still in control. Your attention to detail will let you see the situation clearly, and your new rank will allow you to control the Necromancer,” the Red Mage said.

Dots began connecting. “The strange event an hour ago, that was the Necromancer performing a ritual.”

“It was. You'll have a report to read on the ship. Memorize it and burn the papers. In Argento you will have a full briefing before you set out. Start packing and do not tell anyone about this. Your colleagues are being told that you have been reassigned to an important post in Uva Isulana. Do you have any questions?”

“No, I will obey,” he said.

She nodded once. The illusion of the male messenger covered her once more and she left without another word.

Looking at the clock, he realized there was only three hours to pack, eat and get to the ship. Pushing down the growing sense of dread, he got to work.

The demons fell back in confusion from the human forces that stormed out of the trenches. Rapid fire pneumatic guns peppered the demons as they fled. Air fed cannons threw polished stones that tore through dozens of the beasts, while other cannons tossed gas canisters to herd the enemy into kill zones, and keep them away from the soldiers. A handful of explosive shells were used to destroy the largest groups. But not many, they were hard to make for the beleaguered city, and needed to be conserved.

Elder Sister Otillie watched the battle from the safety of the Crystal Castle. Her limited magical skills magnifying the view so she could see what was happening. She watched the work crews follow the soldiers, collecting demon bodies for desperately needed food, and combing the ground for silver and lead that could be turned once more into bullets.

After two years of being cut off from other cities and towns, every scrap of metal, wood and food was vital to Cristel Fleche. Every statue in the city had been melted down and turned into guns, pneumatic pumps, or bullets. The old silver mines that had been left to rot after they had been mined out were back in service, with miners desperately digging out any bits of metal they could find. The river leading into the Crystal Mountain Range was a bloody, murderous land of demons and desperate humans. The humans hid in the thousands of caves and mines that riddled the mountains, coming out for food, and to trade what they could harvest with the city in exchange for weapons.

Two years of desperation, heroism, and bloody fighting, and it was only pushing back the inevitable. Looking at the setting sun, Otillie whispered, “What have we done to earn your scorn, Mother?”

There was no answer.

There never was. She'd prayed for guidance as the demons advanced. There had been none. When the demons besieged the city, she'd prayed for rescue. There had been none. When demon assassins had slaughtered the leaders and most of the mages, forcing her into her current position, she'd prayed for support. There had been none. When disease had killed tens of thousands and the city had nearly fallen, she'd prayed for a sign that they hadn't been forsaken. There had been none.

Now she spoke the words for the faithful. She made sure the clergy cast their protective prayers over the city. She acted the part of a High Priestess, but she was no longer a believer. All she cared about was keeping her people alive for one more day, one more hour. Nothing else mattered.

“Elder Sister,” a servant said, “the council meeting is about to begin.”

She nodded in acknowledgement. Leaving the balcony she made her way to the council chamber, doing her best to look serene. She was supposed to be the calm caretaker of the people, it wouldn't do to show the despair she was feeling. Entering the chamber, she saw she was the last person to arrive. She took her seat beside the Lord Mayor, Julius Visage.

The Lord Mayor was self appointed. He had been the captain of the guard, a largely ceremonial position that led the city militia. When the previous council and military leaders had been slaughtered by shadows a month into the siege, he had taken control. Using ruthlessness, brutality and military cunning, he had enforced the rule of law, quelled the riots that had broken out and pushed the demons back. But it had aged him. He was only forty-six years of age, but his once thick, black hair was thinning and grey, wrinkles lined his face, and his blue eyes were as cold and unforgiving as the glaciers that gave the Crystal Mountain Range its name.

“The council meeting is now in session,” Julius declared, tapping the table with the silver mace that was the symbol of his office. “First order of business, has everyone heard the report on the event that happened early today?”

Everyone nodded. It had been impossible to ignore, even the least magically talented people had felt the necromantic energy pass through them.

“Good. Mage Oliver Mathias has more to add to it.”

Mathias stood, his yellow robes were old and becoming threadbare. Replacement cloth and dye was almost impossible to find in the city. The young man took several moments to look over his papers, still nervous and unsure of himself. Otillie felt sorry for him, he only held the position because every other mage was too busy and Mathias was good at paperwork.

“Ah, we now know where the ritual occurred. And we are fairly certain the demons didn't do it, because when it occurred it made them panic. They're still acting afraid. So it has to be something they didn't expect and don't like,” Mathias said, his accent was almost non-existent after spending so many years in Cristel Fleche, but it was still possible to tell he was a foreigner to the city.

Julius sighed. “Very good. Now where did the ritual occur and do you know what it was for?”

“Right, yes. The ritual likely happened near the city of Kodor. It would help if we could triangulate things more, but the lines of force all point in that general direction and that city is closest to where they connect.”

“Kodor, why does that name seem familiar?” the Lord Mayor asked.

“It's near the resting place of the Necromancer,” Otillie said.

“Yes. Yes it is. And the ritual seems to be necromantic in nature. So it could be the Necromancer has been resurrected and that's what we're sensing,” Mathias said.

“Or he has already risen,” she mused.

“What?” Julius asked.

“The demons have been acting strangely for weeks. They sent many of their kind away, they haven't attacked in force for three weeks, and now they're acting terrified. Why are they doing it? Maybe someone raised the Necromancer and he has given them a firm beating. With the amount of energy being used, maybe they expect something terrifying to happen to them.” Otillie didn't know if her thoughts were accurate, but she was good at coming up with odd ideas that helped make others think.

“Even if that is true,” the treasurer said, “we have no way of confirming it.”

The mood dampened. With the death of so many mages, they had no way to send a message anywhere. They were all alone, except for the refugees hiding in the mountains, and if those poor souls tried to leave their tunnels and alpine forests, they'd be slaughtered.

“What of the airship?” Julius asked.

“She'll fly,” Louis Bardot, spokesman of the Engineers Union, said. “We'll want to do some more tests. We'll also need a month to put on the armour sheathe, so the demons can't tear apart the gas bags. But once that's done she'll be as ready as she'll ever be.”

Julius tapped the table once more. “We've held off on the airship because we haven't had anywhere to send her that could send help. Now we have a location to send her. We don't know what that ritual was, but it scared the demons, it might be able to help us. As Lord Mayor, I declare that in forty days The Thorn will fly to the city of Kodor, seeking help. Who supports me?”

Every hand was raised in agreement.

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Necromancer Unmanned will be updated every Sunday. My other story Doom Valley Prep School will be updated every Monday.

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