Keir moaned on his bed.

Every breath was a jagged spike of bitterly cold agony. The pulsing of his blood was a hammer, pounding inside him, bringing pain with every strike. Sweat beaded on his skin, he was so hot. It felt like he was on fire. His throat cried out for water. His tongue was a thick slab of dried, useless meat, filling his mouth, choking him, keeping him from speaking.

He wished he would die. Death had been peaceful. Painless.

Never in his long life had he felt so much pain.

A cold, wet, cloth wiped the sweat from his forehead. A small trickle of water found it's way into his mouth.

More. He needed so much more.

“Can we give her morphine now?” a girl asked.

He couldn't place the voice at first, then he realized it was his daughter, Estelle. Forcing his arm to move despite the pain, he reached out to hold her. He hadn't heard her voice in so long. Something had happened to her. Trying to think was impossible. Memories and thoughts slipped through his fingers like water.

“I don't want to risk it,” another voice said. “She is still so weak, much more will kill her.”

Who were they talking about? Why did they keep saying her?

“I think she's awake,” a third person said.

A small, well calloused hand encircled his. He couldn't say exactly whose it was, but it was a womans, so it was probably Estelle's. Despite the pain, he managed to smile.

“Regua,” his daughter said, “you're safe. We're on the airship. Just sleep for now.”

'Regua,' why was she calling him that? What did she mean, airship? Why wouldn't they give him some opium? Or just use a spell to dull the pain.

Moving his hand and trying to think had taken too much energy. Despite the pain he slid into unconsciousness.

“Father!” Estelle shouted, jumping into his arms.

Looking at his older children, Keir said, “Now who would like to go horse riding? I've been riding around in carriages or ships for too long. I need some exercise?”

Consciousness came slowly to Keir. The pain was still there, but distant. His head seemed to be floating.

“You're a stubborn person, Keir,” a man said.

A name appeared through the fog that filled Keir's mind, Von. Why was that name important?

“Most people would be dead. We needed to use two men for a blood transfusion, and you're lucky we had a very good healer on board. An inch to the left and your spine would have been severed. Two inches higher and you wouldn't have a heart.”

Keir tried to smile. Of course he was stubborn, he was an emperor. And he hadn't had it handed to him, he'd fought for every bit of power. No one would have reached his position if they weren't stubborn or hard to kill.

A hand touched his shoulder. “We'll reach Crystele Fleche in two or three days. Once we're there, you'll be transferred to the Mayoral home and given the best possible care.”

He wondered why they were going to Crystele Fleche. He vaguely recalled the town, a mining place, only worth remembering for the new silver mine. Valuable but not any place an emperor would visit. Where were his wives? His children? His friends and servants? What had happened?

The confusion stayed with him as he fell asleep.

“Haven't you gotten enough?” Meena asked.

She was right, it would be expensive in both men and money. But if he did pacify them, they'd be a valuable resource, and the last threat to his rule would be gone. The Gold Coast and the city states of the far south were a bleeding sore. He'd deal with them, just like he'd dealt with all his enemies.

Moaning, Keir winced as hands lifted him from his bed, placing him on a stretcher. He didn't know how many days he'd been slipping in and out of consciousness, reliving old memories in between bouts of pain. A blanket was wrapped tightly around him.

“Take it nice and slow,” Von said. “Don't bump her, she's still in bad shape.”

Why were they calling him, her?

They carried him through narrow corridors until they came to an outside door. A freezing wind blew in, bringing snowflakes with it. Opening his eyes, Keir saw he was being carried down some wooden stairs by two large men. The sky was cloudy, and it looked to be either just after dawn, or a little before sunset. He'd lost all sense of time.

Turning his head, he saw a crowd of people being held well back by a line of soldiers. They were all filthy and scrawny. The uniforms were dull light-brown, like undyed wool. The civilians were covered in rags, relying on layers of thin, stained clothes for warmth. He'd seldom seen so many people so starved. In the dim light, they looked like skeletons pretending to be humans.

Thinking was still hard. Between the pain, the drugs, and the injuries, he couldn't quite remember what was from the past and what was the present, but he remembered that he was here to save the people. He needed them on his side. He needed to show them all that he was the Necromancer.

“Stop.”

No one heard his whisper.

Clearing his throat, he desperately tried to get some spit into his dry mouth. “Stop,” he said again.

“Regua, we need to get you inside,” Floria said.

“I need-” he paused to catch his breath, “-to show them, I'm alive.”

“No,” she said. “Rest. When you are healthy you can raise them an army. For now you need to sleep.”

“She's right,” Von said. “If you try to move you'll probably rip open your stitches, and that could kill you.”

“Need to make a show. Make them have hope,” he insisted. He tried to raise his arm.

Von frowned and shook his head. “Keir, you will not do anything that could hurt yourself until you're healthy.”

His hand went back down. No matter how hard he tried to move, his body refused to do anything. Silently he was put into a warm carriage specially made for a stretcher. With his stretcher locked in place, Von and Floria sat beside him, making sure the stretcher handles didn't come loose. As the carriage slowly made it's way through the streets, Keir fell back to sleep.

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

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