A scream tore its way out of the dead man’s throat when I finished the gesture, the corpse arching and almost levitating off the ground.

  “Speak! Who sent you!” I commanded the corpse.

  Its screams quickly transitioned into groaning and squealing. Nothing intelligible, but this was nothing unusual.

  “Uggh,” the dead knight groaned.

  “Who sent you!”

  “Cooohh,” the corpse rasped, “Coooehooorn,” it repeated before the spell broke and the corpse fell to the ground.

  I frowned. Coehorn? Coehoorn? Neither meant anything to me.

  Annoyingly, definitely normal divination and totally not necromancy was something I was not particularly good at either. Most mages specialised in one or two disciplines while grabbing some general skills like simple healing or telepathy, and for a good reason. I was a bit more versatile thanks to my past life, but my experience in the Fatherland didn’t help me at all with the more esoteric schools of magic, like necromancy which Grealghane definitely was, despite the Brotherhood’s classification. Hence the need for both incantations and gestures.

  The spell was, however, too useful and harmless enough, unlike the rest of the banned discipline. Supposedly. It was said that reviving the dead lead to unpredictable but somehow entirely negative effects, always resulting in evil. So the Brotherhood banned the practice, the effort led by one of Tissaia’s peers on the Chapter, Gerhart of Aelle.

  I didn’t believe that at all, of course.

  What even was evil? The banning of Goetia was much more sensible. Summoning creatures from different dimensions was guaranteed to result in a disaster eventually without any need for superstition.

  That being said, I had little desire to spend time with rotting corpses, evil or no evil. Outside of making dead men talk, I saw little use of the discipline, not with the risk of the Brotherhood turning against me.

  Unfortunately, despite being reclassified due to its usefulness, Grealghane had not helped me much. I had something to go on, but it wasn’t as if I could just search the name up on the internet.

  I shook my head, turning to the scorched remains of my carriage instead. The horse had escaped, which was something I was glad for, but it was a loss nonetheless.

  Grimacing, I doused the remaining flames with a quick mutter of gaeth, stealing their air.

  The driver was dead, a crossbow bolt lodged deep into his heart.

  What a waste.

  He had just been someone I had hired, but his pointless death sat ill with me. In hindsight, I definitely should have splurged on guards, but the main roads were safe enough, especially for a sorceress. Despite what one might imagine when they thought of a bandit, most such lowlifes were cunning enough to leave sorcerers, soldiers and the like alone.

  I’d have to look into this Coehorn character properly when I had the opportunity.

  I spared another glance to the carriage, before moving to examine the corpses. The assassin’s dagger was, unsurprisingly, made out of dimeritium, a very precious type of metal with anti-magic properties. I’ve never seen it in action until now and to say I was unpleasantly surprised would be a great understatement.

  That the metal could be used to suppress a mage’s powers was well known, but I had not known that it could interfere with active magical effects as well, though it made sense in hindsight. I’d have to test things once I got out of here.

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  Examining the blood-soaked dagger, but finding no identifying marks, I cleaned it off on the assassin’s clothes before chucking it near the carriage. The touch of the metal was extremely unpleasant. I’d store it later. If nothing else, it was valuable.

  The corpse didn’t yield anything else of note, though I took the few dozen orens it had. I'd have little use for the Temerian currency in Cintra, but I could always exchange them.

  The first knight proved similarly disappointing. Were I inclined to lug around their armour, I could probably get a decent amount of money out of it, but undressing them would take too much time I didn’t want to risk. I doubted I’d lack for money in the employ of Cintra’s royalty anyway.

  When I moved on to the second one, I was able to confirm that the shackles were made of dimeritium too. I wasn’t stupid enough to lug those around, though. I quickly dug a small hole with magic some distance off the site and buried them in it. Similarly to the first, he had no written orders or anything similarly incriminating, but this knight did possess coins I did not recognise in addition to more orens. I pocketed both.

  The mercenaries were similarly lacklustre, only netting me some more unnecessary pocket money.

  Done with the dead, I entered the charred carriage, retrieving my slightly singed leather suitcase. Paying extra for one with some fire resistance along with the normal water-proofing had been worth it. I stored the dimeritium dagger inside quickly. Unfortunately, my book of Cintrian history was reduced to ash, but I could cope.

  Then I looked around for the horse. Seeing nothing, I couldn’t help but sigh. I did not relish the idea of a hike a few hundred kilometres long.

  With a bit of luck, I could obtain a horse in one of the towns on the way, but I wasn’t sure which direction I should go. Originally, I was meant to travel through the Pass of Klamat, eventually crossing the Yaruga river at a bridge near Red Port, but the bridge lay east, while Cintra lay west, though on the other shore. In other words, this route would have prolonged my travel by over six hundred kilometres, if not more, than just crossing the river on my own.

  It would have been six hundred very comfortable kilometres in a carriage, so I had not minded, but following the plan when I was now on foot would have been idiotic. With an unknown enemy wanting me dead? Suicidal.

  I unfurled a map from my suitcase and began plotting my route.

  Going straight to Mayenna and then south-west to Dillingen and either crossing the Yaruga with magic or hiring a boat was the fastest option when I no longer had a carriage, but I was already quite a ways east and if I wanted to follow the Mayenna route, I’d have to backtrack to Maribor or risk the monster-filled forests.

  Backtracking was out. Maribor was likely where my would-be assassins had waited for me, as the city was the most logical stop for a traveller going south from Thanedd. Chances were that going back would let my unknown opponent get another strike in.

  I definitely wasn’t risking the forests either. The sheer amount of bloodthirsty monsters in this world was incomprehensible and I wasn’t willing to risk running into one without a very good reason. Well, risk more than anyone did when they traveled. This risk wasn’t too bad when one stuck to the main roads, but it was still there.

  That left just one option, continuing forward through Klamat.

  This had its own issues. It was quite likely that my invisible enemy knew, at the very least, my destination, if not my travel plan. That I was going to Cintra had never been a secret. The Red Port would thus be a logical place to leave another kill team, making it somewhere to avoid.

  Perhaps I was being too paranoid and my enemy was not so competent, but I wasn’t willing to risk that.

  The best option was then to go through the Pass of Klamat, then leave the main road and follow a lesser one along the Trava river, then rejoin it towards the Razwan fort. From there, I could go to Brugge and eventually reach Dillingen, where I could cross the Yaruga.

  I’d be prolonging my journey by quite a bit, but it was worth it to avoid any more assassins. I just had to make it to Cintra, so there was no reason to take pointless risks.

  The more annoying part was my utter lack of proper camping equipment, as I had slept in the carriage. Any equipment the driver had possessed got burnt. I’d have to buy something in a village. My nose wrinkled in distaste. Such a purchase was bound to be both extremely overpriced and low-quality, but it’d be better than roughing it.

  Planning done, I nodded to myself.

  Checking the sun, I began walking towards Klamat. I likely wouldn’t make it today, but I could cope for one night. I’d need to get proper camping gear there, though.

  So I walked, suitcase in one hand. My shoulder twinged but did not bleed, so I let it be. I doubted Mayenna would have a healer more competent than me, seeing it was a fort instead of a proper town, but there was bound to be someone in Dillingen.

  It was almost dusk when I reached a crossroads with a strange, worn, sign.

  ‘You, who is coming from the west. Should you go left, you will return. Should you go right, you will return. Should you go straight, you will not also return.’

  I frowned at the faded sign, re-reading it once more, before shaking my head. Straight was east, towards Klamat, so that’s where I went. Why someone bothered with this nonsense instead of providing proper directions I had no idea.