Necrophobia by Mark Devaney Page A

old and dusty, disuse and time had been unkind to it but it would suit their needs. Laelia sat opposite the prisoner and flicked through some of the papers they’d hastily compiled on what little they knew. Feeling out of place Reiner found a wall by the door to stand aside and watch the interview, his arms held behind his back and stood in what he assumed to be a non-threatening manner. The Commander closed the door and stood beside him watching the discussion, her own arms folded.
    “Let’s start with your name.” Laelia’s voice echoed around the cold iron room.
    “Rickward. My name’s Rickward, Miss.”
    “Tell me about the cult, the group of people that attacked us today.”
    Rickward looked nervously between the three armoured and stern Caelites before him, and twitched his rat-like face.
    “I don’t know much. Honest. They don’t tell you much. They just offer you things. I only joined this week.”
    “Go on.” Laelia replied, scribbling notes down on her sheet of paper. “Who is in charge? A man named Inquisitor Horus?”
    The man raised a confused eyebrow.
    “Haures. Haures sorry. Who wrote this? Awful handwriting.” She glared at Reiner behind her with a knowing look.
    He bit back a retort and returned the glare as Amelia stifled a laugh.
    “Anyway, Inquisitor Haures correct?”
    The rat-faced Rickward nodded again, and winced.
    “Something wrong?”
    “No Ma’am. H-Haures promised us many things, he promised us he could cheat death.” He stuttered.
    “Desecrating dead bodies into mindless slaves is a poor way to cheat death Rickward.” Reiner said.
    “They’re just disposable warriors. He can resurrect the dead. Proper like. I’ve s-seen it.” The man winced again.
    “Proper like?” Laelia repeated, making sure she’d heard him.
    “Yeah. True revival. He brought back one of his followers as a show of faith.”
    Reiner and Amelia exchanged a dark look.
    “Where did you first meet him?”
    The man winced and a gasped in pain, nearby one of the candles flickered and blew to one side.
    “What’s wrong, Rickward?” Amelia asked, detaching herself from the wall. The candles flickered again, but there was no breeze in the room. No windows or drafts.
    “Noth—” Rickward started but his eyes rolled back into his head and he twitched on the spot. Blood poured in thick torrents out of his nose and ears and he collapsed hard onto the metal desk with a painful thud.
    Reiner ripped open the door and shouted down the dim hall at one of the Caelites on guard. “Get a healer down here now!” He shouted.
    “Sir! You’ve got to come see this!” One shouted back, the voice stirred the others into action.
    He ran to the cell at the end beside the Caelite. Inside the prisoner lay dying on the floor, twitching and bleeding.
    “They’re all doing it sir! They’re all dying.”
    The man was right, in each cell, sealed and warded against external intrusion their prisoners convulsed and died. Their last chance at answers dying in a pool of their own blood.
    “What’s going on Captain?” Knight-Commander Amelia appeared her voice wavered.
    “They’re all dying. Something’s killing them!”
    “Impossible.” She muttered in disbelief, unlocking the cell door with a clank of keys from her belt and checked the collapsed figure on the floor. “Did you sense any magic?”
    “No Commander. None.” He knelt down and looked at the prisoner, blood from the nose and ears, just like the one being interrogated. “These cells are lined with lead and iron. There’s no magic here. I have no idea what’s happened to them.”

 
    In the darkened library of the Caelites, Alvis Razakel poured through countless tomes and volumes of lore. The sorcerer remained oblivious to the priests and monks scurrying and the howling blizzard enveloping the stronghold throughout the night. He sat still in the semidarkness lit only by a candle and small lantern. His desk was a mess of piles of books and a crude stack