Dire Straits Read Online Free PDF Page B

by choosing a faster method.
    So he let Ezell work, staying quiet and out of the way, but watching avidly as the work was done. It was rare he got to see a necromancer at such complicated work; most often he crossed paths with necromancers for minor matters—ghosts, the odd vhampir.
    No one knew what made a good necromancer, and no necromancer could ever really say what tipped the scale for him. The dark called, was the most frequent answer, and Bannick could understand that well enough.  From the moment he had realized magic was not truly evil, he'd wanted to study Rune Magic. 
    After his family—his town—had thrown him out, he had used what money he'd had to make it to Crown City. When he'd arrived, his options had been few, but he'd never forgotten the priest who had saved his life, the one who had made him question the belief that magic was wrong.
    His family had already disowned him, told him never to come back—what was there to lose? So he had joined the Priesthood. He had worked his ass off, was fluent in Old Runic by fifteen, had finished his apprenticeship by seventeen, and practically skipped his white collar before gaining blue at just twenty-two.
    He had never meant to go further than black, but when red had fallen across his path, Bannick could only heed the call.  There were days he loved it, days he almost hated it, but there were never days he regretted it.
    It took nearly three hours, but finally Ezell motioned to him, drawing Bannick from his meandering thoughts. Bannick obediently rose and walked over to him, carrying a second cup of coffee that Ezell gratefully accepted. "Would you look over my work? I've never done a dire cage this complicated."
    Bannick's brows rose at the words. "Now I know necros deal with dires now and again, but that sounds like you've dealt with more than your fair share."
    "I've become something of an expert," Ezell replied. "They telegraphed me the moment they suspected a dire up this way."
    Bannick nodded and looked over the Old Runic Ezell had used; it was a perversion of Old Runic, really, often called Black or Shadow Runic. It twisted magic toward the dead, and if Bannick tried to use it, it wouldn't work—his magic had not bent that way. "I think you're good."
    "Then we simply wait and make certain nothing falters or breaks," Ezell said. "Your ward did its job; now even when it finishes rotting, he's trapped. Thanks." Ezell leaned up and kissed him softly.
    "All in a day's work," Bannick drawled and nibbled at Ezell's lips, drawing out another kiss.
    Ezell smiled and laughed suddenly. "It's so strange, hearing you speak here , where everyone sounds like you. I always wondered, every time I came this way, if I would see you or someone who knew you. I remember you never talked about your family much."
    Pushing up the brim of his hat, Bannick said, "Back then, family was still hard to talk about." He pointed a finger to the east. "My kin are about thirty miles that way, a town called Sacred Moon. They're a private bunch; witch hunters to the last man."
    Ezell's eyes widened briefly in surprise, and then he winced. "You come from Purists? I never would have guessed that, not as comfortable as you are with magic."
    "Let's sit a spell," Bannick said and guided Ezell back to the campfire, pouring them both more coffee. "I was a priest 'til all of eleven, when I was out fooling around like only a young boy can. Nearly got myself killed falling into a canyon. A travelling green collar saved me, took me home. I was fascinated and appalled at how mean my town was to him. Two years later, I was driven out of town for being a blasphemer."
    "Now here you are," Ezell said with a smile. "Even more impressive now than you were fourteen years ago."
    "Che," Bannick said dismissively, ducking his head to hide behind his hat. "So what about you? How did a student with no interest in magic become a necromancer and fused with a demon?"
    Ezell glanced toward the stable, studying his marks,