The Cemetery's New Master

The cemetery lay in a corner of the city, near one of the better neighborhoods of the Lower City. That meant Ferrara and the others could travel with Aaron a little farther.

Once he had confirmed that everything was settled, Ferrara, the veteran elite warrior, took a large square box down from the carriage.

The box was finely made, carved from pearwood, with a tiny lock hanging from it.

"This is our gift of thanks for the journey. Please accept it, Lord Viscount."

Aaron raised a hand to show that he was holding the urn containing the war mage apprentice's ashes. Eleanor stepped forward and took the large box instead.

The young cleric secretly hefted it. The box was light, and she had no idea what was inside.

"And this is a little something extra to thank you." Ferrara took out another square box, smaller and even more exquisite. He handed the gilded box to Aaron with evident reluctance. "Please keep it safe."

"Thank you." Aaron had a hand free this time. He accepted the small box with it and tucked it into his clothes.

"Won't you open it and have a look?" Ferrara asked with a curious smile.

"What could it be that you weighed it three times on a scale, then drew every curtain tight in case even a glimpse got out?" Aaron smiled easily. "If you wanted to deceive me, would you need to be so careful? Trading on the road isn't easy, Mr. Ferrara."

"You really do notice everything!" Ferrara's teasing expression vanished. The mercenary leader's face grew solemn, admiration unmistakable in his eyes. "I hope we have another chance to work together, honorable Viscount Salian!"

"I think we will. I doubt this will be your last trading trip to Cormyr." Aaron nodded, catching the words the mercenary leader had left unsaid.

"If the current tensions ease, we'd gladly return to Cormyr. When we do, we hope you'll make things easier for us, Lord Viscount." Montero stepped forward. "You've won over this whole band of mercenaries who live by the blade."

"Come back first. When you do, send someone to notify me at the Salian residence, number 18, Three Crowns, Upper City."

"May Tymora bless you, Lord Viscount. Thank you for lending us a hand."

"May the Lady of Silver's light illuminate your path."

Ferrara and the others left, leaving the young cleric and the viscount behind.

"Let's go too."

The road to the cemetery was a little muddy. This was no wealthy district, so it never received the best upkeep. Rain had fallen on Suzail the night before, and the Lower City's cleaners were not particularly diligent. Some stretches had yet to be cleaned at all.

"Guess what the mercenaries gave us." Aaron glanced at the large box in Eleanor's hands.

"Hmm... spices?" The young cleric could barely feel its weight in her arms.

"Correct!" Aaron nodded, then asked half-jokingly, "No cheating, Miss Eleanor. You could smell the spices already, couldn't you?"

There was always something magical in the words of someone with extraordinary charm. The young cleric nodded before she could stop herself. She had indeed caught the scent of spices.

"Nutmeg, cardamom, pepper, Sichuan peppercorns, chili peppers, cinnamon, fresh sugarcane, cloves, bay leaves, fennel." Opening the box, the young cleric sniffed with her little nose and stuck out her tongue. "A fine deal, Lord Viscount."

"Hey, that little nose of yours is sharp." Aaron took out the small box Ferrara and the others had treasured so much. "Now guess what this is. Get it right, and I'll give you the big box."

"I don't even want it!" The young cleric had been feeling a little proud, but Aaron's challenge promptly deflated her.

At least give me a hint!

How many poor people at the city gates could a whole box of spices save?

"It's saffron." Aaron gently opened the small box. Inside lay a tiny pinch of deep-red, threadlike strands. "This little bit of saffron is worth more than three times its weight in gold."

"That's why it has another name: blood gold. You can even spend it in hell!"

"If I haven't brought enough money today, I'll use this to pay." The smile slowly faded from Aaron's face. "Times have changed, after all. Who knows what the cemetery is like now?"

"So the big box is yours, Miss Eleanor. Do whatever you like with it." Aaron lightly patted the young cleric's shoulder. "Whatever happens, please join me for dinner at home tonight. Accept my hospitality and have a proper bath, then report to the church tomorrow. All right?"

After hearing Aaron's terms, the young cleric pressed her lips together. She held both hands against her lower abdomen, fingers intertwined and tightening slightly.

Again!

This man was always so good at seizing control of a conversation. He always used the Lady of Silver's grace to corner me. He always began with terms I couldn't refuse, then gradually pushed at my boundaries.

And still, I couldn't fend off his advances.

Lady of Silver above, my lord, why did you assign me the one man who could get the better of me?

Faced with the temptation of a whole box of spices that could save at least a hundred poor, sick people, the young cleric yielded again.

Just as planned!

A deep rush of pleasure shot from Aaron's stomach straight to his head.

That felt good!

He had figured it out. The original Aaron Salian had secretly loved the young cleric, so every time he teased her, Slaanesh's power stirred.

Perhaps I should consider giving her Slaanesh's Gift. I'm sure she'd love it!

But the saffron in his hand also brought something else to mind. The Lady of Wealth was particularly fond of saffron. Besides being a spice, it was an excellent dye that could turn cloth her favorite shade of gold. Donate saffron to her church, and divine magic, money, and blessings would all be yours.

Yet the Lady of Wealth had vanished before the Time of Troubles began, and no one knew where she was.

Perhaps that was one reason Ferrara and the others were smuggling this "blood gold."

So where had the Lady of Wealth gone? The Lady of Joy was carrying out all her divine duties now.

I don't know. It's still too soon for me to worry about any of that.

The cemetery had once been peaceful, a quiet and tranquil stretch of land. Clerics and temple guards had always protected it, allowing the dead to rest.

The cemetery had once belonged to Myrkul, the Bone Lord, one of the Dead Three. He was a Greater Deity of neutral evil alignment.

People had always respected and feared this god of the dead. After all, with very few exceptions, everyone would die someday. Myrkul's clerics often threatened the living, warning that anyone who failed to honor the god of the dead and pay enough "skull money" would meet a miserable fate after death.

The Bone Lord's clerics were not entirely wrong. Without the god of the dead's protection, a corpse dumped in a potter's field would be stripped bare by scavengers within a day or two. Vultures, feral dogs, and jackals relished such feasts, and more than a few necromancers visited potter's fields regularly in search of "suitable" test subjects. No one wanted that to happen to their body.

People disliked the Bone Lord's greed and his steep skull money, but at least he let the dead rest in peace.

Then, during the Time of Troubles two years ago, all three of the Dead Three fell. Their domains passed to Cyric, the Dark Sun Prince, and Myrkul's clerics turned as one to his worship.

Aaron did not know what the cemetery was like now.

Sure enough, the cemetery temple had changed. Myrkul's Holy Symbol had been replaced by Cyric's: a purple sun now encircled the skull.

A gray-robed cleric wearing a skull mask appeared.

Aaron and Eleanor both lowered their heads respectfully.

No one failed to fear death.

"Have you come to place those ashes in the cemetery?" The cemetery cleric knew well enough why visitors came.

"Yes." Aaron held Hicks's ashes.

He could still vividly remember the war mage apprentice desperately shouting for him to run, then fighting on against a band of Orks in a battle he could not possibly win.

"This is an offering. Please accept it so my friend can rest in peace." Aaron took out two Golden Lions and respectfully placed them in the cemetery cleric's hand.

But the cemetery cleric gave him a long look and shook his head. "That isn't enough, child."

Not enough? Aaron and Eleanor both stared at him in astonishment.

Two gold coins were the standard skull money throughout the realm. How could that not be enough?

For poorer commoners, two silver coins would buy a place for their ashes in the cemetery's communal burial ground!

What was Cyric trying to do?

"The new god of the dead has issued a divine decree. The offering for anyone buried in the cemetery is now five gold coins." The gray-robed cleric gestured somewhat awkwardly toward a nearby headstone. "If you want a headstone, it's fifteen."

"And for another fifty gold coins, do I get a eulogy and a ceremony too?" A muscle twitched in Aaron's face.

"Oh, you want the 'Dark Sun Deluxe Package'?" the gray-robed cleric said quickly. "We can arrange the ceremony at once."

Aaron and Eleanor exchanged a glance. Each saw the other's helplessness.

Cyric now held dominion over the dead, and his way of running things was certainly nothing like Myrkul's.

Aaron said no more. He only had five gold coins on him, so, as he had anticipated, he took out a tiny amount of saffron to cover the fifteen-gold fee and secured Hicks a headstone.

Seeing that Aaron had paid extra without another word of protest, the gray-robed cleric's expression softened slightly. He sighed. "He truly was a good friend of yours, wasn't he?"

"That bastard was never my good friend," Aaron said with a cold laugh. "He stole my snacks when we were children, swiped my toys, and told everyone else my business. Every time I saw him, I thought, why isn't that son of a bitch dead yet?"

The gray-robed cleric was stunned.

Hicks was buried in an inconspicuous corner of the cemetery. His headstone was plain.

He had never been anyone important.

Aaron and Eleanor stood before the headstone.

"But... he died in my place." Aaron's voice grew heavy. He pressed his lips together, took the mead Hicks had loved best from Eleanor, and poured it over the headstone.

"You were never anyone important. You were just an ordinary war mage apprentice."

"You didn't come from some illustrious family, Hicks. You moved from place to place and never had a permanent home."

"You were just an ordinary war mage apprentice. My childhood playmate. My enemy. Every time I saw you, I wanted to slap you. When I found out I had to go on this mission with you, I nearly threw up."

"And you shouldn't have been the one to die in my place. They were after me."

"If you'd known the truth, you'd have been furious, wouldn't you?"

"Ha, ha, ha..." Aaron laughed aloud. As the laughter went on, his eyes slowly reddened.

"Rest in peace, my savior. Sleep as long as you like."

"That man is still alive. I'll deal with him. I promise."

With that, Aaron tipped back his head and drained the last mouthful of mead. Without looking back, he turned and walked away.

Eleanor hurried after him. Perhaps something had come to mind, for her eyes were red too. "He was a brave war mage."

"Brave, my ass!" Aaron's voice was still a little nasal as he laughed and cursed. "If he'd really been brave, he wouldn't have prepared only Web and Mirror Image as his second-circle spells. Neither could get him out of there or do enough damage!"

"That bastard's plan was to hold the enemy up with Web, protect himself with Mirror Image, and leave the rest to us." Aaron's steps slowed. "But... you're right. There was nothing wrong with a mage preparing his spells that way."

Eleanor did not know what to say.

Aaron composed himself and spoke again.

"They say a person dies three times."

"The first death comes when the body's functions cease. That is the death of the flesh."

"The second comes with the funeral. That is when they die in the eyes of society."

"And the third comes when they are forgotten completely. When every book that tells their story, every painting that shows their face, and every person who remembers them is gone, that is the death of the spirit."

"So some people are alive, yet already dead."

"And some are dead, yet still live."

"Because they remain in stories, in books, in poems, in legends, in murals."

"And most importantly... in the annals of history! In people's hearts!"

Aaron's words struck the young cleric's chest like a thunderclap, lightning flashing and thunder roaring within her.

Yes. She still lives in my heart!

There's still hope. There always has been!

The young cleric gently rubbed her chest. She felt a new flame kindle in her heart.

That flame was called hope!

Slaanesh's Gift: Charisma +2, Dexterity +1. A mortal who receives Slaanesh's Gift has advantage on all saving throws against enchantment spells.

This effect cannot raise the recipient's attributes above 20.