He was right, of course. But his explanation also meant he still didn't trust me, which was frustrating. “Allow me, then, to teach you what healing spells I know that you don't.”
Cerin nodded. “All right. An exchange, then. A trade.” Thinking of it this way seemed to make him feel better.
“A trade that I come out of looking better than you,” I mused, given the amount of spells we'd be exchanging.
“No, you are getting the raw end of the deal, learning magic that you cannot use except for circumstances in which there will be no witnesses.”
“There won't be any witnesses to any of our battles,” I teased. Cerin huffed in amusement, having not expected my light-hearted jest in such a situation.
“I suppose not,” he agreed.
Cerin began teaching me what necromantic spells he knew, including informing me of what words in the spell language meant in ours. Many of the words he taught me—corpa, enflic—were ones I had never seen in any of the other schools of magic. By knowing how these words were translated, there was always a chance that I could someday create my own spells without learning them from outside sources.
He also taught me the details of necromancy I would have never thought about. For example, while combining two elements could sometimes create a nearly unstoppable magical force, much like my fiery tornado in the woods near Amere, combining fire and death was not always a good combination. Using corpa te risa a multipla to raise corpses in an area of effect attack along with creatius les fiers a nienda, which normally would attach fire to another element, would not result in an army of fiery undead that could inflict fire damage. Instead, it would result in an army of flaming undead, but the fire would only serve to char bone and melt the decomposition off of my own zombies.
There were also differences in how spells were cast. Raising only one corpse required thrusting the energy in its direction, much like many spells focused on only one other person, whether that person was an enemy and being hit with energy, or an ally and being hit with a shield spell. It also required a visible corpse, as the lower level necromancy spell did not infiltrate the ground. The higher powered area of effect raise dead spell was cast as if the ground itself was your target, much like I had seen Cerin use it many times. This spell did not require visible targets, as the energy would absorb into the dirt and seek its own targets.
Finally, Cerin taught me much about the behavior of the dead once it was reanimated. The dead would use anything at its disposal as a weapon. He described instances where he'd risen woodland animals, just for the skeletons of elk to ram their enemies, or small rodents to chew through skin. Humanoid enemies would seek out weapons, resorting to sticks or even long bones of fallen skeletons if no metal weapons were available. And the dead would always seek to protect the spellcaster, focusing on the enemy causing the most damage, or closest. Once they had that enemy surrounded, they would spread out, attacking others as they saw them. The spellcaster's thoughts affected the dead, Cerin told me, meaning that thinking someone was your enemy when they were not would still cause the dead to attack them. Paying extra attention to an enemy or weapon would cause the dead to attack the enemy or equip the weapon.
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I asked him if the dead could be healed, and he told me they could not, because their cells were not living and could not rebuild. The only life spells that would work on the undead were shields, because shields would work on any object you cast the spell on. You could, technically, shield a piece of furniture before taking a hammer to it, and the shield would protect the wood until it had taken enough damage. Most mages would never use their magic so frivolously, of course, but it was a possibility, and helped explain how one spell from the life school would work on the dead, while others did not.
It had been a few hours since Cerin and I had first sat down, and he was just now getting around to teaching me how to leech. He put his arm out toward my chest, like he was going to use the spell, just to show me the correct method.
“You want to take the energy from the person's—or beast's—core,” he explained. “If you were to leech from the head, there's a possibility the target would become confused quicker, but the leeching process overall would take much longer. Leeching from the core pulls energy from the midsection, and by virtue of anatomy, everything leads there. That's where most of the major organs are, and so all veins and arteries connect here. While you are taking energy, the body itself is helping to resupply you by pumping more life to where you are taking it.”
“So you were standing behind the wyvern's wing for a reason,” I said, understanding.
“Yes. You could leech from a wyvern's chest or side, but I was also trying to break my way in through its rib cage with my scythe,” he admitted. “It's the closest way to the heart. Or hearts, if you're dealing with a much larger dragon.”
“The larger the creature, the longer to leech?” I asked, because it had seemed to be true for Cerin thus far.
“Usually, but not always. The longest it ever took me to fully leech the life out of a creature, it was a vampire. And vampires are tall, intimidating creatures, but they aren't even half the size of the ogre I fought back in the Seran Forest.”
“What are vampires?” I feared it was another stupid question. I had heard the word before, but never more than that.
“Soulless creatures who subsist on blood from other creatures alone,” he replied. “Pray you never cross one.”
“I would if gods existed to pray to,” I mused.
“Ah,” said Cerin, “Another nonbeliever.”
“Which gods do you subscribe to?” I asked him.
“None. I am the same as you. I said pray as more of a figure of speech. Because if you come across a vampire, you will wish you had a god to pray to.”
I watched him, intrigued. “How did you make it out alive?”
“Very, very carefully,” he said, before a low laugh. “Thankfully, I am a necromancer. Vampires and necromancers are very similar in the aspect that they absorb life. If you can absorb it right back out of them, they can fall. Which brings me to another thing about leeching—you cannot leech from the dead. If we ever come across an enemy necromancer, don't attempt leeching from anyone but the mage.”
“Can't get blood out of a stone,” I mused.
“Exactly. Now...” Cerin readjusted where he sat, just before me. He'd changed his position earlier so he could show me how to leech. His legs were on either side of mine, silver buckles begging for attention by shining brightly over black leather. “Before you try the spell, there's one last thing you should know. Have you ever gotten high?”
A smirk spread over my face. The question amused me. “Is this conversation still about leeching?” I asked.
A rare smile appeared over Cerin's full lips. “It is, I promise.”
“No, I have not been high. Been drunk a good too many times, but never high. You?”
“Not once. I have been living in the forests alone for years. Where would I have gotten rempka?”
“You could have gotten it beforehand. At the university, or in Thornwell,” I pointed out.
“Yes, at the university, where I had no friends,” he teased, before turning somber. “I ask this, because when you leech, it affects your mind. You feel this intense euphoria...no, that's not the word.” He hesitated, looking off to the side, trying to find his words. “It's this overwhelming feeling of power. You are full of so much energy, and it feels good. You may find yourself wanting that feeling more often. You have to learn to control it, lest it start to control you.” He paused, looking over me carefully. “The first time is the hardest.”
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