“But Belasco is of another stripe; he is a man consumed by envy and rage, and jealous of any feat or skill achieved by my brother or myself. But unlike either of us, he has his own skills and talents, though he often leaves them aside to emulate our achievements. His dabbling in necromancy or demon lore, that I can see. But anything as murderous as the scene Jim described is…it’s not something he would normally be a party to. Neither is serving a demon, no matter how powerful.”

“Why?” asked Pug.

Sipping his wine again, Amirantha said, “Because Belasco would choose death before he would willingly serve anyone or anything.”

“There’s more,” asked the High Priest, though it wasn’t a question.

“Belasco also would not be a user of this sort of death magic. Here’s the conundrum: whatever else death magic is good for, it’s almost of no use whatever to those of us who are trafficking with demons.”

Pug looked suddenly very interested, as if he wished to say something or ask a question, but instead said, “Go on.”

“Holy Father,” asked Amirantha, “what use is death magic?”

Pug realized the question wasn’t rhetorical, but rather Amirantha asking a question to clarify a point he was about to make.

“It’s an abomination,” said the prelate. “Death magic, necromancy, are misnomers, for really what it becomes is the foulest form of life magic. At the moment of death, that which we call life leaves the empty shell of our bodies—it is what some call the anima, others call soul—and that energy is the fundamental core of being. The body is transitory and will fail, but the life which leaves it is eternal”—he held up a finger for emphasis—“unless something prevents that energy from translating to Our Mistress’s hall.”

Amirantha appeared impatient. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but the heart of the question is, what can you do with that energy if you trap it, bind it, intercept it somehow?”

The High Priest sat silently for a moment, then said, “An excellent question; the answer is beyond my knowledge.

“What little we know of necromancy is due to our having spared no effort to stamp it out; it’s an abomination against the nature of Our Mistress to prevent a soul from returning to her for judgment.” He turned in his chair and shouted, “Gregori!”

A moment later his servant appeared, and he said, “Ask Sister Makela to join us, please.”

The servant bowed, and the High Priest said, “The sister is our Archive Keeper. If she doesn’t know of something, she knows where to look to find out about it.”

“I have already visited the Ishapian Abbey at That Which Was Sarth.”