Jeremiah and Delilah avoided the bloodthirsty crowds on the way home from the trial via a complicated route of back streets and alleys. Delilah was uncharacteristically somber during the walk, and Jeremiah kept his own silence to avoid disturbing her thoughts.

　　The moment they entered the front door, Allison welcomed them with literal open arms, pulling Jeremiah into a powerful bear hug that crushed the air from his lungs. "He lives! By the grace of Talus, he lives!" She swung him around once before setting him on his feet. "That was ballsy as hell, making skeletons save people from a fire!"

　　Jeremiah grinned at her exuberance. "Thanks. Sorry it means I might not be out of your hair for another year."

　　"Are you kidding? You saved innocent lives by risking your own life and freedom. In my book that makes you a hero. The least we can do is put you up for a while!"

　　Bruno pried Jeremiah from the grip of Allison`s adoration. "If you`ll come this way, hero, I`ve taken the liberty of preparing some culinary options. I know the stuff they give you in that prison is pretty dire."

　　"Actually, I—" Jeremiah stopped himself. He had almost mentioned the additional cheese Vivica had procured for them, but he had a feeling she wouldn`t have wanted him telling his friends, although he wasn`t sure why that mattered. "I`m starving!"

　　A banquet of meats, cheeses, pickled vegetables, and breads was arranged on the table, and Jeremiah fell upon it like a starved wolf. "Fanks, Bruno," he said around a mouthful of roasted meat and cheese. "Vat`s so much bebber." He chased the food with a rich, satisfying mead, savoring the medley of flavors.

　　"Gotta say," said Bruno, "I was impressed with how you and Delilah handled those judges. Whenever I`ve been in that room, all the big chairs and echoing made me fumble my words."

　　"It was all Delilah," said Jeremiah. "Her and the witnesses, anyway. Without everyone saying so much nice stuff on my behalf, I would`ve been shaking in my boots. I owe all of you. Really."

　　"Don`t worry, you`re going to make it up to us by working your ass off!" burst Delilah. She thrust a finger towards Jeremiah. "You`re going to take the jobs I find for you, and you`re going to do them perfectly. You`re not going to cause trouble, you`re not going to cut corners, and you`re not going to slack off just because you`re stuck here. Got it!?"

　　Jeremiah stared at her, the latest bite of bread forgotten between his teeth. "Mm-hmm?"

　　"They`re screwing me with this verdict," Delilah continued, eyes blazing, drawing so close to Jeremiah the heat of her rage was palpable, "No counselor has ever, ever shared a sentence with their client. It`s obscene and it`s wrong, but it`s the hand we`re playing with, and I`m sure as hell not going to fold just because the whole game is bullshit. We are going to destroy this little geas and prove to everyone that you are a good person and that I am not to be fucked with!"

　　Jeremiah swallowed. "Uh, yeah. Definitely."

　　"Good! You can have Gus back tomorrow, I need him to help me think tonight." With that, Delilah turned on her heel and disappeared into her room, slamming the door behind her.

　　Delilah`s determined fervor only intensified over the next few weeks, but Jeremiah began to doubt the feasibility of achieving a stay of execution. Delilah had wasted no time in reaching out to her vast network of professional contacts about work for a necromancer, only to discover that many refused to even accept her communications. She even made inquiries with several of Bruno`s connections, where there was slightly more promise. However, once the discussions turned to official court reports, interest vanished faster than a tipsy tourist`s purse

　　Meanwhile, a cadre of protesters had formed outside the house. Jeremiah awoke each morning to chants calling for his exile, torture, or death. As he wasn`t allowed to leave the house except on official business, and Delilah had been unable to drum up any official business, he was stuck listening to sermons on the evil of the undead, lectures on the atrocities wrought by necromancers throughout history, and fabrications of evil deeds supposedly performed by Jeremiah himself.

　　One afternoon Allison had come home with a black eye and a split lip. She attributed it to a disagreement about "the legal ramifications of the outcome of the court case". Jeremiah deduced that only a fellow fighter could have injured Allison during a brawl. It seemed the damage to Allison`s reputation for associating with him was taking its toll even within the warrior`s guild. She brushed off his concern, but he went to bed with a pit of guilt in his stomach.

　　Determined to be useful and help make up for the time Delilah was spending looking for necromancer work, Jeremiah eventually convinced Delilah to let him help her in the lab. She ushered him through the door upstairs on the left as though they were entering a mausoleum.

　　Every surface of the laboratory was stacked with glassware tubing that curled around metal stands like vines, hefty beakers with swollen bottoms, and racks upon racks of tiny glass tubes filled with colorful liquids. Just looking at the equipment made Jeremiah feel overly large and clumsy, and the acrid sting of odors made his head swim. He kept careful track of his limbs as he followed Delilah between the tables.

　　Jeremiah tried to pay close attention while Delilah showed him around the lab, although he had no idea what she was saying most of the time. Nevertheless, her enthusiasm for her work held his attention and made everything sound either very important or very dangerous. After the introduction, she supervised him closely as he followed her instructions to distribute a viscous purple fluid from a heated container into several small jars. He breathed a sigh of relief when she declared his work satisfactory.

　　"What are these?" he asked as she stoppered and labeled the jars.

　　"Not much on their own. But when combined with a few other compounds I have cooking, it becomes that stuff I poured on the stairs at the goblin warren. I call it blast jelly, my own recipe!" She held up a jar against the light for him to admire, beaming with pride.

　　"Which one is the healing potion you used on Allison?"

　　Delilah`s face fell just a little. "Those are magic, and damn expensive. I can`t make them." She looked almost guilty at the admission. "But I do have a speed healing tonic!" She indicated a long crystal pipe that was dripping pearlescent fluid into tiny vials. "It`s not useful in a combat situation, but you`ll get a month`s worth of natural healing overnight. You also develop an incredible fever and are weakened for a few days after, but there are lots of situations where it`s worth it. The recipe is very rare."

　　Jeremiah took a vial and flicked it, watching tiny bubbles crawl through the viscous liquid.

　　"How come Allison didn`t take this when her shoulder got wrecked?"

　　"Because it speeds up natural healing. Natural healing wasn`t going to be kind to a shoulder ground to dust like that. But these will do the job for plenty of injuries, given enough time."

　　As the weeks slipped by, Jeremiah gradually earned Delilah`s trust as a lab assistant. She delegated more and more complex tasks to him, even leaving him alone on occasion to run an errand or attend a meeting. Jeremiah was grateful for the opportunity to feel helpful and to distract himself from the nagging fear that his year and a day were going to pass with him remaining trapped in the house, without a single opportunity to demonstrate his capabilities. His friends would continue to suffer for defending him and then he would be executed anyway, just another evil necromancer the world was better off without.The author`s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

　　Jeremiah was just finishing setting up a gradual decantation when Delilah burst through the front door with a triumphant shout of his name. He called back that he`d be done in a minute. He wanted to sprint downstairs, but he forced himself to clean up as methodically as ever, not quite daring to let himself believe in the hope that bloomed in his chest.

　　He found Delilah vibrating in the kitchen, more animated than she had been in weeks. "We have ourselves a taker!" she said. "I don`t know the details, but I was contacted by Mr. Albert Dunsimmons, one of the largest commercial farmers in the region. He`s sent for us, come on!"

　　Jeremiah needed only a moment to gather his things. He stepped outside for the first time in over a month to find a carriage waiting, the horses skittish and fitful by the mob of jeering protesters. Delilah hurried him into the carriage, plopping beside him with an armful of agriculture books. "I`m not sure what he needs us to do, so we should be prepared. Read this."

　　Delilah forced a book upon him and dove into her own, but Jeremiah wasn`t in the mood to read. He watched the city rumble by outside, craning to see the blue spring sky, hungry to soak any sight beyond those same four walls.

　　They passed under the city gate. Outside Dramir, the horizon stretched on forever. Jeremiah grinned at the open fields, his heart lighter than it had been for as long as he could remember. He imagined himself running through the pastures, free to go wherever he pleased&

　　Jeremiah was brought back to earth as the carriage turned onto a narrow dirt road. They passed acres of dirt fields before arriving at the farm compound. The compound included a few houses, a row of warehouses and silos, and a truly massive barn just beside the receiving area. Workers shouted as they arrived, dropping what they were doing to assemble into formation like soldiers. An older man strode forward to meet the carriage, dressed in finery speckled with mud, polished silver buttons holding in his heaving gut.

　　"I will be blunt," the man said as they disembarked. Jeremiah suspected he didn`t know any other way to be. "I am the richest, most landed farmer of Dramir. But a plague has befallen my entire stable of horses, and the equinarians say there`s no hope for them. Plowing season is nearly at an end, yet my fields are untouched. I risk missing out on the entire year. This would not only harm my finances and my standing, but would create a food scarcity in Dramir."

　　Delilah scribbled notes as he spoke. "What would you have us do, Mr. Dunsimmons?"

　　"Get my fields plowed. I don`t know or care what kind of magic you wield, mage, but if you salvage my year, I will write whatever affidavit you need." His tone acquired a hint of menace. "And from what I hear, you can`t afford to miss this chance."

　　Jeremiah and Delilah exchanged a look. The man was right.

　　Delilah gave a curt nod. "Thank you for this opportunity, sir. We will evaluate the situation and begin as soon as possible. You will not be disappointed."

　　Dunsimmons dismissed his assembled workers with a bark. They scattered like frightened mice, save for a grey-haired halfling. He was clad head to foot in leather apron, gloves, boots, and mask, all splotched with dark green and black. As the halfling approached the carriage, a putrid stink made Jeremiah`s eyes water.

　　"Afternoon, sir," the halfling said. "Wish there was better news, but another six have died, and there`s no sign of improvement from the others."

　　Dunsimmons patted the halfling on the shoulder. "Cease your worrying, Garth. The mage has agreed to help. Take us inside now, show him what he`s working with."

　　They followed Garth to the stables housed within the colossal barn, which turned out to be built like a labyrinth. Additions had been built over the years, seemingly at random. The stables were honeycombed with stalls, and in each and every one was a dead or dying horse.

　　Jeremiah`s stomach swam. The stench only grew as Garth led them between the stalls. The horses were covered in weeping pustules, lying still or standing listlessly. They did not acknowledge the strangers` approach.

　　"You got a cure for this?" asked Garth.

　　Jeremiah shook his head. "No. What I do isn`t in the realm of healing." At the halfling`s curious look, Jeremiah knelt before a stall where a horse lay dead. He spoke the words and reached between the wooden railings to brush the horse`s muzzle. At once, necromantic energy flowed through his fingers and into the corpse. A bubble formed in his head, much larger than the ones created by humanoids.

　　Rise.

　　The horse slowly rolled onto its feet and pushed itself up.

　　Garth gasped. "You brought her back!" He laughed and reached to stroke the mare`s nose. "Hey Daisy, you feeling better, girl?" But Garth froze as soon as he touched the creature. He looked into its eyes, then stepped away, glancing between Jeremiah and Dunsimmons. "What the hell is this thing?"

　　"Yes," said Dunsimmons, "what just happened here?" He kept his distance, but his gaze was fearless as he watched the animated horse.

　　"I`ve raised it as a zombie under my control," said Jeremiah. "It`s still very much dead, but I might be able to use it, and the others, to do some plowing."

　　"Mr. Dunsimmons, may I speak with you? Privately?" asked Garth. Dunsimmons continued to watch the horse. Jeremiah imagined the gears turning in his head. "Mr. Dunsimmons?"

　　"Yes. Yes of course." They departed around a corner, leaving Jeremiah and Delilah alone.

　　Delilah approached the horse and inspected it. "Is it&safe to touch?" she asked him.

　　"Yes. It won`t do anything without me telling it to."

　　She reached a hand and stroked the nose as Garth had done. "It`s so still." She flinched in surprise when the corpse playfully nudged at her hand.

　　"You`re doing this?" she asked. Jeremiah nodded, letting the nudging continue. "It`s strange. It`s moving like a horse, but it`s not the same. It seems wrong. Can you feel that I`m touching it?"

　　"Not exactly. I`m aware of contact with it, and the intensity of the contact. I could distinguish a touch from a blow, but that`s about it. I can`t use their senses, either&at least I don`t think I can. Flusoh never mentioned it."

　　There was a shout from around the corner. "You`re getting what you want, so quit complaining!" Dunsimmons marched back, straight up to Jeremiah. "You`ve got my permission to do whatever you need to do to get my fields plowed. Garth and Randy, my head horseman, will assist you. But I need results quickly! You have a week."

　　Jeremiah was stunned. "A week? Sir, with the acreage you have, it must take a month to plow!"

　　Dunsimmons considered Jeremiah coldly. "I made my fortune doing things people said were impossible. We need to get seeds in the ground. You have a week. I trust you`ll find a way."

　　Dunsimmons left the stables. Jeremiah worked his jaw as though chewing the enormity of the task ahead of them.

　　Garth`s voice brought him back to the present. He was staring forlornly at another dead horse. "You can`t actually save them, can you?"

　　"I`m sorry. I wish I could." Jeremiah brushed the flank of the still horse. It rose up to standing. Garth looked away. "Show me all the dead ones. I can`t do them all today, but I can at least get started."

　　Garth led them through the labyrinthine stables, and Jeremiah`s mind slowly filled with bubbles. He became reliant on Garth`s guidance as there was less room for Jeremiah in his own head. His ability to focus and cast grew weaker, and he began to require several attempts to get the spell right.

　　After 35 horses, he just couldn`t do any more. He pronounced the words correctly and his gestures were accurate as always, but he lacked the focus to exert his will. Once you`re tapped, you`re tapped, Flusoh`s voice said in his ear. Don`t waste time frustrating yourself.

　　"All done today," Jeremiah said. "Horses lie down." The zombie horses silently lied down in unison. He was finally able to reduce the size of the bubbles, giving them only the barest focus needed to keep them in existence. Even so, they were larger than the bubble of a normal humanoid zombie.

　　Jeremiah blinked slowly and as his awareness of his surroundings returned to almost normal. He was still exhausted. He and Delilah followed Garth outside, where Jeremiah gulped the fresh air with relief.

　　Dunsimmons was speaking with a rugged-looking half-elf. "Randy," said Dunsimmons, "this is the mage."

　　"Pleased to meet ya," said Randy with palpable disdain. Jeremiah shook his hand, trying to hide his discomfort as Randy squeezed just a little too hard.

　　Jeremiah skipped right to business. "Show me what the horses have to do. How they`ll be using the plows."

　　Randy gave a mirthless laugh. "Don`t even know how to plow? This ought to be a treat."

　　The farm possessed a variety of plows. Most were single man, but there were a few four- and five-blade wheeled plows that ran with little effort on the part of the driver. These required a team of twelve or more horses to overcome the earth`s resistance. Dunsimmons assured Jeremiah that his men were experts and would take care of their side. Jeremiah just had to worry about his magic.

　　And Jeremiah did worry. Commanding a few horses to walk in straight lines across the fields was simple enough, but the magnitude of the job, and the number of animals he`d need to raise to complete it in a week sounded impossible.

　　Dunsimmons dismissed them for the evening and Jeremiah and Delilah bid goodnight to Garth and Randy, the latter still not bothering to hide his scorn. As they walked to the small cottage they`d be staying in, Delilah asked, "You think you can handle this?"

　　"I don`t know," Jeremiah replied honestly. "The horses are a lot bigger than humans, in my head that is, and Dunsimmons has some high expectations."

　　"If you can impress him, he might open a lot of doors for us. Well, he might open any other door at all."

　　"Huh?" Jeremiah had heard her, but he was having trouble following the conversation.

　　"I—never mind, Jay. Why don`t you just get some sleep? We`re going to be up early."