Ah, may the archdevils of Urgash take my soul! This is exactly what I feared most! — this was the second thought that hit my head with the speed of an assassin's arrow; the first, flying through with the speed of an elf hunter's arrow, was "I'm out of luck."
Switching my staff to my left hand and drawing my sword with my right (I tucked the dagger back into my sleeve), I slowly backed away, preparing a haste spell — as I felt, it might come in handy... The main thing, I told myself, is no provoking movements... They don't seem to be in a hurry — so there's no need to rush them. I'll try to reason with them instead.
I was able to make a few conclusions immediately — first, the forces possessing the elf had either left him and killed him almost instantly, or they saw through his eyes and didn't kill him to keep their secrets hidden; regardless, I would have preferred the first option. Second, someone had clearly woken the people and attracted their attention — I hadn't looked around and chosen a quiet, deserted spot for nothing; in principle, this could indicate that whoever cast the spell on the elf: a) saw everything through his eyes and b) was nearby, thus managing to drive the people here. Although, in principle, it could have been his agent, with whom he also had a mental link. Or it could have been... but enough guessing, I have more important matters at hand, namely, angry peasants.
So, I could surrender — with a high probability of being killed — I could run — best of all to the priest, who seems to trust me, could shelter me, and would most likely understand that I'm telling the truth: servants of Elrath feel truth and goodness more acutely than others. And finally, I could try to convince the peasants not to harm me and — if I'm very lucky — find something out from them.
I decided to try and convince them, and if that didn't help — summon lightning and try to bolt; it was riskier than running away immediately, but I decided to take the chance.
Quickly casting haste on myself and beginning to prepare lightning, I addressed the peasants, raising my hands to the sky for greater effect:
— Listen, brothers! Strange things are happening in this city!
— That's for sure, — one of them grimaced, a burly fellow with a club in his hands, — it's not every day Necromancers (he spat on the ground after that word) wander around here...
The growing crowd cackled in approval, but I didn't react.
— I see you have judged me quickly. But is this what Elrath, the patron of mankind, desires? Does he not want justice? And is there no longing for justice within yourselves? Before deciding whether I am a Necromancer, find out something about the situation and at least hear my side of the story!
I suspect that if they had crossbows or bows instead of clubs, they wouldn't have listened; but now, standing with short, poor weapons against a half-human with a longsword, they preferred to listen first. Not that they thought they could defeat me, no; it's just that no one wanted to take the two or three sword strikes I could land, or the spell that I, as a suspected Necromancer, had surely already prepared. Using all my powers of persuasion, I continued:
— So, it happened like this... — having come up with nothing better, I simply told them my story in brief. Finally, I said:
— If you don't believe me — here are my wounds (and I showed them my injured arm and the bloodstain on my side). If I am such a powerful Necromancer that I can kill just as easily as you think I killed this elf, I would hardly have allowed myself to be beaten like this. And wounding myself would be very strange.
I fell silent. I couldn't see the effect it had on the crowd. They were silent, thinking about something... And then another idea occurred to me, and I grasped it like a straw:
— You can call the priest here. I can't leave now anyway (and this was true, as too many people had gathered), so you needn't worry...
Having said this, I froze in anticipation, praying to Elrath and clutching the sleeve with the "lucky dagger"...