The Rise of Nagash

by Mike Lee

  That mattered little to the small group of men who crept up to the far side of the pyramid shortly after midnight. There was more than one entrance into the great crypt, if one knew where to find them. The leader of the group touched a series of faint indentations on the pyramid’s smooth surface and a narrow portal slid open with only the faintest grating of stone.

  Once inside, the group lit small oil lamps and followed their guide through a maze of narrow passageways and vast, echoing chambers that led them inexorably towards the centre of the pyramid. Finally, their path ended when they came to a blank wall at the far end of a long, sloping corridor. The guide ran his fingers over the stone until he found a tiny indentation. There was a faint click, and a section of the wall swung inwards.

  The cloaked figures slipped silently through the doorway. Their guide was already moving around the large chamber beyond, lighting a series of larger oil lamps with a practised ease born of long familiarity. The expanding glow revealed shelves heaped with scrolls and thick, leather-bound books, as well as broad tables cluttered with a plethora of arcane objects made from glass, metal and bone. Elaborate skeletons, some human, others bestial, were fixed together with wire and stood on display in various corners of the room. The men looked around the chamber in awe, amazed at the sheer wealth of knowledge contained within.

  One man in the middle of the group reached up and pulled back his hood. Lamashizzar raised his oil lamp high above his head and stared covetously at the many bookshelves.

  “You never said there would be so much,” he whispered. “We’ll never get them all out.”

  “We don’t need all of them,” Arkhan said. The immortal worked his way across Nagash’s library until he stood before an apparently bare stretch of wall. He felt the stone carefully for the hidden lever, wary of the booby traps set in the wall around it. Finally he found what he was looking for, and with a gentle tug a part of the wall swung open, revealing a niche that contained four leather-bound tomes. The immortal’s lips pulled back in a ghastly smile. “The other books are just records of Nagash’s experiments. These are the ones that contain all the things that he learned, including the secret of his elixir.”

  Arkhan felt his pulse race as he closed his hands around the books. Here at last was the knowledge he craved. He would return to his tower with the books and unravel their secrets, starting with the formula for Nagash’s life-giving elixir. Already the hunger was so great that it cut into his guts like a knife. Soon he would regain his full strength, and then he would plumb his master’s more esoteric spells. Who could say what might happen after that? The power of the old gods was broken, and the land devastated by war. The people of Nehekhara would need a new leader for the dark times to come.

  “You said that the pyramid was to be sealed,” Arkhan said to the Lahmian king as he placed the books in a leather bag that hung from his shoulders. “What will the kings do then?”

  “The hunt will continue,” Lamashizzar replied. “Rakh-amn-hotep intends to march on Ka-Sabar next. Seheb and Nuneb have said they intend to return to Numas and scour the city for signs of your fellow immortals, while Khansu and Hekhmenukep plan to return to Quatar. There is talk that one of the Lybaran king’s sons may become king of the city.”

  Arkhan nodded absently, still with his back to Lamashizzar and his men. There were only five of them, and with his preternatural senses he could place each and every one of them around the large room. His hand reached down and drew a narrow dagger that he’d concealed in his sleeve. Weak as he was, he was still a match for five normal men.

  “What of Amn-nasir? Aren’t you afraid he might tell someone about our little arrangement?” he asked.

  Lamashizzar affected a sigh, and said, “Unfortunately, the King of Zandri suffered a terrible accident as we were leaving the pyramid earlier today. I’m afraid I accidentally triggered one of Nagash’s many traps, despite the chalk marks left by the Lybaran engineers. Tragically, Amn-nasir was right behind me. The poisoned darts missed me, but one of them struck him in the arm. He died before we could get him back to the surface.”

  The vizier’s smile widened. That was one loose end he had no need to worry about. Once Lamashizzar and his men were dead, he would take Nagash’s tomes and disappear into the desert.

  “Such exceptional treachery,” the vizier said approvingly. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  Quick as a snake, the immortal spun and leapt for the first Lahmian. The man barely had time to shout before Arkhan seized him by the shoulder and spun him around. He slit the man’s throat with a swipe of his dagger and started towards Lamashizzar.

  Suddenly there was a flash of orange light and a clap of thunder. A heavy impact smashed into Arkhan’s chest, just above his heart.

  The immortal staggered. He looked to the Lahmian king, who was holding a miniature version of a dragon-stave in one outstretched hand. Smoke curled from the dragon’s bronze jaws.

  Arkhan’s gaze fell to the blackened hole in his chest. Darkness pressed in at the corners of his vision. He tried to speak, but his lungs refused to draw breath. Slowly, the immortal sank to the floor.

  The Lahmian king walked over to Arkhan’s prone body and carefully studied his face. “Take the monster and as many books as you can carry,” he said to his servants in a steely voice. “I want to be on the way back to Lahmia by mid-morning.”

  Lamashizzar reached down and pulled the books from Arkhan’s bag. While his servants looted the necromancer’s library he opened the first of Nagash’s arcane tomes and began to read.

  Hundreds of leagues to the north-east, where the Plains of Plenty gave way to the broken foothills of the Brittle Peaks, the boiling cloud of locusts used up the last of its strength and plunged earthwards on a trail of smoking insect husks. With a harsh, chittering buzz the last of the insects struck the wasted ground and burst apart in a hideous clatter of chitin and boiling fluids. Wreathed in the vapour of thousands of shattered locusts, a human figure staggered from the centre of the dying mass and stumbled forwards for a few, painful steps before collapsing to his knees.

  He could not say for certain how he’d come to this wasteland. Memories flitted at the edge of his awareness like ghosts, haunting him with meaning and then vanishing when he tried to seize them.

  Agony stabbed through him like a hot knife. His left arm was curled tightly against his chest, like a rope that had been wound too tight. A ragged hole had been blown through his upper arm, shattering the bone and causing the muscles to constrict. Two more holes had been driven into his chest, one to the right of his breastbone, just below the lung, and the other a hand’s span above his navel. Bile and other fluids leaked from the wounds, reeking of corruption.

  His face was burning with fever. He reached up with his good hand and pressed it to his forehead, where he found another awful wound. A ragged hole had been punched into his skull, close to the temple. The edges of the bone were splintered, sinking like needles into his fingertips. The touch set his head to pounding and sent more waves of hot agony pulsing through his brain.

  There had been a battle. He could hear the sounds of it in his head: the clatter of bronze and the dry rattle of bones as dead men advanced towards the enemy; an army, his army, marching into a wall of orange flame and bursting into fragments, and then a series of invisible blows striking him one after another, plunging him into darkness.

  He remembered hands pulling at him, dragging him through the blackness, and an eternity of shouting voices and the tumult of battle. When light finally returned, it was grey and unfocused. Dark figures flitted above him, and he could hear harsh whispers that once or twice rose into vicious shouts.

  Look at him! His flesh doesn’t heal, no matter how much blood we give him! What kind of sorcery is this?

  We’ll take him to the pyramid. There is power enough there to make him whole.

  Slay him! Take his blood for our own! If we don’t scatter, the eastern kings will kill us all!

  Cow
ard! Go, then, and be damned! When the master is whole again, how you will suffer!

  The arguments continued until he could take no more, and he cursed at the voices with words of power until they fled like startled birds.

  Later, much later, he was carried into cool, throbbing darkness. Power, soft and sensual, caressed his skin and sank into his wounds. The voices came back, whispering entreaties: call upon the pyramid, master. Heal yourself. Please! The enemy draws near!

  He called, and the power flowed into him, but it lapped uselessly over his wounds. He tried to force it to heal him, but it would not obey no matter what he tried. It was as though the secrets to wielding the power had been taken from him somehow, leaving him bereft.

  Much had been taken from him, of that he was certain.

  Some time later there had been cries of fear, and the sounds of battle once more. A voice called out to him to flee, and then fell silent. For a long time afterwards, there was only darkness.

  Then he heard strange voices, full of anger and the promise of destruction. His enemies had found him at last. Anger and terror consumed him, until the power building beneath his skin threatened to tear him apart. Stone grated on stone, letting in a blade of burning light, and then came the rising sound of wings.

  Nagash turned his head this way and that, taking in the panoramic sweep of the wasteland. Nothing moved among the broken stones and lifeless sand. With a sound that was half-groan, half-growl, he forced himself painfully to his feet and turned around, looking back at the trail of broken husks that stretched towards the green horizon to the south-west.

  His bones were cold and his muscles weak. Only the pain kept him going, denying him any chance of peace. Nagash sought the power that he’d felt in the cool darkness of the pyramid, but there was nothing there. He was as broken and empty as the smoking carapaces at his feet.

  Clenching his one good hand, Nagash the sorcerer threw back his head and howled his rage at the heavens. He cursed the green land at the edge of the world that had once been his.

  Reeling, exhausted, he spun around and glanced northwards, into the wastes. His foes had consigned him to this place somehow. No doubt they expected him to die, and his spirit to be lost forever in this empty land.

  That was when he glimpsed it: a whisper of power, far off among the broken peaks to the north-east. It was faint and ephemeral, twisting effortlessly away from his mind as he tried to focus on it. Not that it mattered. The power was there, beckoning to him in the midst of the wasteland.

  His face set in a grim mask, Nagash took one halting step forwards, and then another. Pain lanced through his frame, but he drew strength from it, driving his legs forwards with bitter strength. A cold wind wracked his body and sent fingers of ice into his wounds, but he embraced the pain gladly.

  The wasteland would sustain him, and one day, he would revisit it upon his foes until all the world was nothing but howling spirits and dry, bleached bones.

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  Khemri - The Living City, once the capital of Settra’s Empire

  Thutep: Priest King of Khemri.

  Neferem: Daughter of the Sun, Queen of Khemri

  Sukhet: Prince of Khemri, Thutep’s son

  Nagash: Firstborn of Khetep, Grand Hierophant of Khemri

  Amamurti: Hierophant of Ptra

  Khetep: Former priest king, slain in battle

  Ghazid: Khetep’s Grand Vizier

  Arkhan: A dissolute minor noble; later Nagash’s vizier

  Raamket: A dissolute minor noble

  Shepsu-hur: A dissolute minor noble

  Khefru: Servant to Nagash

  Malchior: Druchii warlock

  Drutheira: Druchii witch

  Ashniel: Druchii witch

  Zandri - The City of the Waves, wealthy and powerful

  Nekumet: Priest

  Amn-nasir: King of Zandri, Nekumet’s son

  Shep-khet: Hierophant of Qu’aph

  Lahmia - The City of the Dawn, strange and decadent

  Lamasheptra: Priest King of Lahmia and brother to Neferem

  Lamashizzar: The king’s son

  Ka-Sabar - The City of Bronze, industrial and militaristic

  Akhmen-hotep: Priest King of Ka-Sabar

  Suseb the Lion: the king’s champion

  Pakh-amn, Master of Horse: a general in the army

  Memnet: Grand Hierophant of Ptra

  Hashepra: High Priest of Geheb

  Sukhet: High Priest of Phakth

  Khalifra: High Priestess of Neru

  Rasetra - Former Khemri colony, now an independent city

  Rakh-amn-hotep: Priest King of Rasetra

  Guseb: Grand Hierophant of Ptra

  Ekhreb: Champion of Rasetra

  Lybaras - City of Scholars and wondrous inventions

  Hekhmenukep: Priest King of Lybaras

  Shesh-amun: Champion of Lybaras

  Mahrak - City of Hope, birthplace of the old religion

  Nekh-amn-aten: Hierophant of Ptra, member of the Hieratic Council

  Atep-neru: Hierophant of Djaf, member of the Hieratic Council

  Khansu: Hierophant of Khsar, member of the Hieratic Council

  Nebunefer: Priest of Ptra and emissary from Mahrak

  Quatar - The White Palace, guardian of the Valley of Kings

  Nemuhareb: Priest King of Quatar, Lord of the Tombs

  Numas - Breadbasket of the Kingdom

  Seheb and Nuneb: Twin Priest Kings of Numas

  Ankh-memnet: Hierophant of Phakth

  Bhagar - A trading town in the Great Desert

  Shahid ben Alcazzar: Prince of Bhagar

  Bel Aliad - A trading town on the Spice Road to the south

  Suhedir al-Khazem: Keeper of the Hidden Paths, Prince of Bel Aliad

  THE NEHEKHARAN PANTHEON

  The people of the Blessed Land worship a number of gods and goddesses, both major and minor, as part of an ancient pact known as the Great Covenant. According to legend, the Nehekharans first encountered the gods at the site of what is now Mahrak, the City of Hope; the timeless spirits were moved by the suffering of the tribes, and gave them succour amid the wasteland of the desert. In return for the Nehekharans’ eternal worship and devotion, the gods pledged to make them a great people, and would bless their lands until the end of time.

  Each of the great cities of Nehekhara worships one of the great deities as its patron, though devotion to Ptra, the Great Father, is pre-eminent. The high priest of a Nehekharan temple is referred to as the Hierophant. In every city but Khemri, the high priest of Ptra is referred to as the Grand Hierophant.

  In addition to the priesthood, each Nehekharan temple trains an order of holy warriors known as the Ushabti.

  Each Ushabti devotes his life to the service of his patron deity, and is granted superhuman abilities in return. These gifts make the Ushabti among the mightiest warriors in all the Blessed Land. Since the time of Settra, the first and only Nehekharan emperor, the Ushabti of each city have served as bodyguards to the Priest King and his household.

  The fourteen most prominent gods and goddesses of Nehekhara are:

  Ptra: Also called the Great Father, Ptra is the first among the gods and the creator of mankind. Though worshipped all across Nehekhara, the rides of Khemri and Rasetra claim him as their patron.

  Neru: Minor goddess of the moon and wife of Ptra. She protects all Nehekharans from the evils of the night.

  Sakhmet: Minor goddess of the green moon, also called the Green Witch. Ptra’s scheming and vindictive concubine, who is jealous of the Great Father’s love of mankind.

  Asaph: Goddess of beauty, magic and vengeance. Asaph is the patron goddess of Lahmia.

  Djaf: The jackal-headed god of death. Djaf is the patron god of Quatar.

  Khsar: The fierce and malign god of the desert. A cruel and hungry god worshipped by the tribes of the great desert.

  Phakth: The hawk-faced god of the sky and the bringer of swift justice.

  Qu’aph: The god o
f serpents and subtlety. Qu’aph is the patron god of Zandri.

  Ualatp: The vulture-headed god of scavengers.

  Sokth: The treacherous god of assassins and thieves.

  Basth: The goddess of grace and love.

  Geheb: The god of the earth and the giver of strength. Geheb is the patron god of Ka’Sabar.

  Tahoth: The god of knowledge and the keeper of sacred lore. Tahoth is the patron god of Lybaras.

  Usirian: The faceless god of the underworld. Usirian judges the souls of the dead and determines if they are fit to enter into the afterlife.

  NAGASH THE UNBROKEN

  ONE

  Balance of Power

  Lahmia, The City of the Dawn, in the 70th year of Basth the Graceful

  (-1650 Imperial Reckoning)

  The yellow silk roof of the Hall of Rebirth rippled like a great sail in the freshening wind blowing from the coast, and its polished cedar timbers groaned like a great ship at sea. The comparison seemed particularly apt, Neferata thought bitterly, given the legion of shipwrights that had been hastily drafted to build it.

  Preparations for the great Council of Kings had gone on for three solid months, beginning on the very day that the fateful news had arrived from Ka-Sabar. Even as word raced through the winding city streets that the City of Bronze had fallen at last, and the long war against the Usurper had finally come to an end, King Lamashizzar was already digging into the city treasury in anticipation of his royal peers’ arrival. Commissions by the hundred flowed from the palace and descended like flocks of sea birds on the astonished city merchants and trading factors: jars of fine wine by the hundreds; casks of beer by the thousands; cunning gifts of gold, silver and bronze; bales of silk by the ton and a queen’s ransom in fine spices and rare incense.