Necromancer Awakening

by Nat Russo

When Emaldor had left the audience chamber, Tithian faced Kagan. “I would never question you in front of the ambassador, but—”

  “I would prefer you never question me at all,” Kagan said. “To question me is to question the gods. Is that your intent? Perhaps you are aware of some morsel of information of which they are not?”

  Tithian lowered his head and suppressed a shiver. “I would never do such a thing, Holy One.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t.” Kagan tilted his head back and looked down at Tithian over his long nose. “You are a loyal and pious man, and that is what I prize about you. All men suffer from breaches in judgment now and again. Now, tell me of my son. What of the attack on Paradise.”

  “Paradise is destroyed, as is the orb of power.” Tithian swallowed. “But the Mukhtaar Lord escaped with the heir. The talisman indicates they head toward Caspardis.”

  Kagan’s face was expressionless. “What is he called? Do you know?”

  The question caught him off guard until he remembered the child disappeared from the Pinnacle before his naming day.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do not think for a moment you will be invulnerable if the Council moves against me. When you assumed the privileges of that traitor’s office, you also assumed the risks. If there is a fall…we fall together.”

  “The heir is my primary concern right now, Holy One.”

  “You know your task. See it done. But there is something else.”

  Kagan turned and started walking back to his seat.

  “Retrieve the Shandarian ambassador’s ceremonial dagger and place it inside my desk,” Kagan said. “I trust you have your ways?”

  “I do.”

  “I wish to examine it…without his knowledge.”

  Tithian bowed and left Kagan alone in the audience chamber. What could the archmage want with that blade? He offered a silent prayer to Arin, and hoped the God of Life would guide him.

  As he turned the corner out of the audience chamber he stumbled against the door jam and tore another hole in his favorite boots.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Nicolas was sticky from the humidity, and his bindings kept him from wiping the sweat from his forehead. The dwarf tree forest turned to grassy plain as the patrol made its way to Caspardis. The plain sloped downward toward a walled city on the horizon and beyond to a vast sea whose surface frothed from the wind that whipped it up. Ships were anchored in a harbor that dominated the length of the city.

  It had taken most of the first day for him to get used to the odd sensation of floating through the air. The adda-ki, the creature the Shandarian Rangers used as a mount, was an agile creature. If it weren’t for the wind on his face and the passing landscape, he wouldn’t know he was moving. He spent much of his time battling an ever-present fear that threatened to spin him into a panic. Mujahid had always been there to save him, but now the older necromancer was as much a prisoner as he was.

  Necropotency was all around, but it felt different from before, as if it existed just beyond the reach of his mind.

  The city spread out for several miles to the north and south in one uniform, light brown color, as if each building had been carved from the same type of stone. Towers with crenelated parapets punctuated the massive wall that surrounded the city, flying red flags with a cat’s eye in the center.

  They passed a signpost on the outskirts of the city. The sign contained two words, one on top of the other, written in a strange language. An arrow on the top pointed toward the city, while an arrow on the bottom pointed toward a large camp.

  They turned toward the camp and wound their way among large, mud-covered canvas tents, which were arranged in concentric circles. The rangers removed the mysterious fabric that rendered them translucent and revealed their faces to the guards standing post.

  They did the same for their adda-ki, revealing only the creatures’ heads, and Nicolas took a sharp breath when they removed the first hood.

  The adda-ki was a brilliant red and its head was feline, resembling a panther with a bright red lion’s mane.

  The roar of the adda-ki caught several of the soldiers by surprise, and the rangers laughed in response. Multiple rows of razor-sharp blades lined its cavernous maw. Nicolas was glad to be on the creature’s back and not standing in front of it.

  The smell of meat roasting over fire reached Nicolas’s nose, and his stomach growled. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate.

  “Hold,” Saren said.

  The rangers brought their mounts to a quick stop. Captain Saren dismounted and handed the reins of his adda-ki to a stable hand.

  “Sinner Charles. Have the prisoners taken to the holding area and fed,” Saren said.

  “Ho rangers.” An older man, dressed in leather armor, and bald except for a beard and mustache, approached the group. “May Arin bless us through your presence.” The man stopped and bowed, spreading his arms in the same gesture Mujahid used when they first met the rangers.

  “And may my passing leave you elevated,” Saren said.

  “What news of the north?” the man asked, standing straight once more.

  “We come from the east,” Saren said.

  “Even better. We march east.”

  Saren’s head jerked back. “What would cause a full brigade to march east?”

  “We’ve been ordered to march on Dyr Agul.”

  “And what do you know of Dyr Agul?”

  The man shrugged.

  “Agul is a merchant city, nothing more,” Saren said.

  “Fifth Mounted is already on the march.”

  Saren swore. He did a double take when he saw Nicolas and Mujahid standing there.

  “What are you waiting for, Sinner Charles?” Saren asked.

  The man they called “Sinner Charles” nodded and led Nicolas and Mujahid into a tent, where he lashed them to the central tent post, leaving one arm free—which struck Nicolas as odd, not that he could do much with it. He had a scar in the center of his forehead, but the longer Nicolas stared at it, the more certain he became it was no scar at all. It was a brand.

  “Why do they call you that?” Nicolas asked.

  “Nicolas, no,” Mujahid said.

  “My shame isn’t great enough for you?” Sinner Charles said. “Don’t be so smug. I prefer my fate to yours. Now don’t go anywhere, ladies.” He stood and left the tent.

  “I didn’t mean to offend the guy,” Nicolas said.

  “The man lost his mount.”

  “So what? I just asked him—”

  “I’m answering your question, boy. The Rangers revere the adda-ki as a holy animal. They hold the creature’s life more valuable than their own. Sinner Charles will bear the title Sinner until he is granted another mount. And he will bear that mark on his face for the rest of his life. If it happens again, his life is forfeit.”

  Mention of the ranger’s possible execution rattled Nicolas. “What’s going to happen to us?”

  “Shandarian justice. They are going to conduct a trial, at which they’ll find you guilty of necromancy and me guilty of assisting you. This way they can kill you legally and go to bed with clear consciences. All neat and proper, the way Shandarians like it.”

  “They won’t execute you?”

  “They don’t know who I am yet.”

  “I don’t get it. What the hell did we do that was so bad?”

  “You really need to work on your listening skills. Necromancy is illegal in Erindor.”

  Shadows on the front of the tent caught Nicolas’s attention. Two men were setting up a table out in front, and they were in the middle of an argument.

  “When’s the last time the sky brought a building down on that big-boned head of yours, Gant?” One of the voices said.

  “I’m saying it would be nice if the sky didn’t look like piss every day, Boll, that’s all,” Gant said in a low pitch.

  “That’s my point, you monkey’s arse,” Boll said. “The sky turns yellow, and then the whole feste
ring world starts shaking like it’s riding on the back of a mating shriller. And what do those adda-buggering council magi have to say about it?”

  “How am I s’posed to know? Ain’t never been to the Pinnacle.”

  “Purger’s bollocks, you’re a thick one,” Boll said. “Piss off and feed the prisoner’s already. I don’t want to spend the next three days shoveling shite because of you.”

  One of them entered the tent and set two bowls on the ground. He looked at Nicolas and quickly turned and left.

  The dude’s bigger than all hell and he’s afraid of me?

  The smell of the stew made Nicolas’s stomach growl, and it became clear why they had left one arm unchained. He ate as fast as possible.

  “Was that true?” Nicolas asked. “What that guy said about the quakes starting when the barrier went up?”

  “He had his reasons for making it,” Mujahid said.

  Nicolas squinted.

  “Your father. He thought he was serving the people.”

  “Is he keeping people in, or keeping people out?”

  “Ahh…there’s activity in that brain of yours.”

  Nicolas rolled his eyes.

  “An empire from across the ocean, the Barathosian Empire, once declared war on the three kingdoms. They sent an armada that anchored off the coast of Dar Rodon. There were so many ships you could walk the breadth of the Bay of Relig without stepping in water.”

  “Why did they want a war?”

  “Your father killed their ambassador.”

  Nicolas wanted to feel something, anything, after hearing his father was a murderer, but the archmage was still more hypothetical than real. Regardless of what Mujahid said, he had no real connection to that tyrant or his Pinnacle. The only person he had a true connection with was Kaitlyn.

  “So what did the ambassador do that pissed Kagan off so much?”

  “The Barathosians have an archmage of their own. They worship the same gods and keep the same rituals. Your father saw that archmage as a rival rather than a colleague. He was certain Arin had forsaken him.”

  “Still…all-out war? I may be new around here, but I ain’t stupid. There must have been an attempt at a diplomatic—”

  “The Barathosian ambassador was heir to the throne of Barathos,” Mujahid said.

  Nicolas whistled.

  Mujahid finished eating and put his spoon in the bowl, which was sitting on the ground in front of him.

  “You never answered about the quakes,” Nicolas said.

  “They started the day the barrier went up. Many believe it’s the god’s anger that shakes the ground and destroys our buildings.”

  “You too, I take it?” Nicolas smirked.

  “I was there the day humankind gave them reason.”

  Nicolas wanted to roll his eyes. He didn’t put much stock in this gods business.

  “No, boy. Whatever the source, it isn’t the gods. I believe these quakes are a consequence of acting on partial knowledge. Arin could have stopped Kagan, on that day, yet he chose not to. He spoke of things I don’t fully understand…about souls that have yet to be born into this world, as if they already exist and are simply waiting.”

  Nicolas put his spoon down.

  “I know it will be hard, but try to get some rest,” Mujahid said.

  Mujahid stretched out as much as the lashings would allow.

  Nicolas pushed the bowl aside to clear a place for his legs, and tried to rest his aching back against the lashing post.

  The sound of Captain Saren’s loud voice drew Nicolas’s attention.

  “Get them up and on mounts, Sinner Charles,” Saren said.

  “Yes sir,” Sinner Charles said and entered the tent. He untied Nicolas’s lashings and pulled him to his feet. Another ranger was doing the same for Mujahid, and Nicolas realized they were no longer translucent. He was relieved they appeared human in every other way.

  Sinner Charles marched them out of the tent to the waiting ranger patrol. Many of the men were already mounted, and Nicolas’s jaw dropped when he saw the adda-ki. They were no longer translucent either. Their bright red coats stood in stark contrast to the drab surroundings of the camp. Their extra legs made them seem nightmarish, and Nicolas found it unnerving to look at them, like staring too close at a spider. The adda-ki appeared bred for agility, with long, lithe figures and legs that were capable of quick bursts of speed.

  Someone forced Nicolas up onto an adda-ki, behind the same ranger he rode with the day before.

  “You know the drill,” the ranger said. “Grab the pommel and draw no energy.”

  “Don’t worry,” Nicolas said. “There ain’t any.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” the ranger said.

  They rode out of camp the same way they entered. When they approached the sign with two arrows, they turned and trotted down the grassy plain toward the city. The adda-ki stood out against everything they passed, as if they had been taken from some alien, multi-hued world and inserted into a colorless environment.

  The outside of the city was falling into ruins. A section of wall had collapsed, and three of the numerous parapets had crumbled to the ground. Parapet flags whipped above the heads of the armored wall guards, and ships unfurled their sails in the distant harbor.

  As they made their way down the sloped plain, the view of the harbor disappeared, and the ruined wall loomed large in front of them. Uniformed guards snapped to attention as they trotted through a great arch and under a set of iron gates.

  The crowd of people parted and cowered as the red adda-ki entered an enormous plaza.

  The buildings were falling apart, and several leaned together at odd angles. Merchants set up their wares in tents that lined the edges of the plaza and people congregated amongst three large fountains that dominated the center of the place. The fountains were no better off than the buildings—there was no running water, and the statues were crumbling.

  City guards chased one of the merchants between two tents. The merchant was putting up a good fight, but it didn’t take long for the guards to subdue him. They led him away from the plaza down a wide avenue.

  Nicolas reached out with his mind. Like before, the necropotency was there, but it retreated whenever he reached for it. It was like trying to grab water with his fingers.

  A burst of pain erupted in the center of his face.

  “Try that again and I’ll show these people how an adda-ki keeps its prey alive while it eats.”

  When his vision returned he saw the ranger’s arm moving away from him, and blood dripped from the man’s elbow.

  “Don’t think my threat empty, boy. You know the worth of a ranger’s word.”

  Nicolas wanted to wipe away the blood dripping down his face, but there was no slack in his bindings. He would have to do his best to ignore it.

  Everywhere he looked, he saw destruction. It was as if the end of the world had come and gone, but the people hadn’t noticed. Instead, they went about their business, ignoring debris and avoiding the rangers.

  What he didn’t see bothered him more than what he did see, however. As in Paradise, there were no young children or teenagers in the streets.

  After several turns an expansive fortress came into view. The fortress, like other buildings in the city, was also falling into ruin. The main building was circular in shape, and the wall on top gave Nicolas the impression of teeth on a saw, as if the entire roof were an enormous battlement.

  They entered a large sandy plaza in front of the fortress.

  Two large poles topped with metal hoops stuck out of the dirt, and the ground between them was darkened, like wet sand. A gigantic bell tower had been set into the wall next to a gate that led farther into the keep, but Nicolas didn’t see a church nearby.

  They passed through the gate and dismounted in the courtyard beyond. The rangers untied them and led them down into the basement of the fortress through damp tunnels permeated with mold. Water dripped in the distance, from some unseen source
, echoing off the stone walls with every splash. But even with blazing torches spaced several yards apart, causing an alternating pattern of light and dark on the walls, Nicolas still had a difficult time seeing.

  A fortress guard jumped as they turned a corner in the hall.

  “Why are you taking them through here,” the guard said. “We’re not—Rangers?”

  The guard’s face paled in the shimmering torchlight.

  “Just unlock the door and get back to doing nothing,” Saren said.

  The guard nodded and swung the door aside. Beyond it, prisoners stood huddled in a group of jail cells. One of the cells was open, and two guards flanked the entrance.

  A ranger untied Nicolas’s lashings.

  “Remove the other prisoners,” Saren said. “Take them to the cells near the crypt”

  Mujahid turned his head at mention of a crypt.

  “Arin’s bollocks,” a guard said. “I don’t care who you are, they don’t pay me enough.”

  Saren turned on the man and his feline eyes squinted.

  “This is a necromancer, you idiot.”

  The guard swallowed then nodded toward the other guard.

  When the last of the prisoners had been moved, Captain Saren gave Nicolas a firm shove in the direction of the nearest open cell.

  “In you go,” Saren said.

  Mujahid followed, and the cell was locked shut.

  “Welcome to Caspardis,” Saren said. “I’d tell you to enjoy your stay…”

  Saren turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Nicolas said. “What happens now?”

  Saren glanced over his shoulder. “You won’t be here long.”

  Nicolas spun to face Mujahid as panic rose in his throat. “What now?”

  “We wait. There’s nothing else to be done. We’re without power.”

  “What about the crypt he was talking about before?”

  “Unless you can find a way through these walls, the crypt won’t do us any good. Just look, listen, and speak as little as possible.”

  “But there has to be—”

  “Powerless is powerless, boy!” Mujahid looked away. “Without necropotency, I’m just a man like any other.”