by Nat Russo
“I demand an audience with ambassador Emaldor,” Ghanix said. His face had turned as crimson as the Dragon of Religar embroidered across his desert robes. “We welcome them into our city, and they thank us by destroying it?”
Kagan made a placating gesture with his hand and sat in the high-backed chair behind his desk.
“First,” Kagan said, “thank you for agreeing to meet with me here, Emissary Ghanix. The Pinnacle sometimes has ears of its own. Please, have a seat.” Kagan gestured toward one of the chairs in front of Ghanix.
“I am comfortable standing, thank you.”
“I will remind you to recall who provoked this response,” Kagan said. “The Shandarian Union did not invade your nation on a whim. Technically, Emissary, the actions of your nation could be considered prelude to war.”
Bile rose in Tithian’s throat. Kagan had caused the invasion, and now he tried to blame the Emperor of Religar. That sand under his faith was shifting again.
“This entire matter disgusts me,” Kagan said. “Two nations fighting like shrillers over a wounded adda.”
“With all respect, Holy One, the Pinnacle doesn’t have to fight for basic resources. The faithful bring gifts to your doorstep every day, in spite of how lavish this place is.” Ghanix stopped and bowed. “By Arin’s beneficence, of course.”
“The Council does not wish for war to come to Erindor, but under the circumstances we can hardly stop you.”
Ghanix tilted his head to the side. “The Pinnacle…bastion of peace in the three kingdoms…would accept war between Dar Rodon and Shandar?”
Tithian listened in disbelief. If the archmage didn’t act to stop this escalation, war would be inevitable.
Ghanix smiled. “No. I think it’s time for cooler heads to prevail. I will not advise the Emperor to go to war when war is precisely what he wishes to avoid. The Empire can’t afford a war on two fronts.”
“Surely you don’t expect the Barathosian armada to come crawling back,” Kagan said.
Tithian shook his head. Kagan was reminding Ghanix of the vast power he wielded.
Ghanix chuckled. “If the armada ever breaches the barrier, the three kingdoms will cease to exist. Perhaps even the Pinnacle itself would cease to exist. Arin forbid, of course.”
“The world will always need an archmage, Emissary.”
“Barathos has no need for a second archmage, or have you forgotten? With Barathos in charge you’d be little more than a temple priest…if their archmage even let you live. Tell me, would you let their archmage live if placed in that position?”
Kagan lost his smile. “Is there a point in your rambling, Emissary?”
Ghanix bowed. “Forgive me. I am not blessed with magic, as you are, and my mind is more prone to distraction as I get older. I was referring to Tildem as the second front.”
Kagan opened his desk drawer and retrieved the ceremonial Shandarian dagger Tithian had placed there.
A rush of vitapotency swept past Tithian. Kagan was drawing a massive amount of power into his well, and Ghanix would have no awareness of it.
An ethereal hand formed in front of Kagan and reached out toward Ghanix. The hand appeared fashioned of smoke and wisps of cloud, and it crackled with energy. It grew big enough to wrap itself around a man’s torso, and with each pulse of energy dagger-like claws protruded farther from the tips of the fingers, stopping when they were as long as the fingers themselves.
Ghanix backed away from the bladed fingers.
An expulsion of force sent the emissary flying backwards, where he struck the wall opposite the necrolens and collapsed onto the ground.
Tithian gaped as the ethereal hand inched closer to Ghanix. He had never seen such a use of magic before, but he knew it wouldn’t be good for Ghanix if it touched him.
“Listen to me, you sun-addled fool,” Kagan said. “This war will happen and it will be your own festering emperor who makes the declaration.”
Ghanix screamed but no sound came out of his mouth. He panicked as the hand drew closer to his chest.
Tithian hoped Kagan was bluffing, trying to strong-arm the emissary, but that hope was tenuous.
Kagan’s face became a mask of contempt.
The smoky hand drew back then plunged into Ghanix’s chest. The ghostly fingers squeezed, and Ghanix’s body convulsed once before going still. When Ghanix stopped moving, the hand dissipated.
Tithian felt a presence that had been absent from the Pinnacle for decades. A surge of necropotency filled the small chamber.
Motion caught Tithian’s attention, and when he saw the source he took a step back from the necrolens.
The corpse of Chal Ghanix rose and approached Kagan, and it was obvious Kagan knew it was happening.
Tithian focused his thoughts. He couldn’t make an accusation like this without confirming the facts. He tapped into the smallest amount of necropotency, taking care to not draw attention to himself. When the power entered his well, he concentrated all of his strength into enhancing his vision. The faint trace of a necromantic link extending from Kagan to Ghanix became visible.
There was no longer a question. Ghanix was Kagan’s penitent. The man who proclaimed the evils of necromancy to the world was now, himself, using necromancy to control the corpse of Emissary Ghanix.
Which was the lie? Did he lie about necromancy being evil, or did he lie about what the gods said?
Facts Tithian never imagined he would question, much less doubt, he now rejected outright as the delusions of a naive man. If the archmage could lie…if such great evil were possible…what of the ceremonies and rituals he followed? Were they lies too? What about the gods? Were they not gods? Were the sacred writings all lies, written by men to serve their own purposes? Was the Book of Life itself a lie? Was there nothing remaining of his faith at all?
He looked at Kagan and for the first time saw him for what he was—nothing more than a man.
Mujahid, old friend, you were right. I should have listened. I cannot accept this.
Kagan lifted the Shandarian dagger and vitapotency entered the chamber. The blade began to glow. He placed the dagger’s point on the center of Ghanix’s chest, then pushed the blade deep.
The ceremonial dagger had no cross guards, allowing Kagan to insert the blade up to the seal of office, which was etched into the jeweled handle. Any blood escaping Ghanix’s body was concealed by the Red Dragon of Religar on the front of his robes.
The events Tithian witnessed had numbed him. He wanted to feel something—to have the desire to scream, to have the desire to cry, the desire to lash out at Kagan. But he had none of the rage those things required. All he could do was watch as the last vestiges of his faith slipped through his fingers like so much sand.
“Guards,” Kagan said.
The door to the study swung open and two Pinnacle guardsmen entered.
“Inform the Shandarian ambassador that I’m waiting in my study with the Religarian emissary. We have much to discuss. And summon magi Winston and Samnal.”
The names didn’t surprise Tithian. Winston and Samnal were the youngest members of the Council. Kagan needed men who lacked necromantic training. Even a newly-awakened necromancer would be able to sense Ghanix’s corpse, so allowing Council elders to enter the room would give up the lie.
Mujahid had been right to question Kagan, but Tithian had turned away from him out of religious duty fueled by faith. He had cast Mujahid out of the Pinnacle and foreswore his oaths to the clan. Mujahid could never forgive him for that…because Tithian would never forgive himself.
A knock on the chamber door drew Tithian’s attention.
“Enter,” Kagan said.
Ambassador Emaldor entered, followed by magi Winston and Samnal, and the animated corpse of Ghanix rose.
“Ahh, Ambassador Emaldor,” Kagan said. “I thought you should be here for this discussion, since it relates to the recent hostilities between your two nations.”
To Tithian’s astonishment, the cor
pse of Ghanix spoke.
“Ambassador Emaldor,” the corpse of Ghanix said. His voice was no different than before he was murdered. “We finally meet face to face. May Arin bless your descendants. I’ve been informed of your political prowess, so I will speak directly.”
Tithian noticed a near-imperceptible struggle taking place between Kagan and Ghanix’s corpse, but when it was over Ghanix spoke.
“My emperor expresses his deepest regret for the unfortunate choice of locations for our arms warehouse, Ambassador,” Ghanix said. “In return for an agreement of peace between our two nations, my emperor is willing to grant the following concessions.”
Ghanix’s corpse laid out the details of the original peace agreement, changing only the location of the stone warehouses and masons.
Emaldor looked taken aback, and Tithian couldn’t blame him. Nothing about this made sense.
“Remarkable,” Emaldor said. “Access to the stone cutters will allow my nation to rebuild from the earthquakes.”
“It would appear we have reached some agreement, gentlemen?” Kagan asked.
Kagan faced Ghanix and Emaldor. “I told you gentlemen some time ago that I would see you in a formal embrace of friendship someday. If there ever was a day for it, I believe that day is today.”
Ghanix’s corpse took a step toward Emaldor.
Emaldor returned the gesture and opened his arms to embrace the Religarian emissary.
Kagan smiled as the men embraced and the Council magi applauded in the background. But the applause was short lived.
Ghanix’s corpse dropped to the floor with a sickening thud and the council magi stared, mouths agape. Emaldor’s blood-covered ceremonial dagger was visible, standing several inches out from Ghanix’s chest. Blood dripped from the dagger and ran down Ghanix’s robe.
It had happened so fast that it took a moment for Tithian to understand what he was seeing.
“Gods, man, what have you done?” Kagan said. “I hardly believe I’m saying this…arrest the Shandarian ambassador immediately.”
Guards brushed past the Council magi and grabbed the ambassador.
“I don’t understand,” Emaldor said. “I had nothing to do with this.”
“We saw the deed committed with our own eyes,” Kagan said.
“The archmage is right,” Winston said. “Ambassador Emaldor killed the Religarian emissary.”
Tithian felt sick. He had unwittingly made this entire situation possible, and now he wanted to shout the truth at the top of his voice, but he stopped himself. An impulsive move like that would ruin any chance he had of setting things right.
The guards led Emaldor out of the room as he shouted his innocence.
“My brothers,” Kagan said. “I had expected this to be a joyous occasion.”
“I can hardly believe what I just witnessed, Holy One,” Samnal said. “You understand I must inform the emperor of Shandar’s betrayal?”
Kagan nodded. “Of course. And I am certain Magus Winston understands as well. What could possibly have driven the Union to this madness?”
“Do not accuse the Union of the treachery of a single madman,” Winston said.
“I doubt the emperor will agree with that sentiment,” Kagan said. “Wars have begun for far less than the assassination of a diplomat.”
Winston stared at the corpse expressionless.
“It is imperative that both nations hear the truth of what happened here today,” Kagan said. “We will not be able to end this war, once it begins, if its cause is not rooted in truth.”
Tithian’s face contorted in disgust. How dare that man utter the word truth?
Kagan lifted his head and closed his eyes. “The Book of Life calls to me, brothers. Perhaps the gods will instruct us.”
Tithian released the power, and the necrolens closed. His world was different now. Everything he had once believed faded like a dream.
Tithian the Prime Warlock was dead. But Tithian the former priest of Clan Mukhtaar had grown stronger by the power of truth. He knew it was a partial truth, but he would find the rest, one way or another. Either by himself, or….
There was one man in this world who would understand what he had seen. He wasn’t sure if that man would accept him or kill him on sight, but he had to try.
He had to find Mujahid Mukhtaar.
And, somehow, he had to keep Kagan distracted while the Mukhtaar Lord gathered more necromancers. For necromancy is what it would take to bring the Council down, and Tithian wouldn’t rest until that happened.
He kicked off his tattered boots. It was high time he found a new pair.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The arrow floated like a compass needle in the periphery of Mujahid’s vision, pointing him toward the nearest source of necropotency. It had been years since he last navigated the narrow, twisted passageways under the city of Caspardis, but the arrow would lead him to the coven’s orb of power, an artifact he needed if he had any hope of bringing Kagan down by himself.
Mujahid felt like he was piloting a ship without a sextant. Prophecy had guided his actions for decades, and now it appeared to have proven a false guide. He needed to speak to William, the leader of the coven of New Caspardis. That old necromancer understood the inner workings of necromantic prophecy better than any magus in the Mukhtaar Chronicles. William would help make sense of this mess.
Something wasn’t right. He should have passed the barrier into the coven by now.
By Zubuxo’s scythe, where is it? William wouldn’t have lowered the barrier without sending word to me.
Barrier magic had become central to the clan’s defenses, but a shield didn’t work if it wasn’t there.
Mujahid released the tiniest amount of power into his eyes, and the tunnel before him illuminated. He sent power into his ears, and the silent passageway exploded in a cacophony of sound. Necropotency amplified the smallest of noises, but he was ready for this change in perception. Few knew better than he that the underground was teaming with life.
He concentrated, searching the surrounding tunnels for any familiar energy patterns, but didn’t sense anything. Patterns worked in much the same way as the sense of smell. Like the smell of a mother’s perfume transports a person back to when they were a child, a pattern would take him back to the moment it was first imprinted in his mind, conjuring an image of the person it represented. But there was no image of William here. There were ways to conceal one’s pattern, though, and William could be a hair’s breadth out of range with Mujahid being none the wiser.
As he continued down the corridor, the source of necropotency he had been following grew larger, and its size began to worry him.
There’s too much.
He made his way down a spiraling tunnel, lined with coffins and burial chambers, toward the large cavern at the center of New Caspardis. The stench of death and decay was overpowering. When he reached the bottom of the spiral, he looked out into the central cavern in disbelief.
Corpses paved the ground. Judging by the state of the bodies, they were a few days old. The invaders had spared no one, regardless of age. He offered a silent prayer to Shealynd that William had somehow survived.
Light reflected off shiny objects on the floor, and Mujahid’s heart sank. Remnants of the orb of power were scattered into millions of shards around the cavern.
Gods no. Not this orb too.
With Nicolas dead, the clan orbs were his last and greatest hope. Now, both of the priceless objects were gone. When the initial shock of the orb’s destruction passed, his focus returned to the dead that carpeted the cavern floor. Countless shards from the destroyed orb pierced the corpses from head to toe.
How could this have happened? He understood how Kagan’s forces had found Paradise, but the Talisman of Archmages couldn’t have led anyone to New Caspardis. Someone in the coven must have turned traitor and led the local authorities here. But who would do such a thing? How could they have passed through the barrier? And even if they did, how
did they destroy the orb?
His enhanced hearing caught the faint sound of falling rock in one of the side tunnels. Someone was here, and they were trying hard not to be heard. Several large pack animals stirred and trotted away. He turned to the tunnel where the sound came from and cursed as he caught a glimpse of a dead adda-ki.
Shandarian Rangers had been here.
Mujahid shook his head in disbelief. Even if the rangers had found a way through the magic, he couldn’t understand how they destroyed the orb. Such a feat would require an enormous amount of energy directed into the orb itself. The rangers were many things, but they weren’t magi.
More rocks hit the ground. Mujahid proceeded up the tunnel, stepping around dead adda-ki. He walked for several minutes before the sound of breathing lifted his hopes.
He had to be cautious. He cleared his mind and the symbol of ascension flooded with power.
He molded sheets of energy into an invisible platform that lifted him off the ground. It would only lift him a few feet into the air, but that would be enough to silence the rhythmic tapping of his boots against the stone ground. He hovered for a moment, and then glided forward.
The breathing grew louder as the tunnel twisted to the left. The source would be close now. Mujahid turned the corner, and the voice of a woman surprised him.
“My lord?” The voice came from an older woman lying on the ground in front of him. He could have kept levitating down the tunnel without ever seeing her, so covered in dirt and debris was she. He examined her face to see if he knew her.
By Zubuxo, does Arin show no mercy?
The face he beheld told the story of the destruction of New Caspardis in wounds and disfiguration. The woman tried to stand but collapsed. Instead, she raised her hands to cover her eyes, and several more people who were sitting against the tunnel walls, unseen until now, repeated the gesture.
He struggled against the desire to pull her hands away. He didn’t like the rituals people performed when they saw the light in his eyes. It smacked of worship to him, and if any person in this world knew he wasn’t a god, it was Mujahid.
He dispersed the energy and descended. He needed information now, not ritual.