Necromancer Falling: Book Two of The Mukhtaar Chronicles

by Nat Russo

  Vanni pursed his lips. “Any idea where this office is?”

  Mujahid glanced toward the dock.

  Piles of rubble that once gathered at the base of crumbling buildings had been replaced by hitching posts and water troughs beneath whitewashed walls gleaming in the sunlight. The plaza beyond the pier had changed little since his last visit. It had been rebuilt since the quake, but it looked much as it did before the catastrophe; the stone fountain at the plaza’s center, the buildings enclosing the plaza on three sides.

  Agera was alive once more. Dozens of people hurried through the plaza. Some carried boxes and other items onto docked ships, and others sauntered past the buildings circling the docks—window shopping at the stores along the boardwalk.

  But it wouldn’t stay that way for long. The Barathosians would see to that.

  “There’s great trouble to the south,” Mujahid said.

  “Why do you think I travel north?”

  “You saw the invasion first hand?”

  Vanni shook his head. “Some of my supply lines have vanished. Only something big could cause that. Invasion, you say?”

  “Don’t plan any trips to Tildem,” Mujahid said. “These supply lines of yours…have they been disrupted anywhere else?”

  Vanni stared at him with a blank expression.

  Mujahid would have to tread with caution. The Azure Dawn were secretive, and if Vanni were a Dawnmaster, it wouldn’t do to underestimate him.

  “I care not for the whereabouts of your suppliers,” Mujahid said. “I’m only interested in saving lives. If you know something, it could help.”

  Vanni’s expression never changed.

  “War is upon us, Vanni Yarwen,” Mujahid said. “The crossbow bolt that finds you will not question your ideology or business practices. It will not ask if you wear a chain of office or…sapphire mark.”

  Vanni’s eyes grew wide. Mujahid couldn’t see if Vanni wore the mark, but his reaction told Mujahid everything. By mentioning the mark—the sacred tattoo worn by every member of the Dawn—Mujahid had all but called him out.

  “These are the times that will define your character,” Mujahid said. “You might consider putting those talents of yours to good use now.”

  “Perhaps later,” Vanni said. “My fate takes me down a different path than yours, priest.”

  Mujahid closed his eyes, ignited the symbol of ascension, and released power into the skull symbol. After a moment that spanned seventy years, a skeletal penitent appeared at Mujahid’s side.

  “This,” Mujahid said, pointing at the skeleton. “This is later. This is the fate of all men, be they King or Dawnmaster. When I call you from the grave, Vanni Yarwen, your will shall be mine. Choose the right path now, of your own free will, while free will is still yours.”

  Vanni smiled and stepped toward Mujahid. “I’m familiar with these.” He tapped the penitent on its bony forehead. “You’re not the first necromancer I’ve encountered. Now, if you don’t mind, I have some adda to tend to.”

  Mujahid released the necromantic link and the penitent vanished.

  Most men were as brave as Religarian Imperial Guard until they were forced to confront their own mortality. Vanni was…different. If Mujahid didn’t know better, he’d say Vanni was courting death.

  As Mujahid faced his cabin, he glanced over his shoulder and raised his hand. He moved his fingers in the language of the Hiboranian Thieves’ Cant.

  May the shadows favor your passage.

  It was the traditional blessing of thieves and smugglers.

  Vanni blinked several times, but he soon returned to his old deadpan expression. As Mujahid lowered his hand, Vanni nodded and backed away.

  Mujahid hadn’t intended the conversation to go that way. Truth be told, he hadn’t intended to have a conversation in the first place. He didn’t expect Vanni to do anything other than forget this happened and return to whatever shady business he was involved in.

  But a small part of him hoped.

  Mujahid pocketed the ticket given him by the deckhand as he entered the Agera plaza. He didn’t have the patience for bureaucracy just yet.

  Dockworkers pushed cargo trolleys onto barges and other vessels while deckhands led livestock toward the stockyards west of the plaza. Passengers lined up along the piers, waiting for the call to board their chosen ships. The boom of a thunderclap made them jump and turn their eyes to the inky belly of an impending storm. Three more booms followed in rapid succession. This was going to be a bad one, and there was no awning to take refuge under.

  It was unlikely the Catiatum coven was underground anymore, and the cave entrance would be a long walk beyond the city gate, which itself was a long walk from the dock. It was time for Mujahid to take some calculated risks.

  Several Ageran guards from the local militia stood watch at the entrance to a large street. One of them should know something about the coven.

  The older guards ignored Mujahid, but the younger ones regarded him as they would a person pulling a crag spider on a leash.

  He’d made the decision to wear the midnight blue, and now it was time to pay the price.

  “I wonder if you could help me,” Mujahid said to the closest guard.

  The guard looked at his compatriot as if uncertain how to answer. He must be the junior of the two, so Mujahid stared at the senior guard to punctuate the need for a quick answer.

  “With what?” the senior guard said.

  It was a start. At least he’d responded with words and not steel.

  “It’s been a while since my last visit here,” Mujahid said. “Given…recent changes in social policy, can you tell me where I might find my fellow priests?”

  “Look under any rocks?” a guard said.

  “Probably buggering each other at the public bath,” another guard said. The others burst into raucous laughter.

  All six guards regarded Mujahid with contempt. Would they obey the decree, or would they try to drag him off into an alley? They’d all be brave…until they weren’t.

  “Enough of that, the lot of you!” a guard said from behind the others. “What’s he done to any of you?”

  “Who made you Chancellor, Jameson?”

  Jameson was a young guard, which surprised Mujahid. He wasn’t in charge, but he had a measure of courage.

  “You know what this man does for a living?” Jameson asked. “He helps you sorry lot shuffle off beyond the veil to meet your maker. So a little respect is in order, don’t you think?”

  “We’ll outlive him by decades.”

  “Think so, do you?” Jameson said. “And what if I told you necromancers can’t die?” He faced Mujahid. “Necromancers don’t die, right sir? You’re already dead, if I know my necromancy! Dead and given life by Zubuxo himself!”

  Mujahid wasn’t sure what made the blood drain from their faces faster, the implication he couldn’t die, or the fact he smiled without denying it. Whichever it was, they couldn’t seem to get far enough away from him.

  “Now what can I help you with, sir?” Jameson asked.

  “Kindness is a rare thing in the world these days,” Mujahid said. “Keep it up and your time with one of my brethren will be short.”

  “What’s it like, being a necromancer’s pet?”

  If the boy knew the truth he’d never sleep again.

  “Penitent,” Mujahid said. “And it’s strange and different. Now, can you tell me where I might find the local coven?”

  “What if I wanted to be one?”

  “A penitent?”

  “No, a necromancer! What do I gotta do? You take some kind of vow, right?”

  Mujahid didn’t have the heart to let him down. If this guard hadn’t shown signs of an Awakening yet, he wasn’t a necromancer and never would be. Maybe a few harmless lies would soften the blow.

  “Let me ask you some questions,” Mujahid said. “I’ll apprentice you right now, if you think you have what it takes.”

  Jameson nodded with more ent
husiasm than anyone deserved to have.

  “Are you comfortable around demons?” Mujahid asked. “For your first test, you’ll have to hunt one on the second plane of Hell—they don’t start hunting you until later. The final test takes place on the sixth plane of Hell. I’ll transport you there, and you’ll have to find your way home—without being caught by the hellwraiths, of course. Gods…memories of that still make me shudder.”

  Another thunderclap exploded through the plaza, as if to punctuate Mujahid’s statement.

  Jameson swallowed.

  “You end up partially possessed after the trials,” Mujahid said. “But it’s mostly worth it. So what do you say? Want to give necromancy a go?”

  “They’re building a new temple about a half-league up the road,” Jameson said. He was having a hard time looking Mujahid in the eyes. “You can’t miss it.”

  “You have my thanks,” Mujahid said. “If you ever change your mind, you know where the temple is.”

  “Think I’ll stick with guarding for a while.”

  Mujahid waved as he continued up the street. As much as he hated lying to the boy, telling him it was impossible to become a necromancer might spark his interest even more. Mujahid had seen it happen before.

  But what was this about a new temple? Why hadn’t Catiatum sent word? Aufidius—the Catiatum coven leader—should know better. Mujahid would have to remedy that lack of knowledge. Perhaps Aufidius needed reminding the Catiatum coven was part of Clan Mukhtaar now.

  Agera was a city under construction, with wooden scaffolding lining a portion of the street and construction workers hammering away with mallets and sawing away with serrated blades.

  Mujahid stared for a moment, trying to absorb it all.

  Wooden scaffolding. More times than he cared to admit over the last forty years, he thought he’d never live to see the day when wood was used for such mundane purposes. But with the barrier gone, tradesmen could work the great forests to the north again. Wood was in supply, and that meant great changes.

  It meant terrible changes as well. The Three Kingdoms wasn’t adapting well from an economy based on a lack of wood to one glutted by it, and the tenuous relationship between east and west grew more unstable by the week. Religarian stone wasn’t in high demand in the west anymore, excepting the rare large construction project.

  Mujahid shook his head. Amazing how something as simple as wooden scaffolding could remind him of how delicate the balance of power was now that Kagan and his infernal barrier were gone.

  The Barathosians likely didn’t know or care about the hardships of the Three Kingdoms. Come to think of it, Mujahid didn’t know much at all about what the Barathosians might care about.

  Kagan had assassinated the Barathosian Empress’s son. But Mujahid was convinced this invasion was about far more than a debt of honor. In his experience, the obvious explanation for most wars was the excuse, not the reason.

  But if it’s not about the death of Yotto, then what is it about?

  As he crossed another intersection, he passed a statue of a dragon standing in front of a merchant’s shop. The dragon’s curled smile reminded Mujahid of Malvol and those cursed figurines. Objects of power were rare—Hellstone even more so—yet he’d encountered two such objects in as many weeks. One had threatened to take control of him, and the other had taken control of a king.

  But there was no connection between the two events. Perhaps this was something else William could shed light on.

  A drizzle of rain fell, peppering the dirt street with pockmarks of water, and freshening the otherwise stagnant air.

  The sound of chisels biting into stone echoed across the street.

  A vast construction area had been cleared of debris, and several ruined buildings had been demolished to make more room. A wooden frame rose from stone foundations, and several stonemasons were busy chiseling and separating rock.

  A man dressed in a midnight-blue robe spoke with a mason and seemed upset about the wooden frame, given where he was pointing and how furious were his gestures.

  If they were attempting to build a Temple of Zubuxo, they were going about it all wrong. The man was right to be upset. Anything other than natural stone would render the temple ritually impure.

  Time for introductions.

  He crossed the intersection and called to the man. When he turned, Mujahid kept his eyes open and ignited the symbol of ascension.

  The man dropped to one knee and shielded his eyes. The stonemason seemed confused by the action, but a glance from Mujahid sent him back to work.

  Mujahid despised the display of authority, but this was the old Catiatum coven. Every time he’d dealt with them without a firm hand, it ended poorly. He’d need to keep them off balance.

  “The light has passed,” Mujahid said as he released the power.

  “May it bless us in its passing,” the man said.

  “Rise, child.”

  “My lord,” the man said. “To what do we owe this honor?”

  Time to muster some feigned outrage.

  “I found out from a young guard…a boy…that you were constructing a new temple.”

  “Yes, my lord. It’s going to be a grand—”

  “From a boy!”

  The man lowered his head.

  “Did your coven leader not think to send word to the Pinnacle?” Mujahid said.

  “Of course, Lord Mukhtaar—”

  “How does he intend to dedicate this temple without me or Lord Nuuan present?”

  “I cannot say—”

  “This isn’t going to be a temple. It’s going to be a sacrilege!”

  “I’ve discussed the wood with—”

  “Take me to the coven.”

  “That won’t be necessary…Lord Mujahid,” Aufidius said, emphasizing Lord as if he were humoring Mujahid instead of honoring him. “Sorry to startle you, my lord. I was across the street and saw Magus Claudio drop to his knee.”

  Mujahid wanted to wipe the smile from Aufidius’s hairless face. Something about that man had always bothered Mujahid. Maybe it was the sharpness of his cheekbones, or the hook of his nose that gave him the appearance of a predator. Perhaps it was the sunken eyes that hinted at a darkness waiting for the right moment to be unleashed. The tattoo covering the right side of his face in the ancient tribal pattern of Clan Catiatum didn’t lend itself to trust. But whichever it was, that smile was more malevolent than pleasant.

  Aufidius didn’t have the honor—perhaps courage—to wear the midnight blue. The robe he wore was better suited for a government magistrate than a necromancer. Bright blue from head to foot, trimmed with silver along the cuffs and collar. In place of a simple cincture, he wore a hide belt with a jeweled buckle. And instead of sandals, he wore shriller-hide boots.

  “You like them?” Aufidius said, holding a turquoise boot out for Mujahid’s inspection.

  Mujahid wasn’t fooled by the foppish display. Aufidius was a powerful priest, which was the only reason Mujahid appointed him when the last coven leader died.

  “Some say shrillers are intelligent,” Mujahid said.

  “Clearly not intelligent enough to evade the hunter.”

  “What was your reason for not informing me of this temple? Tell me that I may judge your intelligence.”

  Aufidius lowered his head, but his expression wasn’t one of a reprimanded humble subordinate. It was anger.

  “We’ve only begun laying the foundation, my lord,” Aufidius said. “The framing was a mistake from an overzealous worker, nothing more. He wasn’t aware of our customs. I would have informed you long before it was time to consecrate the structure.”

  “Am I and Lord Nuuan not to oversee the design? The placement? Have you discovered a sacred line crossing this property? Did you even think to check, for that matter?”

  “I assure you, all of the necessary rites were followed.”

  “You purchased the land with clan funds, did you not?”

  “With Catiatum funds, y
es.”

  Mujahid stepped closer to Aufidius. “Catiatum hasn’t been a clan since I performed the blessing at your grandfather’s birth.”

  Aufidius smiled once more, but it was a nervous smile. Had he forgotten Mujahid was far older than he appeared?

  “I misspoke, my lord. I merely meant to say Catiatum coven funds. But our haste was well-intentioned, I assure you.”

  “I assume you have a coven house?”

  Aufidius nodded.

  “Take me. You can tell me of these intentions while we walk.”

  Aufidius led Mujahid to a side street next to the temple foundation. When Mujahid rounded the corner, Aufidius walked beside him.

  “Before we discuss the temple,” Mujahid said. “Is William well? What of the refugees from New Caspardis?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have those answers, my lord. William left little more than a month ago and took the refugees with him. He told me you’d asked him to rebuild the New Caspardis coven and wanted to begin as soon as possible.”

  Mujahid sighed. “Ahh William! Of all the festering times to get motivated.”

  “You didn’t ask him to do this, my lord?”

  “Oh, I asked, all right. And it’s moments like these I hate getting what I ask for. I suppose I’ll have to carry on to Caspardis, then. I’ll stay here for the night and get started tomorrow.”

  “Of course! We have a place for you, and we’ll make sure you’re well fed and well provisioned.”

  I bet you will. The quicker I move on, the better for you.

  “Now, back to the temple,” Mujahid said. “Why the haste?”

  “An invasion force is coming, and I know not when it will arrive.”

  Mujahid was surprised he knew. And Aufidius had implied the invasion had something to do with the construction of the new temple, so he must have known before they laid the foundation stones.

  That wasn’t possible.

  “Given how quickly they took Rotham,” Mujahid said, “and how quickly they’re likely to take Arin’s Watch, I’d say within a month. Maybe two, if Three Banks holds long enough.”

  Aufidius blinked and furrowed his brow. His surprise was no act.

  “Rotham?” Aufidius asked. “Arin’s Watch? Are you saying an invasion comes from the south as well?”