Necromancer Falling: Book Two of The Mukhtaar Chronicles

by Nat Russo

  Pelagon’s son Kagan, our new Archmage, has asked me to join him as Prime Warlock. This would grant me access to the sanctuary during the Rite of Manifestation. Perhaps this is the opportunity I’ve sought for decades? I’ll have to give it careful thought. A Mukhtaar Lord sitting as Prime Warlock is unprecedented. There may be unintended consequences I’ve yet to consider.

  - Mujahid Mukhtaar, Private Commentaries, 86 CE

  Mujahid and Digby emerged from the estate, underneath the statuary and past the undead guards, who stood silent in their golden armor and weapons. The guards weren’t Mujahid’s or Nuuan’s penitents. They weren’t anyone’s. They were simply here. Always. Thirteen skeletal guards. They didn’t communicate. They didn’t patrol. Mujahid couldn’t command them. They stood there with their chests heaving as invisible lungs drew breath, their glowing white eyes staring ever forward.

  When Mujahid and Digby rounded the front corner of the palatial estate, Digby stopped.

  “I should show you the second entrance,” Digby said.

  “Is there any danger of the Barathosians stumbling on it?”

  “Doubtful. Shealynd—forgive me…Mordryn located the other portal at her shrine at the Pinnacle. On Nuuan’s request.”

  “Leave this side open for me and I’ll take care of it when I return. I wonder how I haven’t discovered it myself, by now.” He strode ahead, toward the Algidian portal.

  “Lord Tycon was always one for secrets, was he not?”

  Mujahid rounded on Digby. “Never utter that word again so close to Tycon’s name.”

  Tycon. It was a name Mujahid hadn’t heard spoken aloud since the end of the Necromancer Wars more than a century ago. One of the most evil, tyrannical necromancers in history. And not only was he a Mukhtaar Lord. He also happened to be Mujahid’s and Nuuan’s thirteenth great-grandfather.

  Digby nodded and Mujahid continued walking.

  “Tycon Mukhtaar was a demon hardly worthy of the title Lord.” Mujahid said.

  “He ascended every bit as much as you did, did he not?”

  “He ascended for his own sake, not the Clan’s. He oppressed and enslaved necromancers for four centuries, my father included. Is it any wonder people feared us when we ascended? Is it any wonder people were expecting the terror to begin anew?”

  “Some fought to keep him alive.”

  “The people didn’t care about Tycon any more than they cared about Kagan,” Mujahid said. “They cared about the Clan. Four centuries he ruled and refused to mentor any on the path to ascension, because of the misguided belief he was immortal. Of course there were priests who fought for his life! They knew the consequences of his death. Nuuan and I lived the consequences. Or have you forgotten? A clan without a lord.”

  “Forgive me, Lord Mujahid. It wasn’t my intention to dig in the dirt. He certainly made your job all the more difficult.”

  Mujahid sniffed. “Can you imagine if the estate had remained hidden? If we hadn’t sensed the portal, I don’t know how long it would have taken to find it. What if I placed a stone somewhere on the surface of Erindor, and said you must get within ten leagues to sense it? How would you choose where to begin looking? How long might the search take?”

  Digby nodded as Mujahid stopped before the Algidian portal.

  “Nuuan and I pieced the clues together after we discovered Tycon’s writings,” Mujahid said. “He had a slave camp in the southern deserts of Religar. The disgusting creature had a harem. He forced people to worship him as a god! When we got to within a day’s ride, we both sensed it. I relocated the portal to the Algidians, and there it remains.”

  Mujahid gestured at the black field of nothingness, embedded with an arch under a pictograph of a mountain range.

  “I have a leaf from a tree in the great northern forests,” Mujahid said. “With it, I can relocate the portal near the Elysian Fortress. It will serve until I can venture farther north and retrieve another attuned object.”

  “There is something you must know,” Digby said. “Malvol is not the only one who seeks deification. Your brother does as well.”

  If Digby had head-butted Mujahid in the nethers, he wouldn’t have been more shocked.

  “Who better to fight an elevated human than another elevated human?” Digby said. “The gods may not intervene. Mordryn tells us it is forbidden to interfere with someone on the path.”

  “No. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.”

  “Lord Nuuan told me you’d feel that way. But time is not on our side. If Malvol achieves deification, his power will rival the other three gods combined. Your brother is helping Kaitlyn come into her power fully. So, he needs you to approach his priests on his behalf.”

  “His what?”

  How could Nuuan betray everything they held dear like this. His occasional blasphemies were one thing. But starting his own religion? Not even Nuuan was capable of something so detestable. He of all people knew the evils of Tycon Mukhtaar.

  “Please, hear me out,” Digby said. “No matter how questionable you find this course of action—”

  “Questionable? Immoral!”

  “—you must make your way to his temple and fulfill his prophecy.”

  “How is this any different than what Kagan would do? Or Tycon! Both would say the greater good justifies any means. They only differ in how they define greater good.”

  Strong emotion was threatening to take over, bubbling up from Mujahid’s deep-rooted religious sensibilities. But anger and rage would only serve to delay.

  He needed to refocus on the portal. When that was taken care of, he’d seek Nuuan out and get to the bottom this.

  “And where is this temple of his?” Mujahid asked.

  “In the lion’s den itself. Barathosia.”

  Mujahid stared at Digby.

  “I’m merely the messenger, Lord Mukhtaar. But I can tell you this…I trust your brother with my life, as I know you do. He knows things. Things I do not. And that is saying something. If he says this is the way…then this is the way.”

  “It matters little,” Mujahid said, “To relocate the portal, I need an object that is attuned in some way to the destination. Either magically or naturally. And whatever it is will be consumed in the process. Where am I going to find something with strong ties to Barathosian soil?”

  Digby plunged his hand into his pocket and jostled some items around. After a moment, he pulled out a small object, three or four inches in length by one inch wide, and handed it to Mujahid.

  It was like a bone fragment, chitinous with a jagged edge, though Mujahid sensed no necropotency coming from it. It felt like solid rock, but Mujahid knew it had to be organic.

  “Ancient,” Digby said. “In fact, well beyond even your notion of ancient. So old, and so well-preserved, any part of it that once contained life has long since been replaced by stone. It was in your crypt.”

  Mujahid furrowed his brow. He didn’t like the idea of anyone going near the crypt without his oversight.

  “That crypt is dangerous,” Mujahid said. “Even to me. There are mystical wards in place that could have done far worse than kill you.”

  Digby smiled and shrugged. “I left them in place for you.”

  Mujahid looked at the bone fragment for a moment, then at Digby.

  “Who are you?” Mujahid asked.

  “As I told you when we first met, Lord Mukhtaar,” Digby said. “I am Digby, master necromancer.”

  “Well, Digby…master necromancer. It is time to move this portal.”

  Mujahid held the ancient bone fragment at arm’s length and let the ambient necropotency run through him. Moving a mystical portal was unlike other magical endeavors. There were no symbols of power involved, no telekinesis, no sigils. In some ways, the portal moved itself, though that was an oversimplification. The intervention of a magus was required, though to what extent, Mujahid wasn’t certain. Portal manipulation was a necropotency-assisted act of will, wherein the magus formed a request, solidified by an attuned ob
ject, then asked for the intended result. It had more in common with praying than casting a spell, though magic was involved.

  And it required a clear mind.

  Mujahid used the necropotency in his well to calm himself and let go of his thoughts. Not an easy task, thinking of nothing.

  With an uncluttered mind and an attuned bone fragment, Mujahid opened his eyes, tossed the fragment into the air toward the portal, and asked, without words, for the portal to move to the point of attunement—the point most mystically entangled with the object.

  The fragment disappeared into the black field without any indication something had happened.

  But subtle movements at the top of the arch told Mujahid otherwise.

  The pictograph of the mountain range signifying the Algidian Peaks was fading, changing in intensity and shape. It flared with an inner light that danced like living fire until a new pictograph emblazoned itself into the stone arch.

  It was shaped like a hive—a cave entrance, or burrow, with honeycombed tunnels extending down into the ground.

  “It would appear you were successful,” Digby said.

  “No,” Mujahid said. “It merely appears that I’ve moved the portal to wherever Nuuan intended. Time will tell if this means success.”

  “When you reach the place you’re going, remember,” Digby said. “Dominance often unlocks doors that would otherwise remain barred and bolted.” Digby shook his head and chuckled. “Amazing how even your brother forgets that on occasion. Oh, and the high priestess should be awaiting you on the other side.”

  “Dominance,” Mujahid said. “I’ll keep that in mind. One thing, though. You mentioned Nuuan wishes me to fulfill a prophecy. What prophecy?”

  “When I bring the temple to you, you will rouse the hive and fight.”

  “That’s no prophecy. That’s the feverish rambling of a man deep in his cups.”

  “Fetch one of his priests and let him see this.” Digby swept his arm to indicate the Mukhtaar Estate. “The prophecy will be thoroughly fulfilled.”

  Mujahid stepped forward, but something stopped him. He faced Digby.

  “Will I see you again?” Mujahid asked.

  Digby bowed at the waist, arms spread out to his sides. “Of course, Lord Mukhtaar. Though I cannot say when or where.”

  “Cannot or will not?”

  Digby smiled. “As my lord prefers.”

  When Mujahid stepped through the portal, a blast of warm humidity struck him. He had to shield his eyes, so bright were the rays of light shining through the canopy of trees. Their oblong, emerald green leaves swayed in a gust of wind that smelled of damp earth and moss. But piercing through the smell of the moss and lichen was a strange perfume Mujahid had never smelled before.

  His energy well filled at a trickle. But there was another kind of energy, a type of energy he hadn’t experienced before. Try as he might, there was no way to touch it or interact with it.

  Enough of that. He needed to find this temple of Nuuan’s.

  The jungle stretched before him and came to an abrupt rise. He glanced around, looking for anything obvious; a path, a village, anything.

  Nothing.

  He’d just have to head over the hill and see what was beyond it.

  The sharp mental probing of the ambient energy came and went several times as he navigated the fallen tree stumps, shallow creek beds, and rolling moss-covered hills. There was nothing to be done about it, though. Whatever form of energy this was, he didn’t understand it, and he couldn’t manipulate it. It didn’t appear to be causing any harm, so he chose to put it out of his mind for the time being.

  As he crested another hill, he dropped into a crouch and slid behind a nearby boulder, scraping his hand on the hard granite surface.

  The faint outline of a megalithic ziggurat sat upon the horizon, shrouded in haze. At that distance, it must be taller than the Mukhtaar Estate.

  Nuuan’s temple.

  A torrent of emotion bubbled to the surface. He felt so many things, it was hard to pinpoint any single one as the strongest.

  Anger? Yes.

  Confusion? Of course.

  Concern? Without a doubt.

  But most of all, Mujahid felt betrayed.

  Nuuan had started a religion. It violated everything a Mukhtaar Lord was supposed to uphold. And if what Digby had suggested was correct, he did it to achieve deification.

  What was Nuuan thinking?

  If there was one thing Mujahid was certain about, it was that Nuuan never did much of anything without a plan. He often failed to share those plans with anyone else, but that was a separate issue.

  Mujahid continued forward, choosing to trust. What else could he do? Wallow in betrayal? What purpose would that serve?

  The answers, if any, were in that temple. Not in any emotion he was experiencing.

  As he crested another rise, a large settlement came into view between him and the ziggurat.

  No. Not a settlement.

  Whatever the purpose of the buildings he saw, it wasn’t commerce or residence. If anything, they were religious in nature. Ceremonial. All of the structures were carved from the same greenish-blue stone, and the brickwork was masterful. The entire complex was a collection of smaller ziggurats surrounding the mammoth one at the center.

  And each of the smaller ziggurats were identical in proportion.

  As he walked the wide streets between the small ziggurats, listening to the faint sounds of drums and exotic instruments, he became certain of one thing.

  This was a temple complex.

  After a left turn and a right turn, Mujahid was staring down the central thoroughfare at the gargantuan ziggurat in the distance. Taller than the Mukhtaar Estate, which itself stood more than five hundred feet tall, it must have required as much stone as every other ziggurat in the city combined. A stairway as wide as the main thoroughfare climbed the structure, and two enormous fires blazed on each side of the stairway at its base. Two concave troughs, stained red, ran down the length of the stairway on each side and ended at the base.

  The closer he came to the massive structure, the louder the music became.

  A procession of dancers, acrobats, and musicians rounded the corner of the ziggurat as the sun broke over the temple. The group of fifty or more was enveloped in sweet, fragrant incense from a circle of men and women carrying bowls at the end of long, golden chains. The smoke wafted around the procession in miniature vortexes as the dancers spun and the acrobats tumbled.

  When the prevailing breeze blew a cloud of it at Mujahid, he recognized the fragrance at once. It was his and Nuuan’s favorite incense from the temple rituals they had grown up with—and later performed themselves. But that fragrance was produced in one and only one place; Religar. Mujahid’s supplier claimed it required a rare herb that grew only in the darkness of the Mines of Abder Razi, combined with the bile of a Northern Religarian rockhound. Mujahid didn’t believe such a sweet fragrance could be produced from those vile ingredients, but he wasn’t a fragrance trader. One thing was certain, however; someone had transported that incense across the ocean and traded it to these people.

  The procession wound its way in a serpentine pattern along the front of the ziggurat. They stopped in front of several mosaics and swung their hanging incense bowls at them, obscuring them with the fragrant smoke. As the end of the procession rounded the corner, a row of children throwing flower petals on the ground came into view.

  Look at them all! Praise the gods Kagan’s evil didn’t touch this place!

  A woman wearing a cape of vibrant feathers—and not much else—followed the children. Behind her were three lines of men and women in scandalously sheer golden robes.

  It took several minutes for the procession to spread out in front of Mujahid and come to a stop. The music faded, the tumblers stopped tumbling, and the dancers stopped dancing.

  The children with the flower petals emerged from within the crowd and formed a line, several paces away from Mujahid.
The gold-robed men and women were next, forming a line closer to him. The woman in the feather cape emerged last and stopped in front of him.

  “Greetings, Exalted One,” the woman said. “I am High Priestess Thalina, chief priestess of Digby. He told me of your impending arrival. Have you come to join us for the sixty-third Orgy and Ale Festival?”

  Mujahid didn’t know where to begin. “You’ve celebrated sixty-three orgies in the name of this religion?”

  “Oh no, Exalted one! That would be shameful.”

  “At least you have the moral sense the gods gave you—”

  “We’ve celebrated seven-hundred and fifty-five orgies. One for each new moon, as instructed. That is only counting the formal ones, of course.”

  There was going to be a reckoning. When Mujahid saw Nuuan and Digby again, he’d knock both of their heads together.

  “I came here to speak with the priests of Nuuan,” Mujahid said.

  Apprehension appeared on Thalina’s face.

  “Of course, Exalted One,” she said. She gestured toward the ziggurat. “The temple is this way. The holy wardrobe lies within. Follow these men and women into the temple. They will present Digby’s Rod of Domination and the Great Horned Phallus of Nuuan at the climax of the ritual lovemaking—which you will lead us in, of course.”

  Mujahid gaped. “I’m old enough to be their grandfather, for the love of Arin! Their great great grandfather! There will be no…lovemaking happening today!”

  One of the women in sheer gold leaned toward Thalina and whispered. “Are you sure he’s the God Nuuan’s brother, Priestess? Maybe he’s not feeling well?”

  “I’m feeling quite well, young lady, thank you very much! Perhaps we can move along into the temple now? And perhaps you can fetch some proper clothing for them while we’re at it.”

  The young lady shared a chuckle with the similarly clad young man next to her, but if Thalina noticed, she didn’t say anything. Instead, she strolled toward the ziggurat, gesturing for Mujahid to follow.

  “Come, Exalted One,” Thalina said. “I will show you the Temple of Nuuan.”

  Mujahid exhaled and followed her into the Ziggurat, hoping there’d be no Rod or Horned Phallus involved.