Necromancer Falling: Book Two of The Mukhtaar Chronicles

by Nat Russo

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  In the year 917 BCE, Tayyib Nazari stepped over the threshold, becoming Tayyib Lord Mukhtaar Nazari. The reign of Lord Tayyib is remembered mostly for the Nehem/Mose clan wars. Clan Mose, in an attempt to drive Clan Nehem out of the Shandarian foothills, poisoned several of Clan Nehem’s water sources. Two of Lord Tayyib’s priests discovered a Mosean submerging poultices of Hiboranian Milkweed in Nehemen wells. War erupted between the clans for five years, ending in the capture and execution of the Nehemen clan leader, Hovan Ghazni.

  - Coteon of the Steppes, “The Mukhtaar Chronicles: Coteonic Commentaries” (circa 680 BCE)

  The world rushed toward Nicolas as if he were strapped to the front of a train emerging from a dark tunnel. It was disorienting, and the vertigo made him want to lie down, but the sensation eventually passed and he regained his balance.

  He kept a firm grasp on Kaitlyn as she materialized next to him.

  Where are we? Nicolas said through the necromantic link.

  In response, an image of a grand palace overlooking a bay entered his mind.

  “I know that,” Nicolas said. “I meant where are we?”

  “This is the translocation room outside the imperial throne room,” Kagan said. “The emperor established this site for my convenience more than twenty years ago.”

  “This place is a little gaudy,” Kaitlyn said. “Don’t you think?”

  Gold filigree accented the whitewashed translocation room, creating an ornate pattern on the ceiling, from which hung a chandelier of solid gold. Gems of all colors rested in sockets where candles should be, and they radiated inner light that created star burst patterns on the walls like some sort of gothic disco ball.

  As he lowered his gaze, Nicolas discovered they weren’t alone.

  Guards in billowing white robes ringed the room. He assumed they were guards, judging by the dual scimitars hanging from their belts. Their robes flowed up from behind and wrapped their heads in disproportionately large turbans. Aside from the size of the turbans, their dress reminded him of the Moroccan desert nomads he’d met in Marrakesh when his dad took him to study the Saadian tombs. But from their serious expressions, they weren’t about to offer him mint tea and dates.

  The two guards on either side of the arched entryway took three long strides, faced each other, then stomped their feet on the tiled floor. The two guards to either side of them marched along the wall to the entryway, spun toward the entrance, and stomped once more.

  An escort? But how did they know we were coming?

  A blue-robed man of advanced age and balding head entered the room from the hallway and gave a bow.

  “Archmage Kagan,” the man said. “I am Saleem Abdul Bishara, attendant to His Imperial Highness.”

  Wait. They don’t know I’m the archmage?

  How could this be? According to Tithian, Nicolas had been gone six months. In all that time, word of a new archmage hadn’t reached the Emperor of Religar? Even before modern communication on Earth, it wouldn’t have taken six weeks to get a message from Paris to Rome. And Dar Rodon was half that distance from the Pinnacle. The Council must be in a shambles if basic diplomacy no longer functioned.

  Maybe it would be best to play along for now.

  Nicolas tapped at his chest. When he was certain his chain of office was concealed, he leaned into Kaitlyn and whispered.

  “Just go along with it.”

  Kagan, you’re going to do the talking…but you’re going to use my words.

  When the image of assent came back from the link, Nicolas began sending messages.

  “Rise, Saleem,” Kagan said.

  When Saleem lifted his head, his gaze fell on Kaitlyn and he paused. The pause was nearly imperceptible, and Nicolas wouldn’t have noticed a year ago. But there was a pause, he was certain of it.

  Saleem reached for Kagan’s hand, undoubtedly to kiss the ring of office. But Nicolas ordered Kagan to stop him.

  “That ain’t necessary,” Kagan said. “I won’t have people bowing and scraping every damned time I enter a room.”

  “Pardon me, Archmage?” Saleem asked.

  Damn! This ain’t easy!

  This would be much more efficient if you’d allow me to speak freely, Kagan said.

  Okay. But no funny business. You know why we’re here.

  “Forgive me,” Kagan said. “I’m attempting to learn a primitive dialect of the northern bush tribes. They’re organized, but lacking in basic education.”

  Real funny.

  “No forgiveness necessary, Holy One,” Saleem said. “I’m sure your travels can be confusing at times.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I’ll take you and your retinue to the emperor immediately. I must say I can scarcely believe the haste with which you arrived.”

  “I do not wish to impose,” Kagan said. “It is not my place to take the emperor away from his imperial duties. I would be content to wait upon his convenience.”

  “The emperor would insist, Holy one.”

  “Then by all means.”

  Smooth.

  You have much to learn if you presume to step onto the stage of world politics, Kagan said.

  No doubt. Did you happen to catch that comment about our haste, or could you not see it from high up on that stage of yours?

  The sensation of paranoia radiated out from the necromantic link. It was so strong, Nicolas had to resist the urge to look over his shoulder.

  Why were they were expecting us?

  If Kagan had any ideas, he wasn’t elaborating. But he couldn’t conceal the distinct sensation of heightened caution emanating from the link.

  Saleem bowed and paused again to look at Kaitlyn. A moment later he led the procession out of the translocation room.

  “I have a bad feeling about this, Nick,” Kaitlyn whispered. “There’s something about Saleem I can’t explain. It’s like there’s something radiating out of him, like a glow, but only some of the time.”

  “Nuuan said we’d be tempted to keep your talent a secret. It’s like he knew we’d feel a little skittish.”

  “I don’t know.”

  They emerged into a massive chamber of whitewashed walls and gold filigree. A voluminous dome rose over the room, and archers, dressed like the guard escort, peered down over a banister circling the inside of the dome. Directly beneath them was a raised platform, on which rested a golden throne with thick, rounded legs and a high, gem-encrusted back.

  Two men stood at the top of the platform to the side of the throne. The older of the two wore a robe with a golden, gem-encrusted chain draped across his shoulders. But the most noticeable thing about him was the ridiculously long mustache that covered his upper lip and ran down the sides of his face to the middle of his torso. He seemed upset at the younger man. Angered. And when he glanced down at Kagan, his eyes widened. But something else lingered behind those eyes. Was it concern?

  The younger man had no facial hair, and there was something in his bearing that smacked of military training. His hair was closely cropped, and a jacket with intricate lacing was concealed, in part, by a brown overcoat extending to the man’s mid thigh. Knee-high boots, polished to a sheen, looked as if they’d never seen dirt.

  Saleem sauntered up the stairs and whispered something into the older man’s ear. He nodded, and Saleem stepped to the side.

  Mr. Mustache must be Emperor Relig.

  He is, Kagan said.

  Who’s the other person?

  He’s not Religarian, Kagan said. Beyond that, I do not know, save to say my instincts tell me this is a trap.

  The golden throne was facing a gargantuan pair of golden doors. A cage of some sort stood at the foot of the raised platform, but there was no indication what it might be used for. And Nicolas had seen enough cages in the Three Kingdoms to know it couldn’t be anything good.

  Work your magic, Kagan, but remember we’re on a short timer here. We need to find a way to get Kait close enough to the armada to
do some good.

  You should bow, Kagan said. Now.

  Nicolas did as Kagan suggested, and Kaitlyn took his lead.

  “Holy one,” the emperor said. “Your presence here honors me. Thank you for coming so soon.”

  Maybe Nicolas had misread the situation. Maybe the emperor wasn’t nervous about the younger man, but about meeting the archmage instead. Tithian did say the emperor was a religious fanatic.

  “I trust this summons was urgent in nature?” Kagan said.

  “Of course, Holy One,” the emperor said. “I asked you here—”

  Kagan waved his hand. “Before we get to your reasons, I need to see this Barathosian threat with my own eyes. The Pinnacle has been talking. And the Council is using words I never expected to hear uttered in the same breath as Toren Relig. A shame, too. The temples operate so efficiently in this country.”

  The emperor’s wide-eyed gaze snapped up toward Kagan for a moment, then became expressionless.

  You definitely have the “king of all assholes” part down.

  Amusement returned from the link. I prefer to think of it as “emanating an aura of command.”

  Well keep emanating. The gods only know what Aelron is up against. I’d like to end this before we need the fragments.

  “Of course,” the younger man said. “I can arrange to take you to the harbor personally. Guards, prepare a detail!”

  Two guards clicked their heels and approached the platform.

  Great job.

  It is far too early to celebrate, Kagan said. Do you not wonder why this young upstart was allowed to give a direct command to the court? Something is very wrong here.

  “Who are you to speak for the emperor?” Kagan asked. “Who is this man, Toren?”

  What are you doing?

  If it wouldn’t have given the game away, Nicolas would have winced. Calling the emperor by his first name couldn’t be a good idea.

  “Please forgive Zorian’s lack of decorum,” the emperor said. “I am still teaching him proper court etiquette. But he is my most trusted adviser.”

  Zorian coughed and the emperor’s gaze flicked toward him.

  “And he speaks with my authority,” the emperor said. “Forgive me, Archmage, but I must attend to matters of state. Zorian will discuss the urgent matter you referred to earlier.”

  Emperor Relig walked down the opposite side of the platform toward a small golden door at the side of the room.

  I may be new to this job, but wasn’t that pretty poor form?

  Something is very wrong here, indeed, Kagan said.

  We can’t let him leave yet! Remember what Nuuan said!

  “I suppose I can save introductions for later,” Kagan said. “You’ll want to meet this young girl, though. She recently Awakened to cognitomantic power.”

  Emperor Relig stopped.

  Saleem took several steps down the platform, eyes fixed on Kaitlyn.

  “I see,” Emperor Relig said. He turned. “Zorian, I trust you’ll handle this with the import it deserves.” He stared at Kaitlyn for several more moments before leaving the throne room through the small golden door.

  Zorian stepped down from the platform and extended his hand toward Kagan with a huge smile on his face.

  “Zorian Osa,” Zorian said. “Primary adviser to His Imperial Highness, as you are now aware.”

  Kagan ignored the hand. “As you say.”

  Zorian waited awkwardly for a handshake that never came. He lowered his arm and lost his smile.

  “Yes,” Zorian said. “Well then. I’m afraid it would be inappropriate to discuss matters here. The guards will escort you to a more appropriate location.”

  Zorian nodded at a guard, and the entire patrol surrounded Nicolas and Kagan.

  As the guards led them into a dark passage, Zorian nodded to his left, and three other guards formed up around Kaitlyn.

  “Forgive me, Archmage, but the emperor wishes to have a private conversation with the girl,” Zorian said.

  Absolutely not!

  “She’s my servant,” Kagan said. “I’ll allow no such thing.”

  Nicolas put his arm around Kaitlyn and pulled her toward him. There was no way he was letting anyone take her.

  The picnic had been wonderful. How they’d managed to find Nicolas’s favorite beer—from a local Austin brewery, named 512—he’d never know.

  “Isn’t that Pecan Porter the nectar of the gods themselves, Kagan?” Nicolas asked.

  Kagan shifted on the blanket and raised his tankard, tapping it against Kaitlyn’s.

  Nicolas had been holding her close a moment ago, but he had to pull his arm away so she could fill up her drink.

  The grassy meadow they relaxed on overlooked the northern coast of the Pinnacle island, and small waves lapped gently against the crags below them.

  Such a beautiful day. Not a cloud in the turquoise sky.

  “Nicolas,” Mujahid said.

  Where had he come from.

  Nicolas turned and shielded his eyes from the sun.

  Mujahid, Nuuan, and Tithian were walking down the hill from the Pinnacle proper and—

  A sharp pain exploded in Nicolas’s head.

  What the hell?

  He hadn’t had that much beer. Besides, Pecan Porter never made him feel sick. But he doubled over as a wave of nausea struck him.

  The sky went black.

  No, that wasn’t it. The sky changed. Into a gold-trimmed ceiling. Three Religarian guards approached with a blue-robed man, and—

  The sky was turquoise once more. The pain and nausea vanished.

  Mujahid, Nuuan, and Tithian approached with a Council magus in blue robes. Strange color for Council robes.

  Had the magus been there before? Nicolas didn’t remember him, but…

  Kagan raised his tankard and clanked it against Kaitlyn’s.

  “A most excellent brew,” Kagan said. He filled a tankard for Mujahid, who had just arrived.

  Where’s Nuuan? Wait, weren’t Tithian and a Council magus here too?

  “Nicolas,” Mujahid said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I need to borrow the Lady Kaitlyn for a moment.”

  Of course he did. That’s what Mujahid did here. He borrowed people. But he always brought them back. He was a good man. Just like Dr. Murray, who was clanking a tankard of Pecan Porter against Kagan’s, and singing a Maori party song he’d learned in New Zealand.

  “Sure,” Nicolas said. “Just bring her back.”

  Mujahid nodded. “That’s what I do. I bring people back.”

  Nicolas smiled and laid against the blanket. He drifted off to sleep, as Dr. Murray and Kagan finished the Maori song.

  Saleem smiled as Nicolas returned to consciousness in the hallway outside of Emperor Relig’s throne room.

  Perhaps loss of consciousness wasn’t the right way to describe it. The reality of his experience was unquestionable. Right down to the taste of the 512 Pecan Porter. When Mujahid had come to take Kaitlyn away, he—

  Kait!

  “Where did you take her?” Nicolas asked. His pulse raced, and a sweat broke out on his forehead. He drew on as much ambient necropotency as he could find, but there was little to be had. “Where is she?”

  “Calm yourself,” Saleem said. “We wouldn’t want any unfortunate accidents to happen.”

  “If you touch her—”

  “Guards, take them to the holding room.”

  “I demand an explanation,” Kagan said.

  “You demand?” Saleem asked. “You’re in no position to demand anything.”

  Saleem waved his hand and three Religarian guards took Nicolas and Kagan by the arm.

  Nicolas cursed not having asked for a siborum from the cichlos. Now he was powerless and being led away, something he swore he’d never let happen again.

  There was no choice now. He’d have to go along and bide his time.

  The guard gave him a shove as he followed Kagan down the hallway.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FO
UR

  In the year 852 BCE, Mustafa Sabbag stepped over the threshold, becoming Mustafa Lord Mukhtaar Sabbag. Born into Clan Ezeki, Lord Mustafa emigrated from the Kingdom of Shandar with a group of miners seeking their fortunes in the foothills of the great Algidians. On his journey, he became friends with a local Mukhtaarian priest, embraced Mukhtaarian theology, and became a full member of Clan Mukhtaar.

  - Coteon of the Steppes, “The Mukhtaar Chronicles: Coteonic Commentaries” (circa 680 BCE)

  Simply unprecedented. In all the Chronicles, this is the only tale of a priest not only changing clans, but becoming a Mukhtaar Lord as well. My own experience of the Rite of Ascension makes me certain of one thing: his conversion was not false. Were it so, he would not have survived. It also makes me certain that members of other clans can ascend, under the right circumstances. This eases my mind somewhat. Clan unification weighed heavily on my mind. I’d been worried we’d made a horrible mistake.

  - Mujahid Mukhtaar, Private Commentaries, 25 CE

  Aelron and Morrigan rode east without stopping, so eager were they to reach Egis. Game was scarce, but not as bad as it had been farther west. His hunting skills had kept them fed.

  They’d entered a valley running north and south less than an hour ago, and the ridge on the far side was steeper than the one they’d ridden down.

  He was getting tired of shielding his eyes from the sun, and the speed they rode made it impossible for his hood to stay in place. If they could stop until midmorning, the sun wouldn’t be an issue anymore. But they couldn’t afford the delay. They had to get to Egis and find a riverboat bound for the Sea of Arin. The sooner they intercepted the protoforge fragments, the sooner they’d be on the road to Dar Rodon.

  “It’s not much farther,” Morrigan said.

  “I just wish I had one of those spheres Nicolas uses,” Aelron said. “Would have been nice if we could have just necromanced ourselves to the fragments.”

  “I’m not sure that’s actually a word,” Morrigan said. Her posture stiffened, though her face was cautious. “How much time did you spend with him?”