Necromancer Falling: Book Two of The Mukhtaar Chronicles

by Nat Russo

  Aelron’s chest tightened. His brother could be a difficult subject around Morrigan.

  “Not very long,” Aelron said. “A few days.”

  “Long enough to know his character?” Morrigan said. She gave him a skeptical look.

  “Time doesn’t reveal character. Power does.”

  “You’re a philosopher now?” Morrigan said.

  “I suppose you could say it runs in the family.”

  Morrigan chuckled and Aelron drew his mount to a stop in front of her.

  “I need you to hear this,” Aelron said. “In a span of days, I watched Nicolas put himself last, in almost all ways. He had a penitent to do his work, had he chosen. Yet he was planning to carry a crippled man from Blackwood to Caspardis by himself. He saved my life and showed me mercy when I didn’t deserve it. He revealed more kindness and strength of character in those few days than the rangers did in my forty years with them. I don’t need philosophy to know a good person when I see one.”

  “I’m not saying I don’t believe you,” Morrigan said. “I’m just…reserving judgment. My experience with magi hasn’t been quite as positive as yours.”

  Aelron nodded. He couldn’t ask more of her than that.

  They crested the ridge and Aelron relaxed. Their ride would soon be over.

  Egis lay before them, across a barren plain half a league to the east. Most of the city was in silhouette from the rising sun, but a single tower beyond the city gate stood out among the buildings. It was narrow. No more than fifteen feet wide. Yet it stood well over fifty feet in height, crowned with a pointed, tile-covered roof. Buildings of lesser height sprawled eastward along city streets that splayed out like a fan. The streets converged at the harbor, which was busy with riverboat traffic. The Great Orm River flowed from the north horizon to the south. Though boats in need of mooring filled the docks, the river outside of Egis was devoid of traffic.

  Aelron shifted his gaze back to the wall.

  The city gate was guarded, but that was to be expected given Morrigan’s tale. She’d told him the Religarians invaded and set fire to Egis some months ago, mostly because of a lie Kagan told. It was hard to tell with her, though. Her blind hatred of the man no doubt had her exaggerating.

  Morrigan brought her adda to a halt and cursed.

  Aelron saw the problem. Soldiers with tall, black feathers extending from large, wide-brimmed hats manned the wall and gate.

  The Barathosians had taken Egis.

  When Aelron faced Morrigan again, he blinked to check his vision.

  Morrigan sat atop her adda as before, but gone was her cloak and fitted armor. In its place was a yellow dress. Her blond hair was freed from its topknot and swept down onto her shoulders.

  “How in the six hells did you do that?” Aelron asked.

  Morrigan spurred her adda forward.

  “If they’re occupying the city,” she said, “this won’t be easy. We may need to steal a boat if we’re going to intercept the fragments.”

  “I don’t have a problem stealing something that needs stealing. But that’s not a group of incompetent dockworkers down there. That’s a disciplined military.”

  “There are two Sodality safe houses in the city,” Morrigan said. “We can resupply at one of them.” She smirked. “Scared?”

  “It’s all fun and games until I get a crossbow bolt in my arse cheek.”

  “Yours isn’t the only arse on the line.”

  “Spoken like someone who can just turn into a tree and leave.”

  Morrigan stifled a laugh for a moment then let it out.

  When Aelron realized why, he shook his head. “Sure. Laugh it up.”

  He wanted to be annoyed, but her infectious smile had him smiling back as she trotted ahead.

  The city wall of Egis wasn’t as high or elaborate as Caspardis, though it was the same sandstone color and equally dilapidated. The gate was open, which Aelron took as a good sign. If the Barathosians felt secure and comfortable, they wouldn’t be as alert as they otherwise could be.

  Still, he couldn’t help preparing for the worst.

  Twenty paces to the first guard. Wall is fifteen feet high. Two guards at the gate and two up top. Probably two on the other side of the gate as well.

  If it came to a fight, he would concentrate on the wall guards first. That would give him an elevated position from which to take the others. The wall was too high to vault from the ground, but if he stood on his mount he’d have a fair chance.

  But what’s my exit strategy? Taking out six guards is one thing. Taking out six guards and disappearing is something else.

  The closer he got to the wall, however, the less anxious he became. The Barathosians at the gate didn’t appear concerned about who came or went from the city. One of them leaned against the inner wall scratching the back of his neck, while the other faced into the city, chatting with someone Aelron couldn’t see.

  Aelron and Morrigan rode past without either of the guards taking notice.

  And that shouldn’t be possible.

  “I don’t like this,” Aelron whispered as they crossed under the open portcullis.

  But the lackadaisical gate guards weren’t half as unsettling as what lay beyond the gate. He’d been expecting to see many things; burned down buildings, guard patrols enforcing martial law, even bodies in the street.

  What he wasn’t expecting to see were people going about their business as if nothing had happened. In fact, many chatted and laughed with the guards as they passed by homes and businesses. There were burned and gutted buildings, to be sure, but a small group of Barathosians carried roofing tiles and other construction materials into a nearby street.

  On second glance, the burn marks weren’t fresh. Could they be the result of the Religarian invasion Morrigan had told him about?

  As Aelron looked down one street then the next, one thing became certain; the Barathosians weren’t destroying Egis.

  They were rebuilding it.

  The sound of a hammer striking iron came from a group of workers hammering a boardwalk into place across the street.

  Not only were the Barathosians rebuilding the city, they were improving it.

  “Does this make any sense to you?” Aelron asked.

  “This road leads to the dock,” Morrigan said. “Keep your mind on how we’re going to grab a boat.”

  “At this rate, we’ll merely have to ask.”

  Morrigan shook her head. “You saw as well as I. There weren’t any river boats leaving the city. As peaceful as this place looks, you can bet the Barathosians have it locked down.”

  “The gate was open.”

  “Do you spring a trap before it captures your prey?”

  She had a point.

  The buildings they passed fell into two categories; those that were burned out, and those that had been rebuilt. From the look of things, not a single building had survived the Religarian invasion untouched.

  Was Morrigan’s story true? Had his father caused the war that nearly destroyed Egis?

  Poor people. They survive one war only to be thrust into another.

  But the farther they rode, the more he doubted anyone realized there was a war going on at all. Egisians smiled and waved at the Barathosians as if the invaders were old neighbors out for a stroll.

  They passed a stable on the main thoroughfare that was busy catering to civilian riders. The Barathosians hadn’t bothered to take control of it.

  “I can see the dock now,” Morrigan said.

  Aelron brought his adda to a stop, and Morrigan looked at him twice before turning hers around.

  “What are you doing?” Morrigan asked.

  “We’re missing an opportunity here.”

  “I know. The dock is that way.”

  “Take a look around. Nobody cares that we’re here.”

  “So?”

  “So,” Aelron said, “we have the advantage. We know who the Barathosians are and what they’re doing outside these walls. But t
he people of Egis don’t know. And the Barathosians don’t know we know. You know?”

  “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

  “We have a chance to get information, and we’d be stupid not to take it.”

  “It’s stupid to stay in this country any longer than we have to. You heard your brother. He’s counting on us to intercept those fragments. It’s taken us a week to get here as it is!”

  “You told me back at Caspardis you wanted to know what their weaknesses were. Their objectives. You wanted to know so badly that you tortured a man for information. Well now’s our chance. Now we can get some real information.”

  “There’s a but on the end of that sentence. I can hear it.”

  “But…this time we do it my way.”

  Morrigan turned her adda back toward the dock. “Yep. I don’t like it. We agreed to accomplish a mission, and that’s what I intend to do.”

  “Every piece of information we gather now can help Nicolas and Kaitlyn. They’re fighting blind. And that’s if they haven’t been captured already. We can make a difference. Nicolas said so himself…his plan is a long shot at best. We could learn something here that puts the odds in our favor.”

  Morrigan lowered her head. After a few moments of silence, she turned her adda back around and spurred it forward.

  “Where are you going?” Aelron asked.

  “We passed a stable back there,” Morrigan said. “Innocent people who aren’t trying to subvert a government stable their mounts when they enter a city.”

  Aelron grinned and followed her.

  It didn’t take long to stable the adda, and when Aelron finished paying the stable master, he found Morrigan standing behind him with her arms crossed.

  “What?” Aelron asked.

  “For a man in search of information, you sure don’t ask many questions.”

  “What questions?”

  “How about finding out what he knows of the Barathosians? How many visitors enter the city every day? Does anyone ever leave? You know…questions people ask when they’re up to no good but trying not to look like they’re up to no good?”

  Aelron caught sight of two Barathosian soldiers standing idle across the street.

  “I’m not interested in the stable master right now,” Aelron said. He walked past her toward the street. “I’m interested in them.”

  Aelron nodded toward the Barathosian soldiers. Both wore the familiar wide-brimmed hat, and both wore the same white tunic and trousers, the latter of which were tucked into their calf-high boots.

  “Why not get the information we need straight from the source?”

  “You do know the difference between bravery and stupidity, right?” Morrigan said.

  “Just act normal,” Aelron said.

  “Normal for me or normal for you?”

  “Don’t kill anyone. I’d hate to see you ruin your pretty yellow dress.”

  The Barathosians had begun walking and turned into a side street.

  “Walk beside me,” Aelron said. “If anyone asks questions, you’re my wife.”

  Morrigan stopped. “I beg your pardon?”

  When Aelron faced her, he’d never seen her eyes as wide as they were in that moment.

  “Trust me,” Aelron said. “We’re newlyweds.”

  “And you take me to a burned-down city occupied by a foreign military for our honeymoon? Why Aelron…I had no idea you were so romantic.”

  “Real funny. Now start acting…domestic.”

  Morrigan raised an eyebrow. “I’ll find a broom to carry, then.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  “So I can shove it up your arse and carry you like a child’s ice treat.”

  “When we’re finished here, I want a divorce,” Aelron said.

  Aelron crossed the street, thanking the gods for vows of celibacy.

  After a few moments, he and Morrigan settled into a comfortable walk a short distance behind the Barathosians. The soldiers didn’t seem to care or even notice them, judging by how they carried on.

  “Fourth Expeditionary should have been here by now,” a soldier said. His voice had the ring of concern to it. “I told Karen we’d have some time together before the worst of it begins.”

  The other soldier smacked him gently on the back of the head. “Idiot! You’ve been deployed how many times, and you think you’re going to get to play with your new wife?

  “A man can hope, can’t he?”

  “Hope isn’t going to get Karen’s unit through that blockade any faster.”

  Blockade. That didn’t bode well for the plan to get out of the country. It explained the lack of ships on the river, though. But why blockade a city’s port and not impose martial law? Anyone could bring supplies right through the city gate and defeat the blockade.

  When Aelron turned away in thought, he spotted a man and a woman hurrying toward the Barathosians. The man was dragging the woman across the street by the wrist. She begged him to stop, but he kept pulling.

  As the Barathosians turned toward the street, one of them noticed Aelron and Morrigan.

  “Ranthos,” he said. “Take care of…whatever that is.” He nodded toward the man and woman in the street.”

  The man called Ranthos nodded and turned back toward the street.

  “Malcolm,” the Barathosian said. He tipped his hat. “Excuse us for a moment.”

  Morrigan returned the nod.

  Aelron expected a lot of reactions from the Barathosian, but politeness wasn’t one of them.

  “Let’s keep this short,” Malcolm said.

  “I’m well aware of the time,” Ranthos said.

  The man in the street dragged the woman closer. “Long live the Glorious One.”

  “Long live the Glorious One,” the Barathosians said in unison.

  “I call on Barathosian justice to do something about this woman,” the man said. “Not only is she a thief, she’s one of those insurrectionists.”

  Ranthos looked the woman up and down and chuckled. “Okay. Tell me what happened.”

  The man shoved the woman to the ground in front of Ranthos, and Aelron got his first clear look at her. Her tattered gown was covered in filth, and mud caked on her bare feet. Knotted and matted tawny hair fell to her shoulders. And judging from the smell, she hadn’t seen a bath in weeks.

  “Touch her like that again, and you’ll find yourself in a cell tonight,” Ranthos said.

  The man raised his hands in a placating gesture.

  Malcolm bent and helped the woman to her feet.

  “She ran into my shop yelling….” The man stopped as if unable to speak.

  “Yelling what?” Ranthos asked.

  “I can’t bring myself to say it,” the man said.

  “Try,” Ranthos said.

  “She was yelling death to the Glorious One!”

  “I did no such thing!” the woman yelled. She lunged toward the man but Malcolm held her back.

  “Then she stole a basket of bread and ran out!”

  “Ahh,” Ranthos said. “So that’s what this is about.”

  The woman glared at the man in the street.

  “You’re no insurrectionist,” Ranthos said. “You’re no more interested in who governs this shite hole than you are in training carrier pigeons.”

  “I don’t know anything about pigeons,” the woman said. “But I know when I’m starving.”

  Ranthos pursed his lips. “How much is that basket of bread worth?”

  The man opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. He put a finger on his chin and looked back and forth between the two soldiers.

  “Five crowns,” the man said.

  Ranthos stepped closer until the broad rim of his hat touched the man’s forehead.

  “I’ll ask again,” Ranthos said. “How much is that basket of bread worth?”

  The man glanced up at Ranthos then looked back down.

  “Half a crown,” the man said.

  “That sounds right
to me,” Ranthos said. He retrieved a coin from his pocket and placed it in the man’s hand. “One crown.”

  “Long live the Glorious one!” the man said. He didn’t waste any time bowing and hurrying back across the street.

  “As for you,” Malcolm said, facing the woman. She gave him a fearful look. “I know you had good reason for the theft, but poverty is against the law. We’ve posted the official notices. Ignorance is no excuse.”

  Against the law? How can they do that?

  “And how am I supposed to eat?” the woman asked. “You killed my family. You killed my husband!”

  “I assure you, madam, I’ve killed no one in this city. And neither has Ranthos.”

  “As good as!” the woman yelled. “We didn’t ask for your Barathosian Justice.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, madam. I truly am. War is a nasty business, and no one suffers through it as much as the innocents. Perhaps we can help.” Malcolm placed his arm around the woman’s shoulder and faced her toward the side street. “Barathosian Justice may be harsh at first. But we pay reparations to anyone deserving. Go that way. Three blocks. Turn right, then another three blocks. Can you remember that?”

  The woman nodded reluctantly. “Three blocks, right, then three more blocks.”

  “You’ll see the old warehouse. Ask for Len. He’ll be wearing a hat like mine. Tell him Malcolm sent you. Tell him I excused you from reporting with the others. He’ll take care of you. When next I’m in Egis, I’ll check up on you.”

  The woman reacted as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  “Go on,” Malcolm said. “There’s food and shelter. If you’re not suitable for work in the city, we’ll hire you. There’s always work to be done. If not here, then elsewhere.”

  The woman smiled and nodded. “Long live the Glorious One!”

  Malcolm tipped his hat toward her as she ran off.

  Something scratched at the back of Aelron’s mind.

  Insurrectionists.

  He had to be missing something. There would be no insurgency if the Barathosians were taking better care of Egis than the Shandarian Union had. Sure, there’d be an initial resistance. But that resistance would crumble at the prospect of employment.

  Jobs meant food and security.