Necromancer Falling: Book Two of The Mukhtaar Chronicles

by Nat Russo

  Zorian folded his hands and tapped his lips with his index fingers. After several moments, he spoke.

  “You’re free to go,” Zorian said.

  Nicolas offered a slight bow.

  “The device,” Zorian said.

  Nicolas retrieved the orb from his robes and handed it to Zorian.

  “And how does this work?” Zorian asked.

  “I don’t know how one would accomplish it with life magic,” Kagan said. “But you channel a small amount of necropotency and it transports you to the Pinnacle.”

  Zorian pursed his lips. “Clever. Right, then. The guard will remain outside, but I’ll inform them your servant may leave.”

  Something in Zorian’s demeanor changed when Kagan surrendered. It was more than a reaction to a simple victory. He all but danced out of the room.

  “I’ll do what I can,” Nicolas said. “I’ll sever the link if it comes to it.”

  “And you’d be a fool to do so.”

  “Why?”

  “Questions like that make me doubt your paternity. And your training. I’ve been dead for months.”

  Kagan was right. If Nicolas severed the link and Kagan collapsed, his decomposition would accelerate to match his true state. It would be obvious to the Barathosians Kagan had been a corpse all along.

  They’d come back. And they’d keep coming back until they got what they wanted.

  “Perhaps in a year,” Kagan said. “Maybe two. They’ll have exacted their punishment by then and cast me into whatever grave they intend to dig. You’ll know when because I’ll tell you.”

  “You’ve gained some purification today.”

  “Spare me the platitudes,” Kagan said. “Go save that young woman who’s leading you into insanity and an early grave.”

  Nicolas didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t exactly like Kagan. But he didn’t exactly hate him anymore either. He hadn’t expected it to be difficult to leave him behind.

  He walked to the door, nodded his head at Kagan, and closed the door behind him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  In the year 711 BCE, Fahad Morcos stepped over the threshold, becoming Fahad Lord Mukhtaar Morcos. A contemporary of Coteon of the Steppes, Lord Fahad and Coteon worked tirelessly to illuminate the Mukhtaar Chronicles. Lord Fahad was said to be an invaluable source of knowledge of applied theology for Coteon, and he was instrumental in deciphering the Origines Multiversi.

  When Coteon died of an unknown lung illness in 669 BCE, Lord Fahad agreed to serve as chief celebrant at the funerary rite. Coteon thanked Lord Fahad, informed him of the location of unpublished commentaries, then passed into the Plane of Peace before a single hour had elapsed.

  - The Mukhtaar Chronicles, Second Cycle, 10 CE

  The guards ignored Nicolas as he left the holding room. He double-checked his chain of office to make sure it was concealed. He had to keep his identity hidden, if he wanted to stay alive long enough to find Kaitlyn and get out of here.

  The gold-filigreed walls stretched out before him on both sides of a narrow hallway, which wound through the guest wing of the imperial palace. The floor sloped down toward an intersection that would pose the first problem for Nicolas.

  He had tried to memorize the twists and turns when they’d escorted him to the holding room. But the palace was so large, and each hallway so similar, it didn’t take long to lose track. The wide hallways near the throne room had grown narrower when they took him to the guest quarters. Maybe he could backtrack by focusing on the width of the hallway.

  Several guards stood alert along the way, arms concealed within their voluminous desert robes. But none of them so much as blinked as he walked past.

  As he reached the next intersection his pulse raced. The intersecting hallway was at least twice the width of the one he emerged from. The only question was whether to go left or right.

  Left it is.

  The hallway curved right and narrowed.

  Necropotency trickled into Nicolas’s well of power. The relative size of his well made it seem like a small amount of power, but he was certain it would have filled any other necromancer’s well.

  Someone died. Nearby.

  And whoever it was, it came from farther into the narrow hall. An odd place for a random death. This wasn’t a residence wing, as far as he could tell, and there were no signs of an infirmary nearby.

  Just focus on finding the throne room.

  Another trickle of necropotency entered his well.

  Dammit! Two?

  Nicolas turned inward and allowed a small amount of necropotency to touch the guide symbol—the one that looked like an arrow with a broadhead tip and feather fletchings. The guide would tell him where the nearest source of energy was. Whatever had just died should be that source.

  The guide came to life in the form of an ethereal arrow hanging within his peripheral vision. It pointed farther into the hallway.

  Necro GPS. Gotta love it.

  The hallway grew darker the farther he walked. There was very little natural light in this part of the palace, and widely spaced torches created large swathes of shadow.

  Nicolas crept along the wall. If there had been a murder, whoever did the murdering wouldn’t take kindly to being watched.

  The necropotency grew stronger as two doors on opposite sides of the wall came into view. The source had to be in one of those two rooms.

  As he crept along the wall, the guide turned toward the door across the hall.

  There it is.

  The door cracked open and Nicolas jumped back into the shadow.

  Tullias—Zorian’s servant—emerged from the room and ran farther into the darkened hallway.

  A high-pitched screech came from the room beyond the open door. There was something familiar about the sound, but he couldn’t place it.

  Nicolas released the necropotency, and the guide disappeared from his field of vision. At least two people had been killed in that room. And from the look of it, Tullias had done the killing.

  The presence of necropotency grew stronger as Nicolas stepped toward the door.

  “There now,” Zorian said.

  Nicolas startled until he realized Zorian’s voice had come from within the room.

  “Now you know them,” Zorian said. “Tell your sisters. Their hunger will soon be over.”

  The screech came again, this time louder, and an image of a cloud materializing over the ruins of Caspardis formed in Nicolas’s mind.

  Nicolas peered through the gap in the door. When the source of the screech came into view, he stepped back and flattened himself against the wall.

  A small shriller, no more than three feet tall and ten feet long, wings the length of a minivan, had been feeding off the dead corpses of two palace guards. It had the same concentric rings of scalpel-sharp teeth. But where a full-sized shriller was turquoise and had a feathery mane around its neck, this smaller version looked leathery, like a tiny dinosaur.

  Could these be the creatures the Barathosians had used to hunt survivors in Caspardis? Zorian had been stroking its head like a cherished pet. Had they been domesticated somehow?

  A third screech came from the room, and it was the loudest of all. A great gust of wind swept over Nicolas as the shriller flew out through the doorway and up the hall toward Tullias.

  Nicolas began to suspect he had the whole situation wrong.

  Zorian is going to use those shrillers here just like in Caspardis. I can’t let that happen again. I can’t just take Kait and leave.

  Nicolas pulled all of the ambient necropotency he could gather into his well, and mental clarity washed through his mind. His thought processes sped up. Pieces of information he once thought dissimilar grew connected. Patterns formed where previously none existed.

  His suspicion became a certainty. The emperor was hiding something.

  When Saleem greeted them on arrival, he’d reacted as if it were normal when Kagan spoke with Nicolas’s dialect. He’d said Kagan’s trave
ls were probably causing the confusion. But he’d emphasized the word travels as if he didn’t really believe it was traveling that made Kagan odd.

  Saleem had commented on the haste with which Kagan arrived, as if the emperor had sent for them.

  And the patterns didn’t end there.

  When they’d entered the throne room, the emperor was angry with Zorian. He’d given Kagan a strange look that Nicolas had interpreted as concern. But to a necropotency-filled mind, it was obvious there had been more to it than that. There’d been an ever-so-brief instant of shock, disgust, and caution.

  Nicolas had seen that look many times in the last year. It was the look of an average person gazing upon a penitent.

  The emperor had known Kagan was dead.

  And that must mean the emperor had been playing along with the charade.

  But Emperor Relig didn’t even glance in my direction. He doesn’t know about me.

  He’d called Zorian his most trusted adviser. The emperor must be working with the Barathosians. Zorian all but confirmed it when he’d made the puppet master comment.

  Nicolas knew what he had to do now.

  The only way he and Kaitlyn would get to safety would be to confront the emperor himself. Toren Relig was the only person in Dar Rodon with enough power to make it possible.

  But he’d have to cut Zorian’s puppet strings, somehow.

  I could kill Zorian right here and end it all. I have enough power.

  The words of Siek Lamil rang like bell in his mind. “When life finally leaves your body, you will make the journey to the Plane of Death with the blood of many men on your hands. It’s the horrible certainty of our vocation.”

  No.

  I can’t just start killing people when it’s convenient. That’s how Kagan got us into this mess in the first place!

  It was time he acted like a man who could make kings tremble. It was time to flex some muscle.

  Nicolas ran.

  He passed the intersection leading back toward the guest wing and continued forward, past more whitewashed walls and golden doors.

  When he reached the next intersection, the gargantuan gold doors of the throne room stood down the hall to his right.

  He smoothed his robes and walked across the hall, toward two guards in Religarian livery. They guarded the throne room doors with six foot tall pikes, leaning inward to form an ersatz archway.

  When he got within ten feet of the door, the guards crossed their pikes.

  Nicolas retrieved his chain of office and allowed it to dangle freely in the open.

  The guards noticed, but they didn’t step aside.

  “This won’t do,” Nicolas said. He extended two ropes of necropotency, wrapped them around the guards’ pikes, and pulled them aside.

  Nicolas stepped between them. And as they struggled against the necropotency in a futile attempt to free their weapons, he pushed the throne room doors open.

  A dozen or more people spoke in private conversations around the periphery of the room.

  “I sent for no one,” Emperor Relig said when Nicolas entered the throne room.

  The private conversations came to an abrupt halt.

  Saleem and Kaitlyn stood next to the emperor on the dais.

  Kait?

  She seemed fine. In fact, she seemed pleased to be there.

  Kaitlyn smiled and moved to greet Nicolas, but he gave her a look. He had to play this carefully.

  As Nicolas drew closer, the emperor saw the chain of office and stepped off the main platform.

  “Holy One,” Emperor Relig said. He sounded like a man who was greatly relieved about something. “My sincerest apologies for our misunderstanding. The Lady Kaitlyn recently informed us of your true identity.”

  She what? What if I was still working Kagan as the archmage?

  “Had I known you were our new archmage,” Emperor Relig said, “proper introductions would have been made. I certainly wouldn’t have allowed Zorian to arrest and detain you. I would have flogged him myself for merely suggesting it. I’ll understand if you must exact punishment for my sacrilege. I throw myself on your mercy, which I know reflects the abundance of Arin’s holiness—may he be praised.”

  Emperor Relig bowed his head and raised his hands in a gesture of prayer.

  Nicolas wasn’t quite sure how to react. He’d been expecting many things, but apologies and obeisance wasn’t among them.

  “No punishment necessary, Emperor Relig,” Nicolas said. “There’s no way for you to have known. No one questions your devotion and faithfulness. But, like I tell everyone else, ease up on the Holy One title. I’m no holier than anyone else. The way I see it, it’s my job to serve the people, not the other way around.”

  The emperor looked up, and when their eyes met, his expression spoke volumes.

  Nicolas had lost respect. Awe. Authority. Emperor Relig had been expecting—wanting—hellfire and brimstone. But Nicolas had given him Kumbaya and a campfire.

  “I’ll consider it,” Emperor Relig said. His tone had changed. He was speaking to a subordinate. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Archmage, I must discuss this with Zorian. He’s under the mistaken impression that Kagan still reigns. He’ll no doubt be as disappointed as I.”

  Remember what Tithian and Nuuan told you, idiot! King of all assholes, remember? You’re a pope. A medieval pope. So act like one.

  Emperor Relig started to turn away.

  “You turn away from Arin so easily?” Nicolas said. It was the best he could come up with.

  The emperor stopped and faced Nicolas once more, a look of defiance on his face.

  Nicolas was going to have to do much better than that. He stepped close and whispered.

  “I’m generally a nice person, Toren Relig. But if you ever disrespect me like this again, I’ll command the religious orders to leave this place and end the pilgrimages. I’ll close every temple in Religar, excommunicate you, and see you tried for heresy and sacrilege. How long before your subjects depose you to quell my anger and restore their sacraments?”

  Shock entered the emperor’s eyes.

  But Nicolas wanted awe.

  He took hold of one of the golden chains hanging across Emperor Relig’s chest and pulled him closer.

  “Or perhaps I’ll simply call you King from now on. I’m sure Arin will agree to nullify my predecessor’s proclamations.”

  Emperor Relig stepped back, dropped to one knee, and lowered his gaze.

  Awe had returned.

  Time to drive it home.

  Nicolas stood over him and looked down. He raised his voice for the entire court to hear.

  “And when the day comes that someone does manage to stick a blade in your disloyal heart,” Nicolas said, “I’ll make certain your corpse rots in a place no one can find it. No priest will raise you for purification. The Plane of Death will be your home for eternity.”

  Emperor Relig lowered his gaze farther.

  “Forgive me, Archmage,” Emperor Relig stammered. “I will spend the rest of my days atoning for the treatment you’ve faced in your short stay under my roof. Say the word and I’ll order myself flogged in public. But please…I’m begging you…please don’t abandon Religar! We will not survive without Arin’s grace!”

  The weight of what Nicolas had done pressed down on him. He was no better than Kagan. He may not have killed anyone, but he’d threatened the eternal salvation of a nation.

  Was that what it took to rule the Pinnacle? Did Nicolas have to be like Kagan, granting spiritual favors to some and withholding them from others, all to achieve a political goal? Start a pilgrimage here, close a temple there. Hell, maybe throw in a free, guaranteed purification to boot! The popes may have sold indulgences during the dark ages, but they had nothing on Nicolas. Oh no they didn’t! He could actually raise their decrepit asses from the grave and declare them pure or impure, all with a god in his back pocket to carry out the sentence.

  Why would the gods allow any human being to have tha
t kind of authority?

  He couldn’t. He wouldn’t be that sort of archmage.

  Kaitlyn’s face looked like she was struggling with something. At first, Nicolas thought she was disgusted by what he’d done here. She had every right to be.

  But Saleem stood next to her, grasping the sides of his head like it would explode if he took his hands away.

  He’s been trying to attack, and she’s keeping him at bay. I have to speed this up!

  “Rise, Emperor,” Nicolas said. “You’re no good to me strapped to a flogging post. I have a better use for you.”

  Emperor Relig stood, but his gaze remained lowered. “Anything.”

  “If that’s your man,” Nicolas said, pointing at Saleem, “then I expect you to control him. If Lady Kaitlyn is harmed, not only will I follow through on every threat I made here today, I’ll invent a few new ones.”

  “Saleem,” Emperor Relig said. “You will do as the archmage commands.”

  Nicolas nodded at Kaitlyn, and the struggle left her face.

  Saleem lowered his hands and faced Kaitlyn. “That’s not possible. How did you do it?”

  “I need you to get Lady Kaitlyn and I out of the palace,” Nicolas said. “Out of Dar Rodon, if possible. Before Zorian discovers Kagan’s true state.”

  “But your translocation orb?” Emperor Relig said.

  “Zorian has it. And I assume he outranks you here.”

  Emperor Relig glanced away.

  “I can’t pretend to understand all you’ve been through, Emperor. And I’m not so naive anymore as to believe the situation is black and white. But whatever your reasons for giving them what they want, don’t you think it’s time you started making amends to those who have suffered because of it?”

  “Zorian monitors every entrance to the palace,” Emperor Relig said. “But there is at least one he knows nothing about. My personal chambers have a hidden door that will lead you to a tunnel beneath the palace. It served my great-grandfather well when the northern tribes sacked the city.”

  “Good enough,” Nicolas said.

  “But it doesn’t lead out of the city. It leads into the city’s heart.”