Necromancer Awakening

by Nat Russo

  Idiot. I was under attack all along.

  The light sputtered out with a loud crackle.

  Something moved and caught his attention.

  The skull had returned.

  The rotting flesh burned away, and the clumps of hair disappeared, leaving pristine bone behind. It emitted a bright blue light, the same light that had tried to kill him. This time, however, it turned inward on the skull.

  The skull vibrated, shaking in all directions as if trying to expel the light pouring into it. The shaking stopped and the skull floated backwards toward the far wall.

  Nicolas didn’t know how he knew, but he was certain something terrible would happen if the skull touched that wall.

  He extended his arms and released power into both the wall and the skull. He could feel the wall as if the strand of energy was an extension of his hand. The wall was malleable.

  He willed the energy to carve an opening in the wall in the shape of the skull, and it lashed out like an invisible whip, biting into the wall and changing it.

  When it was finished he realized it wouldn’t matter. The skull would still touch the wall.

  The skull was less than a foot away from the wall.

  Don’t tell the power what to do. Show it!

  He imagined necropotency running down his arm like oil and into the skull-shaped alcove. When the image was complete, the barrier around him changed shape and elongated. With a twist of his hand, he detached a smaller bubble and moved it into the opening. The energy coated the alcove like syrup. When the melding of energy and alcove was complete, the alcove emitted a bright, electric-blue light.

  The skull slid into place like a brick in a wall. The alcove and skull collapsed together, and the wall’s surface became flat.

  Blue light sparked along the skull’s outline like a blowtorch through metal, then went dim, leaving the image of the skull etched into the wall. It glowed with inner power.

  He had won.

  He exhaled and willed himself out of the Halls.

  When Nicolas opened his eyes, something felt different in his head, but he couldn’t place it.

  Mujahid was sitting in front of him.

  “Well done.” A broad smile appeared on Mujahid’s face. “You’re an awakened necromancer now.”

  “So I don’t have to run around doing your laundry?”

  Mujahid placed a hand on Nicolas’s shoulder. “You’ve learned an important lesson, but many more remain. Get some sleep. There’ll be no more nightmares for you tonight.”

  Nicolas realized what was different. He could sense the presence of the glowing skull in his mind. It felt like a tool…or a weapon.

  “What’s this thing in my head?”

  “It’s called a symbol of power. Tomorrow I’ll teach you how to use it.”

  “What’s it do?”

  “It raises the dead.”

  Mujahid stood and left.

  Nick shivered. Dreams or no, he’d get no sleep tonight.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Tithian prayed Kagan would show mercy when he heard the news.

  The labyrinthine passageways of the Pinnacle didn’t slow him down as much as the new hole in his polished boots, but he was determined to reach the archmage before the general assembly met. It was better to deliver bad news to the Holy Archmage as soon as possible.

  The Holy Archmage, who would kill his own son for political reasons.

  He shook the thought out of his head. The archmage’s holiness was beyond question. If Tithian didn’t understand the divine plan, it was his own fault.

  He vowed to spend more time praying and meditating. Perhaps he would fast during the month of Mose and make a small pilgrimage. That would cleanse his thoughts.

  He turned a corner, found the marble column he was looking for, and made sure no one was watching.

  Better to be safe.

  He performed the unlocking ceremony his predecessor had taught him. The complex hand gestures were nothing more than a ruse designed to fool unseen observers. It was a form of power manipulation that involved symbolic objects that did the real work of unlocking. Sigilmancy. And few remained who were adept in its use. He channeled power into a carved wooden symbol in the sigil pouch hanging from his waist. The column turned, creating a grinding noise of dirt and grit, and revealed a hidden archway.

  The dust and mildew choked him as he stepped inside. He’d have to thank Lord Mujahid for teaching him that clever trick, if he ever saw the man again.

  If he doesn’t kill me first for what I did to him, that is.

  He cleared his mind and formed a mental image of the secret passage bathed in light. The power obeyed his will, flowing into his eyes and illuminating the pitch-black passage.

  He made his way through the secret tunnels in the ancient underbelly of the Pinnacle to a room just outside the main hall.

  Servants filled the hallway that led to the Council Chamber. As Tithian scanned the mob, he saw the formal robes of the archmage and smiled. He had arrived in time.

  “Holy One,” Tithian said.

  Kagan gestured over his shoulder for Tithian to follow.

  “Warlock,” Kagan said.

  “Your son has been taken to Paradise.”

  Kagan stopped.

  “Forgive me, Holy One, but the Mukhtaar Lord arrived before me.”

  Kagan grabbed the Talisman of Archmages from Tithian’s neck.

  “And how do you know it was a Mukhtaar Lord?”

  Sweat beaded on Tithian’s forehead. The necklace was beginning to dig into the back of his neck, but he didn’t dare pull away from Kagan’s grasp.

  “The sacred light of ascendancy,” Tithian said. “I watched as he saved the boy’s life. He had the light. There was no mistaking it.”

  Kagan released the talisman.

  “Why do you call him boy?”

  “He is…that is to say…if it weren’t for the talisman, I would never have believed he was your heir.”

  “Explain yourself.”

  “Your heir is…he has the appearance of a man far younger than your son.”

  “Could the talisman be wrong?”

  “I don’t see how, Holy One. Lord Mujahid himself—”

  “Yes, about Lord Mujahid. Tell me about the other talisman. The one you swore you took from him.”

  The implication stung. He swore because it was true. What sort of man would lie to the archmage?

  “It’s secure in my chambers,” Tithian said. “It was my first priority when you ordered his banishment.”

  “I want to see it,” Kagan said. “Take your place in the chamber and wait for me.”

  A look of euphoria passed across Kagan’s face and he turned. “Announce that I’ve been delayed. The Book of Life calls to me.”

  Tithian bowed his head and offered a prayer of thanksgiving for the Book.

  It pained him that after all these years the archmage didn’t trust him. His former friendship with Lord Mujahid made him guilty by association in Kagan’s eyes.

  When the archmage sees the Talisman he’ll know I’m a faithful servant.

  He entered the council chamber and his eyes were drawn to the Obsidian Throne as he walked.

  It stood ebon black in the sandstone room, resting behind a small, wooden podium on a dais—a relic of a time when wood was in abundance. The perfection of its color and the history of the men who had sat upon it would intimidate anyone who knew what it was. But it was humble, almost self-deprecating in its shape and size. To those who didn’t know better it was nothing more than an uncomfortable black chair.

  Tithian climbed the dais and looked down at the assembled council members. Conversations turned to petty disputes between magi maneuvering for personal favors. They disgusted him, these self-aggrandizing politicians. Power-hungry magi who took greater interest in themselves than in the souls of humankind.

  He looked at the podium and his hope returned. Today, the Book of Life would rest on that podium. Today, the council wo
uld hear the voice of the gods.

  Tithian’s stomach tightened.

  The magi, grouped by nationality into three sections, fell silent as Kagan strode across the oblong room and placed the Book of Life on the podium in front of the Obsidian throne.

  “Be seated,” Kagan said.

  “Yes, sit, you Shandarians.” The voice came from Nebuch, a Religarian with an unkempt beard.

  “If you have something to say, Magus Nebuch,” Tithian said, “perhaps we can discuss the shipment you’re expecting from Shandar?”

  Magus Nebuch’s face paled, and the other magi lowered their eyes.

  Nebuch’s addiction to Shandarian powder made him easy to control. But Nebuch wasn’t the only magus with secrets. Tithian had enough knowledge of every magus in the Council to shame them into self-imposed exile, and he took every opportunity to make sure they knew it.

  Kagan gripped the marble bannister circling the dais until his knuckles whitened.

  “I have asked you for years—begged you—to help me eliminate the evil of necromancy,” Kagan said.

  “You cannot eradicate the old religion, Archmage,” an older magus said.

  Tithian recognized the man as Magus Gregory from the southern coast of Tildem. Tildemen were notorious for being sympathetic toward necromancy.

  “The gods defined orthodox worship millennia ago,” Magus Gregory said. “Necromancy is a valid Rite—”

  “I define orthodoxy,” Kagan said. He stepped down from the Dais. “I define what is valid.”

  Shouts of “Tildemen” and “blasphemer” rose from the Religarian magi.

  Kagan raised his hand. “Come now, brethren. We spend so much time on the heresy of King Donal in Tildem that we often overlook what takes place in the northwest.”

  Angry voices rose among the Shandarians.

  “It has come to my attention that a coven exists in the mountains of the Shandarian Union,” Kagan said. “You’ll recognize the name, I’m sure. They call it Paradise.”

  Several magi whispered “Mukhtaar” as if it were a holy word.

  “Yes, brethren,” Kagan said.

  “Do the Mukhtaar Lords still live?” Magus Gregory asked.

  Kagan looked down. “We have no reason to believe so.”

  Tithian tried not to betray his confusion. Had the archmage misunderstood him? He had been explicit about the presence of a Mukhtaar Lord earlier.

  “Those overblown heretics do not concern me,” Kagan said. “What does concern me is the presence of an orb of power within their city.”

  A hush descended over the Council.

  “Our laws on this matter are sacrosanct,” Kagan said. “It is forbidden to possess an object of power outside of the Pinnacle.”

  “If this is the Paradise of legend, there are forces at play we do not understand,” Magus Gregory said. “Unless you are privy to the secrets of Unification?”

  Not even Tithian knew those secrets. One of the greatest mysteries of the last century was how the Mukhtaar Lords unified the twelve necromantic clans under a single banner at Paradise. After Unification, no clan leaders remained except the Mukhtaar Lords, and Lord Mujahid never told him how it was accomplished.

  Kagan stepped back up the dais and nodded to Tithian.

  “Prepare, brethren, to receive the Voice of the Gods,” Tithian said.

  Kagan lifted the Book of Life high with both arms extended, and bowed his head. After a moment of silence, he put the book down, opened it to the last page and spread his arms.

  A massive release of vitapotency rippled across Tithian’s skin in waves.

  Multi-hued lights appeared on the ceiling of the chamber, first as tiny points, then as larger spheres of luminescent energy. The lights danced in circles around one another before coalescing into letters. The letters formed words, the words formed sentences, and when the final sentence was complete the lights descended upon Kagan as one, entering him through the top of his head.

  Tithian had seen the miracle countless times before, but it never failed to fill him with awe and wonder.

  A distinct aura formed around Kagan, cycling through every color of the rainbow. His face contorted with every color change, as if each successive color hurt more than the last.

  A shock wave of vitapotency pulsed from Kagan, blowing Tithian’s long hair back, and he began to speak.

  “People of Erindor, mark this day. The Mukhtaar ancestral home of Paradise will fall and the magic of death will be obliterated once and for all. Obey the archmage.”

  As he spoke, vibrant orbs of multi-hued light emerged from his mouth and traveled down the length of his arm. When they reached his hand, a parchment materialized next to the Book of Life, and the orbs leapt forward. Fire ignited as the orbs transformed into fiery words that burned themselves into the parchment and fused the parchment into the Book of Life. As the last orb inscribed itself onto the parchment, a visible shock wave emanated from the book, spreading outward in a translucent, golden sphere. That sphere would carry the sacred words to every Temple of Arin in Erindor.

  “I take this command as sacred duty,” Kagan said. His voice was strained. “This assembly is at an end.”

  Tithian climbed down from the dais with Kagan.

  Kagan leaned in close and whispered, “Now let’s see that Talisman of Archmages you stripped from the Mukhtaar Lord.”

  Tithian nodded and followed Kagan out of the Council Chamber. Now he would prove his loyalty. Now the archmage would see.

  Tithian’s stone desk sat in front of the large polished-quartz window overlooking a courtyard. A four-post bed covered in an opaque red canopy dominated one side of the room. The value of its wood could feed a city for a year, but Kagan long ago forbade him from selling it.

  “The talisman is locked away,” Tithian said.

  “Show me,” Kagan said.

  Tithian opened a small room adjacent to the main bedroom. The small box that contained the Talisman hadn’t been disturbed in forty years. He retrieved the box and set it on a small table next to Kagan.

  Three metallic clasps held the box closed, and each clasp radiated a yellow light in the shape of a key. Tithian waved his hand over the clasps and gave a sigh of relief.

  “It hasn’t been opened,” Tithian said.

  “Unlock it.”

  Tithian released power into the key sigil he carried in his sigil pouch and the box sprung open. He looked into the box and felt his heart race.

  Kagan leaned over the box and swore.

  “I don’t understand,” Tithian said.

  Kagan pulled the talisman out and held it next to Tithian’s. They were identical in every way, save one—Tithian’s talisman radiated light and heat, but the talisman in the box emitted none.

  “You were duped by a Mukhtaar Lord,” Kagan said.

  “But it was identical to mine when—”

  Comprehension dawned. Of course it had been identical! The heir was already gone by the time Lord Mujahid was banished, so both real talismans would have been inactive. An inactive fake, worn by a savvy Mukhtaar Lord, would have passed for the real thing with no way to tell the difference.

  “Holy One—”

  “I have a task for you.”

  “You can trust me.”

  Kagan waved the comment away and smiled. “Your trustworthiness was never in question. You’re a man of faith. I know you understand that your salvation depends on obeying my will.”

  Tithian’s skin grew cold.

  “Take your agents to the Shandarian Union, and Destroy Paradise.”

  “My agents are capable, but my duties here require—”

  “Find the entrance to the Mukhtaar Estate. It will be hidden somewhere within Paradise. You’re the only one I can trust with this.”

  Kagan walked to the door of the chambers, but turned as he reached the threshold.

  “That orb,” Kagan said. “Either capture it or destroy it.”

  “Paradise is protected by barrier magic. My trip
may be a short one.”

  “You’re not the only one with spies, Warlock. The barrier will come down.”

  Kagan turned back to the door. “I am a merciful man, Tithian. But if you fail me again, I fear the gods may demand a penance. As your confessor, understand that I will take no pleasure in you living the remainder of your days without skin.”

  Kagan left without closing the door behind him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A sharp slap tore Nicolas out of a sound sleep and he drew back to punch the offender.

  When he sat up, Mujahid was standing in the doorway more than ten feet away.

  “How did you do that?”

  “Like this,” Mujahid said. His eyes glowed and another invisible slap hit Nicolas.

  “Hey—”

  “It was a hand on your face or a boot up your arse. I chose the one I thought you’d prefer.”

  “Real nice.”

  “You stick out like a virgin in a whore house, boy.” He nodded toward the stone wardrobe. “Get dressed. Meet me in the training hall when you’re done. Know where that is?”

  Nicolas rubbed his face. “You told me yesterday.”

  “Did I now? Well…go where I told you, then.”

  Something had changed. Nicolas thought the old man had started warming up yesterday.

  Mujahid left and a skeletal penitent closed the door behind him.

  “Asshole,” Nicolas said.

  An invisible slap sent Nicolas flying off the bed.

  “All right already!” Nicolas said. He heard a chuckle and footsteps fading.

  He yanked open the wardrobe. A sour, musty smell permeated the cabinet. Great. Moldy clothes.

  A single white robe hung inside with a white piece of fabric draped over it. Must be a belt, but there was something odd about it. It was wider in places, and flexible.

  He took his pair of black pants off and tossed them in the corner of the wardrobe, but he kept his boots on. When he changed into the robe, he felt like he was swimming in it.