by Nat Russo
William frowned. “You gamble with your life, Lord Mukhtaar.”
“Shall I gamble with the countless lives who live under that abomination in the sky instead?”
William sighed and nodded. “Be safe. The clan cannot survive without you.”
Mujahid headed into Agera, wondering whether the clan would survive with him.
Mujahid approached Agera with caution.
Most of the city’s buildings lay in ruins, and only the sturdiest of stone structures remained standing at all. The once beautiful city was a jumble of fallen towers and debris-filled streets. Merchants watched him eagerly from within voluminous patchwork tents along the main avenue. There wasn’t a customer in sight.
A dozen Agera militia emerged from a concealed alley and Mujahid swore.
He didn’t recall such a strong military presence the last time he was here, but he wasn’t about to stick around to find out why. He ducked into the nearest merchant tent, and a miasma of scents assaulted his nostrils.
Great. A fragrance trader. Now I’ll smell like a Religarian brothel.
A loud snore caught his attention and he saw a lanky man lying on the floor at the back of the tent. Business must be bad indeed for a Religarian to be napping around money.
Mujahid pretended to examine the various fragrance vials until the patrol passed the tent and turned down another avenue.
He had to get out of Agera as soon as possible. All a guard patrol needed to detain him was a general description, and judging by the military presence it was likely they’d have one.
He cast his mind outward, searching for sources of power that must exist in a city of this size. A familiar sensation told him he was right. He was too far away from the necropotency for it to fill his well on its own, but he was close enough to draw it in.
Ruined buildings provided ample cover as he covered the distance to the harbor. The docks formed a natural border on the western edge of a large plaza, which was ringed on three sides by well-maintained buildings. The harbor was busy. Travel over land was treacherous, so most trade flowed through an intricate system of riverboats and barges that all stopped here.
Several boats anchored in port, and Mujahid made his way across the plaza to get a better look. He studied them from behind a fountain, looking for any that were preparing to leave.
Healing William left him looking younger, but his facial features wouldn’t have changed much. He pulled his hood up to minimize the chance he’d be recognized.
The sound of boots drew his attention as lightly armored militia entered the plaza from a nearby avenue. There were no ruins nearby for him to hide in, so he ran back across the plaza toward a narrow street, cursing as he ran.
Something was wrong. The militia weren’t on a routine patrol. They wore barely enough armor and were moving with haste, glancing around the plaza as if looking for something specific.
Three more militia, dressed like the first group, stepped out from a building a few feet in front of him, catching him off-guard.
One of them looked at Mujahid’s robes with a blank expression. “Religarian,” she said. “You’ve got a lot of nerve—”
Mujahid bolted for the corner of the building.
“Get him,” she said.
“Why?”
“He’s running, ain’t he?”
Mujahid picked up speed as he turned the corner into a side street.
A fine festering mess. I manage to hide my true identity only to look like something worse! A Religarian!
Shouts told him the patrols were flanking him, driving him farther east. One way or another he had to evade them. Between what the Shandarians thought he had done in Egis as a Religarian and what he actually did in Caspardis, there’d be no hope of escape if they caught him this time.
The street made a sharp turn to the right, and Mujahid ran into a wall. He was at a dead end.
A door opened behind him.
He began to weave two symbols together, intending to unleash a cone of disease at whoever tried to capture him. When he saw who had opened the door, he stumbled backwards and released the power harmlessly, unable to believe his own eyes. A man he hadn’t seen in forty years stood in the open doorway.
“Mujahid,” Tithian said. “Quickly. Before the militia arrives.”
Tithian’s pattern was undetectable. The man must be concealing his identity. There was no doubt in his mind it was Tithian, however. This was the man who had refused to come with him all those years ago. This was the man who had stayed behind, valuing the promise of title and riches over the sacred vows of the priesthood. This was the man who led the Great Purge that resulted in the deaths of entire necromantic blood lines.
The shouting grew louder, and Mujahid could hear the boots of the lightly armored soldiers striking the ground not far from where he stood.
He was out of choices. He would either have to trust this man—a man who didn’t deserve his trust—or take his chances with the militia. With a curse and a burst of speed, Mujahid ran through the doorway with Tithian.
“This way,” Tithian said. “It will take the patrols hours to search all of these buildings individually. We’ll be long gone by then.”
“Tithian?”
Tithian stopped and turned.
Mujahid stared at the man, and a rage that had lain dormant for forty years boiled to the surface. How many nights had he lain in bed, imagining what he would do if he ever got his hands on this traitor?
He closed on Tithian in two strides and pressed his dagger to Tithian’s throat. “Give me a reason I shouldn’t kill you and make this world a better place.”
The leather pounding of boots, and the metallic rattle of sheathed swords echoed in the street outside.
“If my wits haven’t dulled I’d say there are two dozen reasons out there,” Tithian said.
Mujahid considered.
“I have limited influence here,” Tithian said. “Time is at a premium.”
Mujahid released him and placed the dagger back in his sleeve. When Tithian didn’t move, he gestured through the archway and said, “Get on with it.”
They came out of the building on the opposite side. Mujahid wanted to leave Tithian behind, but he needed the man’s help right now. Besides, if Tithian wanted him captured, all he had to do was let the militia catch up. Instead, he had chosen to help, and somehow that was more unsettling.
The buildings they moved through were a collection of ruins. The surrounding stone structures remained standing, but most of the interiors had fallen into disrepair or had been looted for wood.
They came to a building with a partial second story and climbed up a precarious staircase.
Tithian stared through a demolished quartz window, scanning the streets below.
“I think we’ve lost them.” Tithian examined Mujahid. “The years have been kinder to you than to me. I wouldn’t mind learning that little trick.”
Mujahid’s old emblem of office, now hanging from Tithian’s neck, caught his attention. He cared little for the office, or the illusion of power that came with it, but the emblem brought back painful memories.
“Ahh yes,” Tithian said. He glanced down to where Mujahid was staring. “I didn’t take pleasure in succeeding you.”
“You’ve had forty years to voice a complaint.”
“Can’t say I blame you for your suspicions. But I’m here to tell you something, old friend.”
“And what would that be, old friend?”
“Something went horribly wrong that day—the day the heir disappeared. I did everything I could to turn Kagan from his course, but he would not listen to me.”
“You address the Most Holy Archmage by name now?”
“You have no idea how fine the line is that I walk. He sent me to find the boy. But you know of his return already.”
Mujahid’s suspicions were confirmed. Tithian was aware of the forged talisman.
Tithian waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I understand wh
y you did it.”
“Then you must know that he’s gone.”
Tithian retrieved his Talisman of Archmages, hanging from a golden chain around his neck, and stared at it. “Of course,” he said. “The gods bring us hope, then yank it from our grasp. Typical. But then a god has the luxury of whim, whereas you and I—”
“Much has happened in forty years for you to blaspheme so casually,” Mujahid said. “There was a time you would have flogged someone for less.”
“Forgive me. It seems I’ve forgotten your religious sensibilities.”
“Only mine?”
“Come now, Mujahid. This should be a joyous reunion, not one filled with—”
“Are you delusional, man?” The heat rose in Mujahid’s face. “Forty years. Not a single attempt to reach out to my brother or me, and yet you have the audacity to seek me out now under the guise of…what is this, friendship? Have you completely forsaken your vows? I should kill you where you stand and be done with it.”
“The vows,” Tithian said. “They seem quaint now.”
“Quaint?” The anger rose higher in Mujahid’s throat. “Is the color white so tempting after all?”
“Does it get lonely on that pedestal of yours, Lord Mukhtaar?”
Mujahid stood and turned toward the decrepit staircase. “If you try to—”
“You weren’t the one to stay behind. You have no idea what it was like after you left…the atrocities I witnessed, all in the name of Religion.”
“Now you hold Religion accountable for the evils of humankind?”
“I hold Religion accountable for being more concerned with the good of Religion than the good of humankind. If you can’t…please, let’s stop this. We have much to discuss and this isn’t helping.”
Mujahid channeled a small amount of power, allowing the symbol of ascension to pulse. He knew the effect it would have on his appearance, and he wanted to drive home the point.
“Never forget what I am, Tithian. I am not concerned with your existential crisis. Nor am I concerned with your revision of history. You placed a sacred purpose above yourself the day you took the vows. I am your superior, priest, and I will hold you to your sacred duty, with or without your obedience. Now, I would know your intentions, and the span of time you have to fill the gaps in my knowledge grows shorter with every breath you take.”
Another bead of sweat formed on Tithian’s brow. He held up his hands. “I am here to help you.”
“Oh happy coincidence.” Mujahid released the power and his vision returned to normal.
Tithian leaned forward. “I knew two things.” He held up a finger. “One, you hoped the boy would return. You took your talisman and left me with a fake. Why else would you do this? Two.” He held up a second finger. “When the boy was killed—near Caspardis I believe—I knew you would charge off to the Pinnacle yourself, feeling you had nothing left to lose. When word reached me of the godlike feats you accomplished in Caspardis—something along the lines of slaying the entire army and raping their loved ones, if the stories are correct—I knew you’d have no other choice but to come to Agera. You are here. I was right. No mystery. No scheme. No coincidence. Logic.”
“You’ll forgive me if trust comes slowly.”
“I’m here to help.”
“You’re correct in one thing…I intend to make for the Pinnacle—”
“My friend, I don’t—”
“And I need to get out of Agera. Either you’ll help me, or you won’t. I don’t advise attempting a third course of action.”
Tithian took a deep breath and exhaled. “That’s why I’m here. You can’t approach the dock during the day. You discovered that yourself. We should wait for darkness.”
Mujahid nodded. Tithian might be a traitor, but he was right.
Tithian settled in with his back against the wall, glancing through the opening to the street below from time to time.
“Tithian,” Mujahid said. “Just so there’s no misunderstanding…if you betray me, there will be no place in the multiverse for you to hide. If I have to consume the life force of a thousand innocents to see your end, I’ll gladly pay Zubuxo’s price.”
Tithian looked away. After several moments, he nodded, his expression inscrutable.
Several hours passed in awkward silence, save for the occasional rodent scampering about. The sun set, blanketing the room in darkness as a humid chill swept through the air. When it was full dark, Mujahid stood and followed Tithian out of the building.
No militia patrolled, which made no sense to Mujahid. But if the absence of militia on the streets made no sense, their absence at the docks was madness. Not a single guard patrolled what would be, in any large city, the most crime-ridden area. Something wasn’t right…and it grew less right the more Mujahid considered it.
Tithian stopped and pointed ahead. “The captain of that boat owes me a favor.”
Mujahid wasn’t sure what would kill him first, local militia lying in wait or an ambush of Tithian’s fashioning. But he knew that sometimes the best way to avoid a trap was to spring it.
An older man emerged the wheelhouse of the boat and called for a couple of deckhands. He nodded when he saw Tithian and Mujahid, but the way his eyes darted between them made Mujahid feel uneasy.
“Lord Tithian,” the man said, and Mujahid’s eyes widened.
Tithian saw Mujahid’s expression and shook his head as if to suggest Mujahid should ignore the comment.
“I won’t be long,” Tithian whispered.
Mujahid grabbed Tithian’s shoulder with a firm hand. “Captain Roberts addressed you as Lord. Surely you intend to correct him?”
“Kagan bestowed the title years ago, nothing more. The captain isn’t suggesting I’m a Mukhtaar—”
“You’re damned right, nothing more,” Mujahid said and released Tithian. Outrage boiled beneath the surface. Better men than this traitor had lost their lives to the Rite of Testing.
“You don’t say no to Kagan,” Tithian said.
“I said no. You were there. A Lord says no when no needs saying.”
“Is this the passenger?” The captain jerked his head toward Mujahid.
“Captain Filo Roberts, I present to you Mujahid Lord Mukhtaar,” Tithian said, introducing the two men according to the old custom.
Captain Roberts lost all color when Tithian pronounced Mujahid’s title.
“You were expecting us, Captain,” Mujahid said, reaching out to shake the captain’s hand. “My companion gets around most efficiently, it seems.”
“Lord Tithian and I are old friends, Lord Mukhtaar,” Captain Roberts said, bowing his head when he pronounced the clan name.
“I engaged the Captain’s services before you arrived,” Tithian said.
Mujahid had suspected Tithian would betray him at the first possible opportunity, but knowing with certainty was like a knife in his back. He weighed his options and decided he had better chances on the riverboat than dealing with the Agera militia.
The boat’s deck was flat, like a barge, except for the aft wheelhouse, which rose two stories above the deck. A deckhand led them toward a row of doors on the first story.
They settled into a room below the wheelhouse and the deckhand announced the ship would be leaving momentarily. Tithian prepared his bunk and sat on the side of it.
Mujahid needed time to think, and he couldn’t spend another minute in that room with Tithian. He walked over to the door and opened it.
The cool night air was refreshing as it rushed into the room. He stepped out onto the deck, careful to keep an eye on Tithian. Two deck hands ran down the gangplank, as if something had gone wrong with the launch, and Mujahid took a closer look. He thought better of it and looked back toward the room.
Tithian was no longer on the bunk.
Mujahid ran into the room, thinking he had missed another door, but there was only one way in or out. Tithian was gone.
Mujahid ran out on deck.
The sound of cre
aking wood startled him and he spun around.
Tithian was sitting on the bunk as if he had never left.
“Why so frantic?” Tithian said.
“Where did—”
The boat heaved away from the dock and pulled a portion of the pier with it. Mujahid fell to the deck and rolled before he could stabilize himself against the wheelhouse. He watched as the river drained away, pulling the boat and part of the pier along in its wake. The river appeared stable as always, but the world tilted at an impossible angle, making Agera appear to be up in the sky, while the opposite bank of the river appeared to be the ground.
“Quake!” Captain Roberts said.
One of the deckhands shouted and pointed back at the dock. A mooring line was coiled around the upper thighs of a trapped crew member like a giant snake, and the man was struggling to free himself. The boat lurched farther from the dock and the serpentine lines pulled tight, severing the man’s legs from his torso and dropping them into the chaotic river below. The man’s torso convulsed on the dock as his life drained from him in a pool of red death.
Mujahid prepared a symbol that would put the man out of his misery, but the river heaved once more and broke his concentration. When the waters receded from the dock, the suffering man was gone, swept into the churning waters.
The quake lasted less than five minutes, but the damage it had caused to the Agera docks was considerable. Mujahid thanked the gods that dry rot had chosen the pier instead of the boat.
“Is the boat sound, Captain?” Mujahid said as stood.
“No way to be sure without climbing up under it myself. But she’s seen worse.”
Between the quakes and the archmage’s lackeys, Mujahid wondered if he would survive.
The city of Three Banks, the northernmost city of the Kingdom of Tildem, received its name from the convergence of the great Orm River with a tributary that originated from Union Lake at Agera. The two rivers came together to create a large triangle of land pointing due south, which locals referred to as North Bank.
