Necromancer Awakening

by Nat Russo

  “I have often been called distasteful myself. Now that I think on it, so has my secret weapon. Perhaps you know too much already.”

  Mujahid climbed down from the wall. Digby’s humor had a way of making him feel better.

  The command center was nothing more than a circle of tents along the main thoroughfare that led to the north gate, but it provided the king and his advisors a place to meet close to the wall.

  Mujahid passed the outer guard and entered the king’s tent.

  “Does it begin?” the king asked.

  “Sieges are nasty things, often lasting months,” Mujahid said. “If they attack now it’s because they know something we don’t, or their commander is a complete idiot. They outnumber us, but not enough to throw bodies at the wall as if they have an endless supply. No…they’ll starve us out.”

  An explosion of foul language outside the tent made both men look up at the entrance. Mujahid filled his power well and ran toward the noise. Several guards were lying on the ground, and five robed people stood over them, their heads hidden by large black hoods. Mujahid was preparing to expel a wall of force as the person in the center looked up and revealed his face.

  “Brother,” Nuuan said. “Your face looks like a slapped arse. I thought you were expecting me?”

  “What in Arin’s name did you do?” Mujahid asked, checking for signs of life on the guards.

  “They acted like I needed permission to see you.”

  “Arin’s festering—a little less heavy-handed next time?”

  “Ahh, give us a hug now,” Nuuan said, moving forward with open arms.

  Mujahid embraced Nuuan. “Your timing is impeccable, as always. Where have you been?”

  Nuuan gestured toward the robed figures standing behind him. “Raising an army.” He made a show of looking over Mujahid’s shoulder and around the command tents. “Where’s that cross-dressing postulant I left you with?”

  Mujahid showed Nuuan the talisman.

  “Arin humping an orb,” Nuuan said. “I read the proclamation. Has the boy king lost his senses?”

  “Sometimes I wonder how crazy this boy king is,” Donal said. He must have followed Mujahid.

  “Your Majesty,” Nuuan said and bowed. “Forgive me.”

  Donal waved the comment aside. “My ego remains intact, Lord Nuuan.”

  “Are they versed in battle tactics?” Mujahid nodded toward the necromancers.

  “They’ll do.”

  “I’ve learned much in your absence, brother,” Mujahid said. “Things you won’t believe.”

  “As much as I appreciate the help, Lord Nuuan, five extra people hardly tips the scales.” Donal said.

  “You’ve never seen necromancers conduct a coordinated attack,” Mujahid said. “The last Necromancer War took place decades before your birth.”

  “My brother’s trying to say the odds have evened up a bit, Majesty,” Nuuan said. “May I have a private word with my brother?”

  “Please,” Donal said, and gestured toward his command tent.

  They stepped into the command tent, and when the flap closed behind them, Nuuan grabbed Mujahid by the shoulders and spun him around.

  “Have you lost your mind?” he said in a hoarse whisper. “You want to risk what few priests remain to save this man’s kingdom?”

  “And just what would you have me do?”

  “We throw up a ring of bones, march straight out of here, and dig a festering hole, like we always do.”

  “Like we always do.”

  “Don’t give me that look. I’m not some new recruit ready to cower at the feet of the great and terrible Mukhtaar Lord. And I know you too well to be convinced of your angelic innocence.”

  Mujahid knocked Nuuan’s arms aside and turned away.

  “It’s how we survive,” Nuuan said. “We dig a hole and live where others fear to tread.”

  “It has to stop. The hiding. The destruction. It has to stop sometime, brother.”

  “And you think you’re the one to stop it? Did you ascend a little higher than I did that day?”

  Mujahid turned on Nuuan.

  “These people are facing overwhelming odds. I don’t know if we can save them, but how can you ask me not to try?”

  “Alright already,” Nuuan said. “I was convinced at overwhelming odds.”

  Mujahid exhaled. Nuuan could be as quick to calm as he was to anger.

  “I know you too well to think you don’t have a plan,” Nuuan said.

  “Death’s Vise.”

  “Death’s—” Nuuan stopped himself and put a fist up to his mouth. “You haven’t told Digby yet, have you?”

  Mujahid shook his head.

  “Well, gird your loins. There’s history there. And trust me, he’s the last person you want to see in a homicidal rage.”

  “I knew there was more to him than he was letting on.”

  “Brother, you don’t know the half of it.” Nuuan turned and left the tent.

  The atmosphere hadn’t changed much during their short conversation. The tension was palpable.

  “By your leave, Majesty, I would like to address these men,” Mujahid said.

  Donal nodded.

  Digby approached with Commander Yuli, Guard Captain of the Rotham Militia. She was dressed in fitted leather armor and carried a long bow. Her blond hair was pulled back into a long braid that ran down just beyond her shoulders.

  “Do you mind, brother?” Mujahid asked.

  Nuuan shook his head.

  “Priests, Commander,” Mujahid said. “Gather around, all of you. As you do, I want you to take a look at this place. Get a look at the streets…the buildings.”

  The small crowd looked around. Some kept looking over their shoulders nervously towards the wall.

  “Most of you are too young to remember what Rotham was like before the barrier went up,” Mujahid said. “This city was once the gem of Erindor, and so were its citizens. If a traveler was found wandering, he’d find himself surrounded by an escort of people, all debating which route would find his destination the quickest.”

  There were a few nods, but most stood expressionless.

  “But not anymore. People looked at me with fear in their eyes the day I rode into this city weeks ago. Fear! Why should any man, woman, or child fear a priest?” Mujahid pointed east, toward the far off Pinnacle and Obsidian Throne. “They fear us not because of who we are, but because of who the false prophet says we are. The people believed they heard Arin’s holy words, when it was Kagan’s words instead.”

  Nuuan’s eyes grew wide. “What? You didn’t—”

  Mujahid held up his hand. Now was not the time for explanation. “The archmage usurps the voices of the gods. What will happen when the last necromancer draws his last breath? What will become of humankind then, or the countless other forms of life we have purified in the exercise of our office?”

  The priests had begun nodding with each point he made.

  “Brethren,” Mujahid said. “It has fallen to me to ask you to do something that may run counter to your training. And there is a strong likelihood you will lose your mind in the process.”

  “That affects me little, Lord Mujahid,” Digby said. “I lost my mind many years ago.” He looked up at Commander Yuli and smiled. “But fear not, sister. The gods replaced it with extraordinary sexual prowess.”

  “Call me sister one more time and I’ll cut your prowess off and wear it as an earring.”

  Digby swallowed and the other priests erupted in a round of laughter.

  When the laughter died, Mujahid spoke. “If battle comes, you will each live hundreds of lifetimes within a span of hours…minutes, if the gods favor us. Your teachers instructed that it is not possible to summon more than one penitent at a time. That teaching…is a lie.”

  Most of the necromancers reacted as if they couldn’t believe what they were hearing, but Digby didn’t seem surprised by the revelation. His smile faded and his face became expressionless. His e
yes looked as dead as any corpse Mujahid had ever seen.

  “Each time death’s journey takes you, your mind will splinter,” Mujahid said. “Until all that remains is the evil you witness. You will no longer recognize the difference between reality and the summoning. You will become that which you hate the most.”

  Stillness descended on the small group. Digby’s face remained expressionless.

  “When these walls are challenged,” Mujahid said, “and we run out of corpses to raise, you’ll have to perform pure summonings—without a corpse—and death’s price will be all the greater because of it.”

  Murmurs arose from a few of the necromancers but Nuuan gave them a stern look.

  “Hold fast to this reality,” Mujahid said. “If the madness takes you, it will be too late.”

  Mujahid never thought he would find himself ordering Death’s Vise. It ran counter to everything a necromancer stood for. But it was Rotham’s best chance for survival.

  Nuuan faced the other necromancers. “Some of you don’t have two halves of a mind to rub together as it is, and I should know.”

  Digby chuckled.

  “So if you forget who you are, come ask me,” Nuuan said. “I’ll write your name in the dirt with your own entrails. Maybe that will jog your memory.”

  “What in Arin’s name is Death’s Vise, Lords Mukhtaar?” Donal asked.

  Given the looks on their faces, the other necromancers had the same question.

  “A festering meat grinder, Majesty,” Nuuan said. “And they’ll never expect it because it puts us on the offensive. You mind?” Nuuan asked Mujahid.

  “Please,” Mujahid said. “I have no stomach for it.”

  “It’s why Lord Mujahid requested two centuries of archers, Majesty,” Nuuan said.

  Mujahid inhaled sharply.

  “What, you thought I wouldn’t notice?” Nuuan said. “The archers concentrate fire on both the rear and the van at the same time, dropping as many as they can. We raise the bastards up as fast as they drop and leave them wild…we don’t control them. We let nature take its course.”

  Donal’s jaw dropped. “Feral beasts,” he said.

  “Precisely, Majesty,” Mujahid said. “The penitents in the vanguard can’t mount the wall, and they’re filled with a blood lust for mindless slaughter. So they turn to the rear and begin killing anyone and anything they can get their hands on.”

  “Meanwhile,” Nuuan said, “the evil bastards at the rear are doing the same, only they’re coming forward toward the van. They meet in the middle—”

  “And slaughter one another,” Donal said. “Brilliant.”

  Nuuan snorted. “Hundreds of uncontrolled penitents. If you ever wanted to see pure chaos, that’s as close as it gets.”

  “And they’re the least of our concerns,” Mujahid said. “The toll taken on the priests is beyond imagination. Some will go mad and become homicidal.” He glanced at Digby when he said that. He didn’t intend to, but he couldn’t help it. “Nuuan and I have seen it happen…during the Necromancer Wars. What my brother said earlier was no idle threat. If we see anyone acting strangely, we’ll put them down like a maimed horse and consider it a mercy.”

  A debate ensued amongst the other necromancers, but Digby remained silent. His eyes never left the ground in front of him.

  “Silence doesn’t suit you, Magus Digby,” Mujahid said. “You’ve been a friend these past weeks. I would know your thoughts.”

  Digby never raised his head, but he lifted his eyes toward Mujahid.

  For a brief moment, Mujahid saw madness behind those eyes.

  “The Necromancer Wars,” Digby said. “Horrific. Mindless slaughter lasting for days with no respite. The dead need no rest. Priests falling in battle, only to be raised and turned into mindless killing machines. Battle after battle, wading through body parts and excrement as deep as my knees. Corpses of our allies rotting and unburied to be used as ammunition. Your own family members…normal one moment, insane the next. Watching as your leader feasts on the fetid corpse of a fallen priest as if it were roast adda…and knowing he doesn’t realize what he’s doing. These are my thoughts, Lord Mujahid. They haunt my every waking moment, and I will carry them with me for the rest of my days. And now you know them.”

  Digby smiled and blinked. The look of madness was gone, replaced by his usual jocular grin.

  “But like I said earlier,” Digby said. “I misplaced my better senses long ago. What do I know? If Death’s Vise is what you command, then Death’s Vise is what I shall give you. If there ever were a mind worth losing, it is mine.”

  “How are you old enough to have seen the Necromancer Wars, Magus Digby?” one of the necromancers asked.

  Digby looked away, but Mujahid wondered the same thing. Only a Mukhtaar Lord could transfer life, and Digby was no Mukhtaar Lord.

  “We’ll need to plan this carefully,” Nuuan said. “I’ll command the—”

  Loud shouts from the wall warned of attack. Archers took positions behind the merlons in the crenelated wall above.

  “To the wall,” Mujahid said. “Now!”

  He didn’t know why the empire had chosen to attack, but he’d save those questions for later. Right now, he had to get to the wall. He had a few hundred lifetimes to live before this battle would be decided.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  They ran between the command tents as arrows rained down from the amber sky, a task made more difficult by debris from shattered buildings littering the streets. Mujahid hoped the Religarian commander was as dumb as his strategy was.

  “Digby,” Mujahid said. “Concentrate your efforts on the vanguard. Take these two with you.” He nodded toward two other necromancers.

  Digby and the two priests climbed up the wall and out of sight.

  When they reached the wall, Mujahid’s well of power filled faster than it should have.

  A battlement crumbled next to him.

  A ground assault on the wall wouldn’t destroy the structure. Something was wrong. It wasn’t the Religarian soldiers who were dying. It was the Tildemen on the wall.

  Mujahid cursed. He’d failed again.

  The empire’s catapults hurled boulders toward the city, destroying more battlements. He should have known the empire wouldn’t charge the wall en masse. Only an idiot would order such a move. But where in the six hells did those siege engines come from?

  As Mujahid crested the wall, it was obvious the enemy commander was no idiot. The bulk of the empire force had moved beyond the range of the Tildemen archers, making their bows useless.

  The battle for Rotham on Orm had begun, and Death’s Vise was no longer an option.

  So much for plans.

  A boulder struck a battlement next to Mujahid, and he had to leap out of the way to avoid the resulting shrapnel. The wall couldn’t take much more.

  The necromancers raised the dead Tildemen soldiers, and Mujahid signaled for them to take control. If Death’s Vise wouldn’t work, then they had to use the undead to their best advantage.

  Another powerful blast shook the wall. Mujahid had to do something, or this would be a short siege indeed.

  “They have us by the balls like this, you know,” Nuuan said. He crouched behind the battlement with Mujahid and Yuli.

  “The wall is already weak from the quakes,” Yuli said.

  “They didn’t bring those catapults with them,” Mujahid said. “They teleported them here. That can mean only one thing.”

  Nuuan cursed. “Festering life magi.”

  “But this could work in our favor. If they were expecting a quick breach….” Mujahid spread his hands.

  “They wouldn’t have time to flank us,” Nuuan said. “Yuli, meet me with a century of archers at the western gate. And run like your arse is on fire. Digby, you’re with my brother.”

  Nuuan rose to leave, but Yuli stopped him.

  “If you’re going to flank them, Lord Mukhtaar, we should set a diversion,” Yuli said.

&nb
sp; “Make that two centuries,” Nuuan turned and ran along the wall to the left.

  “Death’s Vise may work yet,” Mujahid said. “Nuuan will be heading to their rear. I’ll take a century with me to the east, below the wall, and start attacking their vanguard.”

  “You can’t sneak two hundred archers over a barren plain,” Yuli said.

  “Open the gate,” Digby said.

  “What?” Yuli said.

  “A diversion only works if your enemy doesn’t expect it,” Digby said. “Do you think they expect us to open the gate and welcome them with open arms?”

  A boulder struck a nearby battlement with massive force, and it crumbled into dust as if it had been pulverized.

  “We’re betting with the city here,” Yuli said. “Rotham will fall if the Mukhtaars don’t succeed.”

  “I’m sorry if I have misunderstood our present situation,” Digby said. “But I was under the assumption defeat is a foregone conclusion and Death’s Vise is a last ditch effort to save our collective arses. Was I wrong?”

  Yuli looked away.

  “When the two centuries reach the northern wall, order the gate opened and the men to lay down their arms,” Digby said. “I might be able to use my secret weapon after all.”

  “Do as he says, Commander,” Mujahid said.

  “I don’t like this, but I’ll see to the archers,” Yuli said. “One century to the west gate and one to the east. If this fails, Lord Mujahid—”

  “Then nothing changes but the timing of our defeat.”

  Mujahid set off toward the east gate, taking two other necromancers with him. The streets were deserted, and it didn’t take long for them to find their destination.

  The sound of boots striking the dirt grew louder and soon a full century of archers stood before Mujahid in the small plaza.

  “Lord Mujahid,” one of the archers said as he stepped forward. “I’m Centenaur Eric, leader of this lot.”

  Mujahid had seen better soldiers in his day, but these men were far from green.

  “Did Commander Yuri inform you of our strategy?”

  “Yes, m’lord.”

  “Follow my lead and be prepared to fire the moment I give the command. And then I want you to do something that just might save your life.”