Necromancer Falling: Book Two of The Mukhtaar Chronicles

by Nat Russo

  “You stopped your recitation too soon,” she said. “What are the first words attributed to my brother Arin in the Origines?”

  Could Mordryn be right? All those years of scholarship. All those years of studying the sacred text. How could he have missed something so crucial?

  Mujahid closed his eyes and recited the words. “‘Why have these great and terrible powers manifest themselves within us?’”

  Mordryn chuckled. “That’s far more poetic than what he actually said. But ask yourself; why would he ask that question if his powers were always innate?”

  “I…” Mujahid couldn’t fathom it. “Everything I thought I knew…”

  “Malvol was once a man,” Mordryn said. “In many ways, he still is. He used his considerable influence in life to gather a following of devout worshipers. Their faith fed him until his powers became godlike. But it wasn’t long before he discovered that wasn’t enough. The final step, deification—complete deification—requires the intervention of a god.”

  “And Malvol intends to use Kaitlyn for that purpose,” Mujahid said.

  “Kaitlyn is merely a demigod, so she cannot serve in my place,” Mordryn said. “But as my daughter, she will eventually have physical access to me.”

  “Which means she’ll be able to compel you with cognitomancy,” Mujahid said.

  Mordryn stood.

  “We call Malvol the God of Hate, but that name is incorrect. He thrives on chaos, not hatred. He feeds off it. The more chaotic the world becomes, the more people believe in his influence. The more people believe in his influence…”

  “The more powerful he grows,” Mujahid said. “The more powerful he grows, the more chaotic the world becomes.”

  “And on and on it goes.”

  “Who is he? If he was once a man, where did he come from?”

  “Your brother seeks that answer at this very moment.”

  Mujahid stood and squeezed Mordryn’s hand.

  “You’ve answered my questions,” Mujahid said. “But I…need some time. And there’s a portal I need to relocate. I’ll return shortly.”

  “We will see each other again, but it will not be today,” Mordryn said. “Multiple threads of reality converge, but I cannot see the outcome. The decisions that would collapse potential reality into objective reality have not yet been made. And you have some role to play in this. There are decisions you must make. But promise me one thing.”

  “Name it.”

  “Promise me you’ll keep Kaitlyn safe. Until she takes her rightful place at my side, she’s vulnerable.”

  Mujahid nodded. “Of course.”

  Mujahid left Mordryn in his chambers. But he didn’t need to glance back to know she was no longer there.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  In the year 1180 BCE, Yusef Mukhtaar stepped over the threshold, becoming Yusef Lord Mukhtaar. He ascended during a time of great famine in northern Religar (1181 BCE - 1175 BCE). Clans Catiatum and Zerubula sought to take advantage of him, demanding unreasonable amounts of gold and salt in exchange for grain. Clan Ezeki, however, demanded nothing in return except goodwill. Clan Ezeki rationed itself and its surrounding villages and shared half its grain with Clan Mukhtaar, bringing everyone through the famine.

  - Coteon of the Steppes, “The Mukhtaar Chronicles: Coteonic Commentaries” (circa 680 BCE)

  The alliance between Clan Mukhtaar and Clan Ezeki spanned more than a thousand years, but Tycon Mukhtaar destroyed that as well. The evil of that man knew no bounds.

  - Mujahid Mukhtaar, Private Commentaries, 12 CE

  Aelron pulled his cloak tight as he crouched on the roof of a three-story building. Though the coin that had once sat in a pocket in his cloak had been small, its weight had been significant. He could feel its absence every bit as much as its presence. He’d had it since he was a child. And now, a lifetime later, he had to find a way to make it through the world without it. Something to replace its incessant draw.

  Footsteps echoed up from below, but he wasn’t worried about being seen.

  People never look up.

  Hundreds went about their routines in the plaza below, shopping in tents surrounding the three stone fountains. Those who weren’t shopping were strolling along the boulevard between the plaza and the circular fortress at the end of the street.

  Whoever had been watching him must be down there somewhere. He didn’t know who or what it was, but as soon as he climbed the building, the prickly feeling on the back of his neck went away.

  He’d considered asking that cichlos priest Toridyn to lend him the help of a penitent. But he didn’t want to alarm the group. Besides, if his suspicions were correct—if Jacobson and the other rangers had decided to pursue him after all—it would be better to not involve the others.

  It had to be Jacobson. Who else would want to follow him?

  No. Jacobson would never go back on a decision. That’s not his way.

  So who was it?

  The drumming of boots on dirt mingled with the sounds of the crowd and the plaza’s cascading fountains. Dozens of soldiers formed ranks and faced the western gate.

  Aelron stepped back from the ledge and ran along the roof to the next building, closer to the fortress side of the plaza. If he could reach one of the two buildings that formed the eastern exit from the plaza, he’d have a better view.

  The next closest building was one story shorter than the one he was on, but foot-wide clefts in the brick architecture formed ersatz columns that could slow his descent.

  Aelron hopped off the roof and spun until he faced the building. He quickly gripped the brick of a partial column with both hands and feet and entered a controlled slide.

  When it felt right, he pushed away from the wall, spun, and landed on the roof below with a shoulder roll.

  He was still two buildings away, but each were the same height as this one, with a street running between. An easy jog—except for the leaping across urban canyons bit.

  Before he could start, a familiar sight passed below him into the plaza. Nicolas and the guard he’d left with. Kaitlyn must have spotted Nicolas too, because she left Toridyn’s side and ran down the stairs to greet him.

  Aelron needed to focus. If someone was following them, it would be better if he found the follower before anything bad happened. Nicolas might be a powerful priest, but his tactical sense was shite. Kaitlyn didn’t understand her own power—whatever it was—and the cichlos priest seemed more interested in sightseeing than anything else.

  No, Aelron would have to be the one to make this particular trouble go away.

  He scanned the crowd as Nicolas and Kaitlyn struck up a conversation. The last time he felt those eyes on him, he could have sworn it came from this side of the plaza. That would place whoever it was right below him, if they’d stuck around.

  But that was unlikely.

  Commotion broke out on the western wall. An entire military camp appeared from nowhere, just beyond the gate. Voluminous tents supported by tall beams, soldiers in foreign uniforms, mounts twice the size of adda, siege towers, everything.

  They simply appeared.

  “Prepare for attack!” a soldier yelled.

  Screams came from below. Barathosian soldiers appeared, ran Caspardis guards through with curved blades, then vanished. The dying guards never stood a chance.

  This was no good. He had to help somehow.

  Aelron ran to the ledge of the roof and peered over. A group of six Barathosian soldiers, each with wide-brimmed hats and feathers, were sweeping across the plaza in a line.

  Six hells!

  Climbing would leave him open to attack. He’d have to drop behind the building instead.

  He gripped the side of the building and shimmied down the brick column.

  A series of popping sounds echoed toward him from the gate. As he looked, several Barathosians, shrouded in smoke, pointed small objects at the crowd.

  He knew what those were. They were the small metallic tubes the Barathosians
used when he was hiding in the wagon.

  The sensation of being watched returned, but this time the source felt much closer than before.

  “You,” a woman’s voice said. It was confident. Commanding. “It’s Aelron, isn’t it?”

  Aelron spun toward the voice.

  Sharp, stabbing pain shot across Aelron’s side before he could see what happened. He reached down to check the damage and pulled back a crimson hand.

  A black blur passed in front of his eyes, and the woman was gone before he could get a good look.

  The sound of strangled choking came from behind. When he turned, the woman stood over two Barathosians who were clutching their throats in a futile attempt to staunch the flow of blood.

  She’d been unnaturally quick.

  And she’d saved his life.

  She glanced at his wound. “You’ll live.”

  Another black blur later and she was four paces away, staring. Though she displayed no weapons, Aelron got the impression she was heavily armed. She wore fitted material that looked like leather, but it was silent when she moved. It covered everything except her head, upon which her blond hair was tied in a top knot. Her armor wrapped up and around her neck, though the buttons were open at her collar bone. Her full-length cloak, black as obsidian, had a strange quality he couldn’t place; it bore the look of rich tailoring, and its sheen reminded him of Arinwool. But every time he tried to look at the fine details, his eyes wouldn’t obey. His glance would slide right off it. All he could see were a series of concentric black rings with an iridescence that moved as his eyes moved. He’d be willing to bet that cloak could help her disappear in a pinch. Even her sleeves, which ended in gloved hands, were exquisitely tailored.

  Her back stiffened, and she crossed her arms.

  “Are you finished examining me?” the woman said.

  The Barathosian corpses vanished, and a silence descended on the plaza.

  “This isn’t over,” Aelron said, staring at the dirt where the corpses had left impressions.

  “We have, at most, two hours before that wall comes down,” she said. “You’re going to die if you don’t follow me. That false bravado of yours won’t save you this time.”

  “Whatever bravado I have, it isn’t false,” Aelron said. “The time you have to tell me why I should follow you grows shorter by the second.”

  She lifted her hands, palms up, and looked to the side. It was as if she were asking the fountains if they believed what they were hearing.

  Aelron didn’t care for the tone of that gesture.

  The woman shook her head and started walking away from the plaza, passing him without another glance.

  “If you survive, we’ll speak again,” she said.

  As she walked toward the boulevard, her image faded. No. He could see her on the periphery of his vision, but only if he looked away.

  Has to be that festering cloak.

  That Barathosian had appeared right behind him. Had it not been for the woman, he’d be dead. And there was no denying her unnatural agility. Maybe humility would be the better part of valor in this instance.

  “Wait,” Aelron said.

  The woman stopped, but she didn’t turn around.

  “You’re right,” Aelron said.

  She remained still.

  “I need to warn my friends,” Aelron said.

  “Your friends are exactly where we need them to be,” she said. “Right now, I need someone like you with me.”

  “What do you know about my friends?”

  The woman started walking again, faster this time, and she was heading farther into the city instead of toward the wall.

  Aelron hurried to catch up with her.

  “Name’s Aelron.”

  “Good for you.”

  “You have a name?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  He’d had enough already, and they hadn’t made it a hundred yards. He grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her toward him.

  “Look,” Aelron said. “All I’m trying—”

  When the stars faded from Aelron’s field of vision, he was lying on his back in the dirt, holding his jaw. The woman was squatting at his side with two daggers crossed over his throat. Her turquoise eyes were fierce. A small part of him wanted to shrink away.

  “Touch me again, Elroy, and you’ll not live long enough to bleed out. I say this once, as a courtesy. Because I’m curious about you.”

  “It’s Aelron.”

  “Like I said, good for you. Now follow or leave. Those are your only two options.”

  He would have paid good money to watch her and Master Nigel spar.

  When she released him, he rose to his feet and dusted himself off. His side stung a little worse than before, but he’d had worse.

  She led him out of the plaza and around a corner, then gestured for him to stop.

  “You’ve been following me for hours,” Aelron said.

  The woman chuckled. “I’ve been following you far longer than that. We’ll discuss it later. Morrigan, by the way.”

  “What?”

  “My name is Morrigan.”

  “Well met. Now, why are you following me?”

  Morrigan ignored the question, ran to the corner of the next building, and peered into a street running parallel to the main boulevard. She waved for him to follow.

  The dilapidated buildings across the street bore damage too old to have been caused by the Barathosians. It was a striking contrast to the way it looked years ago.

  The last time Aelron had been to Caspardis, it was pristine. He was a child back then. A frightened, nervous child on his first journey away from home, waiting to be introduced to the local Shandarian Ranger recruiter.

  He remembered waiting for hours. And when the recruiter—a ranger named Sergeant Saren—had arrived, Aelron cried when he saw the ranger’s feline eyes.

  “Don’t worry, child,” Saren had said. “I’m more like a kitten than a big cat. And I promise you, our big cats won’t hurt you. They don’t hurt good boys. And I can tell you’re a good boy. You’ll be learning all of our secrets before long.”

  “Can I ride an adda-ki like you do?” Aelron had said.

  Saren smiled and pulled a coin from his pocket. “Which do you like the most, adda or adda-ki?”

  “Adda-ki! They’re invisible! And nothing can kill them!”

  Saren flipped the coin. “Well you’re in luck. Adda-ki it is. But here’s your first ranger secret.” Saren gestured for Aelron to move in closer. In a whisper, he said, “Adda-ki aren’t invisible. Rangers make them invisible.”

  Aelron’s eyes had widened at the revelation.

  Saren placed the coin in Aelron’s palm. “Don’t you lose this now. It’s special. It tells the future.”

  “No it doesn’t!”

  Saren lifted Aelron into his arms and placed him on the back of an adda-ki.

  “See?” Saren had said. “It told me you’d eventually ride an adda-ki, and here you are.”

  Aelron had looked at the coin with reverence and tucked it into his pocket.

  “I’ll protect it always!” he said. “I swear!”

  The ringing sound of a large bell brought Aelron’s mind back to the present.

  He’d broken that oath to Saren, and the missing coin accused him like the phantom of past sins.

  “The garrison is preparing for the next attack,” Morrigan said. She glanced to her right, where a bunch of boxes and crates stood against a wall. “In here.”

  Morrigan moved the empty crates and nodded for Aelron to help. When they finished, a narrow metal door stood before them.

  Aelron followed her through the door into a dark, dusty warehouse that smelled of mildew and dirt. He had to suppress a sneeze as a cloud of dust billowed up from the floor where he’d kicked a crate by accident.

  The warehouse was empty, except for some crates and boxes. A table on the far side of the room had a chair on one side and a door on the other.

 
But worse than the dust and mildew was the vile stench of death that permeated the room.

  “What is this place?” Aelron asked. He brought his fist up to his nose to block the smell.

  “A safe house. The Sodality owns it, though we haven’t used it in years.”

  “Sodality?”

  Morrigan looked at him as if he’d asked which way was up. “You really don’t know, do you?”

  “I’m not exactly from around here,” Aelron said. “Well…I am, and I’m not. It’s a long story.”

  “Give me the King’s brief.”

  “My father sent me away when I was little. He’s dead. Now I’m back.”

  “Turian Exports Company,” Morrigan said. “Heard of it?”

  “No.”

  “The Moon Lake Sodality. You’ve never heard of that either?”

  Aelron shrugged. “If I have, it wasn’t memorable enough to stay with me.”

  “Well that certainly explains a thing or two.”

  “Exports. Like what, Shandarian powder?”

  “No! Not that! Do I look like a powder dealer to you?”

  “Whatever you are, you’re far more dangerous than a powder dealer.”

  Morrigan headed toward the door on the other side of the warehouse and nodded for Aelron to follow.

  The putrid scent intensified as they approached the door.

  Morrigan gestured to the chair and pulled the door handle as Aelron sat.

  “Wait here,” Morrigan said.

  She covered her nose and mouth, then closed the door behind her.

  A moment later she emerged with a spool, a needle, and a bottle of whiskey.

  “Want to do this yourself, or shall I?” Morrigan asked.

  He pulled his cloak open and lifted his shirt. Damned Barathosian got him good. The cut wasn’t deep, but it stretched too far back for him to reach it all.

  “You’d better,” Aelron said. “Just…go easy.”

  Morrigan knelt beside him and threaded the needle. When she was finished, she uncorked the bottle and poured a small amount of the peaty liquid on the needle and thread.

  “Don’t pour too much,” Aelron said. “Doesn’t look like there’s enough as it is.”