Necromancer Falling: Book Two of The Mukhtaar Chronicles

by Nat Russo

  “What kind of escape strategy is that?”

  “When you’re presumably the world’s greatest naval power, you prefer escaping by ship to trekking more than three hundred miles across a barren desert.”

  “Point taken.”

  “You won’t have long,” Emperor Relig said. “When Zorian discovers your identity, he’ll use my own army against you.”

  “What does he have on you?”

  Emperor Relig stared at Nicolas, but his expression wasn’t one of contempt or disrespect this time. It was of a man searching for words that wouldn’t come.

  “I’m no saint, Archmage. But this isn’t about me. When my Church…my gods…failed me, I did what I had to do to guarantee the freedom of the Religarian people. And it’s a choice I’d make again. But now I may fail them anyway, because I’m refusing to do the one thing the Barathosians asked of me; sacrifice your life for the lives of my people.”

  Nicolas wasn’t sure how to respond. If he said what he wanted to say—that he understood, and that part of him thought the emperor had done the right thing—would Emperor Relig take that as another sign of weakness? There was no way to know. So he did the only thing he knew the emperor would understand. He extended his hand forward, palm out, and held it over Emperor Relig’s head.

  “May Arin, Shealynd, and Zubuxo, bless you and preserve your people,” Nicolas said.

  Emperor Relig crossed his arms over his chest and bowed his head. When he looked up at Nicolas once more, there was something new in his eyes.

  Gratitude.

  The emperor hurried toward the small golden door next to the raised platform, and Nicolas and Kaitlyn followed.

  With any luck, Nicolas would be able to leave the city with Kaitlyn before Zorian found out.

  Arin, if you are watching from somewhere, I hope you’re seeing this right now.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  In the year 450 BCE, Abd Al-Hakim Shadid stepped over the threshold, becoming Abd Al-Hakim Lord Mukhtaar Shadid. Lord Abd Al-Hakim died without children. But he was a great mentor to several blood Mukhtaar priests, one of whom (Baladi) eventually ascended.

  - The Mukhtaar Chronicles, Second Cycle, 10 CE

  Though the reign of Lords Abd Al-Hakim Shadid and Sayyid Cham overlapped by several years, there are no writings hinting at the strange cloud of energy that formed around our wells of power when Nuuan and I ascended. After more than forty years, I still have no idea what it might mean. And if the God of Death knows, he remains curiously silent on the subject.

  - Mujahid Mukhtaar, Private Commentaries, 45 CE

  Mujahid watched as Tithian opened the vestry’s ornate mahogany cabinet.

  “Your timing is impeccable,” Tithian said. “I’m leaving for the Shandarian Union within the hour.”

  “To what end?” Mujahid asked.

  The strongest, most beautiful rose sent wafted out of the cabinet and permeated the room. It could be only one thing; a rose of Shealynd.

  “It was a request from your brother,” Tithian said.

  Tithian retrieved the rose and handed it to Mujahid, who cradled it in his hands as if it would disintegrate on touch.

  “What was the nature of this request?” Mujahid asked.

  Tithian shook his head. “He told me to retrieve a parchment. I did. The parchment vanished, along with my memory of reading it. But I know I must travel to the Shandarian Union, and your brother is the reason.”

  Nuuan and his secrets will be the death of me.

  Mujahid hefted the rose. “Nuuan gave you this?”

  “He told me you should place it at the base of Shealynd’s statue. He said that—”

  Mujahid bolted from the room. Tithian yelled something from behind, but he didn’t hear or care what it was. All that mattered was getting to the shrine. He half-jumped, half-ran down the great spiral staircase, brushing past several council magi, then sprinted across the gallery—much to the chagrin of the serving staff, who guarded their trays of food and delicate glassware as if the wind from Mujahid’s robe would topple them.

  A small, neglected entrance to the Pinnacle gardens sat within an alcove on one side of a wide passageway. The shrine wasn’t far.

  He jogged the rest of the way, sweating and out of breath, and placed the rose on the ground next to Shealynd’s statue.

  “It’s about festering time,” Nuuan said. “I did everything but draw you a map.”

  Mujahid turned at the sound of Nuuan’s voice, which had come from behind him.

  “Brother!” Mujahid said. “By the gods. Part of me thought you dead. Another part thought you beyond reach forever.”

  “It’s a little early for a celebration.”

  Mujahid stepped toward Nuuan, arms open to embrace his twin.

  “Hold,” Nuuan said. “Don’t touch me, I’m bi-locating.”

  “Where’s your better half?”

  “Observing events in Dar Rodon. Physical contact might snap me back here fully.”

  “You knew all this time and said nothing.”

  “I could fill an adda’s gaping arse with all the things I’m not saying.”

  “If you fancy yourself a god, I suppose it’s no surprise you act like one.”

  “Elevated human,” Nuuan said. “Get it right. And I don’t fancy myself anything except a man with a job. The whole god business is a means to an end.”

  “You started a religion! Are you insane? And how could you involve the argram?”

  “I see you found my magical cock,” Nuuan said.

  “Nuuan—”

  “Yes, I started a religion. Because I knew you wouldn’t. Just like when we unified the festering clans.”

  “What are you talking about? There was never so much as a hint of what you were up to.”

  Nuuan turned away. “Do you remember that day outside Father’s tomb, Muj?”

  Had Nuuan confessed to being a woman, Mujahid wouldn’t have been more surprised. In all their considerable years, Nuuan had never once brought this painful subject up, regardless of how much Mujahid wanted to discuss it.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Mujahid said. “I shoved you at the wrong time. It could have happened to anyone.”

  “But it didn’t, did it? It happened to me. I was the one to summon our father from his festering grave. Him and all his sins and secrets.”

  “It changed you,” Mujahid said. “You became…a darker person.”

  “Is that your new word for womanizing alcoholic?”

  “Brother—”

  Nuuan held up his hand. “Peace. I’ll spare you the details I drown with women and wine. But there are some things you should know.”

  “It’s not right. There are reasons it’s forbidden.”

  “And I’ve lived each of them. But it’s not about our father. Not entirely. It’s about Malvol.”

  Mujahid narrowed his eyes. “What does our father have to do with the god of hate?”

  “It took decades to put some of the pieces together,” Nuuan said. “Until recently I still wasn’t sure I’d done the right thing. But Digby discovered something after the Battle of Rotham. Something that vindicated every last one of my choices going back some seventy years. Apotheosis was the only answer. The super-spatial universal consciousness transcends what you may think of as person.”

  “You’re losing me, brother.”

  Nuuan folded his hands and tapped his thumbs against his bearded chin.

  “This is difficult,” Nuuan said. “I’m not yet a god, but my mind is greatly expanded. I forget what it was like to be…”

  “Mortal?”

  “Come now, brother. You’re far from mortal yourself.”

  “Parlor tricks keep me alive. You’re something else entirely now.”

  Nuuan smiled. “There are events taking place…cosmic events that you should be aware of. It involves Malvol.”

  “I already know. He’s an elevated human seeking deification.”

  “It’s far worse than that
. He’s a Mukhtaar Lord. An ancient one.”

  “Nonsense,” Mujahid said. “You know the Chronicles as well as I. Shall I recite the names forward or backward?”

  “Malvol is a false name.”

  “Then which one is he?”

  “I don’t know. But does it matter?

  “Of course it bloody matters! We control the Chronicles now! We can leave a legacy of truth! But how do you know this? How did Digby discover it?”

  Nuuan shook his head. “You are one of the smartest men I’ve ever known. Perhaps among the wisest throughout all of Erindor. So understand this is no slight when I say you’re incapable of comprehending my explanation. It requires hyper-dimensional reasoning and super-spatial awareness. Some of it requires more than one mind operating in tandem under the direction of a controlling entity. A collective with a mental focal point. Think of it like—”

  “The argram.”

  Nuuan smiled. “Like I said. Among the wisest men of Erindor. You do our family proud, brother. Malvol seeks deification. True deification. And if he succeeds, he’ll be powerful enough to challenge the other gods. Perhaps even annihilate them. But he’s still just a man. He still thinks like one, regardless of his expanded consciousness. Think, brother. Go back to the formation of the Barrier.”

  Mujahid drew ambient necropotency into his well. He needed the clarity of power if he was going to wade through this mental swamp.

  What do I know with certainty?

  First, Yotto traveled to the Pinnacle to open a diplomatic relationship. But Kagan, in his irrational fear, murdered Yotto, sparking the war with Barathosia and the formation of the Great Barrier.

  There has to be more.

  Kagan went on to become a tyrant, ruling the Three Kingdoms in all but name. He managed to go so far as to forge entries in the Book of Life—the sacrosanct journal of the god Arin—without anyone being any wiser. In so doing, he elevated a king to the status of emperor with the slip of a pen. And he orchestrated the failure of a decades-old treaty that kept war in check within the Three Kingdoms.

  Yes, but how is it all related?

  Mujahid drew more power into his well, allowing it to flow through his mind and coalesce his thoughts. In moments, it all snapped into focus.

  I’m not finding a pattern because no pattern exists. It’s chaos. Chaos in its purest form.

  “Correct,” Nuuan said.

  So Nuuan could read minds as well.

  “Sometimes,” Nuuan said. “But to your point, Kagan was able to achieve what he did by shifting all eyes away from himself. He pitted the Shandarian Union against Tildem, and Religar against them both. Anything to draw attention away from the Obsidian Throne.”

  “Malvol brings chaos to the world to draw attention away from his true plan. To use Kaitlyn to compel Shealynd to grant him full deification.”

  “I’ve done everything possible to point you in the right direction without violating mystical laws older than the multiverse itself. There may be repercussions for what I’m about to say. Unless another Mukhtaar Lord ascends, Malvol will become a god. He will consume the power of the other gods and give birth to chaos of a magnitude you cannot comprehend without a non-elevated human mind.”

  There wasn’t a member of the clan who would survive the ascension process, as far as Mujahid was concerned. To become a Mukhtaar Lord required near-perfect self-knowledge and a mastery of necromancy few possessed. It required intuitive understanding and acceptance of Mukhtaarian philosophy. But more, it required the anointing of a god.

  “We did it,” Nuuan said.

  “We were ready.”

  Nuuan sniffed. “You have a selective memory.”

  Nuuan’s body flickered, disappeared, then pulsated back into existence.

  “This is taking more power than I can afford to expend,” Nuuan said. “I’ll make this quick. That fog you’re always wondering about…the one surrounding our well of power? It changed when you ascended.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I emerged from the Rite of Testing, it appeared around my well. But it was dormant. When you stepped out of the Rite, it crackled to life. It’s a weapon. And I believe it takes three to wield it.”

  Mujahid might have suspected the same thing, had he been the first to ascend. Being the second, he only knew the fog in one state—energized.

  “Then we have work to do,” Mujahid said.

  “What’s your plan?”

  “We must prepare Nicolas for the Rite.”

  Nuuan’s eyes narrowed. “The cross-dressing postulant? His bollocks haven’t even dropped yet. He has, what, three symbols of power?”

  “Two, last I checked.”

  “Two? Why don’t you just toss him into the lake of fire yourself and save Zubuxo the effort? How in the hells will he survive the Rite with two symbols of power?”

  “You’ve always underestimated him. He’s accomplished in a year what you and I took more than a decade to achieve. Lamil himself presented him for ordination. Sabba agreed. Arin asked him to be the archmage. Arin!”

  “Zubuxo save us from philosopher fishmen,” Nuuan said. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Well…that’s good enough for me.”

  “I know your mind in this, even if I can’t read it,” Mujahid said. “Believe me when I tell you our Nicolas is the only person in the clan who stands a chance.”

  Nuuan’s image flickered once more, and his eyes widened. “Oh no.”

  “What is it?”

  “Six hells! This is my fault! The festering time streams aren’t synchronized!”

  “What are you—”

  “Brother, we need to hurry. Meet me in the sanctuary. It’ll be easier to explain when both of me are in one body. Now, go!”

  He had no idea what Nuuan saw, but whatever it was had scared him.

  Nuuan said he was observing Dar Rodon. Six hells indeed! Have the Barathosians begun their invasion?

  Mujahid turned and ran, grateful that Nicolas and Kaitlyn were safe in Aquonome.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  In the year 637 BCE, Diya Al-Din Kassab stepped over the threshold, becoming Diya Al-Din Lord Mukhtaar Kassab. Lord Diya Al-Din was the son of a nomadic tribesman from the Zarush region of Religar. Upon his ascension, he suspended all ritual associated with the sacred light. His effort to lead a simplistic reign backfired, however. A group of Catiatum priests mistook his humility for weakness and attempted to assassinate him, thinking a weakened Clan Mukhtaar could be subsumed. They failed magnificently. The skins of the Catiatum priests hang in the great hall of the Mukhtaar Estate as a reminder.

  - The Mukhtaar Chronicles, Second Cycle, 10 CE

  Not anymore. I refuse to look at those disgusting trophies while I eat. I won’t destroy them, though. They are a part of Clan Mukhtaar’s history and will be afforded the proper respect. But that doesn’t mean they need to decorate my dining room.

  - Mujahid Mukhtaar, Private Commentaries, 15 CE

  The wooden deck of the riverboat glistened from the sprinkling rain. But compared to the river, it was dry and empty of Barathosians. As far as Aelron was concerned, that was the best he could hope for.

  Morrigan wasn’t happy to be in the turbaned man’s presence. Especially after discovering he was a Dawnmaster. Whenever he came near, she watched him as if he was a feral dog.

  As the turbaned man approached from the passenger galley, Morrigan’s posture stiffened.

  “I”m Vanni Yarwen,” the man said. “Dawnmaster of this vessel.”

  “Forgive us, Dawnmaster Yarwen,” Morrigan said. “Had I known, I would not have violated the concord by signaling to you. I did not come here to attempt harm, and the Sodality is not transporting goods along the Orm. This was a terrible misunderstanding. We’ll jump and swim to shore if you like.”

  “Nonsense,” Vanni said. “You’ve violated no concord. I pulled you out of the water.”

  “Your benevolence is app
reciated.”

  “Hold your thanks. You may reconsider in a few moments.”

  Vanni turned toward the passenger galley and waved. The door opened.

  A man in the midnight blue robes of a master necromancer came toward them. His wavy black hair fell to his shoulders, but his mustache and goatee were trimmed close. Around his neck was a chain of office, but Aelron didn’t recognize it.

  What he did recognize, however, was the terror on Morrigan’s face.

  “Gods no,” Morrigan said. She backed away into the ship’s railing.

  A whooshing sound swept around Aelron, and a skeleton appeared behind Morrigan. For a moment, it looked as if the penitent was going to jump overboard, but it climbed back down from the rail and stood beside her.

  “However fast you are, I assure you this penitent is faster,” the man said.

  “What’s going on here?” Aelron said. “Morrigan, what is it?”

  “It’s him,” Morrigan said. Her lip was quivering. “It’s the Traveler.”

  Aelron’s stomach did a somersault. This was the man who had killed the previous Traveler of the Sodality and was hunting Morrigan.

  “Tithian Bel-Enrog,” the man said. “Prime Warlock…among other things. Fear not, Aelron. Your brother ordered me to treat you like family, and I have every intention of obeying.”

  “And what of my friend?” Aelron asked. “I won’t let you kill her. I may not be able to stop you, but by Malvol’s festering flatulence I’ll die trying.”

  Tithian’s gaze went back and forth between Aelron and Morrigan several times before settling back on Aelron with an amused expression.

  “It would seem Shealynd hasn’t only been busy at the Pinnacle,” Tithian said. “Nevertheless, Morrigan doesn’t understand what she thinks she does.”

  “Don’t trust him,” Morrigan said.

  Aelron had never seen her paralyzed with fear before. It was unsettling.

  “I saw what he did,” Morrigan said. “And he wants me dead because of it.”

  Tithian rubbed his temples. After a moment, he lowered his hands and faced Morrigan.