Necromancer Awakening (21 page)

He reached deep within his mind, past the diaphanous fog that crackled with energy and surrounded his symbols of power, past the symbols themselves that formed a sphere around his energy well, toward the symbol at the center of it all. The symbol of ascension. It was in the shape of a levitating human, legs crossed, arms spread outward as if to embrace. Resplendent white light illuminated its eyes from within. It simultaneously repelled and bound the other symbols together, and it allowed a Mukhtaar Lord to weave complex patterns of magic.

But Mukhtaar Lord or not, he needed power to cast like any other priest, and there wasn’t a drop of necropotency anywhere. If he could get closer to the crypt, he’d have all the energy he needed. But he didn’t think the guards would take him on an excursion any time soon.

His mind drew back, out from his well, out past the symbols and into the fog. The fog was still a mystery. It had appeared when he ascended, and only he and Nuuan could sense it.

He abandoned his futile attempt to gather power and instead, concentrated on the Talisman of Archmages that hung from a leather thong around his neck. It was guiding him toward the plaza in front of the fortress.

That’s not good.

He tried to sense the boy’s unique energy pattern, but it wasn’t there. He must be too far away.

The bell stopped tolling.

The door to his small chamber swung open and a guard entered. He was a burly man in a Shandarian soldier’s uniform—loose-fitting pants and pullover shirt, both dyed forest green—with the triple cat’s eye insignia of a sergeant. A skinny man dressed in gold-trimmed purple robes followed him.

A court official. Mujahid had dealt with them before.

The official cleared his throat and spoke. “Sinclair Thomry,” he said with a yawn. “Attendant to the provincial magistrate. He’ll see you now.”

Perhaps this was just the
excursion
Mujahid needed. He debated whether to start imprinting the man’s energy pattern in his mind—another benefit of ascension—but it would take days to become permanent. And if this went to plan, Thomry’s remaining life would be measured in minutes.

Thomry dusted his robes with his hands.

Mujahid saw his opening.
It won’t be difficult to provoke this fop.

“Mr. Thomry, is it?” Mujahid said. “I dare say those are the finest robes I’ve seen in some time. Pure silk?”

Thomry looked up from his preening and spread his arms. “A discerning eye. Spun from the finest shriller silk in the Sea of Arin. As soft as it gets.”

“Well, let’s be honest,” Mujahid said. “It’s not as soft as crag spider silk. Though, spider silk would be pricey for someone of your rank.”

Thomry looked baffled. “Are you daft, man?”

“I own several spider robes myself. Far softer. They hold the dyes better, as well. Not that yours aren’t…
nice
.”

Thomry gaped. He held out his arm and took a step toward Mujahid. “Feel this and tell me—”

“Hold, Thomry,” the guard said. “You may be good with a mirror and comb, but you’re shite around prisoners.”

Thomry stopped and lowered his arm.

Looks like I’ll have to do this the hard way.

Mujahid needed the guard alive and intact if this was going to work. He sprang for the guard and planted a boot in the man’s chest, taking care not to injure him. The kick sent the big man sprawling.

Thomry darted toward the door.

Mujahid caught him by the back of his robe, yanked him to the floor with one hand, and drew back a closed fist.

Thomry screamed and passed out.

Mujahid shook his head.

The guard climbed to his feet and lunged at Mujahid.

Mujahid put up a token struggle, trying to make it look as real as possible. After a few missed swings, he crumbled to the floor in a ball, feigning a moan of pain.

The guard helped him up and bound his wrists with cords. “That was about the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do, old man. Now I have to drag your decrepit arse to the dungeon.”

Mujahid felt a surge of relief. “What about my trial?”

The guard chuckled. “There’ll be no trial for you today once the magistrate hears about this. Move.”

Mujahid nodded toward Sinclair, who was lying unconscious in the middle of the room. “Aren’t you going to wake your friend? He’s had a long enough nap on the citizen’s gold, don’t you think?”

The guard shook Thomry. “On your feet, you useless dandy.”

Thomry rose. When his eyes came to rest on Mujahid he backed away.

“He thinks he’s tough,” the guard said. “So I’m putting him in with the rest.”

They led him down a winding tower staircase and through a hall lined with rubble from years of continuous earthquakes.

Mujahid felt the first stirrings of power as they approached a pitted stone door. It wasn’t much, but he welcomed it.

The door opened with a loud creak, revealing an unkempt graveyard beyond.

Mujahid smiled. He wouldn’t have to wait for the crypt after all.

When he stepped over the threshold, a pulsating wave of necropotency washed over him and filled his well. Now they would learn their mistake. Now they would feel the wrath of a Mukhtaar Lord.

“Tell me,” Mujahid said. “Was the necromancer taken through here as well?”

Thomry snorted. “Do you have any idea how many bodies are buried here?”

“Oh yes,” Mujahid said. “A very good idea.”

The ground erupted in front of them as Mujahid raised a penitent. A skeletal warrior, wielding two long daggers, clawed his way up through the dirt and was on his feet within seconds.

Mujahid lived a lifetime in a single moment. When the stream of images stopped, he gained control over the skeleton before the guard had a chance to react. He sent the skeleton into the passage across the graveyard and turned to face his captors alone.

The symbol of ascension ignited, and he wove threads of energy through several symbols of power, bringing them together in a symphony of mystical forces. He turned his gaze to the guard, who was unsheathing his sword, and unleashed a cone of disease. The guard crumbled to the ground, clutching his throat, as his skin turned black and erupted in pustules. He was dead within moments, and the stench from his rapid decomposition overwhelmed the graveyard. The guard was a fleshless skeleton before Mujahid could face Thomry.

Thomry screamed and slapped Mujahid with an open hand.

Mujahid shook his head. Thomry was a waste of life force, and he was going to change that.

The symbol of ascension pulsed, and Mujahid sent a thread of energy through two symbols he hadn’t used in a long time. With a simple act of will, he hurled their combined necropotency at Thomry. When the energy struck, a vortex of arcane power formed between them and lifted Thomry off the ground.

Mujahid took a deep breath in preparation for what would follow.

Thomry’s life force drained, passing through the mystical maelstrom into Mujahid. The primal power of the vortex lifted Mujahid off the ground until all of the force was absorbed. Thomry’s lifeless corpse fell to the ground, dried and shriveled, as if every drop of moisture had been squeezed out of him.

The energy coursed through Mujahid’s body, rejuvenating cells that had begun to decay, and repairing aged muscles and tissue. He opened and closed hands that had been arthritic. A burst of adrenaline made newly strengthened muscles quiver, and his back straightened. He looked down at his arms and hands and marveled at his newfound flexibility. His long white hair, hanging down into his face, darkened until it turned jet black.

Mujahid’s youth had returned. The vortex collapsed and his feet touched the ground once more.

He ran toward the sound of strangled screams coming from a doorway across the field.

Corpses of guards and servants paved the hallway inside. His penitent had turned it into a slaughterhouse.

An image of a man clearing a path with a machete flowed into Mujahid’s mind—his penitent was making the fortress safe for him.

Mujahid ran down the hall in the direction the skeletal warrior had gone. He heard a clash of metal and shattering bones, and the necromantic link vanished.

He channeled necropotency into a nearby guard’s corpse and the body rose.

“To the plaza,” Mujahid commanded. “Leave nothing alive except my friend.”

The undead guard turned and ran, sword in hand.

When they reached the plaza, Mujahid saw the bloodstained sand between the flogging poles. This wasn’t good. He had seen enough public floggings in his day to know there wasn’t much time left, if the boy had been flogged already.

Mujahid and his penitent wove their way in and out of the streets of Caspardis in a southerly direction, toward the docks that ran the length of the south end of the city.

Bells began to toll. The garrison must have raised the city alarm.

Mujahid swore when the docks came into view. He was too late. The ship that carried Nicolas to what was likely his death had already sailed.

Torn between a futile dash to the harbor and escaping detection by the city guard, Mujahid chose the latter and ran back into a small side street. If the garrison swarmed him, it didn’t matter how many symbols of power he had, they’d defeat him by sheer number.

He released his penitent and the corpse dropped to the ground, concealed behind the corner of a building. The dagger in the guard’s belt could serve as a last resort, so he took it and hid it in the sleeve of his robe. He dusted himself off and walked out into the throng.

He crossed the plaza, keeping his eye on the arch that led out of the city. He had to get through the gate before the Authority ordered Caspardis sealed.

Two guard officers in Shandarian long coats emerged from a side street and ran to the gate. Within moments the portcullis slammed shut. Someone must have discovered the carnage in the fortress. Again he was too festering late.

This was going to be a blood bath, but he had to get out of the city

The dead guard wasn’t close enough to draw necropotency from, so he’d have to get creative this time. Guards had spread out along the base of the wall, and six of them stood post at the gate under the arch, including the two officers. More were emptying into the plaza, and Mujahid’s chances were growing thinner every moment.

The guard in the northeast corner of the plaza was the last in the row, and therefore the least likely to be noticed. Mujahid hunched to hide some of his height and started walking. He wanted to radiate a sense of weakness and vulnerability so he wouldn’t startle the guard, but his newfound youth would betray him if he wasn’t careful.

When he was within speaking distance, he folded his arms, tucking his hands into his sleeves.

“What causes the alarm?” Mujahid said.

“Don’t know. We were just told to double up, is all.”

Mujahid stepped closer until he was an arm’s length away. He didn’t want this to take any longer than necessary.

“You were all in such a hurry. Did you run far?” Mujahid said. The guard was young. He must have entered the city watch as a new recruit this year.

The guard shrugged. “What’s far? Was down at the dock, so suppose some would say that’s far. Not far for the guard. We march three leagues a day. Full gear.”

“I don’t usually have the pleasure of speaking with the city guard. What’s your name?”

The guard smiled and began to speak.

In one deft motion, Mujahid unfolded his arms, sliced the dagger across the guard’s throat and placed it back in his sleeve before the guard started bleeding. With his other hand, he pushed the man against the wall, propping him up in an effort to draw no attention from the people passing by.

“I’m truly sorry, young man,” Mujahid said. “Know that your penance will be short and your reward great.”

Life slipped away from the guard until Mujahid was certain he was holding a corpse. His well of power started to fill, but escaping the city was going to take more power than this. There were more guards here at the main gate than in the fortress.

He willed the guard back to life.

When the flood of images stopped, he knew the dead guard better than guard knew himself. The boy’s sentence would, indeed, be a short one. He was a kind soul.

He felt a cold sensation at the center of his chest, and dismissed it. Killing the guard had upset him more than he cared to admit.

Kill them, you fool. Feel sorry for yourself later.

Mujahid sent his new penitent to kill the next guard. The penitent decapitated his former comrade, and the headless corpse dropped, filling Mujahid’s well further. They made their way through six other guards, and by the time anyone noticed what was happening it was too late for the remaining gate guards.

His penitent waded into battle, and Mujahid released a cone of disease that dropped two men to the ground. Mujahid grew stronger with each death, and his chest grew colder, but if he didn’t find a way out of this soon, the size of the guard force alone would overwhelm him.

The guards across the plaza had noticed the fight and were getting closer. He wove fire together with wind, preparing to unleash a storm of flame in the plaza, but he stopped when he saw the people. Killing the city guards had added enough penance to his soul for one day. He wouldn’t add mindless slaughter of innocent civilians to the tally. If he didn’t get past that gate quickly the death toll would continue to rise.