Necromancer Awakening (24 page)

More rocks hit the ground. Mujahid proceeded up the tunnel, stepping around dead adda-ki. He walked for several minutes before the sound of breathing lifted his hopes.

He had to be cautious. He cleared his mind and the symbol of ascension flooded with power.

He molded sheets of energy into an invisible platform that lifted him off the ground. It would only lift him a few feet into the air, but that would be enough to silence the rhythmic tapping of his boots against the stone ground. He hovered for a moment, and then glided forward.

The breathing grew louder as the tunnel twisted to the left. The source would be close now. Mujahid turned the corner, and the voice of a woman surprised him.

“My lord?” The voice came from an older woman lying on the ground in front of him. He could have kept levitating down the tunnel without ever seeing her, so covered in dirt and debris was she. He examined her face to see if he knew her.

By Zubuxo, does Arin show no mercy?

The face he beheld told the story of the destruction of New Caspardis in wounds and disfiguration. The woman tried to stand but collapsed. Instead, she raised her hands to cover her eyes, and several more people who were sitting against the tunnel walls, unseen until now, repeated the gesture.

He struggled against the desire to pull her hands away. He didn’t like the rituals people performed when they saw the light in his eyes. It smacked of worship to him, and if any person in this world knew he wasn’t a god, it was Mujahid.

He dispersed the energy and descended. He needed information now, not ritual.

“The light has passed,” he said.

The crowd responded in unison and uncovered their eyes. “May it bless us in its passing.”

“How did this happen?” Mujahid asked.

“The rangers destroyed the orb with an object of power, Lord Mukhtaar,” a weak male voice said. “The blast did the rest.”

Mujahid knelt next to the injured man and began to heal him, but he noticed, with no small amount of irritation, that people had covered their eyes once more.

“Uncover your eyes,” Mujahid said. “I’m suspending the ritual for now.”

“Yes, Lord Mukhtaar,” a voice said.

“Did Magus William survive the attack?”

“He is hurt badly,” a voice said. “He sleeps farther up the tunnel.”

A great feeling of relief lifted the weight off Mujahid’s shoulders and he offered a prayer of thanks to Shealynd. He hoped he had arrived in time to heal him.

“I am awake now, my Lord,” the familiar, aging voice of William said. He spoke in a labored way, as if it were difficult to breathe. “Lord Mukhtaar? You haven’t aged.”

Mujahid ran to his side and knelt. He cleared his mind and sent tendrils of power into William’s body, gathering information about the old man’s injuries. He suffered from several broken bones, which Mujahid was able to mend, but when the probing tendrils reached William’s head, the power vanished into an abyss. Mujahid knew all too well what that meant. A bridge was forming between William’s spirit and the Plane of Death.

William was dying. There was no way to tell when it would happen, but it would be soon.

Mujahid released the power.

“You’ve discovered what I have known for more than a day now,” William said.

Mujahid raised an eyebrow. “So you have the healing gift now, Magus?”

“No. But a man knows when his time approaches. Did the attack bring you here, my lord?”

“Don’t presume to tell me about a person’s time, old man. You’ll outlive me, and you know it.”

William laughed. “Not even you are that powerful, Lord Mujahid.”

“You’re still sharp enough to tell me and my brother apart, yet you turn your back on life so easily?”

“Your lack of profanity and beer breath aided my mental acuity.”

Mujahid smiled and shook his head. “And don’t presume to tell me about my own power, either.”

He had a difficult decision to make. William was a dear friend, but saving his life would violate an oath…an oath to a god. He wasn’t sure what he would do yet, but he believed in the virtue of being prepared.

He nodded to a man standing nearby. “You. Fetch one of those pack animals. And quickly. The rest of you…leave us.”

The people murmured assent as they crawled and limped back toward the main cavern.

“I know our time grows short,” Mujahid said, “but you are among the wisest of Clan Mukhtaar.”

“You honor me,” William said. “What of the heir, my Lord? Is he here with you?”

“How do you know about the boy?”

“I received word from Lord Nuuan. Boy, you say? Most curious.”

Caspardis wasn’t on the way to Tildem. Once again his brother had too many secrets. “I found the heir. But….”

Mujahid retrieved the darkened Talisman of Archmages and held it up by its leather thong.

“Then it is worse than I had imagined,” William said.

“This changes everything.” Mujahid shook the Talisman.

“This changes nothing, and Mordryn would be the first to remind you of that fact.”

William’s words caught him off guard, and for several moments he wasn’t sure how to react.

Prior to finding Nicolas, Mujahid hadn’t spoken her name aloud in more than thirty years. She was everything to him back then—mentor, confidant, partner, lover. She taught him more about necromancy in the short time they were together than he had learned in all of his previous years combined. She had an intuitive knowledge of energy that was beyond anything he had seen before. He remembered her insisting that necromancy was a religion of love, not death. She had changed him in many ways, and without her guidance he may never have attempted the Rite of Testing at all. He asked her, after he ascended, why she didn’t attempt the Rite herself. She looked at him with her piercing blue eyes and said “I don’t need to
become
a Mukhtaar Lord, my love. I have one of
my own
right here.” And he knew in his heart she was right, for she wielded a power over him that no one could ever duplicate with magic. When she went missing, all they found was her broken blade in the corridor outside of their chambers at the Mukhtaar estate. That and a Rose of Shealynd. It had been Mordryn’s favorite flower.

He couldn’t allow this memory to linger.

“Mordryn is long gone,” Mujahid said.

“Forgive my presumption, but I believe you know what she would tell you now.”

Mujahid turned away. The feelings came flooding back and he remembered everything—the way she smelled as if she had bathed in rose water. The way she tasted. The way her blue eyes shone with an inner light. The way her skin glistened as she lay next to him. He raised his palm to his forehead and tried to push her image out of his mind by sheer force of will, but it wouldn’t go.

“She would tell you that Kagan must be stopped,” William said. He tried to stifle a cough, but didn’t succeed. “You must find a way to press on without the heir and bring this course of events to fruition. Too many lives…too many
undead
depend upon it.”

“The prophecy was specific.”

“You worry too much about that prophecy of yours, regardless of its source.”

“Why would Shealynd give me a prophecy that served no purpose? Her voice was —”

“Prophecy is a strange thing that is not often fulfilled in ways predicted by man. I warned you of this many years ago but—and I beg your pardon—you are too thick-headed to heed my advice.”

“There’s only one thing that prophecy could mean.”

“If you shared it with three men you would hear three different interpretations. And strangest of all is that all three could be correct…simultaneously. Yet you consider your interpretation sacrosanct, petulantly refusing to hear any alternatives.”

Mujahid raised an eyebrow. “Some would say that’s my prerogative as a Lord.”

“I require no reminding of your exalted status. But you are nothing more than a postulant in matters of prophecy…and a stubborn one at that. You may flay me for my insolence, if it pleases you.”

Mujahid smiled. “Your hide is safe…for now. But the prophecy was given to me. Shouldn’t my interpretation carry the most weight?”

“When prophecy causes you to lose sight of the present, it ceases to be useful. Prophecy only illuminates events viewed in hindsight.”

“Then prophecy serves no practical purpose at all, and we would do best to ignore it.”

William smiled. “It does my heart good to see the birth of wisdom in my Lord before I shuffle off beyond the veil.”

“You study prophecy your entire life, then tell me it serves no purpose?”

“Prophecy is a torch designed to illuminate the path behind us,” William said. “Not the path ahead. It is a guidepost that tells us everything is unfolding according to divine plan.”

“Well, this particular guidepost was quite specific about the boy bringing down the sky.”

“You have understood nothing. Forgive me, but you simply do not know that to a certainty. Neither of us do. Now, use that head of yours and tell me why this is the case.”

Mujahid had been giving the man some privilege because of their friendship, but the old priest was beginning to test his sense of decorum. “William—”

“Tell me why,
postulant
.”

Mujahid closed his eyes and reminded himself that he trusted William for a reason. “We don’t know because the sky hasn’t been brought down yet.”

“You have spoken the words better than I could have. His very death could be the efficient cause of a chain of events leading to the destruction of the barrier. This, too, would fulfill that prophecy of yours.”

“I seek truth, not philosophical supposition.”

“The natural order of the universe itself requires Kagan be stopped. That is what I know to be true.”

Mujahid waved his hand and turned away.

“Either you continue fighting for what you know to be right,” William said, “or you hand the world over to Kagan because of a poorly-interpreted prophecy that refuses to obey your preconceived notion of how the future should unfold.”

“You have a way with words.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I’ll fight, William. Never doubt that. As we speak, my brother sows the seeds of resistance in Tildem. But I fear the resistance will fall short without more knowledge of what we’re up against. Kagan knows more about that barrier than we do, and that is something we must remedy.”

“The Great Library is within reach.”

“What?”

“You say Lord Nuuan travels to Tildem. The Great Library of Rotham has ever been a repository of both arcane and spiritual knowledge. Not to mention…you’ll find sympathetic ears in Tildem.”

Mujahid considered William’s idea for a moment. King Donal was the only monarch to offer resistance, though passive, to Kagan’s prohibition of necromancy.

“I’ll consider it, William. But my instinct is leading me straight to the Pinnacle.”

“Do consider it, if only to suggest the idea to your brother.”

A man drew close with a beast in tow.

It was time to decide.

Mujahid fought with himself as he remembered the oaths he swore when he had ascended. There was magic only a Mukhtaar Lord should be aware of, lest the Clan grow corrupt in some futile quest for immortality. But William was the only surviving prophet of Clan Mukhtaar. And he was Mujahid’s friend.

Mujahid made his decision.

“The clan needs you now more than ever,” Mujahid said.

William coughed. “You will have my services for a little while longer, I think. I only regret you never told me how you united the clans. But I suppose all will be clear once I stand before Zubuxo’s throne.”

Mujahid placed a hand on the top of William’s head. “You are wise beyond your years. But there is still much you don’t know about the nature of our magic. Cling to life, William, and I promise to tell every detail.”

Power flooded through the symbol of ascension in Mujahid’s mind. He wove the necessary pattern, spread his arms in front of him, and cast the melded symbols at the pack animal. A great rushing wind swept through the underground passageway like a gathering storm.

When the symbols struck the animal, a vortex of energy appeared in front of him like a whirlwind. Mujahid turned the vortex’s hungry mouth toward the unfortunate animal, and within moments the great rush of wind changed directions, feeding the mystical eddy of power. Life drained from the animal into the rotating miasma of energy, and a stream formed between Mujahid and the vortex’s funnel. The life force of the pack animal entered his body and rejuvenated him, as the animal drained to an empty shell and collapsed.

Mujahid’s skin tightened and his muscles grew stronger. He reached out with a tendril of energy and rotated the vortex, turning its mouth toward himself. Arcane wind tossed Mujahid’s hair around and sent rocks and debris crashing through the tunnel all around him.

“There is so much you don’t know, my friend,” Mujahid said. He opened a channel between the vortex and William, and as the transfer of energy began it was as if something reached into his chest and squeezed his soul. His muscles grew weaker with every passing moment, and small wrinkles formed on his skin as if he had aged ten years in a moment.

With a concentration that left him shaking and weakened, Mujahid severed the link to the vortex and released the power. The rush of wind disappeared, and silence blanketed the tunnel.

William sat up. “How is this possible?” His injuries were gone, and to all appearances he looked ten years younger.

“I won’t tell you, and you wouldn’t understand anyway, so hold your question.”

“By Arin’s shining helm, you look younger,” William said.

“Try not to judge me harshly for keeping some for myself. Now, you and the rest of the survivors will travel with me to Agera. What was once Clan Catiatum maintains the coven there. They’ll offer you a home for the time being.”

“Clan Catiatum,” William said. “Savages.” The note of distaste in the man’s voice was unmistakable.

“We are all Mukhtaar now.”

“If I’m not mistaken, my Lord, I believe you made a promise to me a few moments ago. The story?”

“You may see your Lords in a different light once you know the truth,” Mujahid said.