Necromancer Awakening (5 page)

Tithian’s pulse quickened. There was no greater divine revelation than the Book of Life. Holy proclamations flowed from the gods, through the Archmage, to the Book of Life, where they were indelibly scribed in both the Book and the Archmage’s mind. He had witnessed the transfer of divine knowledge several times, as had most Council magi.

“Praise the gods,” Tithian said and bowed his head.

“You must not reveal his return to anyone. Not yet. I need to know his intentions.”

“But this is joyous news. The gods have restored—”

“King Donal flaunts his heresy in Tildem, while Emperor Relig’s army crosses the Shandarian border on a daily basis. And now the Shandarians threaten to pull out of the Treaty. Three nations at each other’s throats.”

“You are the archmage.”

“They answer to me because they fear the wrath of the gods. What if they stop believing? How sharp will my bite be then? What if someone…a
Mukhtaar
someone…sets my son’s heart on the Obsidian Throne? War comes to Erindor, Warlock.”

“I doubt—”

“I’ll inform the Council in my own time. Where is he now?”

Tithian studied the talisman.

“Somewhere in the northern provinces of the Shandarian Union.”

“Find him,” Kagan said. “Before the traitor does.”

Kagan went to his desk, which was constructed of enough wood to pay the salary of every soldier in the Pinnacle Guard for a decade. He opened a drawer and two dull black spheres the size of fists rolled to the front. He handed one to Tithian.

It was unusual for Kagan to give someone a translocation orb. The power to travel between two points without moving was a power he reserved for himself.

“It’s attuned to a location outside of Caspardis,” Kagan said. “Its return point is just outside your chambers…to minimize suspicion. This is an object of power, Warlock. Do not let me discover my trust has been misplaced.”

“Of course.”

“There is much you don’t know, regardless of your former allegiances. What lies beyond the white door is my son’s inheritance. I will keep him free of the taint of
death magic
, even if it means his death.”

Tithian must have misheard. The archmage would never order such an evil act.

“If he is trained in necromancy, he will cause more harm than good,” Kagan said. “You must promise me something.”

“My allegiance is to you…to the gods.”

“If you find my son has been…tainted by necromancy, you must kill him. Without hesitation. Do you understand? If he is tainted, in the slightest, he must die.”

Tithian tried to understand. Had the archmage just ordered the death of his own son to further a political agenda? The archmage was Arin’s representative on Erindor and acted with Arin’s authority. How could the gods condone such an immoral course of action?

“You cannot mean that, Holy One,” Tithian said. “What will happen if you die without an heir? Only an Ardirian can invoke the Rite of Manifestation. The world will fall into darkness and ignorance.”

“What makes you so certain I will die?”

Tithian’s eyebrows rose.

“It would be better to have no heir than to have a dynasty divided,” Kagan said. “You of all people should know I will not suffer a false archmage.”

Tithian offered a silent prayer. He had been present, all those years ago, when Yotto, an ambassador from a place called Barathos, informed Kagan of the rival archmage across the ocean. That knowledge led to the creation of the Great Barrier and the banishment of the Mukhtaar Lord, Tithian’s predecessor.

“You have your mission,” Kagan said. “It’s in your best interests to succeed.”

Tithian suppressed a shiver. On the one hand he was repulsed by the notion of killing the Ardirian heir. Yet on the other, the voice of the gods themselves had given the order. He looked at the translocation orb in his hand and wondered how it had come to this.

He took a deep breath. The archmage was the voice of the gods. Tithian was wrong to have doubted, even for a moment. There was no choice to be made. He would follow the archmage.

“It will be done, Holy One.” He bowed and left the chamber.

As the massive door closed behind him he studied the translocation orb and thought about Kagan’s orders. His conscience gnawed at him. How could the archmage order his own son’s death? He suppressed another shiver as he offered a silent prayer to Arin.

Arin grant me strength to be faithful…and forgiveness for what I must do.

CHAPTER FOUR

A cold slap made Nicolas bolt upright. He touched his cheek where his face stung.

An older white-haired man with a neatly trimmed grey mustache and goatee knelt beside him. He wore long black robes, and a black scapular, trimmed in a thin red fringe, draped down over his shoulders to the middle of his chest.

“Good of you to join me,” the man said. “If you’re finished napping, perhaps we can try to stay alive? We can’t stay here.” The man leaned in. “Your eyes…the resemblance is remarkable.”

“Did you need to slap me?”

An image of the skeletal warrior popped into Nicolas’s head, and he suppressed a shiver.

“The skeleton.”

“I took care of him,” the man said, scowling. He leaned forward and pointed a finger at Nicolas’s face. “That’s something his priest should have done. He was suffering, you fool.”

Nicolas looked up at the underside of a large marble awning and realized he was sitting in the entryway of the stone building he had seen earlier. The crag spider lay dead in the field.

“By Malvol, why didn’t you control him? You know the danger of an unfettered penitent.”

“A what?”

“A patrol could have seen you. You’ll bring the Union down on us! Arin’s arse, boy, are you an idiot?” He put the back of his fist to his mouth. “Now you have me blaspheming.”

“Hold on a dang minute. Where am I? And who the hell are you?”

The man wrinkled his brow, then knelt and touched the side of Nicolas’s head.

A strange feeling entered Nicolas’s mind, like the tingling sensation of licking a nine-volt battery.

“Your accent is bizarre, boy, but you have no head injury beyond a lump.”

“Don’t call me boy. My name is Nicolas.” Nicolas slapped the man’s hands away and rubbed the back of his head. “Now who the hell are you?”

The man tugged at something around his own neck. “How many Halls of Power have you mastered?”

“What’s a Hall of Power?”

“Who instructed you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Calm yourself,” the man said. “Strong emotion will make the awakening difficult. Unpredictable even.”

The man’s eyes flashed brilliant white. Again the feeling of dozens of electrical shocks covered the surface of Nicolas’s head. When they stopped, he felt relaxed.

But Nicolas did a double take when he realized the man looked offended.

“What?” Nicolas said.

The man threw up his hands and shook his head. “Your head will heal in time, but your insubordination is anyone’s guess. May the gods help us if—”

“How did you do that?” Nicolas stood.

“You wouldn’t understand any answers I give you, and there’s no time for explanation. The Shandarians are nothing if not punctual.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I find out who you are and what I’m doing here.”

“Dammit, boy! They will start with this crypt, for reasons that…should be obvious to you but aren’t. We cannot be here when they arrive.”

Nicolas followed the man’s gaze toward the village and saw a cloud of dust on the far side.

“Then I suggest you start by telling me who and what you are,” Nicolas said.

“Listen carefully. I am Mujahid Lord Mukhtaar.”

“That’s a mouthful, Mujeed.”

“Mujahid.
Mu…Ja
…oh for Arin’s sake. I’m the former prime warlock of Archmage Kagan, and Lord, by Rite of Testing, of Clan Mukhtaar, as is my brother Nuuan.”

“Ok.”

Mujahid squinted. “For reasons only the gods know, that name means precious little to you. As far as what I am…I’m a necromancer. By blood.” Mujahid tapped Nicolas’s chest. “As are you.”

“You think you’re a
what
now?”

“The answers don’t help, do they?”

“Necromancer? Really? You don’t know me very well, Mujahid, and that’s cool. But I’m not an idiot. And I don’t play with dead things.” Nicolas stepped closer. “I don’t know who you are, or who you think you are, but none of this is helping. I need to get home, and I don’t think digging up corpses is going to get me there.”

Mujahid scowled but his voice was calm. “There are elements of our calling I find distasteful, boy, but I take my responsibility with a seriousness I’ll ask you to respect. I won’t ask again.”

“Our calling? I have nothing to do with this.”

“And what’s your explanation? You’re ripped away from your home, find yourself under attack, and receive help from beyond the grave. Yet you find it difficult to believe you’re a necromancer?”

“How did you know that?”

“Have you already forgotten it was I who rescued you from the angry, undead warrior wielding that named sword?” He nodded toward the wall where the sword was leaning.

“Not that. The
ripped away
part.”

Hoof beats made Nicolas look up toward the village.

“Come with me and you’ll have your answers,” Mujahid said. “But we must leave.”

The man was right. Whatever was coming was getting closer.

“One more thing,” Mujahid said. “If you don’t learn control, you’ll end up killing yourself. Or worse…me. You should have professed vows years ago.”

The ground heaved, tossing him and Mujahid to the marble floor.

“Of all the festering times for a quake,” Mujahid said. “Follow me into the crypt.” Mujahid ran into the stone building without looking back.

One of the columns supporting the stone awning collapsed, bringing a section down with it. Nicolas darted into the building and hoped he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his life.

“Hurry.” Mujahid cursed as a column came crashing down next to him, missing him by inches. “The ceiling won’t last long.”

“Then why’d you bring us in here?”

“You’d prefer a crushing death over what those Shandarians will do to you if they discover what you are.”

Energy pooled in Nicolas’s head, and skulls circled in his mind once more. “I don’t think I can be in here.”

“Beyond the sarcophagi,” Mujahid said, pointing in the direction of two large marble graves.

The mosaic ceiling shattered, filling the air with a cloud of dust. They dodged falling debris while weaving their way among the ornate graves.

The largest sarcophagus had fallen sideways, revealing a dark passageway beyond.

A giant slab of marble crashed down in front of Nicolas and cracked into two pieces.

“Quickly,” Mujahid said.

Nicolas leapt onto the cracked marble slab and slid across its shiny surface. He jumped and landed in front of Mujahid, who pulled him through the archway and into the tunnel.

Mujahid’s eyes glowed white again.

Nicolas felt dizzy and stumbled. Once more the electrical shocks covered his head.

The pitch black tunnel grew brighter, but there was no light source.

Nicolas squinted. “Where’s the light coming from?”

“Your eyes, boy. I gave you the sight. Your power hasn’t developed it yet. Keep moving. This tunnel is stronger than that crypt, but not by much.”

A thunderous crash behind them announced the collapse of the marble entryway, removing any hope of going back.

“Don’t look so bothered,” Mujahid said. “If we can’t leave, they can’t enter.”

A wave of nausea tightened Nicolas’s stomach, causing him to double over. He could feel the dry heaves starting.

“Oh god,” Nicolas said.

Mujahid placed a hand on Nicolas’s head.

A wave of power entered, and the nausea left him. Mujahid’s eyes had turned a brilliant white again.

When Mujahid’s eyes returned to normal he scowled.

“You’re well past the age, by five years at least. The rudiments of the art should be second nature to you, yet you stand here retching as if you’ve never channeled.”

“I’m from Texas!” Nicolas said.