Necromancer Falling: Book Two of The Mukhtaar Chronicles (30 page)

Mujahid wasn’t sure what made the blood drain from their faces faster, the implication he couldn’t die, or the fact he smiled without denying it. Whichever it was, they couldn’t seem to get far enough away from him.

“Now what can I help you with, sir?” Jameson asked.

“Kindness is a rare thing in the world these days,” Mujahid said. “Keep it up and your time with one of my brethren will be short.”

“What’s it like, being a necromancer’s pet?”

If the boy knew the truth he’d never sleep again.

“Penitent,” Mujahid said. “And it’s strange and different. Now, can you tell me where I might find the local coven?”

“What if I wanted to be one?”

“A penitent?”

“No, a necromancer! What do I gotta do? You take some kind of vow, right?”

Mujahid didn’t have the heart to let him down. If this guard hadn’t shown signs of an Awakening yet, he wasn’t a necromancer and never would be. Maybe a few harmless lies would soften the blow.

“Let me ask you some questions,” Mujahid said. “I’ll apprentice you right now, if you think you have what it takes.”

Jameson nodded with more enthusiasm than anyone deserved to have.

“Are you comfortable around demons?” Mujahid asked. “For your first test, you’ll have to hunt one on the second plane of Hell—they don’t start hunting
you
until later. The final test takes place on the sixth plane of Hell. I’ll transport you there, and you’ll have to find your way home—without being caught by the hellwraiths, of course. Gods…memories of that still make me shudder.”

Another thunderclap exploded through the plaza, as if to punctuate Mujahid’s statement.

Jameson swallowed.

“You end up partially possessed after the trials,” Mujahid said. “But it’s
mostly
worth it. So what do you say? Want to give necromancy a go?”

“They’re building a new temple about a half-league up the road,” Jameson said. He was having a hard time looking Mujahid in the eyes. “You can’t miss it.”

“You have my thanks,” Mujahid said. “If you ever change your mind, you know where the temple is.”

“Think I’ll stick with guarding for a while.”

Mujahid waved as he continued up the street. As much as he hated lying to the boy, telling him it was impossible to become a necromancer might spark his interest even more. Mujahid had seen it happen before.

But what was this about a new temple? Why hadn’t Catiatum sent word? Aufidius—the Catiatum coven leader—should know better. Mujahid would have to remedy that lack of knowledge. Perhaps Aufidius needed reminding the Catiatum coven was part of Clan Mukhtaar now.

Agera was a city under construction, with wooden scaffolding lining a portion of the street and construction workers hammering away with mallets and sawing away with serrated blades.

Mujahid stared for a moment, trying to absorb it all.

Wooden scaffolding. More times than he cared to admit over the last forty years, he thought he’d never live to see the day when wood was used for such mundane purposes. But with the barrier gone, tradesmen could work the great forests to the north again. Wood was in supply, and that meant great changes.

It meant terrible changes as well. The Three Kingdoms wasn’t adapting well from an economy based on a lack of wood to one glutted by it, and the tenuous relationship between east and west grew more unstable by the week. Religarian stone wasn’t in high demand in the west anymore, excepting the rare large construction project.

Mujahid shook his head. Amazing how something as simple as wooden scaffolding could remind him of how delicate the balance of power was now that Kagan and his infernal barrier were gone.

The Barathosians likely didn’t know or care about the hardships of the Three Kingdoms. Come to think of it, Mujahid didn’t know much at all about what the Barathosians might care about.

Kagan had assassinated the Barathosian Empress’s son. But Mujahid was convinced this invasion was about far more than a debt of honor. In his experience, the obvious explanation for most wars was the
excuse
, not the reason.

But if it’s not about the death of Yotto, then what
is
it about?

As he crossed another intersection, he passed a statue of a dragon standing in front of a merchant’s shop. The dragon’s curled smile reminded Mujahid of Malvol and those cursed figurines. Objects of power were rare—Hellstone even more so—yet he’d encountered two such objects in as many weeks. One had threatened to take control of him, and the other
had
taken control of a king.

But there was no connection between the two events. Perhaps this was something else William could shed light on.

A drizzle of rain fell, peppering the dirt street with pockmarks of water, and freshening the otherwise stagnant air.

The sound of chisels biting into stone echoed across the street.

A vast construction area had been cleared of debris, and several ruined buildings had been demolished to make more room. A wooden frame rose from stone foundations, and several stonemasons were busy chiseling and separating rock.

A man dressed in a midnight-blue robe spoke with a mason and seemed upset about the wooden frame, given where he was pointing and how furious were his gestures.

If they
were
attempting to build a Temple of Zubuxo, they were going about it all wrong. The man was right to be upset. Anything other than natural stone would render the temple ritually impure.

Time for introductions.

He crossed the intersection and called to the man. When he turned, Mujahid kept his eyes open and ignited the symbol of ascension.

The man dropped to one knee and shielded his eyes. The stonemason seemed confused by the action, but a glance from Mujahid sent him back to work.

Mujahid despised the display of authority, but this was the old Catiatum coven. Every time he’d dealt with them without a firm hand, it ended poorly. He’d need to keep them off balance.

“The light has passed,” Mujahid said as he released the power.

“May it bless us in its passing,” the man said.

“Rise, child.”

“My lord,” the man said. “To what do we owe this honor?”

Time to muster some feigned outrage
.

“I found out from a young guard…a boy…that you were constructing a new temple.”

“Yes, my lord. It’s going to be a grand—”

“From a boy!”

The man lowered his head.

“Did your coven leader not think to send word to the Pinnacle?” Mujahid said.

“Of course, Lord Mukhtaar—”

“How does he intend to dedicate this temple without me or Lord Nuuan present?”

“I cannot say—”

“This isn’t going to be a temple. It’s going to be a
sacrilege
!”

“I’ve discussed the wood with—”

“Take me to the coven.”

“That won’t be necessary…
Lord
Mujahid,” Aufidius said, emphasizing
Lord
as if he were humoring Mujahid instead of honoring him. “Sorry to startle you, my lord. I was across the street and saw Magus Claudio drop to his knee.”

Mujahid wanted to wipe the smile from Aufidius’s hairless face. Something about that man had always bothered Mujahid. Maybe it was the sharpness of his cheekbones, or the hook of his nose that gave him the appearance of a predator. Perhaps it was the sunken eyes that hinted at a darkness waiting for the right moment to be unleashed. The tattoo covering the right side of his face in the ancient tribal pattern of Clan Catiatum didn’t lend itself to trust. But whichever it was, that smile was more malevolent than pleasant.

Aufidius didn’t have the honor—perhaps
courage
—to wear the midnight blue. The robe he wore was better suited for a government magistrate than a necromancer. Bright blue from head to foot, trimmed with silver along the cuffs and collar. In place of a simple cincture, he wore a hide belt with a jeweled buckle. And instead of sandals, he wore shriller-hide boots.

“You like them?” Aufidius said, holding a turquoise boot out for Mujahid’s inspection.

Mujahid wasn’t fooled by the foppish display. Aufidius was a powerful priest, which was the only reason Mujahid appointed him when the last coven leader died.

“Some say shrillers are intelligent,” Mujahid said.

“Clearly not intelligent enough to evade the hunter.”

“What was your reason for not informing me of this temple? Tell me that I may judge
your
intelligence.”

Aufidius lowered his head, but his expression wasn’t one of a reprimanded humble subordinate. It was anger.

“We’ve only begun laying the foundation, my lord,” Aufidius said. “The framing was a mistake from an overzealous worker, nothing more. He wasn’t aware of our customs. I would have informed you long before it was time to consecrate the structure.”

“Am I and Lord Nuuan not to oversee the design? The placement? Have you discovered a sacred line crossing this property? Did you even think to check, for that matter?”

“I assure you, all of the necessary rites were followed.”

“You purchased the land with clan funds, did you not?”

“With Catiatum funds, yes.”

Mujahid stepped closer to Aufidius. “Catiatum hasn’t been a clan since I performed the blessing at your grandfather’s birth.”

Aufidius smiled once more, but it was a nervous smile. Had he forgotten Mujahid was far older than he appeared?

“I misspoke, my lord. I merely meant to say Catiatum
coven
funds. But our haste was well-intentioned, I assure you.”

“I assume you have a coven house?”

Aufidius nodded.

“Take me. You can tell me of these
intentions
while we walk.”

Aufidius led Mujahid to a side street next to the temple foundation. When Mujahid rounded the corner, Aufidius walked beside him.

“Before we discuss the temple,” Mujahid said. “Is William well? What of the refugees from New Caspardis?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have those answers, my lord. William left little more than a month ago and took the refugees with him. He told me you’d asked him to rebuild the New Caspardis coven and wanted to begin as soon as possible.”

Mujahid sighed. “Ahh William! Of all the festering times to get motivated.”

“You didn’t ask him to do this, my lord?”

“Oh, I asked, all right. And it’s moments like these I hate getting what I ask for. I suppose I’ll have to carry on to Caspardis, then. I’ll stay here for the night and get started tomorrow.”

“Of course! We have a place for you, and we’ll make sure you’re well fed and well provisioned.”

I bet you will. The quicker I move on, the better for you.

“Now, back to the temple,” Mujahid said. “Why the haste?”

“An invasion force is coming, and I know not when it will arrive.”

Mujahid was surprised he knew. And Aufidius had implied the invasion had something to do with the construction of the new temple, so he must have known before they laid the foundation stones.

That wasn’t possible.

“Given how quickly they took Rotham,” Mujahid said, “and how quickly they’re likely to take Arin’s Watch, I’d say within a month. Maybe two, if Three Banks holds long enough.”

Aufidius blinked and furrowed his brow. His surprise was no act.

“Rotham?” Aufidius asked. “Arin’s Watch? Are you saying an invasion comes from the south as well?”

“What do you mean
as well
?”

“I was speaking of the invasion from the
west
. Shandar has fallen. An unknown army moves east to Caspardis as we speak! They may have already taken it!”

Mujahid’s face grew cold.

“Tell me what you know of this invasion,” Mujahid said. “Every detail you have!”

“The stories defy credibility, yet Shandarian Rangers swear they’re true. The strangest ship appeared off the coast of Shandar. They described it as a floating ziggurat, like an ancient
builder
temple. It materialized on the water, as if placed there by the gods themselves. But before anyone could approach it, fire rained from the sky. They say not one stone remains standing upon another in Shandar.”

Mujahid stopped and steadied himself against a wall.

“And there’s more,” Aufidius said. “There’s a…
strangeness
happening here in Agera. Something with the adda. Some have simply appeared outside the city walls, while others have vanished. Some that appeared didn’t look like adda at all. They were several times the normal size, with four giant horns. People are saying the adda are cursed. That maybe they’re the mounts of the ghost soldiers.”

“You should know better.”

Aufidius waved his hand. “Of course. But I can understand why the uneducated would call them such. Soldiers
have
been appearing and disappearing outside the city walls. I haven’t witnessed the phenomenon myself, but people I trust have reported it.”

Mujahid placed a hand on Aufidius’s shoulder.

“How many of you are there now?” Mujahid asked.

“Total?”

“Priests.”

“Exactly thirteen.”

Mujahid balled his other hand into a fist.

“Damn Kagan!” Mujahid said. “Damn him straight to the hells!”

“Something we can agree on.”

“Go now. There’s no time. Collect everyone and everything you hold dear and leave this place to its fate.”

“My lord?”

“The invasion force you spoke of is the Barathosian army.”

“But that was forty years ago.”

“When they sweep through Agera, it will fare no better than Shandar or Rotham. And there is
nothing
you or the other priests will be able to do. Take the coven east. Make for the Pinnacle.”

“What will you do?”

Mujahid had gone over every scenario, but he was left with only two choices. He could travel to Caspardis in the hope of warning William before it was too late, or he could make all haste north and secure the Mukhtaar Estate.

The Three Kingdoms was surrounded. The bulk of the armada sat off the coast of Dar Rodon, and there was no telling how long that city would survive. Tildem was already under Barathosian control. Donal could slow the advance, but in the end the Barathosians would win. And now Shandar, the biggest, most powerful city in the Shandarian Union lay in rubble.