Necromancer Falling: Book Two of The Mukhtaar Chronicles (53 page)

Saleem took several steps down the platform, eyes fixed on Kaitlyn.

“I see,” Emperor Relig said. He turned. “Zorian, I trust you’ll handle this with the import it deserves.” He stared at Kaitlyn for several more moments before leaving the throne room through the small golden door.

Zorian stepped down from the platform and extended his hand toward Kagan with a huge smile on his face.

“Zorian Osa,” Zorian said. “Primary adviser to His Imperial Highness, as you are now aware.”

Kagan ignored the hand. “As you say.”

Zorian waited awkwardly for a handshake that never came. He lowered his arm and lost his smile.

“Yes,” Zorian said. “Well then. I’m afraid it would be inappropriate to discuss matters here. The guards will escort you to a more
appropriate
location.”

Zorian nodded at a guard, and the entire patrol surrounded Nicolas and Kagan.

As the guards led them into a dark passage, Zorian nodded to his left, and three other guards formed up around Kaitlyn.

“Forgive me, Archmage, but the emperor wishes to have a private conversation with the girl,” Zorian said.

Absolutely not!

“She’s my servant,” Kagan said. “I’ll allow no such thing.”

Nicolas put his arm around Kaitlyn and pulled her toward him. There was no way he was letting anyone take her.

The picnic had been wonderful. How they’d managed to find Nicolas’s favorite beer—from a local Austin brewery, named
512
—he’d never know.

“Isn’t that Pecan Porter the nectar of the gods themselves, Kagan?” Nicolas asked.

Kagan shifted on the blanket and raised his tankard, tapping it against Kaitlyn’s.

Nicolas had been holding her close a moment ago, but he had to pull his arm away so she could fill up her drink.

The grassy meadow they relaxed on overlooked the northern coast of the Pinnacle island, and small waves lapped gently against the crags below them.

Such a beautiful day. Not a cloud in the turquoise sky.

“Nicolas,” Mujahid said.

Where had
he
come from.

Nicolas turned and shielded his eyes from the sun.

Mujahid, Nuuan, and Tithian were walking down the hill from the Pinnacle proper and—

A sharp pain exploded in Nicolas’s head.

What the hell?

He hadn’t had
that
much beer. Besides, Pecan Porter never made him feel sick. But he doubled over as a wave of nausea struck him.

The sky went black.

No, that wasn’t it. The sky
changed
. Into a gold-trimmed
ceiling
. Three Religarian guards approached with a blue-robed man, and—

The sky was turquoise once more. The pain and nausea vanished.

Mujahid, Nuuan, and Tithian approached with a Council magus in blue robes. Strange color for Council robes.

Had the magus been there before? Nicolas didn’t remember him, but…

Kagan raised his tankard and clanked it against Kaitlyn’s.

“A most excellent brew,” Kagan said. He filled a tankard for Mujahid, who had just arrived.

Where’s Nuuan? Wait, weren’t Tithian and a Council magus here too?

“Nicolas,” Mujahid said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I need to borrow the Lady Kaitlyn for a moment.”

Of course he did. That’s what Mujahid did here. He borrowed people. But he always brought them back. He was a good man. Just like Dr. Murray, who was clanking a tankard of Pecan Porter against Kagan’s, and singing a Maori party song he’d learned in New Zealand.

“Sure,” Nicolas said. “Just bring her back.”

Mujahid nodded. “That’s what I do. I bring people back.”

Nicolas smiled and laid against the blanket. He drifted off to sleep, as Dr. Murray and Kagan finished the Maori song.

Saleem smiled as Nicolas returned to consciousness in the hallway outside of Emperor Relig’s throne room.

Perhaps
loss of
consciousness
wasn’t the right way to describe it. The reality of his experience was unquestionable. Right down to the taste of the 512 Pecan Porter. When Mujahid had come to take Kaitlyn away, he—

Kait!

“Where did you take her?” Nicolas asked. His pulse raced, and a sweat broke out on his forehead. He drew on as much ambient necropotency as he could find, but there was little to be had. “Where is she?”

“Calm yourself,” Saleem said. “We wouldn’t want any unfortunate accidents to happen.”

“If you touch her—”

“Guards, take them to the holding room.”

“I demand an explanation,” Kagan said.

“You demand?” Saleem asked. “You’re in no position to demand anything.”

Saleem waved his hand and three Religarian guards took Nicolas and Kagan by the arm.

Nicolas cursed not having asked for a
siborum
from the cichlos. Now he was powerless and being led away, something he swore he’d never let happen again.

There was no choice now. He’d have to go along and bide his time.

The guard gave him a shove as he followed Kagan down the hallway.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

In the year 852 BCE, Mustafa Sabbag stepped over the threshold, becoming Mustafa Lord Mukhtaar Sabbag. Born into Clan Ezeki, Lord Mustafa emigrated from the Kingdom of Shandar with a group of miners seeking their fortunes in the foothills of the great Algidians. On his journey, he became friends with a local Mukhtaarian priest, embraced Mukhtaarian theology, and became a full member of Clan Mukhtaar.

- Coteon of the Steppes, “The Mukhtaar Chronicles: Coteonic Commentaries” (circa 680 BCE)

Simply unprecedented. In all the Chronicles, this is the only tale of a priest not only changing clans, but becoming a Mukhtaar Lord as well. My own experience of the Rite of Ascension makes me certain of one thing: his conversion was not false. Were it so, he would not have survived. It also makes me certain that members of other clans can ascend, under the right circumstances. This eases my mind somewhat. Clan unification weighed heavily on my mind. I’d been worried we’d made a horrible mistake.

- Mujahid Mukhtaar, Private Commentaries, 25 CE

Aelron and Morrigan rode east without stopping, so eager were they to reach Egis. Game was scarce, but not as bad as it had been farther west. His hunting skills had kept them fed.

They’d entered a valley running north and south less than an hour ago, and the ridge on the far side was steeper than the one they’d ridden down.

He was getting tired of shielding his eyes from the sun, and the speed they rode made it impossible for his hood to stay in place. If they could stop until midmorning, the sun wouldn’t be an issue anymore. But they couldn’t afford the delay. They had to get to Egis and find a riverboat bound for the Sea of Arin. The sooner they intercepted the protoforge fragments, the sooner they’d be on the road to Dar Rodon.

“It’s not much farther,” Morrigan said.

“I just wish I had one of those spheres Nicolas uses,” Aelron said. “Would have been nice if we could have just
necromanced
ourselves to the fragments.”

“I’m not sure that’s actually a word,” Morrigan said. Her posture stiffened, though her face was cautious. “How much time did you spend with him?”

Aelron’s chest tightened. His brother could be a difficult subject around Morrigan.

“Not very long,” Aelron said. “A few days.”

“Long enough to know his character?” Morrigan said. She gave him a skeptical look.

“Time doesn’t reveal character.
Power
does.”

“You’re a philosopher now?” Morrigan said.

“I suppose you could say it runs in the family.”

Morrigan chuckled and Aelron drew his mount to a stop in front of her.

“I need you to hear this,” Aelron said. “In a span of days, I watched Nicolas put himself last, in almost all ways. He had a penitent to do his work, had he chosen. Yet he was planning to carry a crippled man from Blackwood to Caspardis by himself. He saved my life and showed me mercy when I didn’t deserve it. He revealed more kindness and strength of character in those few days than the rangers did in my forty years with them. I don’t need philosophy to know a good person when I see one.”

“I’m not saying I don’t believe you,” Morrigan said. “I’m just…reserving judgment. My experience with magi hasn’t been quite as
positive
as yours.”

Aelron nodded. He couldn’t ask more of her than that.

They crested the ridge and Aelron relaxed. Their ride would soon be over.

Egis lay before them, across a barren plain half a league to the east. Most of the city was in silhouette from the rising sun, but a single tower beyond the city gate stood out among the buildings. It was narrow. No more than fifteen feet wide. Yet it stood well over fifty feet in height, crowned with a pointed, tile-covered roof. Buildings of lesser height sprawled eastward along city streets that splayed out like a fan. The streets converged at the harbor, which was busy with riverboat traffic. The Great Orm River flowed from the north horizon to the south. Though boats in need of mooring filled the docks, the river outside of Egis was devoid of traffic.

Aelron shifted his gaze back to the wall.

The city gate was guarded, but that was to be expected given Morrigan’s tale. She’d told him the Religarians invaded and set fire to Egis some months ago, mostly because of a lie Kagan told. It was hard to tell with her, though. Her blind hatred of the man no doubt had her exaggerating.

Morrigan brought her adda to a halt and cursed.

Aelron saw the problem. Soldiers with tall, black feathers extending from large, wide-brimmed hats manned the wall and gate.

The Barathosians had taken Egis.

When Aelron faced Morrigan again, he blinked to check his vision.

Morrigan sat atop her adda as before, but gone was her cloak and fitted armor. In its place was a yellow dress. Her blond hair was freed from its topknot and swept down onto her shoulders.

“How in the six hells did you do that?” Aelron asked.

Morrigan spurred her adda forward.

“If they’re occupying the city,” she said, “this won’t be easy. We may need to steal a boat if we’re going to intercept the fragments.”