Necromancer Awakening (15 page)

Heat rose inside Nicolas.

“I was the one who cast the binding spell on this Talisman…I linked it to your soul. It’s an object of power…a tool that leads whoever wields it to you. You became dizzy because you were locating yourself. Not a wise thing to attempt.”

A war of emotion erupted inside Nicolas, cycling through feelings faster than he understood them. Shock at news he thought impossible. Anger at being a cosmic pawn of some sort. Fear that he might never see Kaitlyn again. Despair over being helpless to do anything about it. But the feelings settled on anger. None of this was true. Mujahid had to be lying to him. Had to be.

“You’re crazy,” Nicolas said. “I mean, you’re nuts.” He slapped the rock he was sitting on, making his hand vibrate with pain. “This whole place is nuts!”

Mujahid swore. “Too much, too soon. I should take my own advice.” He placed a hand on Nicolas’s shoulder. “I know you must feel somewhat—”

“No!” Nicolas said and pushed Mujahid’s hand away. “I don’t believe any of it.”

“Objective truth doesn’t require your belief to remain true,” Mujahid said.

Nicolas turned away.

“There are those of this world who would see Necromancy wiped from the face of Erindor and replaced by a perversion of magic they call
Life Magic.
It was life magi who led the invasion of Paradise.”

“No,” Nicolas said. He pushed Mujahid away with a forceful shove. “You’re wrong about that. You’re wrong about everything.”

“I need you to calm yourself and take this in,” Mujahid said.

Nicolas tried, but he couldn’t deny it anymore. He’d seen too much. In his mind, a link pointed him toward an undead insect he’d called back from the grave, and a glowing skull floated around a well of power. No, he couldn’t deny it anymore.

Nicolas turned to Mujahid. Rage simmered under the surface of his emotions, but he trusted the man. “I’m still listening.”

“Good. Because there’s more to this festering mess.”

Mujahid took a seat on another boulder behind Nicolas. He took a deep breath and sighed.

“Archmage Kagan is your father, Nicolas. You are the heir to the Obsidian Throne, next in line to be the supreme religious leader in the Three Kingdoms.”

Nicolas stared straight ahead. The words weren’t making sense to him.

“He will stop at nothing to find you. He wants you trained in life magic, and I can’t allow that. I won’t.”

“My father is alive, and he lives here. On another world.”

“That’s all you took from what I told you? Listen, boy. No one in Erindor wields more life-magic than he does. No one wields more political cunning. And no one wields more religious authority. He may not be a king, but that matters little when the world considers him the voice of the gods.”

Nicolas thought back to his Western Civilization classes in college. Kings and Queens deferred to the Pope, or their own people rose up against them.

“Ok, let’s say you’re right and I believe all this. Why would my father want me trained as a life magus? Won’t I die if I stop training in necromancy? You said yourself the skull would have killed me.”

Mujahid closed his eyes and sighed. “Necromancy isn’t the only path through the Hall of Power. Many of those life magi were once necromancers.”

“See, that’s the kind of thing you tell a guy before he enters a Hall of Power and hangs his hat on one of those doors.”

“You’ve felt the wrongness of the white door in your heart. Passing through that door puts you on the path to becoming a life magus, and it’s a difficult path to find your way back from.”

Nicolas remembered how much the white door had disgusted him.

“There was a time your father was a good man and friend of mine. But life magic corrupts. It stands against everything we hold sacred.” Mujahid glanced at the sky. “In his madness your father created that monstrosity. I watched as he defied the gods and defiled the Pinnacle, and they branded me a traitor for standing against him. That was the day I saw you taken. I had no proof he was lying…that he was a false prophet, so Clan Mukhtaar was driven underground.”

Nicolas kept shaking his head. “I can’t be this person.”

“I’m sorry, boy. But somewhere inside, you know I’m right.”

Nicolas wanted to cry out in rage. He wanted to pick up the boulder Mujahid was sitting on and turn it over.

“Remember what I taught you about clearing your mind,” Mujahid said. “Necropotency heightens your senses. When emotion battles reason, it can help.”

“I don’t feel much around here.”

“You must be close to a source to use it. There are few nearby, so your power is limited.”

Nicolas drew some power into his well.

“I’ve lived my entire life away from here,” Nicolas said. “Why pull me back now?”

“The gods have a plan for you that I can only guess at. A guess based on wisdom, but a guess nonetheless.” Mujahid put his hand on Nicolas’s shoulder. “I’ve waited for you for many years, boy.”

Nicolas squinted. “How’d you know I’d ever come back?”

Mujahid clutched his necklace. “This isn’t the only Talisman of Archmages. Its twin hangs around the neck of my successor. Because of it, the archmage knows you’ve returned, and he knows where you are.”

“So what now?”

“If there’s one thing we can count on from your father, it’s arrogance. He doesn’t know all of my secrets.”

A rhythmic pounding on the ground drew Nicolas’s attention, but he couldn’t see where it was coming from. The sound seemed to come from all directions at once.

“Arin’s arse,” Mujahid said. “Follow me, and make as little noise as possible.”

“What is it?”

“Did you not hear me the first time? The archmage tracks your every move. If I can find you in the middle of nowhere, so can he.”

Mujahid wove a path through the shrubs.

The dull pounding grew louder and Nicolas struggled to keep up with Mujahid.

“Your argram, boy. Call to him.”

“Ensif!” Nicolas yelled.

Mujahid smacked him on the back of the head.

“Fool! Use your link, not your voice. The whole festering Shandarian Union knows we’re here now.”

Nicolas concentrated on the link in his mind, but he didn’t see any way to communicate with Ensif. “I don’t know how.”

“Direct the energy, boy.”

Nicolas imagined the argram running back to him and sent the image through the necromantic link.

The argram replied with an image of a vast plain. Ensif was far away.

Another image came to him. This time, it depicted empty hands. Ensif had found no game on his hunt.

“Drop your weapons.” The voice came from farther into the brush. It was a deep voice, like it reverberated out of a huge barrel instead of a man. “There’s no use in it. You know damned well there’s no way past us now. Drop your arms and you’ll live to see the inside of a Shandarian jail cell. I think you’d prefer that to the inside of an
adda-ki
, no?”

Mujahid gestured for Nicolas to stop, and he whispered. “We must tread with caution. Don’t use my name or title if you value either of our lives. Better yet, say nothing.”

Several large animals approached from all directions with catlike grace. They blended into the surrounding countryside, and all but their outline was invisible. Nicolas focused on the closest shape. It had six legs, like the cow beast from days ago, but it was different. The animal was at least twice the length of the largest horse he’d ever seen.

The creature appeared to have no rider at first, but the outline of something man-shaped stepped down from it. Whatever was dismounting was as transparent as the horse creature. The man shape turned its head and Nicolas jumped in shock. Two eyes floated in the air as if disembodied. They were feline, and glowed from the reflected light of the amber barrier.

Mujahid looked down and swore. “Shandarian Rangers.”

“Are they cats or something?”

“Human…mostly. Religious warriors. Animalists. They’re under holy vows that give them some magic.”

“Wait…mostly?”

“You think Necromancy is the only form of magic?”

“What the hell do I know about magic?”

Nicolas didn’t know what to do as the cat eyes approached him, so he held out his hand in greeting, hoping it was the right gesture.

The man shape knocked Nicolas’s hand out of the way with one arm and struck a painful blow to his face with the other.

Nicolas grabbed his jaw, checking for any breaks, but everything was intact. He had a nasty cut on his lip, though, and his mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood.

“You don’t touch a Shandarian Ranger,” Mujahid said in a whisper.

Would have been nice to know sooner.

“May Arin bless us through your presence, Ranger,” Mujahid said. He gave a slight bow at the waist and spread his arms.

“And may my passing leave you elevated,” the voice said. “Captain Saren. What are you doing skulking about in the middle of nowhere?”

The man pulled something off his head and a disembodied face floated in midair. Whatever was causing the rangers to appear translucent had something to do with what they were wearing. A thick, curly mustache and beard hung below the floating face, which was human in all ways except for the feline eyes.

“My young friend and I are Union citizens on pilgrimage to the Pinnacle, Captain,” Mujahid said. “We travel to Egis to book passage on a riverboat to Three Banks.”

An image of the argram entered Nicolas’s mind. Ensif was close now.

Saren stared at Nicolas. “He
is
young at that, ain’t he. Don’t see that much these days.” He turned back to Mujahid. “There’s not much left of Egis. And what little there is ain’t gonna help you. Harbor’s gone.” Saren spat on the ground next to him. “Small group of Religarians broke off from the main force and headed inland. To what ends, only Malvol’s festering arse knows.”

“For a Ranger to invoke the god of hate, it must be serious,” Mujahid said.

“Damned border skirmishes get worse every year, but this is the first time they’ve had the bollocks to set fire to a whole town. I’d sleep in cold camps, if I were you.”

Mujahid pursed his lips.

“If you head south, you’ll be safe enough,” Saren said. “Keep your heads up for shrillers, though. Nasty buggers are mating. You’ll see the big blue bastards long before they get to you if you’re alert.”

So those bat things were
shrillers
. Nicolas would have to remember that.

“Well, my friend,” Mujahid said as he turned to Nicolas. “We’ll make straight for Agera instead. Two unarmed pilgrims won’t last long against trained Religarian soldiers.”

“A sword, Sinner Charles,” Saren said.

A sword materialized out of nowhere. It came flying at Mujahid, who grabbed it out of the air with remarkable dexterity.

“A worthless practice sword, but it’s pointy,” Saren said. “Do you or your mute friend here know how to use one?”

“Undead!” a voice shouted, followed by “Necromancer!”

Ensif had caught up to them.

An image emerged from the necromantic link. Ensif knew one of the rangers had struck Nicolas, and he wasn’t happy about it. He was signaling that he planned to attack.

The rangers unsheathed translucent swords, but Ensif stood there like a defenseless child.

“Ensif,” Nicolas shouted, “No!”

“Don’t make him attack!” Mujahid yelled.

Ensif charged and the rangers contorted their bodies in impossible ways, dodging every blow the skilled argram directed at them.

When Ensif passed through the group of rangers, they charged him from behind and hacked him to pieces. It didn’t take long before Ensif was nothing more than a pile of bones on the ground.

The mystical link disappeared from Nicolas’s mind. Ensif was gone. A sense of loss and disappointment filled the gap left behind by the link.

“Why didn’t he defend himself?” Nicolas said.

“Fool boy,” Mujahid said.

“Bind them with Arinwool.” Saren said.

Invisible hands placed silk-like bindings around Nicolas’s wrists. Like the swords and the rangers themselves, the silk was invisible. They tied Mujahid in similar fashion.

“Guard that boy, Sinner Charles,” Saren said. “He’s the necromancer. Let him escape and you’ll have more than the loss of your
adda-ki
to worry about.”

“Yes, Ranger,” Sinner Charles said.

The outline of another man approached.

“You can’t believe the boy is a necromancer, Captain,” Mujahid said.

“He lies.” The voice came from two disembodied cat’s eyes that floated behind Mujahid. “I heard this one tell the boy to keep the penitent at bay. Strange order to give if the boy don’t have the power to do it, no?”

“He wasn’t being quiet at all, was he?” Saren said to Mujahid. “He was sending messages to that thing the whole time. And you were helping him.”

“Absurd,” Mujahid said.

Captain Saren’s disembodied face turned toward Nicolas. The feline eyes squinted. “We’re taking you to Caspardis, necromancer. You too, old man. I don’t know what part you play in this yet, but I’m dragging your arse to Caspardis as well. Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have the prisoners placed on mounts. We leave immediately. You know the drill. Draw straws for Sinner Charles.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And make it quick or
I’ll
decide.”

The man called “Sergeant” picked up his pace.

Rough hands pushed Nicolas up into place behind a ranger on one of the translucent beasts. They lashed him to a saddle using more of the silky Arinwool. It wouldn’t stretch or tear, no matter how much force he used.

Nicolas drew a little power into his well and regretted it. The Arinwool around his wrists glowed and seared his skin. When he released the power, the burning stopped.

“Won’t be trying that again, will you,” the ranger sitting in front of him said. “Just so we’re clear…I get so much as a twitch on my arse cheek, and you won’t live long enough to feel the pain of the Arinwool burns.”

Nicolas grabbed the handhold. “Look, I don’t understand what the hell’s going on. I’m not trying to hurt anyone.”

The disembodied voice chuckled. “Not that difficult to understand, really. You’re going to be executed in Caspardis. After a fair trial.”