Necromancer Awakening (18 page)

“Don’t worry,” Nicolas said. “There ain’t any.”

“I’ll drink to that,” the ranger said.

They rode out of camp the same way they entered. When they approached the sign with two arrows, they turned and trotted down the grassy plain toward the city. The adda-ki stood out against everything they passed, as if they had been taken from some alien, multi-hued world and inserted into a colorless environment.

The outside of the city was falling into ruins. A section of wall had collapsed, and three of the numerous parapets had crumbled to the ground. Parapet flags whipped above the heads of the armored wall guards, and ships unfurled their sails in the distant harbor.

As they made their way down the sloped plain, the view of the harbor disappeared, and the ruined wall loomed large in front of them. Uniformed guards snapped to attention as they trotted through a great arch and under a set of iron gates.

The crowd of people parted and cowered as the red adda-ki entered an enormous plaza.

The buildings were falling apart, and several leaned together at odd angles. Merchants set up their wares in tents that lined the edges of the plaza and people congregated amongst three large fountains that dominated the center of the place. The fountains were no better off than the buildings—there was no running water, and the statues were crumbling.

City guards chased one of the merchants between two tents. The merchant was putting up a good fight, but it didn’t take long for the guards to subdue him. They led him away from the plaza down a wide avenue.

Nicolas reached out with his mind. Like before, the necropotency was there, but it retreated whenever he reached for it. It was like trying to grab water with his fingers.

A burst of pain erupted in the center of his face.

“Try that again and I’ll show these people how an adda-ki keeps its prey alive while it eats.”

When his vision returned he saw the ranger’s arm moving away from him, and blood dripped from the man’s elbow.

“Don’t think my threat empty, boy. You know the worth of a ranger’s word.”

Nicolas wanted to wipe away the blood dripping down his face, but there was no slack in his bindings. He would have to do his best to ignore it.

Everywhere he looked, he saw destruction. It was as if the end of the world had come and gone, but the people hadn’t noticed. Instead, they went about their business, ignoring debris and avoiding the rangers.

What he didn’t see bothered him more than what he did see, however. As in Paradise, there were no young children or teenagers in the streets.

After several turns an expansive fortress came into view. The fortress, like other buildings in the city, was also falling into ruin. The main building was circular in shape, and the wall on top gave Nicolas the impression of teeth on a saw, as if the entire roof were an enormous battlement.

They entered a large sandy plaza in front of the fortress.

Two large poles topped with metal hoops stuck out of the dirt, and the ground between them was darkened, like wet sand. A gigantic bell tower had been set into the wall next to a gate that led farther into the keep, but Nicolas didn’t see a church nearby.

They passed through the gate and dismounted in the courtyard beyond. The rangers untied them and led them down into the basement of the fortress through damp tunnels permeated with mold. Water dripped in the distance, from some unseen source, echoing off the stone walls with every splash. But even with blazing torches spaced several yards apart, causing an alternating pattern of light and dark on the walls, Nicolas still had a difficult time seeing.

A fortress guard jumped as they turned a corner in the hall.

“Why are you taking them through here,” the guard said. “We’re not—Rangers?”

The guard’s face paled in the shimmering torchlight.

“Just unlock the door and get back to doing nothing,” Saren said.

The guard nodded and swung the door aside. Beyond it, prisoners stood huddled in a group of jail cells. One of the cells was open, and two guards flanked the entrance.

A ranger untied Nicolas’s lashings.

“Remove the other prisoners,” Saren said. “Take them to the cells near the crypt”

Mujahid turned his head at mention of a crypt.

“Arin’s bollocks,” a guard said. “I don’t care who you are, they don’t pay me enough.”

Saren turned on the man and his feline eyes squinted.

“This is a necromancer, you idiot.”

The guard swallowed then nodded toward the other guard.

When the last of the prisoners had been moved, Captain Saren gave Nicolas a firm shove in the direction of the nearest open cell.

“In you go,” Saren said.

Mujahid followed, and the cell was locked shut.

“Welcome to Caspardis,” Saren said. “I’d tell you to enjoy your stay…”

Saren turned to leave.

“Wait,” Nicolas said. “What happens now?”

Saren glanced over his shoulder. “You won’t be here long.”

Nicolas spun to face Mujahid as panic rose in his throat. “What now?”

“We wait. There’s nothing else to be done. We’re without power.”

“What about the crypt he was talking about before?”

“Unless you can find a way through these walls, the crypt won’t do us any good. Just look, listen, and speak as little as possible.”

“But there has to be—”

“Powerless is powerless, boy!” Mujahid looked away. “Without necropotency, I’m just a man like any other.”

Somehow, Nicolas doubted that.

Two days passed. Servants fed them twice each day, which was more than Nicolas had expected.

The cell was stone blocks on three sides, twelve feet long by eight feet deep. It was closed off by a flattened iron-lattice grate with a steel door through which the guards would bring their meals. The grate formed small squares barely large enough to fit an arm through. A single torch, in a sconce on the moldy wall outside of the cell, burned an acrid fuel that made Nicolas’s eyes tear up.

The hay in the corner reeked of urine and feces. The guards were quick to take away empty bowls, but they ignored the hay.

An odd tapestry hung on the wall outside the cell. It looked like the skin of a bright orange fish, if the fish were larger than a man.

Nicolas attempted to draw power, but it kept retreating from him.

“If I could summon another argram we wouldn’t have to sit here like this,” Nicolas said.

“You shouldn’t have been able to summon one the
first
time,” Mujahid said. “Count yourself lucky you’re still alive.”

“Have you ever summoned one?”

Mujahid looked away. “At least they’re feeding us. We should—”

“No. I’m not letting you change the subject. Something happened when they killed Ensif—is that even the word for it?—and I don’t understand it. I feel like I lost a part of myself.”

“You did, boy. A very important part of yourself.”

“I only knew him for….”

“We’re getting somewhere now. Finish the sentence.”

Nicolas looked away. There was no frame of reference for him to know how long he had been with Ensif. The concept of time didn’t seem to apply.

“Was it hours?” Mujahid asked. “Or was it years? I’m guessing you lived several years of that creature’s life during the summoning.”

Nicolas looked down.

“Longer? How many decades did you wander through the consequences of that creature’s actions?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“I’ve heard the songs, boy. I’ve read the poetry. But those songs and poems have never been written, have they? Nor will they ever be.”

“So you
have
summoned an argram.”

“When you summon a penitent, regardless of who or what it is, you form a priestly bond with that creature stronger than any other bond. And when they fall before they’re purified…it’s as if you’ve failed your sacred duty and caused someone else to suffer as a result.”

“What do we do about it?”

“We leave them to the mercy of Arin.”

“That’s it? That’s all you got?”

“And then we find the festering bastards who bring evil into this world and make them question their life choices.”

“So we’ve got
that
to look forward to at least.”

Mujahid grinned.

“What’s the deal?” Nicolas asked. “Why can’t I pull any power in? It’s like it runs away from me.”

Mujahid shook his head. “There
is
no power here.”

The door at the end of the hall opened with a metallic clang.

“Guard,” Mujahid said. “Tell me of Caspardis minor. I don’t recall seeing it last time I was here.”

The guard stared at Mujahid, saying nothing.

“I’m not the necromancer here,” Mujahid said. “And he’ll be dead in a day or two anyway.”

Nicolas swallowed. Was Mujahid bluffing or had he come to terms with the inevitable?

“I’m still a citizen of this Union,” Mujahid said. “And I have yet to be found guilty of a crime.”

The guard faced Mujahid. “We’re taking the fight to the Religarians this time.”

“We invade Religar?”

“And it’s about time, if you ask me.”

“King Donal agrees to this business?”

“The Tildemen have their own problems, apparently. That’s ok, if you ask me. Next time Religar challenges the border with Tildem, maybe we’ll have
our
own problems.”

“And the empire will pick us off, city by city, until neither Tildem nor the Union remains,” Mujahid said. “Why would the chancellor invade a country he cannot hope to defeat? Why pull out of the Treaty of Three Banks now?”

The metallic sound of a key entering a lock rang through the air, and the door at the end of the hall swung open. The guard at their cell turned and nodded to someone standing beyond the door.

The expression on Mujahid’s face changed from frustration to terror.

“Guard,” Mujahid said. “Can I have a word?”

Mujahid sounded like a kid in a snake pit.

The guard huffed.

“Unless you want this necromancer to escape you’d better hear me out,” Mujahid said.

“What the hell?” Nicolas asked.

“He’s threatened to kill me once already,” Mujahid said. “I can’t bear the thought of being raised up as his servant. Please. You have to help me!”

This couldn’t be happening. Mujahid had turned on him to save his own life.

Nicolas stepped toward Mujahid. He’d fix that old bastard.

“He’s lying,” Nicolas said. “He’s Muja—”

Mujahid kicked Nicolas square in the chest with a speed and strength that terrified him.

Nicolas fell to the floor and landed hard. If he’d had his eyes closed he’d think the old man picked up a refrigerator and hit him with it.

Mujahid clasped a hand over Nicolas’s mouth and leaned in close.

“Quiet you fool.” Mujahid spoke in a whisper. “Our only hope is that they put me in with the other prisoners near the crypt.”

He wanted to believe Mujahid, but how could he? He closed his eyes and started shaking his head.

“You’re stronger than you realize, boy. Look toward the Pinnacle. That’s where the answers will be. Go to Arin’s Watch. I can track you with this.” Mujahid pointed to the amulet concealed beneath his robes.

Two guards entered the cell area.

“Arin’s helm,” Mujahid said. “There’s so much you don’t know. You’ll need the
tithe
from Pilgrim’s Landing to enter the Pinnacle. You must not forget. The tithe.”

“You there,” a guard said, pointing at Mujahid. “Let’s go.”

“Thank the gods,” Mujahid said as he walked toward the cell door. “I had to defend myself. He was going to kill me.”

The guard tied Mujahid’s hands behind his back and shoved him toward the door.

Nicolas wanted to yell, but Mujahid’s kick had knocked the wind out of him.

“There is a prophecy,” Mujahid said as a guard pushed him.

“That’ll be enough,” the guard said.

“It’s all about the energy. Give yourself over to the water. There’s a—”

The guard backhanded Mujahid across the face, knocking him into silence. “Shove your prophecy up your arse and keep moving.”

The stone door slammed closed.

Mujahid was gone.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN