Necromancer Awakening (25 page)

“Knowledge is to be preferred over ignorance.”

Mujahid leaned in close. “You remember how it used to be…before the Ascension. The clans thought Ascendancy nothing more than a myth.”

“Yet you both ascended.”

“Indeed.”

“I remember a disagreement between you and Lord Nuuan at the time.”

“The rediscovery of Ascendancy changed everything. Clan unification was necessary. Inevitable. We called a General Assembly of the clans. We were certain they would see the logic of it.”

“They refused?”

“Quite the contrary. We led the clan leaders straight to the threshold…the very entrance to the Rite. We told them to ascend or step aside.”

“It bears the mark of logic, my Lord. The hierarchy would be uncertain, otherwise.”

“It was a trap, William.” Mujahid looked down and exhaled. “One by one the clan leaders stepped over the threshold to enter the Rite, and one by one they died.”

“I understand your concern, but it doesn’t change the fact the hierarchy needed to be secured for everyone’s protection.”

“We knew they couldn’t ascend. We knew they would die.”

“Yet you also knew unification was necessary. You will object, my Lord, but sometimes the ends justify the means.”

Mujahid didn’t expect to hear that from William. “Even if the means are intrinsically evil?”

“You overstate matters,” William said. “Questionable, perhaps, but evil? A complete and utter absence of good?”

“The story isn’t finished. I didn’t fully appreciate what Lord Nuuan had done until the clan delegations returned to their homes to prepare the heirs for succession.”

“That must have been problematic. You don’t simply take over a clan that has clear succession.”

“You do if there aren’t any heirs to succeed.”

William’s eyes widened.

“Now you understand. When the clans returned home they found their heirs dead or missing, leaving them without clear paths to succession. It was all handled…most efficiently.”

“Lord Nuuan did this, my Lord?”

Mujahid looked away. “Within weeks of the General Assembly the clans swore fealty to us, dissolving their old ties and uniting under Clan Mukhtaar.”

William whistled.

“When the leader of the old Catiatum coven sees me, he is more likely to soil himself than refuse to aid us.”

Mujahid was certain it was a story William would never forget.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The refugees from New Caspardis were welcomed into the coven of Catiatum in much the way Mujahid expected…without enthusiasm. But the leadership obeyed, and that was enough for him. They asked him to stay and assist with the transition of the refugees, but there was no time to spare.

William insisted on accompanying him to the surface, so he selected a handful of refugees to go along. He didn’t want William to have to make the journey back alone.

Recent quakes had decimated the underground tunnels, and Mujahid was thankful they were able to find any path at all. They cleared a blocked passage and emerged from a concealed tunnel east of Agera.

“You would do well to enter the city prepared,” William said.

“We’ve been over this. I merely intend to make my way to the harbor and book—”

“My Lord, please hear me out. What you did in Caspardis will not be allowed to stand. Your reputation will precede you in Agera. The provincial government will have circulated your description by now. The local garrison may have already been alerted.”

Mujahid hadn’t considered that. He was expecting Agera to be aware of what happened in Caspardis, but if the local garrison had a description of him, this could be a short journey.

“I don’t believe they’ve had enough time to do that.”

“You are probably right, but are you certain? I do advise you to exercise caution.”

“I appreciate your concern. But right now I would take greater comfort in knowing you’ll take care of the survivors.”

“I would have it no other way.”

“Apart from what I may have said before…don’t be too free with your trust around the old Catiatum priests. They’re a work in progress.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

“We will speak of rebuilding New Caspardis when I see you again, so don’t grow too used to leisure, old man.”

William smiled and nodded. “Forgive my presumption, but….”

“You’ve no need to mince words with me. Speak your mind.”

“I have known you for many years, and Mordryn changed you for the better. Do not push her out of your mind. She plays an important role in your priesthood. Love always does. We don’t know what happened, but as sure as I am standing here, I know, in my heart, one day you will have your answers.”

“Is that a prophecy, old friend?”

“Call it hope.”

Mujahid smiled.

“About this Pinnacle business…do reconsider, my Lord. I fear the worst if you were to make an attempt on the Pinnacle prematurely.”

“The world falls further into decay with every passing moment that barrier stands. I’ve spent years waiting for the one person that could bring an end to this, and now that person is gone. I’ll tolerate no more madness. I’m going to the Pinnacle to confront Kagan once and for all. There are only two men alive powerful enough to stand a chance, and my brother is doing his part. If I fail, perhaps he’ll succeed.”

William frowned. “You gamble with your life, Lord Mukhtaar.”

“Shall I gamble with the countless lives who live under that abomination in the sky instead?”

William sighed and nodded. “Be safe. The clan cannot survive without you.”

Mujahid headed into Agera, wondering whether the clan would survive
with
him.

Mujahid approached Agera with caution.

Most of the city’s buildings lay in ruins, and only the sturdiest of stone structures remained standing at all. The once beautiful city was a jumble of fallen towers and debris-filled streets. Merchants watched him eagerly from within voluminous patchwork tents along the main avenue. There wasn’t a customer in sight.

A dozen Agera militia emerged from a concealed alley and Mujahid swore.

He didn’t recall such a strong military presence the last time he was here, but he wasn’t about to stick around to find out why. He ducked into the nearest merchant tent, and a miasma of scents assaulted his nostrils.

Great. A fragrance trader. Now I’ll smell like a Religarian brothel.

A loud snore caught his attention and he saw a lanky man lying on the floor at the back of the tent. Business must be bad indeed for a Religarian to be napping around money.

Mujahid pretended to examine the various fragrance vials until the patrol passed the tent and turned down another avenue.

He had to get out of Agera as soon as possible. All a guard patrol needed to detain him was a general description, and judging by the military presence it was likely they’d have one.

He cast his mind outward, searching for sources of power that must exist in a city of this size. A familiar sensation told him he was right. He was too far away from the necropotency for it to fill his well on its own, but he was close enough to draw it in.

Ruined buildings provided ample cover as he covered the distance to the harbor. The docks formed a natural border on the western edge of a large plaza, which was ringed on three sides by well-maintained buildings. The harbor was busy. Travel over land was treacherous, so most trade flowed through an intricate system of riverboats and barges that all stopped here.

Several boats anchored in port, and Mujahid made his way across the plaza to get a better look. He studied them from behind a fountain, looking for any that were preparing to leave.

Healing William left him looking younger, but his facial features wouldn’t have changed much. He pulled his hood up to minimize the chance he’d be recognized.

The sound of boots drew his attention as lightly armored militia entered the plaza from a nearby avenue. There were no ruins nearby for him to hide in, so he ran back across the plaza toward a narrow street, cursing as he ran.

Something was wrong. The militia weren’t on a routine patrol. They wore barely enough armor and were moving with haste, glancing around the plaza as if looking for something specific.

Three more militia, dressed like the first group, stepped out from a building a few feet in front of him, catching him off-guard.

One of them looked at Mujahid’s robes with a blank expression. “Religarian,” she said. “You’ve got a lot of nerve—”

Mujahid bolted for the corner of the building.

“Get him,” she said.

“Why?”

“He’s running, ain’t he?”

Mujahid picked up speed as he turned the corner into a side street.

A fine festering mess. I manage to hide my true identity only to look like something worse! A Religarian!

Shouts told him the patrols were flanking him, driving him farther east. One way or another he had to evade them. Between what the Shandarians thought he had done in Egis as a Religarian and what he
actually
did in Caspardis, there’d be no hope of escape if they caught him this time.

The street made a sharp turn to the right, and Mujahid ran into a wall. He was at a dead end.

A door opened behind him.

He began to weave two symbols together, intending to unleash a cone of disease at whoever tried to capture him. When he saw who had opened the door, he stumbled backwards and released the power harmlessly, unable to believe his own eyes. A man he hadn’t seen in forty years stood in the open doorway.

“Mujahid,” Tithian said. “Quickly. Before the militia arrives.”

Tithian’s pattern was undetectable. The man must be concealing his identity. There was no doubt in his mind it was Tithian, however. This was the man who had refused to come with him all those years ago. This was the man who had stayed behind, valuing the promise of title and riches over the sacred vows of the priesthood. This was the man who led the
Great Purge
that resulted in the deaths of entire necromantic blood lines.

The shouting grew louder, and Mujahid could hear the boots of the lightly armored soldiers striking the ground not far from where he stood.

He was out of choices. He would either have to trust this man—a man who didn’t deserve his trust—or take his chances with the militia. With a curse and a burst of speed, Mujahid ran through the doorway with Tithian.

“This way,” Tithian said. “It will take the patrols hours to search all of these buildings individually. We’ll be long gone by then.”

“Tithian?”

Tithian stopped and turned.

Mujahid stared at the man, and a rage that had lain dormant for forty years boiled to the surface. How many nights had he lain in bed, imagining what he would do if he ever got his hands on this traitor?

He closed on Tithian in two strides and pressed his dagger to Tithian’s throat. “Give me a reason I shouldn’t kill you and make this world a better place.”

The leather pounding of boots, and the metallic rattle of sheathed swords echoed in the street outside.

“If my wits haven’t dulled I’d say there are two dozen reasons out there,” Tithian said.

Mujahid considered.

“I have limited influence here,” Tithian said. “Time is at a premium.”

Mujahid released him and placed the dagger back in his sleeve. When Tithian didn’t move, he gestured through the archway and said, “Get on with it.”

They came out of the building on the opposite side. Mujahid wanted to leave Tithian behind, but he needed the man’s help right now. Besides, if Tithian wanted him captured, all he had to do was let the militia catch up. Instead, he had chosen to help, and somehow that was more unsettling.

The buildings they moved through were a collection of ruins. The surrounding stone structures remained standing, but most of the interiors had fallen into disrepair or had been looted for wood.

They came to a building with a partial second story and climbed up a precarious staircase.

Tithian stared through a demolished quartz window, scanning the streets below.

“I think we’ve lost them.” Tithian examined Mujahid. “The years have been kinder to you than to me. I wouldn’t mind learning that little trick.”