Necromancer Awakening (36 page)

“No,” Nicolas shouted at the students. “Leave him.”

They stopped in place, as if unable to believe he had spoken.

Strength seeped from his body with every drop of blood that ran down into the small of his back.

Lamil stopped where he was, staring at Nicolas with a look of shock and disbelief, but Toridyn kept running until he was Nicolas’s side.

Toridyn knelt and helped Nicolas to his feet. “Your back, Nicolas. You’re losing a lot of blood.”

Nicolas stumbled backward and almost fell. He faced Lamil, hoping the old teacher would stop the duel, but Lamil stared back, saying nothing.

Nicolas released a small amount of necropotency into his wound. The dagger slid out then dropped to the floor. He shuddered from the pain, but he’d survived worse. Far worse.

He reached out with a tendril of energy and lifted the dagger off the ground, spinning it so that it pointed at Jurn. The dagger floated through the air until it was mere inches from Jurn’s face.

“Not like this,” Lamil said, shaking his head.

Nicolas realized what he had been about to do and let the dagger drop to the ground.

He wanted this to end, but he knew too much about Jurn.

As long as Jurn lived, Nicolas would be in danger. The albino would never relent. If he let Jurn walk away from this dome, he would kill Nicolas at the first opportunity.

Nicolas felt the weight of the world sit on his shoulders. He knew what he had to do.

Jurn glared at him.

Nicolas recognized the pure hatred in that look, having seen it time and again in the countless lives he lived. He was watching his own life play out, as if he had stepped into his own namocea, into a world devoid of quaint definitions of
good
and
evil
, a world turned on end. He judged himself and what he was about to do from outside the confines of his battered body.

The command wasn’t complex.

Two simple words.

Two simple words, which he never thought he’d hear himself say, began as a tightness in his chest, igniting war in its wake…a war of emotions with no clear victor. One side would get the upper hand, only to be pushed back in the ebb and flow of battle.

Two simple words that would forever change him into something he never imagined he would become.

As the words left his conscious mind and passed into the necromantic link, he knew them for what they were—a choice that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Kill him
.

Nicolas’s penitent lunged forward and plunged his fist into Jurn’s chest. He twisted his hand and tore Jurn’s heart out of his rib cage, crushed it, and threw it on the floor. Jurn’s corpse collapsed onto the ground and Nicolas felt the life leave him.

“The duel is over,” Lamil said. “Nicolas has emerged victorious.”

Bile rose in Nicolas’s throat. Victorious? The word angered him.

“No, Siek,” Nicolas said. “
Both
of us died here in this room. Both of us.”

Nicolas stormed out of the training dome toward an uncertain future, leaving his innocence behind him.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Mujahid was powerless in a cage on a wagon, and it wasn’t helping his mood. A group of ten guards marched in front of the wagon, which was pulled by two horses, and two guards marched behind. That’s how it had been for the last several hours since his capture at Three Banks.

He had allowed himself to hope Tithian had changed, but the man was a traitor through and through. If Mujahid managed to get out of this cage, Tithian would pay a dear price for his treachery.

The wagon had bounced its way along East Bank’s bumpy streets until it left the busy city behind. The terrain turned to dusty plains, and the sky changed from its ubiquitous pale yellow to amber.

Mujahid tried in vain to break free of the shield around his energy well. If he didn’t escape soon it would be too late. The route they were on was taking them toward Arin’s watch, where Tithian would have a ship already prepared. The man was a fool if he’d cross the Sea of Arin at this time of year.

The wagon slowed and Mujahid looked out through the bars of his cage. He had to look twice for fear he was hallucinating. A half league to the east, down a hill in a large valley, an army flying the banner of the Red Dragon of Religar was preparing a camp.

There must be twenty thousand soldiers in that valley.

The Union must have gone forward with its insane plan to invade Religar, and that would render the Treaty of Three Banks null and void. The only festering agreement keeping a full-scale war from erupting was no longer worth the paper it was written on. That army was here because Religar was certain the Shandarian Union wouldn’t join the fight.

Tithian’s betrayal seemed like a trivial irritant next to this.

The army filled the valley from one side to the other. Siege engines were spaced evenly twenty yards apart. This was more than retaliation for a border violation. This was conquest.

And it doesn’t make sense
, Mujahid thought.

The Emperor could scarcely afford the border skirmishes with the Shandarian Union. How could he sustain a war with the Kingdom of Tildem?

“Guards,” Tithian said as he walked around to the rear of the wagon. “Leave us.”

Two guards saluted and left.

Tithian stopped behind the wagon, never taking his eyes off the army.

“Now do you understand?” Tithian said.

There were questions that Mujahid needed answered. Was there a secret alliance between the Shandarian Union and the Empire? Had the border skirmishes been a ruse? Stranger things had happened in Mujahid’s lifetime.

“You see an army,” Tithian said. “Men, catapults, ballistae, mounts, whores, and everything else that takes part in the games of men. But you don’t see the real evil—the puppet master with his hands on the strings, making nations dance to the music of a divine plan.
His
plan.”

Mujahid squinted at Tithian.

“He killed him. And I watched through the necrolens as he raised him up and brought war to Erindor.”

“Speak plainly, man,” Mujahid said. “Who killed whom? Who raised whom?”

“I was a fool. You were right all those years ago. He was just a man all along.”

“This is Kagan’s doing?”

Tithian told Mujahid how Kagan had killed the Religarian emissary and used necromancy, a magic Kagan himself had forbidden, to start a war.

When Tithian had finished, Mujahid pitied him. It had taken decades, but Kagan had betrayed Tithian just as he had betrayed Mujahid.

“And I know why,” Tithian said. “He needs the eyes of the world focused away from the Pinnacle.”

“No.” Mujahid swept his gaze across the valley. “This is consolidation of power. He’ll use the Religarian Empire to conquer, and then he’ll assert his
divine leadership
over that fanatic of an emperor, who will, no doubt, hand Kagan control on a platter. The Three Kingdoms will cease to exist. Kagan will rule all of Erindor.”

“You can’t confront him now.”

“That army is on its way to Arin’s Watch. I can do something about that.”

“Arin’s watch is lost already, man. That valley holds twenty thousand battle-hardened Religarian soldiers. Even if I join you, how long do you think two necromancers would last against
that
?”

“What do you mean
if
you join me?”

“Kagan doesn’t know I’m aware of what he did. I can still try to subvert his plans from within the Pinnacle.”

“This smells of—”

“King Donal is the only sovereign in the Three Kingdoms who takes a stand against Kagan. Your place is with him…for the sake of us all.”

Mujahid considered. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Tithian was right. If Mujahid had any hope to gather a coven of necromancers to go against Kagan, he’d have to protect Tildem. He held up his arms and clanged his chains against the bars.

“Will the king be joining me in my cage?”

Tithian retrieved a small sphere from his cloak and handed it to Mujahid. “I believe you know what this is. It will take you to a cave outside Rotham.”

“I should have known. This is how you disappeared from the boat.”

“No,” Tithian said and held up a second orb. “
This
is how I disappeared from the boat. The one you’re holding is what I went back for. I wasn’t betraying you, Mujahid. I was saving your life.”

The shield around Mujahid’s well disappeared and his chains broke free. A guard turned at the sound of metal hitting the cage floor, but Tithian waved him away.

“I’ll forgive you for trying to kill me if you forgive me for arresting you,” Tithian said and smiled.

Mujahid looked out over the valley once more.

“Let’s survive this war,” Mujahid said. “Then we’ll tend to forgiveness.”

Mujahid channeled power into the orb and the world disappeared in a flash of blinding light.

Mujahid materialized inside a small cave, which was no more than six feet across by ten feet deep. He glanced around, making sure no one had seen him appear. A lone snake hissed in the corner, dark-brown jasper in color with no identifying marks. A harmless
anklebite.
Other than that he was alone.

At least he found a private place to attune the orb.

He dropped the orb and crushed it under the heel of his boot, grinding it to a black powder. It wouldn’t do to be in possession of a magic object if he was captured again.

The anklebite slithered through the remains of the crushed orb toward the entrance, tasting the stagnant air with its forked tongue as it passed.

The cave opened onto a dusty plain that looked much like the one he had just left.

Such a shame.

He’d gotten used to it over the years, but of all the evil he expected the barrier to bring, he never expected this. Tildem had once been a land of rolling green hills. Now, lifeless tree trunks stood like statues in a cemetery, arms outstretched over a land that would never rise again. If he couldn’t bring that barrier down, the whole of Erindor would be a cemetery.

The Great Orm River flowed less than one hundred yards to his left, rushing south on in its eternal march toward King’s Bay. He estimated it was close to a mile across. The river only reached that breadth at Rotham. He was close.

As he made his way toward Rotham on Orm, Mujahid tried to remember when he’d last seen it. It was before the creation of the Great Barrier.

He remembered the brilliant turquoise sky over the castle of the Tanmor kings, and how a person could eat off of the streets without fear of getting sick. The citizens of Rotham took great pride in their city.

They were unlike any he had met elsewhere. He remembered people approaching him on the street who wished to show him around, or teach him about the history of the streets he walked.

He recalled how majestic the city’s two main plazas were. Marble fountains surrounded by intricately carved obelisks, which detailed the history of Tildem, beginning with its war for independence from the Erindorian Empire, and ending with the reign of the last Westbury king. The story played out in two parts, and a person would have to visit both plazas to see all of it. Strict laws kept merchants out of the plazas, forcing them to ply their trade along the many twisting city streets, creating a bustling atmosphere of citizens, businessmen and street sweepers.

The city gates rose in the distance, as did the power in his well. He’d enter through the northern gate, close to his favorite inn, The Dancing Shriller. The building was a marvel of non-magical construction, shaped like a triangle with a rounded front corner, at the intersection of two streets that met at an acute angle.

He knew he should lower his expectations, but nothing could have prepared Mujahid for what he saw.

Rotham had become a ghost town. The remains of stone pathways lay strewn in pieces, intermingled with debris from once grand buildings lying in ruin. The few people walking toward the gate crossed to the other side of the street when they saw him. He could almost smell the fear.

The fetid stench of death reached Mujahid’s nostrils and he covered his mouth and nose. His power increased as he approached the gate, but now it came upon him in a great wave. Disgust mingled with confusion as he watched two men drag a corpse toward a pile of bodies stacked against the northern wall.