Necromancer Awakening (43 page)

Mujahid had filled Donal in on the details of what he discovered at the Temple. As much as Donal sympathized and agreed action was necessary, he didn’t have the resources to sustain a war.

“Perhaps the best action is to ask for terms from the archmage,” Donal said.

Mujahid shook his head. “We cannot allow him—”

“If I oppose the Pinnacle it is the people who will suffer. Those people you see walking the streets, afraid of their own shadows…those people are my only vassals.”

“You have more vassals than you know, and their weapons are far more effective than steel. At least hear me out before you decide.”

The king leaned back in his chair and looked away.

“For forty years, necromancy has been driven underground,” Mujahid said. “My people, once the pillars of our society, live in caves and travel under cities for fear of being tortured and executed. But your kingdom is different, Majesty. That is why I asked my brother to come here.”

Donal stared at Mujahid, saying nothing.

“Where do you think most of the necromancers wound up after the Purge? The other two nations would arrest them with few questions asked. But in Tildem….”

“They’d live in peace,” Donal said. He looked up at the ceiling as if considering something.

“Your kingdom has been a thorn in Kagan’s side since before you were born,” Mujahid said. “One way or another he will remove you from power. An army gathers as we speak. It flies the Red Dragon of Religar, but you can rest assured Kagan holds the reigns.”

Donal shook his head. “I cannot afford this war, Lord Mukhtaar. The cost in lives alone would be too great. And even if I could muster the force we need, with what would I pay them? Maintaining a single city has stripped my resources bare. I cannot afford to oppose Kagan directly.”

“You already oppose him. You look the other way at necromancy. You ban his Pinnacle guard from your borders. You harbor a banished archbishop in the most influential temple in Erindor. Like it or not, Majesty, you are already at war with Kagan, regardless of the lack of formal declaration.”

The king remained silent for a moment, and placed his hand on the back of his head. “If the necromancers went to ground here when the Union and Empire hunted them down….”

This was Mujahid’s chance. He had to strike now. “Act boldly. Release a proclamation legalizing necromancy within your borders. Escalate the conflict between yourself and the archmage and you will raise an army the likes of which the world hasn’t seen since the Necromancer Wars.”

Donal sat deep in thought for several minutes. “Will they follow you?”

“They are bound by sacred oath,” Mujahid said. “But these men and women practice the old religion. They need no oath to know what is right.”

“If this fails, Lord Mukhtaar, it will mean the end of my kingdom.”

“If you fail to act, then the end of your kingdom is already at hand.”

Donal exhaled. “It was always going to come down to this, wasn’t it?”

“Your Majesty, I know—”

“You’ll have your proclamation. Let’s hope I have my army.”

Mujahid prayed Nuuan had found more priests.

Gods, where is my festering brother?

The royal proclamation sent shock waves through Tildem society. The atmosphere of fear began to lift as news spread of the return of the old religion, and Mujahid began the task of removing the death piles. He instructed an army of volunteers in the method of interring corpses in makeshift mausoleums along the city’s walls, built from pieces of collapsed building and debris from destroyed walkways. If Rotham on Orm was to be defended by an army of necromancers, those crypts would be more valuable than arrows and boiling oil. The local Arinian priesthood joined in the effort, lending whatever assistance Mujahid required, but there were too many dead to purify for a single necromancer.

He had the royal tailor make him a midnight-blue robe. It would be good for other priests, still uncertain about revealing themselves, to see a Mukhtaar Lord had no fear of identifying himself as a necromancer.

The librarian Saul was never found, and this disturbed him. He had seen some strange things in his days, but ghosts were the creation of fanciful imaginations. The dead didn’t return to life under their
own
power.

Two weeks after the proclamation Mujahid remained the only known necromancer in Rotham. The people may be relieved that necromancy was legal again, but it didn’t take a military strategist to know what would happen if the Religarian army arrived before he could muster a force of necromancers.

He swore as he approached a death pile. If the priests in hiding didn’t trust Donal’s offer of amnesty, this would be a short-lived resistance. He vowed it wouldn’t be as short as their worthless lives if he ever found them. Tildem deserved better than this. Donal’s kingdom was the last great hope for the survival of the old religion. Mujahid couldn’t do it alone. He needed a powerful ally. A king. And this was how the clan repaid his efforts, by ignoring that king’s amnesty and hiding themselves away.

He scowled at one of the volunteers before catching himself. He was in a foul mood, but he couldn’t allow himself to take it out on them.

Someone cleared his throat behind Mujahid. “Ahem.”

A diminutive man, standing barely four feet tall and wearing brightly colored floor-length patchwork robes, approached Mujahid from the street.

“Good day, good sir,” the man said. “I presume I am addressing none other than the infamous Mujahid Lord Mukhtaar.”

Mujahid raised an eyebrow.

“Ahh yes. The infamous eyebrow of the infamous Lord Mukhtaar…practitioner of the darkest arts. Bane of Shandaria. Demon of Religar. Rapist of…innocents or livestock or something in Caspardis, however the story goes. But my presumption was correct. You are, in fact,
the
Lord Mujahid Mukhtaar.”

“And what makes you think I’m a necromancer, much less a Mukhtaar Lord?”

“If the eyebrow wasn’t enough, I dare say the midnight blue is a dead giveaway, man.” The man laughed and acted surprised at himself. “
Dead
giveaway. Amusing.”

Mujahid smiled and chuckled…not because he was amused, but because the gods had a cruel sense of humor, and today they were in rare form.

“I don’t know you, sir,” Mujahid said. “So I’m going to extend the courtesy of a warning. If you choose to continue speaking, and the next words out of your mouth do not sufficiently impress me, I’m going to bugger you with your own head.”

The man smiled a toothy grin. “Then allow me to introduce myself,
buggerer
of little people.” The man bowed as if he were on stage. “I am Digby,
master
necromancer, drinker of wine, dread pirate of…no, that’s someone else…ravager of women—yes, that’s me—and, I jest not, bosom friend of your brother, Nuuan Lord Mukhtaar.”

Mujahid raised his other eyebrow. “That was…sufficiently impressive.”

“Superlative. Now that both my head and my arse are safe, we can get on with more serious matters. And know, good sir, there are few things I take more seriously than the drinking of women and ravaging of wine. I’ve raised it to an art form, you see. Why the whores of Arin’s Watch actually call me—”

“More serious matters, Magus Digby?”

Digby deflated. “Yes. Well. Stories for later, I suppose.” His expression grew serious. “There are problems up north. Big problems. Your lord brother sent me ahead to warn you. He’s dealing with the situation as best as he can, but you need to be aware.”

“North. Three Banks?”

“Religarian forces captured Three Banks and blockaded the river a week ago. And they weren’t alone, my Lord. The Pinnacle has joined them.”

“Tell me they stopped there.”

“They stopped there.” Digby smiled, making an exaggerated show of touching his teeth together.

“You’re lying.”

“Of course I’m lying, man, you think Kagan’s daft? His force separated in twain. One half marches west, and the other marches here with Religarian soldiers in tow as we speak. This is total conquest.”

“And what of the others? There must be other priests who have heard about the proclamation.”

Digby shrugged.

Mujahid swore. After a moment, he placed a hand on Digby’s shoulder. “You make a strange first impression, Magus Digby…
master necromancer
. But you’re a sight for sore eyes. Come. There’s work to be done.”

Six weeks after the proclamation, not a single priest had come forward except Digby.

Mujahid had found a friend in Digby. The flamboyant man was a hard worker and a highly-skilled necromancer. He placed Digby in charge of the backlog of funerals, and the man worked without rest to perform the rites. Whenever he questioned Digby about Nuuan, however, Digby would smile lasciviously and say, “You know Lord Nuuan.”

Mujahid hoped to be in command of a dozen or more necromancers by now. He swore as he and Digby climbed up the ladder to the top of the north wall. He swore again when he saw the Religarian army spread out on the dusty plain beyond the wall.

Tildem was outnumbered four to one.

He wielded considerable power, and Digby was a force to be reckoned with as well, but two necromancers wouldn’t decide the outcome of this battle.

Where were the siege engines? The army Tithian showed him had dozens of catapults and ballistae, if not more. He supposed it didn’t matter. All the empire had to do was blockade the city and wait.

The wall might be able to withstand one or two waves of attack, once the siege weakened them, but no more. Where was Nuuan? If he couldn’t find twelve necromancers in Tildem, then an ascended one would be their equal. But where was he?

There was no longer any denying it. Mujahid had failed. He had failed the king, and he had failed the soldiers. Worse, he had failed the people of Rotham, who never asked him to bring war to their doorstep. It was time to deliver the news to Donal. The man’s kingdom was coming to an end, and he had a right to know.

“You,” he said to a nearby soldier. “Find your commander and ask her to join me below as soon as possible.”

“Yes, m’lord.”

“Fear not, my Lord,” Digby said. “These are my kind of odds. Besides…they haven’t seen my secret weapon yet.”

“I am afraid to ask.”

“It wouldn’t be secret if I told you, now would it?”

“Join me in a few minutes down below. You may find the tactic I intend to employ here…distasteful.”

“I have often been called distasteful myself. Now that I think on it, so has my secret weapon. Perhaps you know too much already.”

Mujahid climbed down from the wall. Digby’s humor had a way of making him feel better.

The command center was nothing more than a circle of tents along the main thoroughfare that led to the north gate, but it provided the king and his advisors a place to meet close to the wall.

Mujahid passed the outer guard and entered the king’s tent.

“Does it begin?” the king asked.

“Sieges are nasty things, often lasting months,” Mujahid said. “If they attack now it’s because they know something we don’t, or their commander is a complete idiot. They outnumber us, but not enough to throw bodies at the wall as if they have an endless supply. No…they’ll starve us out.”

An explosion of foul language outside the tent made both men look up at the entrance. Mujahid filled his power well and ran toward the noise. Several guards were lying on the ground, and five robed people stood over them, their heads hidden by large black hoods. Mujahid was preparing to expel a wall of force as the person in the center looked up and revealed his face.

“Brother,” Nuuan said. “Your face looks like a slapped arse. I thought you were expecting me?”

“What in Arin’s name did you do?” Mujahid asked, checking for signs of life on the guards.

“They acted like I needed permission to see you.”

“Arin’s festering—a little less heavy-handed next time?”

“Ahh, give us a hug now,” Nuuan said, moving forward with open arms.

Mujahid embraced Nuuan. “Your timing is impeccable, as always. Where have you been?”

Nuuan gestured toward the robed figures standing behind him. “Raising an army.” He made a show of looking over Mujahid’s shoulder and around the command tents. “Where’s that cross-dressing postulant I left you with?”