“In fact, it’s central to what you must learn.”
They reached the second level, and Mujahid led him to a stone door at the end of the hall. A skeleton walked out carrying a tray.
Nicolas jumped.
“You’ll get used to them,” Mujahid said. “Eat. Then get some rest. I’ll send for you in the morning.”
The room was small and spartan. A bed was pushed up against the far wall next to a stone wardrobe. Next to the wardrobe stood a buffet blanketed with food. The centerpiece was a cooked turkey, but it was unlike any turkey he’d ever seen.
Four drumsticks?
His mouth watered, and he tore off a drumstick.
“Amazing,” Nicolas said with his mouth full. “It tastes like turkey.”
“What in the six hells do you expect a turkey to taste like?” Mujahid raised his eyebrow.
“But it has four legs.”
“I know. It’s a turkey.”
“No, you don’t get it. This turkey has four legs!” He pulled off another drumstick and held it up for Mujahid to see.
Mujahid shook his head and left the room, mumbling something as he closed the door behind him.
It didn’t take long for Nicolas to drift off into a turkey-induced coma.
The rotting head dripped with melting skin, and saliva foamed from gaping wounds in the jaw, where missing muscle revealed teeth and sinew. Hair in a patchwork of clumps clung to portions of charred skin that hung from the back of the skull. A jagged, severed spine extended below the head, and blood oozed between the vertebrae.
It pushed itself into the room by coiling and uncoiling its severed spine.
A scream rose in Nicolas’s throat, and he scooted backward on the bed.
The head burst into flames, filling the room with the scent of burning flesh, until nothing was left but a pristine skull.
It rose into the air several feet away.
“No,” he said.
“Nicolas,” the skull whispered.
“No.”
“Nicolas.” The skull raised its voice and drew closer.
“Get away from me!”
The skull rushed through the air, opening its mouth beyond the limits of human anatomy, unhinging its jaws like a ravenous snake as it reached his face.
“Nicolas,” Mujahid said. “Wake up.”
Mujahid shook him.
“What happened?” Nicolas said. His head pounded like he’d been hit by a rodeo belt buckle.
Mujahid’s eyes flashed white, and a wave of energy entered Nicolas’s body. The headache vanished, followed by the anxiety.
“This is far worse than I feared,” Mujahid said. “We can’t delay any longer.”
“Morning already?”
“I left you two hours ago.”
“What’s happening to me?”
“The Hall of Power calls, boy, but your lack of training prevents you from doing anything about it.”
Nicolas leaned back against the wall.
“Did the skull explode with power, crackle with energy, or do anything out of the ordinary…that is, compared with previous dreams?”
“It was all on fire and stuff. I could smell it. Disgusting.”
“This is important. You must follow my every direction.”
Nicolas swallowed.
“Do you remember the sick man?”
“You said he’d failed in the halls, but I don’t know what you meant.”
“Not just any hall. A Hall of Power . Halls of Power are places where necromancers go to advance their knowledge. They are…mental constructs. And each Hall of Power is connected to yet another by a doorway.”
“Anyone can do this?”
“Only those who can wield magic…people like us. Magi . And only a magus that knows his strength will emerge with his mind intact.”
“So that guy that failed…he wasn’t strong enough?”
“Strong, smart, agile, wise, compassionate, merciful…there’s no way to know to a certainty. His priesthood was his own, and only the gods know the attributes he needed to do their will. Suffice it to say he was tested beyond his measure.”
“I don’t know about this.”
“Your first Hall should be simple, but there is always a chance of failure.”
“What do I do?”
“As in everything, begin by clearing your
They reached the second level, and Mujahid led him to a stone door at the end of the hall. A skeleton walked out carrying a tray.
Nicolas jumped.
“You’ll get used to them,” Mujahid said. “Eat. Then get some rest. I’ll send for you in the morning.”
The room was small and spartan. A bed was pushed up against the far wall next to a stone wardrobe. Next to the wardrobe stood a buffet blanketed with food. The centerpiece was a cooked turkey, but it was unlike any turkey he’d ever seen.
Four drumsticks?
His mouth watered, and he tore off a drumstick.
“Amazing,” Nicolas said with his mouth full. “It tastes like turkey.”
“What in the six hells do you expect a turkey to taste like?” Mujahid raised his eyebrow.
“But it has four legs.”
“I know. It’s a turkey.”
“No, you don’t get it. This turkey has four legs!” He pulled off another drumstick and held it up for Mujahid to see.
Mujahid shook his head and left the room, mumbling something as he closed the door behind him.
It didn’t take long for Nicolas to drift off into a turkey-induced coma.
The rotting head dripped with melting skin, and saliva foamed from gaping wounds in the jaw, where missing muscle revealed teeth and sinew. Hair in a patchwork of clumps clung to portions of charred skin that hung from the back of the skull. A jagged, severed spine extended below the head, and blood oozed between the vertebrae.
It pushed itself into the room by coiling and uncoiling its severed spine.
A scream rose in Nicolas’s throat, and he scooted backward on the bed.
The head burst into flames, filling the room with the scent of burning flesh, until nothing was left but a pristine skull.
It rose into the air several feet away.
“No,” he said.
“Nicolas,” the skull whispered.
“No.”
“Nicolas.” The skull raised its voice and drew closer.
“Get away from me!”
The skull rushed through the air, opening its mouth beyond the limits of human anatomy, unhinging its jaws like a ravenous snake as it reached his face.
“Nicolas,” Mujahid said. “Wake up.”
Mujahid shook him.
“What happened?” Nicolas said. His head pounded like he’d been hit by a rodeo belt buckle.
Mujahid’s eyes flashed white, and a wave of energy entered Nicolas’s body. The headache vanished, followed by the anxiety.
“This is far worse than I feared,” Mujahid said. “We can’t delay any longer.”
“Morning already?”
“I left you two hours ago.”
“What’s happening to me?”
“The Hall of Power calls, boy, but your lack of training prevents you from doing anything about it.”
Nicolas leaned back against the wall.
“Did the skull explode with power, crackle with energy, or do anything out of the ordinary…that is, compared with previous dreams?”
“It was all on fire and stuff. I could smell it. Disgusting.”
“This is important. You must follow my every direction.”
Nicolas swallowed.
“Do you remember the sick man?”
“You said he’d failed in the halls, but I don’t know what you meant.”
“Not just any hall. A Hall of Power . Halls of Power are places where necromancers go to advance their knowledge. They are…mental constructs. And each Hall of Power is connected to yet another by a doorway.”
“Anyone can do this?”
“Only those who can wield magic…people like us. Magi . And only a magus that knows his strength will emerge with his mind intact.”
“So that guy that failed…he wasn’t strong enough?”
“Strong, smart, agile, wise, compassionate, merciful…there’s no way to know to a certainty. His priesthood was his own, and only the gods know the attributes he needed to do their will. Suffice it to say he was tested beyond his measure.”
“I don’t know about this.”
“Your first Hall should be simple, but there is always a chance of failure.”
“What do I do?”
“As in everything, begin by clearing your
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