Authors: Lynn Flewelling
Climbing to the third floor, she discovered what looked very much like Thero’s tower workshop. It was a spacious curved room with a row of windows on the outer side. Astrolabes, crucibles, and mortars stood in a row on one long table. Another was covered with huge tomes and scrolls, but she didn’t recognize the language, or most of the writing. More books and scrolls filled bookcases on three walls, together with chests of all sizes and several cabinets with many drawers. Moving on, she opened a door and discovered an airy, sumptuous silk-bedecked bedchamber. Rhazat was there, gazing out one of the windows.
“Didn’t your mother teach you to knock, Highness?” the necromancer said with a chuckle.
“I’m afraid your hospitality hasn’t improved my manners.” Klia looked around. It was a chamber worthy of a queen, apart from the lack of metals and mirrors. Her golden gorget lay warm against her ribs inside her shirt.
She walked slowly around the room as if admiring the furnishings. “How long have you lived here, Your Majesty?”
“For a very long time, my dear,” Rhazat said, turning back to the window.
“With no servants or tiring women?”
The other woman smiled. “As you saw with poor Phania, it’s hard to keep good help here.”
“Who does the cooking?”
“It’s taken care of.”
Klia walked to the window next to the one Rhazat stood at. “Another grey day. Why aren’t there any birds?”
Rhazat smiled as she gazed up at the sullen sky. “Such fragile creatures, birds.”
Seizing the opportunity, Klia pulled the gorget out and
held it so she could see Rhazat’s reflection in it. It was an imperfect mirror but what Klia could make out sent a blade of ice through her heart.
Rather than a woman, a horrid, wizened corpse with long black hair stood by the window, dressed in a tattered cape. As Klia stared, trying to make sense of what she was seeing, Rhazat turned and smiled at her. “I wondered when you would think to use that.”
Klia clutched the gorget to her heart and looked up. The necromancer was a young, beautiful woman.
“What in Bilairy’s name are you?”
Rhazat smiled her beautiful smile, making it hard to believe what Klia had just seen.
“I’m a very old necromancer, my dear, called in the parlance of my kind a dyrmagnos.”
“As powerful as you are, your magic can’t hide from a mirror.”
“No. My, but you are like her.”
“This person I remind you of?”
“An ancestor of yours. Not that you look like her—she was beautiful—but you have the same unbending spirit. It was the death of her, in the end. Let that be a cautionary tale.”
“Who was she?”
“Have you never heard of Nhandi the Wise?”
“No.”
“She was the last Hierophant, my dear, and the one who condemned me to this place, along with a good many of her own people.”
“The townsfolk here?”
“Yes, and many others in the surrounding area. You have figured out by now that they’re all dead? She condemned them all, just to keep me here. How could a leader called Wise be so heartless?”
“How did you survive for a thousand years?”
“Has it really been that long? Dear me. As to how, my kind are tenacious, and very, very patient. I had a lovely nap, then your predecessor, Governor Toneus, was kind enough to make a start on my release.”
“You can get out?”
“Not yet, but you are going to help me with that.”
“Never.”
“Oh, you will. But now it’s time for lunch, then I think we’ll take a ride. Wouldn’t you like a change of clothing? You’re looking very rumpled.”
“I’m fine as I am.”
“As you wish. Come along.”
“Perhaps you should have this.” Moving swiftly, Klia pressed the gorget to Rhazat’s smooth cheek. At once a tendril of fetid smoke rose up from it.
The dyrmagnos knocked her hand away and the gorget clattered to the floor. “That was most unkind,” she chided, as if Klia had merely said something hurtful.
Klia snatched up the gorget and tucked it away again. “Just trying to live up to my heritage.”
Rhazat smiled, composed as ever. “I very much hope you will. Would you like to hear her story? Come, I’ll entertain you while we eat.”
The table was set, as always, and roast pork and pears were the centerpiece, another favorite.
“Where does the food come from?” Klia couldn’t help asking. “Does Zella somehow bring it in for you?”
“There’s that curiosity again, my dear. You must allow me a few secrets. Now, eat up for that sweet baby and I shall tell you a very sad story. I came to Kouros a long time ago, as you might imagine. It was the center of the western world in those days.”
“Wait,” said Klia. “If you came here that long ago and have been imprisoned here for a thousand years, then how is it you speak Plenimaran?”
“I don’t,” Rhazat said with a laugh. “Magic, my dear! Isn’t it a useful thing? Now, as I was saying, I was drawn here from far away over the sea by tales of wonder. Menosi was a great city, and the wizards, both Aurënfaie and human, were at the height of their power. Fertile ground for me. All that delicious life to offer to my master.”
“You have a master?” Klia asked incredulously.
“Don’t we all? You follow the Four, no doubt. I follow the One.”
“The—” Klia’s mouth went dry as she put the pieces together. “Seriamaius.”
“Clever girl. Yes, I brought his worship here to Kouros, and I found many who wished to learn his art.”
“You taught wizards necromancy.”
“You might say that I am the mother of necromancy in your part of the world.”
“And yet you ended up here.”
“This tower is my home and was for many years before some of my followers became too arrogant and brought ruin on their mother.”
“So my ancestor, Nhandi, trapped you here?”
“Yes. We had quite a battle, but she managed in the end to exile me and a good many innocents here in this plane of existence.”
“How?”
“When the time comes, my dear, you shall know. And you will help me.” Klia laughed. “That’s unlikely.”
Rhazat gave her a lovely smile. “Do have some more of the pork, my dear. It’s so succulent today.”
“Where is Lady Zella?”
“Taking care of some business for me. I doubt you’ll be seeing her again.”
When they had finished Rhazat led her to a ramshackle stable at the back of the tower, where four horses, including Moonshine, were tethered.
“Would you care to have your old friend carry you?” asked Rhazat, stroking Moonshine’s rump.
“Are they all dead?”
“Of course, my dear.”
“Then I’ll take one of the others.” She didn’t want the last memories of Moonshine to be what it felt like to ride his corpse. Instead, she took a white mare with the same dead white eyes. Its flanks felt cold as she climbed into the saddle and she suppressed a shudder of revulsion, concentrating instead on the fact that there were horses to be had for another escape attempt.
Klia had assumed they’d go to the main gate, but instead
Rhazat led her in the opposite direction, to a smaller gate and a winding road that led up into the hills behind the town.
Rhazat kicked Moonshine into a gallop and Klia’s horse followed without any urging. They hadn’t gone far when Rhazat turned off the road down a wide path into a stand of dead trees. On the far side was a grotesque mockery of the oracle’s cave. Instead of a beautifully carved façade, a huge horrid face had been carved into the hillside, with the cave opening as a square mouth. A black stone altar stood before it, heaped with clods of dung and dead doves, owls, seagulls, and hawks—each bird symbolizing one of the Four.
“Where did you find birds to kill here?” Klia asked, disgusted by the obvious perversion of the offerings.
“Where did I find you, my dear?” Rhazat dismounted and led her into the cave.
Only it wasn’t a cave, but an arched tunnel of dressed stone. Rhazat flicked a finger and small torches in brackets along the walls flared to life to guide them.
The tunnel ran level at first, then canted more sharply down, coming out at last in a cave that looked very much like the one that Alec and Seregil had described, the day she’d gotten sick, including the paintings of animals. Only, as she looked more closely, she saw that the animals here were killing one another, eating their own young, or being ridden by hideous figures. The cave floor was dry, and there were no dripstone formations.
“This way.” Rhazat linked arms with her and led her through the echoing space toward something that glowed in the torchlight.
As they drew near, Klia saw that it was a black opal the size of a small apricot, carved with intricate symbols and set into the wall in a round boss shaped a bit like a flower.
“Isn’t it lovely?” said Rhazat, looking up at it.
It was, thought Klia, and totally out of keeping with the horrors that surrounded it.
“Touch the stone, Klia.”
Klia looked at her in disbelief. “Why would I do anything for you?”
“Because I will let you die if you don’t,” Rhazat replied sweetly. “Come now, it’s not such a chore.”
“This is what keeps you here, isn’t it? This is what my ancestor Nhandi did to you.”
“Yes, it is and you, being of her bloodline, can free me. Come now, it’s not difficult. Just a fingertip will do.”
“Do it yourself!”
Rhazat sighed.
“Then smash it.”
“Anyone could do that, but it would not break the magic as long as the seal remains in place.”
“I will never do what you ask.”
“Really? You would let your child die?”
Klia raised her chin. “I am of the royal house of Skala, and a general. It is my duty to protect the people of Skala. If I must sacrifice my life and my child’s to do that, then I will.”
“You surprise me, my dear,” Rhazat said, clearly displeased. “And suppose I were to cut off your hand?”
Klia pulled the padded glove from her maimed left hand. “You can start with this one.”
Rhazat sighed again. “Very well, not today.”
“Not ever.”
The dyrmagnos merely smiled.
Alec glanced sidelong at Seregil as they rode with the others into Menosi early the next morning. Seregil hadn’t slept well and his mood had not improved when Alec had strapped on his quiver and slung the Radly over his shoulder.
“What do you need that for?” he’d asked.
“Better to have it and not need it,” Alec replied with a shrug, and strode from the tent before Seregil could put up an argument.
As they approached the palace, he could tell that Seregil was more than just out of sorts. A hank of rope hung from Cynril’s saddlebow; apparently he meant to use it. Ahead of them, Mika was chattering excitedly to Thero and Micum about the ghosts he hoped to see.
“Look, I promise I’ll hang back,” Alec murmured.
Seregil said nothing, just set his thin lips in a grim line that never boded well.
Alec reined Windrunner in, letting Thero and the others go on ahead. Seregil turned Cynril and sidled in beside him with a questioning look.
Alec caught Seregil’s gaze and held it. “I worry about you, too, talí, but I’m not constantly second-guessing you.”
“I don’t—”
“Yes, you do. You are now. You’re the one who made me a nightrunner, Seregil. It’s a dangerous life. We both know that, but I don’t hear you constantly fussing over Micum or Thero.”
“Because they’re not my talímenios!” Seregil said softly.
“I’m also your partner, and I thought you considered me an equal.”
“Of course I do.”
“No, not if you’re constantly worrying about letting me out of your sight.” Seregil started to speak but Alec cut him off. “Yes, I know—your dreams. So what do you
want
, Seregil? For me to sit home like Kari Cavish, waiting and praying you come back alive? Because if that’s the case, then we’ve got a problem.”
“She never had to watch Micum die.” Seregil closed his eyes, brows drawn together as if he were in pain. At last he sighed and said, “But you’re right, talí, and I’m sorry. You
are
my equal and I have no right or reason to make you feel anything less. From now on I’ll hold my tongue.”
“Never mind that, I just want you to stop worrying about me so much. Will you do that?”
Seregil’s grin was crooked but his eyes were sad. “I’d be lying if I said yes, Alec, and I don’t lie to you. So for now that’s going to have to be good enough.”
Alec nodded and nudged Windrunner into a walk. “You’re
not
tying a rope to me.”
“No rope.”
In daylight the corridor looked perfectly drab and ordinary and no different from any of the others around it in this disused section of the palace. All the same, Thero chalked a line
back from where Seregil thought Alec had disappeared and Alec stayed behind it, as agreed. He leaned the Radly against the wall and folded his arms, trying not to look as frustrated as he felt.
The others reached the wall at the end of the corridor, and Thero drew a line around one of the stone blocks. Mika stood next to him and together he and Thero pressed a hand to the block. An instant later it turned to sand and poured out around their feet.
“Did you feel that, Mika?” asked Thero.
“Yes, Master Thero. The power went right up my arm.”
“A transformation?” Alec called.
“A sort of transmogrification, actually,” Thero replied, looking into the square hole where the block had been.
“What do you see?” asked Micum.
“More stone,” Thero replied. Reaching in, he cast the spell again and more sand spilled out. “And more stone,” he said, shaking his head. “There’s no way to have a hidden door this thick.” He cast the orange sigil on the air, but it simply dissipated. “And no sign of magic.”
Thero and the others walked back to where Alec was standing.
“Then what in Bilairy’s name happened to me?” Alec exclaimed. “How did I see a light through a stone wall? How did I get to another plane without there being any magic?”
Thero shrugged. “I didn’t say there wasn’t any, only that I can’t detect it. I’m sorry to say it, Seregil, but the only way we are going to know what’s actually happening is if Alec goes through again.”
Alec looked at Seregil, who managed a smile, though Alec could tell that it cost him. “Do you feel up to it, Alec, with your wounds?”