The Necromancer's Grimoire (26 page)

The
Grimoire
said of the apprentice,
this one will not progress. He cannot give up his self-image. In his arrogance he believes that every thought he thinks is the Truth.
The
Grimoire
showed her the necromancer, his face frozen in the grimace of release.
This one cannot progress as long as he believes the purpose of great wisdom is to acquire earthly power. And ultimately, what does earthly power provide?
The
Grimoire
waited for her answer.

Can it be so simple?
She wondered.
What do those with great power and riches do with what they possess?
She sent the
Grimoire
images of the Vatican in Rome, the Padishah's palace, the beautiful houses of Barcelona and the glory of the Alhambra. She sent it images of abundant food, of opium and of young women and men among soft cushions and fine fabrics. She showed it elaborate carriages and Spanish horses, fine silk and golden jewelry and fragrant spices. She touched Assad's chest and felt the
Grimoire
, warm and solid, under the binding cloth.
This is what men do with their power and riches. They pleasure themselves.

The
Grimoire
agreed. It had another question for her.
Nadira the Reader, if not pleasure and power, what is the purpose of acquiring great wisdom?

She focused inward for the answer. Why even seek out the key to understanding? Why not be content to merely eat and breathe and sleep as so many do? She thought of the wisdom that she had gained in the past year. She took two calming breaths, and then answered the
Grimoire
with the truth she had known since she opened her first book.
Because all of us travel between cradle and grave. Because no one escapes this journey. Because I would know where I am going, even as I remember where I've been. This is my answer: I want to know.

The
Grimoire
touched her chest with a thick golden cord. She leaned back against the edge of the table as the cord was inserted between her ribs and entered her heart. She did not need to close her eyes to see the memories the
Grimoire
was activating. They appeared fully as if they had come alive in the room before her, all light and sound and color.

She saw the first encounter with her friends in her master's spice cellar.
There…my lord Montrose has taken me in his arms and is examining my fingertips…Marcus has me over his saddle. I fall. I agree to their terms. The bloody mountain pass and that horrible ax…and Marcus.

The images froze, but now she saw herself touching John's face as he lay dead, and spooning broth into Marcus, then washing her lord's broken body in the laundry at Andorra…touching William's wounds, taking the
Hermetica
from his hands, and how that night she reached into his mind and brought him back from madness…the
Grimoire
stopped the images there and she felt it considering.

She slowly knelt at Assad's feet, too weak now to stand. She put both hands over the place where the golden cord entered her body, for it had begun to hurt.

I am that pearl of wisdom,
the
Grimoire
said,
and you are that pearl.

Nadira looked up. Above her she watched as Assad's caftan swayed as if caught in a sudden breeze. She held her breath. Beneath his clothing, the
Grimoire
began to move. She blinked, uncertain if what she was seeing was real or merely another vision. Swathes of white cloth drifted from under the caftan and bunched down around Assad's ankles. A moment later a brown leather book dropped with a dull thud among the creamy folds. The cover opened, a page turned, and another. There on the third page near the gutter in the left margin was an illuminated image as Corbett had told her there would be. But it was not a man. It was not a bearded knight in a helm.

Nadira leaned closer. It was a woman. A young woman with luminous almond eyes and…Nadira held her breath…a woman with one hand on a long black braid and the other holding a shining dirk to the root of the plait, ready to sever the strands.

Put your hand on the image,
the
Grimoire
instructed.

She did. A surge of energy shot up her arm and through her body. She was lifted into the air and set lightly on her feet again; the
Grimoire
was now in her arms, pressed against her breasts. At that same instant all time began again. She had to remind herself to breathe. Assad had instantly noticed his great loss. It took William a few moments to notice the world had changed. He looked at Nadira and saw the book in her arms, then at Assad's face, now as pale as death.

“Ah!” William cried loudly. His cry brought Montrose through the window with a crash, knocking the wood screen from its hinges. He gained his footing then drew the large sword and crouched for defense. He had removed his caftan to climb the tree, though he retained the turban. The blue eyes took in the situation at once, resting only briefly on the
Grimoire
cradled in her arms.

Assad spun about and opened his mouth to sound an alarm. Montrose raised his sword. “No!” she shouted at him. The steel froze in mid-air. The apprentice tried to take a step toward the door, but as he moved his feet, the winding cloths that had secured the
Grimoire
to his chest rose up like a
fakir's
serpent and bound his ankles. He toppled to the floor and rolled as the cloth wound him like a spindle, finishing the shroud by tucking its end into his mouth. Assad's eyes were wide with shock and disbelief.

He was no more shocked than Nadira, who held the
Grimoire
out in front of her so she might stare at it in amazement, nor William who had backed against the table, his knees shaking. Or even Montrose, who lowered the sword point to the carpeted floor and stood blinking at the apprentice, rolled in his white cocoon.

Nadira examined the cover; the book was bemused at her wonder. She could feel the emotion through her two hands. It was solid, and not very thick or heavy. The cover was pliable, made of many layers of sturdy leather worn thin in some places, cracked with age in others. Great age and wear partly obscured a complex symbol in the center. Fingerprints and creases spoke of its many owners over the centuries. The cover was peppered with scorch marks.

She looked up at William first. His eyes were large in his face. He was waiting for her to tell him what to do. Montrose had moved across the room and was poking Assad gently with the toe of his boot. He sheathed his blade.

She closed her eyes to try to see the necromancer. She could no longer feel him. Corbett was also lost to her. She opened her eyes and looked up at Montrose and William. “He will kill Assad if we leave him here,” she said.

“We cannot carry him and flee,” Montrose replied.

His pragmatic response only made Nadira more determined. “Release him, then.”

Both William and Montrose looked doubtful that this was a good idea.

She pressed on. “The necromancer will blame him, punish him, he will torture him to death for the loss of this book.” The apprentice's eyes over the binding cloth agreed with her.

“You are stuffing a snake in our baggage, Nadira.” Montrose said.

“Did not the book bind him?” William agreed. “I say we abide by its wisdom. I hear footsteps. The servants have alerted the guards.”

Nadira knelt by Assad's head. She held the
Grimoire
to her body with one hand, and with the other, pulled the veil from her head to reveal her face and hair to him. “If I release you, will you flee?”

He nodded.

“You will not attack us?”

He shook his head.

She looked up at Montrose. “Use one of your knives to cut the cloth and free him. He knows the
Grimoire
gave itself to me. He knows its power.”

“Are you sure?” William asked.

She gave him an exasperated look as she got to her feet. Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs and the doors to the library flew open.

“Too late,” Montrose said, drawing his sword. He patted the air with his other hand. “Will, get behind me.”

The five janissaries who crowded the door registered surprise for only an instant. Nadira was certain they were not expecting the two
frenki
and an uncovered woman as the intruders. Their recovery was swift. The first two through the doors split to the left and right, then crouched low on one knee, their curved blades ready. Behind them the two bowmen took aim over their heads at the largest target.

Nadira raised the
Grimoire
as the bolts flew from the crossbows. Both bolts passed harmlessly on either side of Montrose's chest and out the open window behind them. William had his little dagger in his hand, and had leaped up upon the table among the books and scrolls directly behind Montrose.

Both crossbows tipped down as the bowmen reached into their quivers for fresh bolts. With the space now free from missiles, the two swordsmen leaped at them, scimitars in the air. The fifth guard pushed past the bowmen and made straight for Montrose. Nadira stepped back quickly out of range of his broadsword as it swung low against the three men. The force of the heavy blade knocked the sword from one janissary's hand and sent it clattering against the wall, but the high backswing left his right side vulnerable to the janissary's blade. The other two guards were ready to take advantage of the high arc by stabbing low and under his great sword. Montrose kicked out, connecting the disarmed one in the thigh and sending him sprawling over Assad who was trying to wriggle away from the combat.

The other janissary ducked and darted from the pile of bodies and closed with Montrose, pushing him back against the table with the flat of his blade across his chest. He was too close to strike. Instead, Montrose brought the pommel down and pounded the man's back with the heavy steel circle. The guard made a gasping sound as the air was knocked from his lungs. In close combat the long sword was no use, and Montrose dropped it. He put both hands on the man's neck as the guard dropped his own sword and pulled a shining dirk from his belt.

Nadira raised the
Grimoire
again, unsure how to use it. Corbett had said it would defend her. Right now it needed to keep that thin blade from skewering Montrose through the rings of his brigandine. The crossbowmen had reloaded and the thick points were again aimed into the room, this time one at William, standing high on the table behind Montrose, and at Nadira to his left against the fluttering scrolls that lined the wall. She asked the
Grimoire
to save them, but the book felt cold in her hands. She lifted it and demanded a defense, but no answering pulse assured her of her safety
.

The bolts were let fly, and in her horror that they might connect with bodies this time, Nadira dropped the book and raised her arms. Time seemed to stop for her. The fighting men were moving in slow motion. She generated swirling tendrils of light and in desperation insisted they intercept the missiles.