Chapter 15
MERI
B y noon of the following day, Meri found herself in the unusual situation of hoping a Bone Lord would show up to join her.
She stood with her arms folded, regarding the Witch Stone in Terra Amata.
It was similar to the one on the road to Lutecia where Tharin and Karabil had played their last game of cards.
Also arched-shaped, it was taller and wider than the one near the capital.
Dense fog obscured the landscape beyond the arch, blotting out an area close to a full day’s march in length and a similar distance in width.
The mist had an unnatural movement to it, a writhing motion like something inside wanted desperately to get out.
When they first arrived, Meri refused to accept Jacques’s insistence that every attempt to pass through the fog had failed. She dragged Gallmau with her, and they walked into it with weapons drawn—and then walked out right back to their original starting point.
From then on, the day had played out like most quests Meri had participated in—hours of boredom waiting for minutes of sheer terror.
Gallmau ambled up to her, handing her a canteen of sweetened water, even though she hadn’t needed to drop into her speed. The only danger they had faced so far was falling asleep after lunch.
“Any sign of him?” she asked as she took a sip, knowing the answer.
Along with the other two teams of rescuers, they had begun their journey to Terra Amata in the predawn hours, accompanied by twenty Shields of Thaschus and a similar number of the Gardes Soissons.
It had hardly been a surprise that Sinan hadn’t shown up to spend quality time on horseback with those kinds of enemies, but they had arrived hours ago and the Prince of Shadows had not deigned to appear.
“Nothing yet.” Gallmau joined her in watching the activity in front of the Artifact, where Abarsam was making his attempt to open the arch.
Jacques had taken most of the morning to get his group in, which consisted of himself, Captain Caron—the same Shield who had tried to start a bar fight with Sinan last evening—and Valentina.
Despite Jacques’s history with the pretty medica, or perhaps because of it, he had taken her in place of his second Shield bodyguard.
The hot-tempered fire witch might still be at it, had Abarsam not insisted he try the pattern of magic Valentina had suggested, over and over again, as she scribbled notes on his failed attempts.
Large brass bowls filled with water were placed in a circle around the Grand Vizier, as he stood quiet and still in front of the arch.
Even Meri, who had experience watching Abarsam do magic, was initially perplexed by his inaction.
Then she noticed the wisps of vapor from the bowls, the liquid inside of them evaporating at a rapid rate.
One of the symbols on the Witch Stone’s surface began to pulse, emitting a flickering blue light.
Abarsam gave a nod of satisfaction, then left both his guard and son behind at the portal and walked toward them.
“The Artifact should open again soon.” Abarsam waved at the Witch Stone, and another sigil glowed blue.
Jacques, Valentina, and Captain Caron had been able to walk through when the incensor’s red glowing marks spanned the entire arch. It looked like Abarsam was well on his way to reopening it.
“With the learned Magus Valentina’s suggestions and my observations of Magus Jacques’s initial attempts, I was able to solve the puzzle with my water affinity. A slower method than the incensor technique, but I’m confident it will save time in the long run.”
Meri handed the canteen to the Grand Vizier. Aquamages risked dehydration when using their magic for long periods of time. “You didn’t want to throw a tantrum and hurl fire at the thing until it opened? It certainly took Jacques long enough with that approach.”
The Kushian aquamage smiled and accepted the flask, taking several long swallows before answering.
“My colleague has the typical temperament of an incensor, I agree. I apologize for that, as well as for doubting your resolve to join this quest. Partnering with the Prince of Shadows is a bold move—and a risky one.”
“He’s not even here, so we’re not in much danger.
” Gallmau sounded glum. Both he and Meri had reluctantly concluded Abarsam had been telling the truth—they needed a witch to get inside and rescue Rixende.
“So, why does everyone call Sinan a prince? He made it sound like Karakoncolos is a paradise for radicals.”
“Sinan’s blood is as common as it comes.
” Abarsam, the son of poor water sellers, nevertheless was a firm believer in monarchy.
“Necromancers have no concept of the Divine-given right of rule that belongs only to those of royal blood. They live together as animals do, bickering and arguing unless they need to band together against their enemies. Sinan’s mother, the venefica Naghwe, used her sex magic to seduce one of the Iotape merchants who made his fortune trading with necromancers.
Her son earned his sobriquet during the final battle of the Witches’ War—by killing more than a hundred of the Noviodunam’s best with his shadow powers. ”
Meri felt a brief stab of pain in her back, where her own undead necromancer lurked and waited to cause her death. He had been a veneficus—a male version of Naghwe.
“If Sinan does show up, do you think he really wants to rescue my sister?” Gallmau blurted out the question that must have been more at the forefront of his mind than the necromancer’s nickname.
“It would, oddly enough, be in Karakoncolos’s interest to drive a wedge between the Noviodunam and the royal family of Soissons by killing one of their own to return the princess.
” Abarsam turned back to watch the progress on the arch, where two more of his blue water sigils now glowed.
“It would also be in Sinan’s nature to kill both of you after you helped him reach that goal.
He sees himself as the protector of the malandanti, if not a true prince. ”
“That’s comforting,” Gallmau said, then added more diplomatically, “Good luck out there, Grand Vizier. Of the available alternatives, your son Baahir would be my first choice as a brother-in-law.”
Abarsam inclined his head toward Gallmau and turned to Meri.
“I’ll pray for your safety and success in this venture.
You know this already, my dear Lioness, but cold and fatigue are a necromancer’s best weaknesses to exploit.
They feed off the deaths of any who confront them directly, and exhaustion will do more good than a fireball—no matter what Jacques thinks. ”
A short time later, Meri watched as Abarsam, Baahir, and their giant guard walked through the arch as the fog beyond it thinned, showing a rocky trail leading up into a grove of trees.
Inside the arch were overcast skies and a light sprinkling of rain.
She blinked. Jacques, Valentina, and Captain Caron had walked out into a sunny meadow.
“That time it opened up onto a different location,” Gallmau confirmed. In addition to his usual excellent sense of direction, the prince had frequently visited this location in Terra Amata with the royal household. He had even retrieved a hunting map of the region and taken it with them.
Within seconds, the thick white fog rolled back over the half-circle opening, and Abarsam’s party disappeared.
“Are you sure you want to walk through that thing?” Gallmau’s old friend Tumas’s voice caused them both to turn. “This whole affair stinks of the devil.”
The Gardes Soissons captain had come over with some ale, which Gallmau accepted with a pleased expression.
Gallmau took a gulp from the bottle and gave Tumas a grim smile. “If I have to go talk to the devil to get my sister back, then that’s where I’m going.”
“You’ve already been talking to him.” Tumas scanned the area around them, apparently looking for Sinan. “Where’s your pet death witch, anyway? The Shields talk of little else but revenge and fear where he’s concerned.”
Meri, consumed with worry Sinan wouldn’t show up and anxiety that he would, was about to snap at the captain to mind his own business when she breathed in the scent of falling snow.
“He’s here.” Meri didn’t know where, exactly.
The next moment, a spasm wracked her spine, and it was all she could do to remain standing.
Maybe Abarsam had been right about Sinan wanting to kill them, only wrong about the timing.
If Sinan knew about her curse, he could work with the undead necromancer to kill her, then finish off Gallmau.
Panic and pain hit her hard, and she reacted by pulling her blades.
“What are you talking about?” Gallmau shoved his bottle at Tumas for safekeeping and spun around in confusion. “I don’t see anything.”
“She can smell magic.” Sinan’s voice came from the ground, which made no sense at all until Meri spotted her own shadow acting strangely. The patch of darkness on the grass underneath them lengthened, and Sinan walked out to stand next to them.
Tumas mumbled a few curses, then switched to a prayer and made the Sign of the Saints. Another shape went from shadow to solid form—Mother Naghwe, all smiles and sharp teeth.
Meri sent up a silent prayer herself and gripped her blades as she faced the two necromancers.
“ Divinatio nidore .” Mother Naghwe stepped closer to Meri and her swords with quick, bird-like steps. “Such an unusual talent. What do you smell from me, my dear?”
“Grave dust.” Meri snarled the words out, her swords only a foot away from the old woman’s neck. Could she kill a ghost with her water blades? She was about to find out. “And figs, for some damn reason.”