The High King's Tomb
Page 94
“No!” Grandmother whispered, and she tried to avert the power once more, to make it at least take an adult, one of Immerez’s men, or their Greenie prisoner, but the power sought something more innocent, new.
The power washed past Grandmother’s shields and the incessant crying of Amala’s baby stilled.
There was only silence but for the wind that roared in Grandmother’s ears. “No!” she screamed.
The knotted thing wriggled and burned in her hands. The power had fed, and was now satiated. The baby’s cries were replaced by Amala’s wails.
Grandmother squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, she found Lala beside her. The girl touched her sleeve, gazing at her with that inscrutable gaze of hers.
Hovering over Grandmother’s blistered hands was a black sphere that gleamed like glass. It gently descended till it rested on her palm. It was smooth and cold. She shuddered.
“Child,” she said to Lala, her voice a croak, “please bring Captain Immerez and Thursgad to me.”
The girl nodded and trotted off.
There was one more thing Grandmother needed to do to complete the binding of the sphere. She rolled it off her palm into the bowl that preserved Jeremiah’s blood. The sphere bobbed on the surface for a moment, then sank to the bottom with a solid clink. The blood began to steam and boil, then quickly evaporated until there was none left. The black sphere remained on the bottom of the bowl, an unnatural gleam upon it.
She hesitated to touch the sphere, but had no choice. It felt heavier than before, heavier with the accumulated weight of souls. Little souls, innocent souls, and that which was once verdant with life. She spoke one last word of power and breathed on the sphere, turning it silver. Suddenly it started to draw the breath from her, sucking it out of her lungs. She looked away and gasped for air, feeling faint. Hastily she tucked the sphere into a leather purse and drew the strings closed.
Chills surged through her and she pulled her cloak tighter about her shoulders. The gray of stone, the weak sun and biting wind, not to mention the exhaustion of working the art, left her feeling forlorn and empty. It did not help that Amala’s unquenchable grief and weeping buffeted her in stormy waves. Some of the encampment’s women clustered at the entrance to Amala’s tent, murmuring among themselves. Tears gathered in Grandmother’s eyes, and she kept telling herself the sacrifice had been necessary.
Presently Lala returned with Captain Immerez and Thursgad. Now that their parchment had been translated, it was time to take action. As Grandmother hoped, it had contained the instructions for the handling and reading of the book of Theanduris Silverwood. When she first informed the captain a week ago that she wished to utilize Thursgad in her plan, he was incredulous and asked, “Why Thursgad?” He did not think much of his soldier, despite the fact the young man had remained loyal to him and had even joined him in exile.
The only response Grandmother could conjure at the time was, “He’s a good boy.” And he was. Of all of Captain Immerez’s soldiers, which was really a band of criminals and thugs, intuition told her Thursgad was the most likely to complete the task she laid out before him. He had soldierly training, but more than that, he’d been raised in the country with simple values, including the loyalty he showed Captain Immerez, and a good dose of honesty. He would do as he was told.
“Are you prepared to leave?” she asked Thursgad.
“His horse and gear are being readied for him,” Captain Immerez answered for him.
“Good, for he will have to leave immediately.” She picked up the purse with the solid weight of the sphere in it and passed it to Thursgad. “Protect this well, for it is dangerous. Break it only when your business in the tombs is finished, no sooner. Do not even look at it or handle it until the appointed time. Do not let anyone else near it, not even Gare or Rol. Do you understand?”
Thursgad’s face paled, and that told her more than his nod that he understood very well.
“Now,” she said, “in order to find the book, I’m making a seeker to guide you. Once you have the book, you are clear on what to do?”
Thursgad nodded.
Captain Immerez jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow. “Tell her.”
“Aye, sir. Aye, Grandmother. I understand. When I find the book, I am to take it to Sacor City.”
“Correct,” Grandmother said. “And?”
“And I find Gare and Rol at the Sign of the Red Arrow and show them this.” He pulled a pendant of the black tree out from beneath his shirt. It bore in white paint the heart sigil for “friend of Second Empire” on it. “Then I tell them what is to be done. From that point they will take the lead.”
“Very good, Thursgad,” Grandmother said. “You will make me proud. I know you will.” She affirmed her words with a smile. He smiled back, albeit tentatively.
“I will now make the seeker,” she said, “and you must not waver in your pursuit of it.”
“I won’t, Grandmother.”
“I know, my boy.” She took the knitted pouch from her yarn basket. The use of all four colors, and the knots and gaps and hanging strands looked as if it had been knitted by a madwoman, but each stitch, each knot, wove together the spell to conjure and direct the seeker. From her pocket she removed the finger bone of Theanduris Silverwood. The story of how one of her far distant ancestors acquired it was lost through the veil of time. In those days, the practice was to cremate the remains of mages, to enhance the flames with magic to such a heat that every last bone was burned to ashes, and then the ashes were scattered across vast areas. Bones held power, and Sacoridians did not want that power to get into the wrong hands.
The power washed past Grandmother’s shields and the incessant crying of Amala’s baby stilled.
There was only silence but for the wind that roared in Grandmother’s ears. “No!” she screamed.
The knotted thing wriggled and burned in her hands. The power had fed, and was now satiated. The baby’s cries were replaced by Amala’s wails.
Grandmother squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, she found Lala beside her. The girl touched her sleeve, gazing at her with that inscrutable gaze of hers.
Hovering over Grandmother’s blistered hands was a black sphere that gleamed like glass. It gently descended till it rested on her palm. It was smooth and cold. She shuddered.
“Child,” she said to Lala, her voice a croak, “please bring Captain Immerez and Thursgad to me.”
The girl nodded and trotted off.
There was one more thing Grandmother needed to do to complete the binding of the sphere. She rolled it off her palm into the bowl that preserved Jeremiah’s blood. The sphere bobbed on the surface for a moment, then sank to the bottom with a solid clink. The blood began to steam and boil, then quickly evaporated until there was none left. The black sphere remained on the bottom of the bowl, an unnatural gleam upon it.
She hesitated to touch the sphere, but had no choice. It felt heavier than before, heavier with the accumulated weight of souls. Little souls, innocent souls, and that which was once verdant with life. She spoke one last word of power and breathed on the sphere, turning it silver. Suddenly it started to draw the breath from her, sucking it out of her lungs. She looked away and gasped for air, feeling faint. Hastily she tucked the sphere into a leather purse and drew the strings closed.
Chills surged through her and she pulled her cloak tighter about her shoulders. The gray of stone, the weak sun and biting wind, not to mention the exhaustion of working the art, left her feeling forlorn and empty. It did not help that Amala’s unquenchable grief and weeping buffeted her in stormy waves. Some of the encampment’s women clustered at the entrance to Amala’s tent, murmuring among themselves. Tears gathered in Grandmother’s eyes, and she kept telling herself the sacrifice had been necessary.
Presently Lala returned with Captain Immerez and Thursgad. Now that their parchment had been translated, it was time to take action. As Grandmother hoped, it had contained the instructions for the handling and reading of the book of Theanduris Silverwood. When she first informed the captain a week ago that she wished to utilize Thursgad in her plan, he was incredulous and asked, “Why Thursgad?” He did not think much of his soldier, despite the fact the young man had remained loyal to him and had even joined him in exile.
The only response Grandmother could conjure at the time was, “He’s a good boy.” And he was. Of all of Captain Immerez’s soldiers, which was really a band of criminals and thugs, intuition told her Thursgad was the most likely to complete the task she laid out before him. He had soldierly training, but more than that, he’d been raised in the country with simple values, including the loyalty he showed Captain Immerez, and a good dose of honesty. He would do as he was told.
“Are you prepared to leave?” she asked Thursgad.
“His horse and gear are being readied for him,” Captain Immerez answered for him.
“Good, for he will have to leave immediately.” She picked up the purse with the solid weight of the sphere in it and passed it to Thursgad. “Protect this well, for it is dangerous. Break it only when your business in the tombs is finished, no sooner. Do not even look at it or handle it until the appointed time. Do not let anyone else near it, not even Gare or Rol. Do you understand?”
Thursgad’s face paled, and that told her more than his nod that he understood very well.
“Now,” she said, “in order to find the book, I’m making a seeker to guide you. Once you have the book, you are clear on what to do?”
Thursgad nodded.
Captain Immerez jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow. “Tell her.”
“Aye, sir. Aye, Grandmother. I understand. When I find the book, I am to take it to Sacor City.”
“Correct,” Grandmother said. “And?”
“And I find Gare and Rol at the Sign of the Red Arrow and show them this.” He pulled a pendant of the black tree out from beneath his shirt. It bore in white paint the heart sigil for “friend of Second Empire” on it. “Then I tell them what is to be done. From that point they will take the lead.”
“Very good, Thursgad,” Grandmother said. “You will make me proud. I know you will.” She affirmed her words with a smile. He smiled back, albeit tentatively.
“I will now make the seeker,” she said, “and you must not waver in your pursuit of it.”
“I won’t, Grandmother.”
“I know, my boy.” She took the knitted pouch from her yarn basket. The use of all four colors, and the knots and gaps and hanging strands looked as if it had been knitted by a madwoman, but each stitch, each knot, wove together the spell to conjure and direct the seeker. From her pocket she removed the finger bone of Theanduris Silverwood. The story of how one of her far distant ancestors acquired it was lost through the veil of time. In those days, the practice was to cremate the remains of mages, to enhance the flames with magic to such a heat that every last bone was burned to ashes, and then the ashes were scattered across vast areas. Bones held power, and Sacoridians did not want that power to get into the wrong hands.
