City of Keys, page 56
“Her advisor,” Tashtemir said quietly. “They are learned men. Mystics.”
Jamila bobbed her head. “After some study, he told her what it was. The fabled sword of Gavriel.”
Paarjini drew a sharp breath. Nikola turned to her, but the witch made a quelling motion, her eyes locked on the Masdari woman.
“I have seen the blade myself. I think this is true.” She shook her head, frightened. “It has power in it. The day after it came, the man who had carried it fell ill. He died that afternoon. I think . . . I think the sword did not want to be found.”
Nikola had a dim memory of her dream in the hole. A sword of great power. Goosebumps prickled her arms.
“Who is this Gavriel?” Gerrault asked.
Jamila’s gaze flicked to Paarjini. She hung her head and said nothing.
“Speak!” Gerrault snapped.
“He was the aingeal who cut off his own mother’s head,” Paarjini said in a low, angry voice. “The rebel who founded your Via Sancta!”
Falke stiffened. “That is a lie!”
“’Tis the truth,” Paarjini retorted. “Whether ye like or not!”
Falke had gone red. He opened his mouth when Gerrault rose to her feet, voice ringing against the vaulted ceiling.
“Let us remember why we are gathered here,” she said sternly. “It is not to squabble over the past, but to learn where Balaur has gone, and why. Else there might be no future for any of us!”
Falke subsided, visibly gathering himself. Paarjini drew a deep breath.
“She has the right of it. I apologize. I ken yer beliefs are different from mine. But ye asked who Gavriel was and I told ye. In our lore, he is the aingeal who defied the Great Serpent, and that is the use for which he forged his blade. Valmitra dinna die from the blow, but it severed the aingeals from her gifts so they could no longer touch the ley. Which is why,” she added, not looking at Falke, “yer kind invented Marks. Tha’ is the story I was taught as a girl.”
“It is the story I was taught, too,” Tashtemir said slowly. “Or a version of it. The witches are the Alsakhan’s children and so are my people. Three races in the beginning. But only two kept the faith.”
Valdrian cleared his throat. “I have heard the name Gavriel. It was used as an ancient curse. But I never knew who he was.”
Jessiel and Caralexa eyed each other. “The same,” Caralexa muttered. “My ma said the tale goes back two thousand years at least. But she called Gavriel a hero. Said he did it for freedom.”
Paarjini scowled, saying nothing.
“Setting our cultural differences aside,” Gerrault said, “what does the blade mean to Balaur?” She stared down at the prisoner. “Are you claiming it grants eternal life?”
Jamila al-Jabban shook her head. “No, Your Eminence. The Sahir said it was but the first sign. Proof that the Alsakhan had blessed my mistress with good fortune.” Dirty fingers picked at the sleeve of her dress. “Luba has many debts. We are the smallest and weakest of the emiratis, surrounded on all sides by far more powerful neighbors.”
“Is that correct, Domine Kelevan?” Gerrault asked.
“I have not been home for several years,” he replied, “but I cannot imagine the situation has changed much. The khedives of Luba rely on a network of alliances to preserve their territory, and it shifts as often as the sands. Their position has always been precarious.”
Jamila nodded agreement. “My mistress has expensive tastes,” she said with a touch of bitterness. “The treasury is nearly empty. But the Sahir said there are great riches to be had by whoever finds the City of Dawn.”
Tashtemir gave a shocked laugh. “She cannot mean to loot the seat of the Alsakhan?”
Jamila looked like she wanted to shrink into the floor. “She did not use the word, but I am sure it is her intention. She has convinced herself it is the solution to all her problems.”
“How did she come to be involved with Balaur?” Gerrault demanded.
“He came to her dreams. They communed in this way for the last year or so. When he escaped Jalghuth, he bade her to send someone to guide him and cement their alliance. It was always his intention to go to the League. But he . . . .” She licked her lips. “He said he had business to attend to in Nantwich first. He did not confide in me what it was. I was merely a messenger.”
Nikola doubted this, but she kept her peace.
“They struck a bargain. My mistress would get the gold and jewels. Balaur would get the Aab-i-Hayat.”
“The Elixir of Life,” Lezarius said quietly.
“And where is this city?” Gerrault asked.
“That is the difficulty,” Jamila replied. “The precise location is unknown. I think my mistress knows more, but she would not tell one such as me. Nor did she tell Balaur. She did not trust him not to go without her. He pressed me hard, but I could not tell him what I do not know, Your Eminence.”
“So they have gone to Luba?”
A quick nod. “That was the plan. The khedive was awaiting his arrival.”
“Did she know he has witches with him?” Paarjini asked.
“He said he had allies.”
“And why did he let ye live, Jamila al-Jabban? I find it strange he’d abandon one who knew so much.”
She flinched under Paarjini’s skeptical glare. “It was not his intention to leave me,” she said, staring at the ground. “He wanted you to remove the Raven Mark from the child. He hoped you would not realize the truth. Then he planned to take me with him.”
Paarjini snorted. “Ye have an answer for everything, don’t ye?”
“It is the truth, mistress.”
“Can you describe the blade?” Lezarius asked.
“I can do better,” Jamila said, casting a fearful look at Paarjini. “I can draw the runes for you.”
“Fetch a paper and pen,” Morvana told the knights.
“I have seen this city in a vision,” Kasia said. “And in the cards, as well. The Sun and Moon together, representing dawn. All of it was in the last reading I gave to Malach—including a warning that Balaur would take his daughter, though I was too thick to understand at the time.” She sounded angry. “I believe her.”
“And the Elixir of Life?” Falke demanded. “Can that possibly be real, too?”
“Perhaps not, but if there’s even a remote chance . . . .” Her face might have been set in stone. “Balaur cannot be allowed near it, Reverend Father.”
No one disagreed with that sentiment.
One of the knights returned with a pad and pencil. Jamila sat cross-legged on the floor, resting the pad on her knee. The scratch of the nib was the only sound for a minute. Then she held up the drawing.
“To the best of my memory, this is what I saw engraved upon the edge of the blade.”
They looked like meaningless stick figures to Nikola, but Lezarius hurried down from the dais. He was spry for a man in his late seventies. He took the pad from Jamila and studied it briefly. When he looked up, his expression was grave.
“I saw similar runes in a chamber deep beneath Sinjali’s Lance just before I came here. It had been sealed—possibly since the Lance’s construction. The Reborn said they were very old. Some kind of warding charm. The children could not decipher them, but I am certain these are identical.”
“You see?” Jamila said eagerly. “I tell you the truth!”
His shaggy brows drew down. “Do you know what they say?”
“They are in the tongue of the aingeals. Only the Sahir can read it.”
“Valdrian?” Nikola prompted.
He strode over to Lezarius and glanced at the pad. “They mean nothing to me.”
“Nor I,” Paarjini said. “But if ye have seen them at Jalghuth, it lends credence to her tale.”
Jamila clasped her hands together, rising to her knees. “I throw myself upon your mercy! I am but the khedive’s servant. Hardly better than a slave! She would whip me until I was dead if she knew I had revealed her secrets.” She turned to Tashtemir. “Tell them!”
He gazed at her with a guarded expression. “Not all khedives are so harsh, but a few do treat their servants like chattel. I don’t know this Tawfiq al-Mirza.”
He said a few words to her in Masdari. She replied in the same tongue, then switched back to Osterlish.
“Let me stay here!” Tears ran down Jamila’s cheeks, cutting trails in the dirt. “Grant me asylum. Please, I beg you!”
Gerrault turned to the others. “Do you have any more questions at present?”
“I do.” Kasia stepped forward. “I saw you leaving the Danzigers’ manor house in Kvengard. You were with the delegation from the Imperator.”
Jamila looked shocked. She licked her lips. “Well, yes, that is true.”
“Does the Imperator know about this plot?”
“No! It was merely a ruse to get me to the continent without raising suspicions. That night, I met with Jule Danziger in private. He said he was Balaur’s agent. I was supposed to go to Jalghuth with him, but something happened. He missed our next appointment.”
“Because he was dead,” Kasia said coldly.
Jamila flinched. “I do not know about that. But he did come to me eventually, at the embassy in Kvengard. He said the plans had changed and he would take me to Bal Agnar.” She shuddered. “I did not like it there and was glad to leave again. That is all I know! I swear!”
“Does anyone have further questions for her?” Gerrault asked.
“Not for now,” Paarjini muttered.
No one else spoke up.
“Take Jamila al-Jabban back to her cell,” Gerrault instructed the knights. “See she is fed and give her a bucket to wash with.”
They saluted and escorted the Masdari from the chamber. Gerrault slid her spectacles off and polished them on the sleeve of her robe.
“Well,” she said at length, “what do you make of all that?”
Chapter Fifty-One
“I believe they’ve gone south to the Masdar League,” Paarjini said. “And I intend to hunt down the sisters who conspired with Balaur. As for the rest of it, I canna say.”
“Jamila’s accent is Luban,” Tashtemir put in. “Educated enough to be a high-ranking servant. The rings in her ear confirm that rank. And the beads sewn into the hem of her gown.”
“What of the city?” Gerrault asked.
He seemed deeply reluctant to speak, eyes darting across the high ceiling of the chamber.
“Tell us what you know, Masdari,” commanded Falke’s deep, peremptory voice.
“He is a guest here, not our prisoner,” Morvana protested. “It is for him to decide.”
Tashtemir swallowed and seemed to reach a decision. “I heard it mentioned at the Imperator’s court once or twice, but only in whispers. There is a city in the desert where the Alsakhan resides. It can only be found by the anointed. The eunuch priests. They guard their secrets closely, so I can tell you little else. Only that it is supposedly a place of wealth beyond imagining.”
“Which is no doubt why they keep it secret,” Falke said dryly. “Every mercenary adventurer would seek it out.”
“Just so,” Tashtemir said. “But also because it is a holy place. The city’s true name is forbidden to be spoken. I doubt very much that this khedive can easily find it, which should buy us some time.”
“Us?” Nikola dropped her voice. “I assumed you would stay behind, Tash.”
He was in exile and very much on the Imperator’s bad side. If he’d preferred to live at Bal Kirith with Beleth in residence . . . well, that said volumes about the punishment he faced at home.
“Do any of you speak Masdari?” he asked loudly, looking around. “Can you identify the different tribes from their dress and manner of speech? Are you familiar with the six hundred and fourteen rules of etiquette that govern daily life in the League? The routes of the caravans and what it costs to hire one?”
No one spoke.
“We are a proud people, and great believers in formality.” A wry look at Paarjini. “Forgive me, but you wouldn’t last ten minutes without giving insult. And if you offend the wrong person, you will swiftly find yourselves in the Imperator’s dungeons.”
“Which is exactly where you’ll be if you go back,” Nikola hissed.
Tashtemir pretended not to hear.
“I was hopin’ ye would ask.” Paarjini grinned. “I accept the offer with gratitude.”
“I will go with you, as well,” Kasia said. “I know how Balaur’s mind works. Perhaps my cards can help us find him.”
Nikola knew she would. The Mahadeva had foreseen it. But the next volunteer surprised her.
“As we will,” Valdrian added. “If you agree.”
Paarjini stiffened. Nikola shot her a hard look. “We need them,” she said under her breath.
“Will ye follow my orders?”
“Until we reach the Masdar League, yes,” Valdrian replied. “But if we decide to hunt Malach on our own after that, you cannot stop us.”
Paarjini considered this. “Fair enough. Ye may come.”
Falke leaned over and whispered something to Cardinal Gerrault. She nodded.
“I intend to keep my word,” he said. “Bal Kirith is yours. So is our aid in rebuilding it.”
Nikola was surprised at that, but Valdrian only nodded. “Then we’ll send a dozen mages there, as planned. But I won’t abandon Malach. Nor will my two cousins. The three of us will go south.”
Gerrault rose to her feet. “The Via Sancta has a strong interest in the outcome of this endeavor.”
Here it comes, Nikola thought.
“We will send a token force with you,” Gerrault said. “Two knights from Nantwich. I wish it could be more, but we have suffered great losses. Our priority must be to find the Reverend Mother Clavis.”
“You may have two from Jalghuth,” Lezarius said.
“The Eastern Curia should be represented,” Falke said with a frown.
“Might I suggest Fra Patryk Spassov?” Kasia suggested. “If he agrees.”
“He accompanied you from Novostopol?”
“He did. And proved himself a fiercely loyal companion.”
Paarjini’s head swung like a cornered badger. “Hold on now. I dinna say yes!”
A silence fell. Gerrault looked at her solemnly. “I was a girl when Nantwich fell to Balaur. His victory was brief, but we had a taste of his rule and that was more than enough. Thirty years ago, we were saved by Lezarius, but it is clear now that the Void only postponed an inevitable confrontation.”
She paused, looking thoughtful. “It must be done the right way this time. With all of us united against him.” A nod at Paarjini. “The witches.” Her gaze lit on Valdrian and his cousins. “The mages.” A quick glance at Kasia. “Marked and Unmarked. Our numbers are small, but there is power in this alliance. It is a thing never done before.”
Nikola remembered the Mahadeva’s words when she gave her foretelling.
The three nations broken must be made whole again.
A wave of sorrow broke over her. They had lost a very wise woman that day. A hot stone of hatred lodged in her heart. Of all Balaur’s crimes, that one had cost them the most.
“It is a thing I would never have imagined even one hour ago,” Paarjini admitted. “But perhaps yer right. I’ll take yer knights on one condition. Give us the prisoner. I have a strong feelin’ there’s more she’s not sayin’. But I’ll have it out of her on the journey.”
Gerrault turned to Falke and Lezarius. “What say you, Reverend Fathers?”
“I have no objection,” Falke said.
“Nor do I,” Lezarius said, frowning slightly to be in agreement with Falke.
“Then Jamila al-Jabban is yours,” Gerrault said.
Running feet echoed in the corridor. A knight conferred briefly with those at the doors, then trotted into the chamber. He was so agitated, he barely acknowledged the two pontifices.
“What is it?” Gerrault demanded.
“An emissary has arrived from Bal Agnar, Your Eminence!”
“Indeed?” Gerrault kept her tone mild, but her gloved hand tightened on the arm of the throne.
“A mage. She claims to have news of the Reverend Mother Clavis, but will say nothing more.”
The cardinal’s expression hardened. “Bring her in.”
He retreated at a run.
“Well, it cannot be from Balaur,” Falke said. “The messenger would have departed the city a full day ago.”
“Could they already know what has happened?” Morvana wondered.
“Balaur walks in dreams,” Valdrian said, eyeing the door. “They know.”
A moment later, Dantarion strode into the chamber, flanked by four knights. Her hair was tied back in an auburn ponytail, her boots muddy from travel. She wore a green cloak and crimson doublet beneath. Malach’s cousin.
She must have borne his child, but it was nowhere in evidence. She looked the same as Nikola remembered, young and fresh-faced, like a first-year student at the Lyceum. Her cool gaze swept the assembled company. It caught for a moment on Nikola, then moved on to Valdrian, Jessiel and Caralexa. They stared back, expressionless.
“That’s far enough,” one of her escorts said when she was fifteen meters from the dais.
Dantarion stopped. “Lezarius,” she said with a feral smile. “You look different. But I know you nonetheless.”
He inclined his head. “Who sent you?”
“The Reverend Mother, of course.” Her grin widened. “Beleth.”
“She is in Novostopol,” Falke said slowly.
“Not anymore. The starfall broke her prison and killed the guards, but she was spared.” Dantarion cast a pious glance at the ground. “It was the will of the ley.”
Nikola thought of her last afternoon in Novostopol, just before Captain Komenko let her go—at Falke’s orders, apparently. Beleth confessing her sins before a rapt crowd. Nikola had pitied her then, but it was the way you pitied a large, toothy predator behind bars at the zoo. You might feel bad for its state of captivity, but that didn’t mean you wanted it roaming loose in your flat. A small shiver ran down her spine. Beleth, alive and in Bal Agnar.
