“It’s not their folly that is exposed.” Junel patted her left calf with his right hand. She felt a slight sting where his hand landed and jerked back. “It’s your folly, Nirati. You see, I am a Desei agent.”
He slowly stood as numbness raced up her leg. “More correctly, I am an agent of shadow, a vrilcai.”
“What?”
Junel laughed. “Really, Nirati, you should have been able to pierce my disguise. Think about it. Those who did not believe the Viruk murdered Majiata thought it was Desei agents who did so in an attempt to get to me. But would Prince Pyrust, who wiped out every other member of the Aerynnor clan, allow me to live? Of course not. Not unless I was already his creature, the one who had betrayed my family’s treason to him. Continuing in his service, I fled south, the last survivor of a butchered family, and here I was accepted most openly.
“That openness gave me entrée to Moriande society and the Phoesel family. Majiata died not to get to me, but to get me to you.” He smiled as the numbness spread to her belly and made her legs twitch. “You played your part beautifully. Your desire to rescue me from Majiata much as you’d rescued your brother brought you to me.”
Nirati slumped back on the bed, no longer able to sit upright. Her goblet fell from nerveless fingers, staining the sheets. “You . . . you killed her?”
He nodded solemnly. “Practice for you, my dear.” He leaned over and pressed a fingertip to her numb lips. “My ring injected venom of the hooded viper. Your body will become numb and will not respond, but your mind will remain aware. I know you have been taking a tincture of gallroot to counteract what I have given you before, but it merely accentuates the effects of this venom.”
Her head fell back on the mattress. She wanted to ask why, but her tongue filled her mouth thickly and her jaw would not move. He is going to kill me. All that went before was prelude to this. All I endured, all I craved, it means I can endure more as he works. And now that I am numb, I will know no pain, just the mental agony of horrors as he takes me apart.
Junel brought the standing mirror around and adjusted it so she could watch herself. He returned to her and gently released her from her clothing, stripping it off, neatly folding it and piling it in a sideboard drawer. She saw herself in the mirror, naked and beautiful. She wanted to close her eyes so that would be her last memory of herself, but her body refused to obey.
He opened another drawer and began to draw out a series of knives and a leather apron. “You’ll want to know what and why. What I will do to you will make what happened to Majiata nothing. I will begin by stripping your flesh off and hanging it from the wall peg as if it were a cloak. You will live through that. You will live through the removal of some of your organs. Not your heart, I am afraid. But, so you know, I will leave your head and face intact, and position you such that the mirror will reflect your expression to those who enter here. They will see you in the mirror first, then in all your glory. It will be exquisite.”
Junel pulled the apron on. “As for why, it should be obvious. Your grandfather loves you beyond all others, and you are the last anchor he has to civility. With you slain right here in Cyron’s capital, his loyalty to the Crown will be sorely tested—especially when your killer escapes. He never will be found, you see, for I will have tried to stop your killing and will be wounded all but mortally, but my description of the killer will be useless.”
His eyes softened. “When they tell me of your demise, I will be crushed. I hope you will appreciate that.
“In his grief your grandfather will stop creating charts, which will precipitate an economic panic. Chaos will reign, from which my master will profit.” Junel held up a sharp knife. Candle highlights glinted from the edge. “I will make you a work of art. Your death presages that of your nation.”
Nirati survived far into the morning hours, much longer than she or Junel would have guessed possible. In his intensity, he did not notice her slipping away well before she died. Nirati left that squalid little room and walked along the shore of a cool, crystalline stream, safe away in Kunjiqui. It felt good that her limbs worked again, and after a short time she had even forgotten why they had not previously responded to her commands.
She came over a small, grassy rise and found a man, strongly built with black hair, emerging naked from a pool. Mud was draining from his flesh. He laughed aloud, a joyous sound. He swept his long hair out of his blue eyes, then smiled at her. He clearly was not embarrassed by his nakedness and neither was she.
“My lady Nirati, I bid you welcome and thank you.”
Nirati shrugged her shoulders, letting the gold silken gown she wore slip from her. “Thank me, why?”
“This is your sanctuary. Your grandfather fashioned it for you, but he has allowed me to reside here.” He held a hand out to her and she took it, stepping down into the pool. “I owe you a debt, and I shall make good on it.”
Nirati slid her hands over his broad chest and around his neck. She looked up into his strong face. “How will you do that, my lord?”
“You have been hurt. I shall see to it that you are hurt no more. I shall see to it you are avenged.” He lowered his mouth to hers and crushed her to him in an embrace. She clung to him, raising her right hand into his wet hair, but he broke the kiss and murmured against her lips. “I am Nelesquin. I am come back from a very long journey. Your enemies and mine will learn to fear my return.”
Chapter Sixty
6th day, Month of the Wolf, Year of the Rat
9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
737th year since the Cataclysm
Ixyll
The explosion of wild magic knocked Keles from his feet. He dropped Ciras’ body and just barely ducked Moraven’s flying form. Horses screamed, and shoes struck sparks from the floor. Borosan had fallen and his light had rolled against the wall, showing Moraven’s slumped body twitching, his hair smoking.
Keles looked back at the cave’s entrance, but could not see outside. A crystalline lattice had capped the cave with a honeycomb pattern. Each cell in the lattice was made up of hundreds of smaller hexagons, each of a different color, all shimmering. The storm’s howl continued outside, but muted. For the moment they were safe, but Keles knew better than to expect that to last long.
The Viruk had fallen to the passage floor, but slowly gathered his limbs beneath him. He moved awkwardly, his limbs jerking and twitching, but he drew them in by dint of will alone. He hissed, but made no other intelligible sound.
Keles thrust Ciras off his legs, then scrambled toward Rekarafi. “Let me help you.”
“No!” His voice sounded hollow, tinged with the roar that a fire makes. He held a hand out toward Keles, fingers splayed, and a red light began to glow from within him. The bony plates of his exoskeleton had become black, as if they were made of night itself, but all around them this vivid red—the red of burning coals—built in intensity. His eyes filled with it, then golden highlights moved through them as if his thoughts had become a flow of lava.
“Stay back. I am not certain how much of this wild magic I can contain. Get the others away.”
Keles withdrew slowly and dragged Ciras after him. He brought him to the base of the wall where Tyressa was straightening Moraven’s limbs. “Ciras is alive. How about Moraven?”
“Alive, but barely. Shallow breath, very slow heartbeat.”
Borosan came over and knelt with them. He held his device for detecting wild magic out so Keles could look at it. Previously the square device had appeared to have red sand trapped between two thin layers of glass. The sand somehow took on other colors, running from orange to violet, as the magic intensified. Now it had nothing but swirls of blue and violet rotating very quickly around the same central point.
The gyanridin shook his head. “We are at the heart of the storm. It is centered on us and has probably moved us many miles away from where we were.”
Keles frowned. “That’s not possibl
e, is it?”
“I’ve heard stories.”
“Borosan, shine your light at the far archway.” Keles rose and pointed deep into the chamber. The gyanridin got up and joined him, playing the light over the arch as the two of them approached it. “I could have sworn it was open when we entered.”
Borosan shrugged. “It might have been. It’s not now, though.” He reached out and ran his hand over the rock sealing the passage. “It’s different than the other rock here. We are probably buried inside some mountain.”
Keles touched the cool rock. “Limestone. It’s everywhere, and this is pretty smooth. Could be we’ve not moved at all.”
The Viruk dragged himself to the edge of the chamber. “We have moved. Can you not feel it, Keles?”
The cartographer tried to see if he felt anything, but he didn’t. “I don’t, Rekarafi. But it doesn’t really matter, does it? We don’t even know where this place is, much less where we have been relocated.”
Borosan played the light over the wall again. “It’s a burial site. The script is old.”
Tyressa stood. “It’s the Imperial script. You mentioned Amenis Dukao. You said he died with the Empress.”
“I’ve read the stories of Amenis Dukao since I was a little boy. I know he was real, but the stories weren’t. I didn’t expect to find his grave here.”
The Keru folded her arms beneath her breasts. “The grave is what waits for all living men, no matter how their lives are retold after they die.”
Keles nodded and sank into a crouch. “Your point is well-taken, Tyressa. Accepting that Amenis Dukao is here means that these graves date from the time of the Cataclysm. I think I know what we might have here. Do you see any of the names that have hereditary titles?”
Borosan and Tyressa both studied the names they could see in the light, but neither reported finding a noble among them. Tyressa frowned. “Is that significant?”
“Could be.” Keles smoothed dust on the floor and drew a diagram of the small entryway and the burial chamber. He ended it with a flat line where the stone had closed the archway. “This is where we are. My grandfather once commented that he hoped the Prince would ennoble the family; that way we would not have to be buried ‘outside.’ In Imperial times, this kind of chamber was an antechamber to a nobles’ mausoleum. Loyal retainers and brave vassals would be buried out here, while the nobles would be buried in the larger chamber. It’s not a common practice now, save with princes and some other families, but was the rule then.”
He glanced back into the shadows. “Now Rekarafi says we’ve been moved, and Borosan agrees, but I don’t. I think there is a huge burial chamber beyond that limestone slab.” He drew the chamber in the dust and erased enough of the line at the arch to make it very thin.
Moraven and Ciras twitched. Rekarafi barked out a harsh laugh. “We moved, Keles.”
“You’re wrong, Rekarafi.” He pointed back toward the entryway. “Did you forget the flashing light that brought us here? I think whoever or whatever shined that light is beyond that slab. The storm probably loosened it. It was designed to keep grave robbers out. I’m sure of it. We get through that slab and we’re in. It’s probably no more than a yard thick, and limestone can be chopped through.”
The Keru nodded. “It can be, but we have no quarrying tools.”
Keles’ heart sank. “Borosan, how about your gyanrigot?”
The inventor shook his head. “With the storm on top of us, I cannot predict what they will do. But I doubt I have enough thaumston to let them burrow through even if the storm does go away.”
The Viruk clawed his way up the wall and regained his feet. “Do not touch me, anyone. Not if you want to live.” He looked at Keles with burning eyes. “A yard you say?”
“Standard for that sort of thing in an Imperial mausoleum.”
The Viruk nodded, then shambled across the burial chamber to the tall archway. The air warmed at his passing as if he were burning with invisible flames. His flesh’s red glow illuminated the limestone slab as his fingers crawled up it. He pressed his palms flat against the stone about ten feet above the floor. His voice, still hollow, rose and fell rhythmically in words both sibilant and powerful.
The light from beneath his palms shifted from red to yellow, brightening to white, then returning to its bloody hue. Each hand’s light pulsed in unison at first and played through little spiderwebs of cracks in the stone’s surface. Those lines grew larger as the glowing fell out of synch. Red energy traced them, only to be chased out by gold. The white light flashed, then sank from view. Pulse after pulse pummeled the rock and sent a humming through the air, causing the horses to shift restlessly.
Bits and pieces of stone began to crumble. Pebbles bounced from the Viruk’s head and shoulders. Limestone dust greyed his hair. Larger pieces clipped him in the shoulders and ricocheted off his arms. The cascade of clattering gravel muted the first loud crack, but deep fissures appeared in the rock. A large, dagger-shaped piece shifted down, then began to twist. It caught for a second, then more stone came to pieces and it began to tumble.
“Rekarafi, move!”
The large stone hunk, easily as tall as Keles himself, fell forward and smashed into the marble floor. It would have crushed the Viruk, but he’d pushed off and sent himself flying backward. He slid across the floor, trailing limestone dust. Two bigger pieces of limestone fell in the other direction, leaving a ragged hole nine feet in diameter at a man-height from the floor.
Keles ran to Rekarafi but refrained from touching him. The glow had died, but his breath still rasped. “How are you? What can I do?”
The Viruk eased himself back against the wall. “You can do nothing but let me rest for a moment.”
Keles looked at the opening in the rock. “What did you do?”
“The reverse of what I did back there.”
“The crystals? You did that? How? You’re a warrior.”
Rekarafi coughed. “A warrior is what I am, but not what I have always been.”
“But what you did is magic, and only female Viruk use magic.” Keles frowned. “Sorry, I actually know nothing about the Viruk—nothing more than you have told me. Will you explain?”
“More fully, another time.” He slowly began to roll to his feet. “Suffice it to say, not being permitted to do something does not mean one lacks the ability to do it.”
Borosan pulled another light from a saddlebag and handed it to Tyressa. He then looked at his magic detection device, smacked it once against his leg, and shrugged. “Whatever you did, Rekarafi, the sand is all black now. It’s broken.”
The Viruk dusted himself off. “You will make something better. Come, let us see what Keles has found for us.”
Tyressa nodded toward the two swordsmen. “Will they be safe?”
“From all but the ghosts, Keru.” Rekarafi bent his arms and slowly pressed his elbows back until something cracked in the area of his spine. “They have nothing to fear. Come.”
The four of them approached the hole, and Keles found his stomach roiling. He had felt certain the chamber was there, and as he looked into it, he found it laid out much as he had sketched in the dust. It was as if the wild magic had given him the ability to see the chamber and record it faithfully without ever having visited it. His grandfather would be certain this was nonsense, but he saw the evidence in the glow of the blue lights.
Tyressa entered first, then Keles. Borosan and the gyanrigot followed him, then the Viruk hauled himself through last. He paused in the hole, much as he had crouched in the entryway, sniffing. “Long sealed, long inhabited.”
“Inhabited?” Borosan raised his lantern and let the light shine throughout the room. “Nothing living in here that I can see.”
“I did not see, either.” He tapped his nose. “So frail, Men.”
Keles frowned as he looked around. The chamber not only had burial spots excavated from the walls, but standing sepulchres had been arranged in rows. They all had been carved of limesto
ne, and several had effigies of the warriors within raised on them. The warriors stood out starkly, full-bodied but white as bone.
Then one of them moved. Keles leaped back, smacking up against Rekarafi’s feet. “A ghost!”
The Viruk shook his head.
Pale as ivory and the size of a child, the creature came up into a seated position and wrapped skeletally slender arms around bony knees. The head seemed too large for the body, with the eye sockets overlarge and the heavy cheekbones slanted sharply down. Its two normally placed eyes matched the size of the third set high in its forehead. Above and below the two usual eyes were smaller ones, these of a golden color with a pinpoint black pupil—a contrast to the larger eyes, which appeared black save where gold sparks exploded in them.
Keles shivered. Seven eyes, the future spies. Spy Gloon eyes, one surely dies. The rhyme was one every child knew and accompanied stories of heroes who ventured into dark places to encounter Soth Gloons. The Soth, who had been highly valued by the Viruk Empire, went through life stages, and Gloon was the last and least common—at least as far as men knew. Their extra eyes were said to permit them a vision of the future, and to meet one was the harbinger of disaster.
“A Viruk here? This was unseen.”
Rekarafi eased himself down from the hole. “Your eyes are too small to behold a Viruk’s future.”
“The Viruk have no futures to behold.” The Gloon shook its head and closed the central eye. “You are in good company with these Men. Their futures are empty as well. In fact, death touches one of them right now.”
Keles opened his mouth to protest, but pain exploded in the center of his mind. Nirati? Nirati, no! He felt himself falling and tried to clutch at anything to stop his fall. But nothing did, and the world crashed closed around him.
Chapter Sixty-one
7th day, Month of the Wolf, Year of the Rat
9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
A Secret Atlas Page 47
