[Nagash 01] - Nagash the Sorcerer

by Mike Lee - (ebook by Undead)

  Slowly and steadily, the clouds piled up over the city, blotting out the stars above. Hours later, the first, heavy drops began to fall. They pattered thickly against the stones and splashed on the helmets of the soldiers. Some turned their faces towards the sky and tasted the rain on their lips. It was warm and bitter, tasting of copper and ash. They wiped their chins and, holding up their hands to the guttering torches, they saw that their palms were slick with blood.

  Red rain fell across Quatar, staining the White Palace crimson and filling the streets with puddles of gore. It fell upon the citizens sleeping on their roofs and spattered the faces of the priests who hurried from their temples and stared wide-eyed at the heavens.

  The ghastly downpour lasted until a minute before dawn. When it was done, the entire city was steaming like a sacrificial altar.

  By nightfall the first people began to sicken and die.

  NINE

  Secrets within the Blood

  Khemri, the Living City, in the 44th year of Qu’aph the Cunning

  (-1966 Imperial Reckoning)

  The emissary of Quatar approached the king’s throne to the beat of hide drums and the tolling of a deep, bronze bell, leading a procession of courtiers garbed in bone-coloured linen and fine, golden masks. Behind them came a score of pale-skinned barbarian slaves, naked but for colourful strips of cotton tied to their throats and arms like the feathers of singing birds. They carried open chests of sandalwood and polished bronze in their calloused hands, filled with gold coins, precious spices and other exotic treasures. It was mid-afternoon, and the air inside Settra’s Court was hazy with swirling clouds of incense. The grand assembly had been in progress for more than four hours, and the city’s nobles were casting impatient glances towards the dais and shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Outside, a new acolyte had taken up the role of the Ptra’khaf, summoning the wealthy and powerful to attend upon their king in a sweet, singsong voice. Nagash fancied he heard a note of desperation in the young boy’s call.

  The Grand Hierophant moved amid the deep shadows behind the court’s towering marble columns, watching the games of state play out on the grand processional before the dais. In Khetep’s time, the court would have been easily three-quarters full during the monthly grand assembly, with the second sons of every noble family and emissaries from all of Nehekhara’s cities in attendance. The last time the chamber had known such a throng had been on the day of the old king’s interment, but, two years later, the great hall was little more than a third full. Ghazid and the king’s servants had spread out the attendants from the dais to nearly the middle of the room to make the assembly seem larger than it truly was.

  “Beware of nobles bearing gifts,” Khefru murmured over Nagash’s shoulder. “It looks as though old Amamurti has decided he’s had enough. I wonder if he’ll head back to the White Palace, or decamp to Zandri’s court next?”

  Near-invisible in the deep shadows, Nagash sneered in the direction of the emissary and his entourage, and said, “Judging by the richness of his gifts, Amamurti will be boarding a barge for Zandri by sunset. He’ll regret his lavishness once he reaches the coast. The old goat will have to pay dearly to gain Nekumet’s favour over the embassies already camped there.”

  From the moment of Khetep’s death by the banks of the Vitae, Khemri’s power and influence had slipped like grains of sand from the weak hands of his successor. Rasetra’s envoy had been the first to take his leave of Thutep’s court, amid promises of eternal goodwill and support for Khemri’s policies. Then the desert princes of Bhagar had departed, followed by the envoys of Bel Aliad and Lybaras. Within months, word reached Khemri that the dignitaries had taken up residence in Zandri instead, paying homage to Nekumet’s court. Slowly but surely, the locus of power was shifting away from the Living City for the first time in history, and for all his impassioned speeches and lofty ideals, Thutep seemed powerless to stop it.

  Even Khemri’s noble houses had begun to lose their respect for the king’s authority. None of the most powerful families chose to attend the royal summons to the grand assembly. At first there had been elaborate excuses and sincere regrets, but now they simply ignored the call of the Ptra’khaf in favour of other pursuits. Many of the lesser houses had followed suit, and as the Grand Hierophant surveyed the bored-looking nobles gathered in the hall he found that he recognised less than half of them.

  Not that Nagash had been a fixture in Thutep’s court since his brother’s ascension. For the last two years he had spent nearly every night in the secret chambers within the Great Pyramid, seeking to master the sorcerous arts of the druchii. He’d spent months learning their degenerate tongue, and hours listening to their hissing discourses on the nature of magic. Everything they told him confirmed his beliefs: the gods were not the wellsprings of the world’s power. Magic permeated the land, invisible and omnipresent as the desert wind. Those that were sensitive to its touch could direct its flow, providing they had a keen mind and a potent will. So the druchii said, and yet, despite his every effort, Nagash felt nothing.

  The Grand Hierophant paused beside the rounded bulk of a marble column, his handsome face hidden in shadow.

  “A court full of jackals and mangy dogs,” he observed, studying the crowd with a sour expression. “Who are these fools?”

  Khefru stepped up to his master’s side, and said, “Third and fourth sons, mostly, with no prospects or inheritance. Most of them are here because of public debts or other minor crimes. Your brother requires them to attend the grand assembly to help atone for their misdeeds.” The young priest smirked. “I know many of them quite well.”

  “Such as?” the Grand Hierophant asked, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

  “Well,” Khefru murmured. He nodded his head at a group of noblemen standing on the opposite side of the hall. “Take that pack of rats over there,” he said. “You won’t find a worse lot of drunkards and gamblers in all of Khemri. The tall one in the middle is named Arkhan the Black. He’d cut his own mother’s throat for a bag of coin.”

  Nagash arched a narrow eyebrow, and said, “Arkhan the Black?”

  “If we were close enough to see his teeth, you wouldn’t have to ask,” Khefru said, chuckling softly. “He chews jusesh root like a common fisherman, and he’s got a smile like a smashed wine cup. Spends most of his ill-gotten coin on favours at Asaph’s Temple, and word is that he has to pay double before any of the priestesses will go near him.”

  “My brother makes a mockery out of all of us,” Nagash hissed, shaking his head in disgust. His hands clenched angrily at the thought of his father’s blasted corpse and the terrible power that had destroyed him: power that remained stubbornly out of his reach! Bile burned at the back of his throat at the thought of all he could do with but a sliver of that awful strength. He turned to Khefru. “Any one of these will do,” he said with a disdainful sweep of his hand. “Promise whatever you must, but be discreet.”

  “I know just the person, master,” Khefru said, nodding quickly. “You may rely upon me.” The expression on his face told Nagash that the young priest knew very well what would happen in the event that he failed.

  Nagash dismissed Khefru with a curt nod of his head and the two parted ways, the young priest slipping silently into the rear of the crowd while the Grand Hierophant continued his journey through the shadows towards the great dais. The envoy of Quatar had reached the far end of the hall, and his deep, practised voice was echoing from the columns and the high, dark ceiling.

  “Great King of the Living City, on behalf of Quatar I offer up these treasures and a coffle of fine northern slaves to you as a measure of our esteem. It is with great regret that we must take our leave of you, and we hope that these gifts will recommend us fondly to you in our absence.”

  It was nearly mid-afternoon, and once the emissary had been given leave to depart, the grand assembly would conclude. Then, Thutep’s queen would be brought forth to offer blessings upon any children born since t
he last new moon. Nagash planned to settle in the shadows and watch the Daughter of the Sun for a time. He had not seen her since Khetep’s interment, but he thought of her often. She was exquisite, a perfect blossom tended in the temples of Lahmia since her youth, and unlike any woman he had ever known. The Grand Hierophant wondered what it would be like to possess one such as her.

  Lost in his covetous reverie, Nagash failed to notice the white-robed figure waiting in his path until he was nearly on top of her. She wore the ceremonial vestments of a matron of Ptra, her stout figure entirely concealed except for her strong, wrinkled hands, which were clasped tightly at her waist. Her face was concealed behind a gold mask that glimmered faintly in the reflected light of the court’s oil lamps. The matron bowed deeply at Nagash’s approach.

  “The blessings of the Great Father be upon you, holy one,” she said in a deep voice. The matron spoke with a Lahmian’s singsong accent. Nagash scowled at the woman.

  “I require no blessing from you, matron,” he replied curtly. The answer seemed to amuse the matron.

  “Be that as it may,” she said. “I stand before you on behalf of the queen. Neferem wishes to speak with you.”

  “Indeed?” Nagash murmured, his handsome face betraying a hint of surprise. “This is an unexpected honour. When am I to meet with her?”

  “Now, if it please you,” the matron answered, gesturing into the darkness beyond the dais. “She waits in the antechamber beyond the great hall. Shall I escort you there?” Nagash let out a snort.

  “I was born in these halls, woman. I can find my own way,” he said, and left the matron bowing awkwardly in his wake as he strode swiftly off into the gloom. His dark eyes were pensive as he contemplated the reasons for this surprise summons. The Daughter of the Sun did not, as a rule, hold private audiences with anyone save the king.

  The shadows grew deeper as Nagash passed by the great dais. Thutep was perched at the edge of Settra’s throne, smiling politely at the Quatari emissary as the man continued his lengthy farewell speech. A small crowd of bodyguards and functionaries waited upon the king’s pleasure in the darkness just past the dais. Nagash moved swiftly past them and approached a trio of wide-spaced stone doors set into the chamber’s far wall. Statues of the gods stood watch beside each of the doorways: Neru at the door to the far left, Ptra in the centre, and Geheb to the right. A pair of Ushabti stood guard at the centre door with their huge ritual swords in their hands, their skin glowing softly with the sun god’s blessing. A matron waited with them, poised and patient. She bowed gracefully as Nagash came forwards, and she spoke quietly to the devoted, who nodded solemnly and stepped aside. The Grand Hierophant acknowledged the matron with a passing glance and pushed the stone door open.

  The antechamber was small and brightly lit, with more than a dozen oil lamps guttering in niches from the sandstone walls. Fine Lahmian rugs, imported from the Silk Lands to the east, covered the floor, and the air was thick with a haze of pungent incense. Low divans had been arranged in a loose circle in the centre of the room, all facing towards a cushioned chair ornamented in gold leaf. Neferem, Daughter of the Sun, sat facing the door, her back straight and her arms resting lightly on the arms of her chair. She wore the dazzling golden headdress of Khemri’s queen, and a broad pectoral of gold studded with gemstones and lapis lazuli lay upon her breast. Her eyes were shadowed with dusky kohl, and her skin shone like bronze in the firelight. She smiled slightly as Nagash approached, and the Grand Hierophant was surprised to feel his pulse quicken in response. A fool like Thutep did not deserve such a wife!

  Nagash approached the queen, taking note of the half a dozen matrons resting upon their knees at a discreet distance on the far side of the room. He bowed smoothly before the Daughter of the Sun.

  “You summoned me, holy one?” he said.

  “The blessings of the Great Father be upon you, Grand Hierophant,” Neferem replied, in a voice as dark and rich as honey. She spoke with the musical accent of the Lahmians, and her every movement was graceful and poised. The queen indicated a divan to her right. “Please, sit. Would you care for wine, or perhaps some food?”

  “I do not partake of wine,” Nagash said. “It clouds the senses and corrupts the mind, and I can abide neither.” The Grand Hierophant settled on the edge of the divan. “But I thank you, nonetheless.”

  Across the room, the matrons shifted uncomfortably, but the queen was unruffled.

  “My husband was speaking of you the other day,” she began. “He has seen very little of you since your great father’s death.”

  Nagash shrugged. “My brother and I have never been close,” he said, “and my duties with the cult demand much of my time.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He had been careful to conceal his trips to the Great Pyramid these last couple of years. Was it possible Thutep was spying on him?

  “I certainly understand the demands that gods and men place upon the priesthood,” the queen said with a knowing look, “and as the Grand Hierophant of Khemri’s Mortuary Cult your influence extends beyond the Living City, to liche priests all across Nehekhara. Some might even say your power rivals that of the Hieratic Council in Mahrak.” Nagash smiled faintly.

  “All men die, holy one,” he said. “That alone is the source of our influence.” He waved his hand dismissively. “The great mysteries of life and death occupy my interest. I have no time for the petty politics of the priesthood.”

  Once more a stir went through the silent matrons. Neferem studied the Grand Hierophant for a moment, resting her chin on the tips of her fingers, and said, “But the kings of Nehekhara rely upon priests for their insight and wisdom, do they not?”

  “Some more than others,” Nagash observed. “The Priest Kings of Lahmia are notably indifferent to the demands of their holy men, for example.”

  “That depends upon the advice, I think,” the queen countered, “and its source.” Nagash folded his arms across his chest and regarded Neferem coolly.

  “And what advice would you have me give, holy one?” The Daughter of the Sun smiled at him.

  “Your brother has a bold vision for the Blessed Land,” she said. “Your father brought an era of peace and prosperity to Nehekhara. Thutep wants to build upon that and unify the land once more.” Nagash arched an eyebrow at the queen.

  “He would restore Settra’s empire?”

  “Not an empire,” Neferem said, “a confederation of equals, bound by ties of trade and mutual self-interest.” Her eyes glittered with passion. “We are all one people, Grand Hierophant, bound to the gods in a covenant of faith. The Blessed Land belongs to all of us. Settra’s empire only hinted at the glories we could achieve once our rivalries were put aside.” The Grand Hierophant let out a derisive snort.

  “You would have the people of Khemri believe that they are the equal of those flea-bitten horse thieves in Bhagar? It’s outrageous!” Neferem straightened in her seat, and her beautiful face took on a haughty cast.

  “They are equal,” she said, “and both cities could profit from such an understanding. What has Nehekhara gained from centuries of warfare except stagnation and death?”

  “Death is the way of the world,” Nagash said. “Why should a man trade for something when he can seize it instead?” The Grand Hierophant rose to his feet. “Khetep understood this. The Priest Kings of Nehekhara yielded to his authority because he was a great general, and they feared the might of his army.”

  “And look at how long his achievements lasted after his death,” Neferem answered. “Khemri’s court is all but emptied. Fear can compel men, but it cannot bind them together for long.”

  “Not without constant reinforcement,” Nagash hissed. “Thutep surrendered what authority Khemri possessed when he chose not to seek revenge against Zandri for the death of our father.” He gestured sharply in the direction of the court. “The great houses disdain him, and he does nothing. At this point, I would not be surprised if more than one of them was plotting against him. How does he expect to
forge a grand confederation of kings when he cannot manage his own court?” The queen stiffened.

  “And what would you have him do?”

  “What I wish is not relevant,” Nagash snapped. “If Thutep hopes to rule over Khemri, he must spill his share of blood. Heads must roll, both here and abroad. That is how cities grow wealthy and powerful, not because they went to their neighbours and begged for aid.”

  Neferem’s jaw tightened fractionally at Nagash’s contemptuous tone, but her voice was steady as she spoke. “I can’t deny that my husband’s vision grows harder to achieve with each passing day,” she said. “We are not blind to Zandri’s ambitions, Grand Hierophant. I hoped that you could be persuaded to intervene on your brother’s behalf. If the other cities would agree to help form a united front against Nekumet—”

  “To what end? So they could throw away their swords and become a nation of merchants?” Nagash’s lip curled in distaste. “And you thought I would lend my voice to such foolishness? You insult me, holy one.”

  Neferem’s face grew still.

  “Then I regret having given offence,” she said neutrally. “I shall take up no more of your time, Grand Hierophant. My husband had spoken to me at length of your brilliance, and I know what it is like to put aside ambition and serve the needs of a temple. I had hoped to give you a role in shaping the future of Khemri.” The Grand Hierophant bowed deeply to the queen.

  “For me to shape the future of Khemri I would require a crown,” he said coldly. “For now, that privilege belongs to the Priest King of Zandri.”

  Nagash turned on his heel and took his leave of the queen. The startled whispers of the matrons followed after him as he returned to the shadows of Settra’s Court. While he had been with Neferem the grand assembly had concluded, and the hall buzzed with the murmur of voices as the young nobles of the city hurried out into the sunlit afternoon in search of better entertainment. A handful of nervous young mothers clutched their babes at the foot of the great dais, awaiting the blessing of the Daughter of the Sun. Thutep was already gone, having exited the court through Neru’s door at the rear of the chamber.