by Dave Gross
“No, but they were ghouls. Cannibals! Eaters of flesh, living or rotten.” I shuddered. “Abominations.”
“I never took you for a Pharasmin.”
“One need not devote oneself to the Lady of Graves to abhor the undead. Or do you approve of raising cadavers as servants?”
“It’s not my first choice, but it gets the job done. Don’t tell me you’ve never used distasteful methods. No one becomes a venture-captain without getting his fingers dirty. Hell, Jeggare, you’re a count of Cheliax and an Acadamae wizard—or sorcerer, I suppose. You must have summoned devils.”
“When necessary.”
“Well.”
“Well?”
“Well. That’s all I’m saying.”
We made a shortcut through the Warrens to reach Oriat. The western breeze lifted colorful pennants from the taverns and playhouses of the city’s libertine district.
Kline’s defense of Illyria’s ghoul spell pricked at my unspoken fear: The more I read of the Kardosian Codex, the more its contents intrigued me. How long would it be before I succumbed to temptation and summoned ghouls of my own? Repugnant as that thought was, I had to admit I wanted to know whether I could cast the spells inside the Codex. Their formulae had less to do with the dross of flesh and bone than with pure life and death energy. For the first time, I appreciated the strange beauty in their seemingly asymmetrical logic. I could understand more clearly than ever how Benigno Ygresta had been drawn to such spells.
Kline had had the last word with me, and that troubled me as much as my misgivings about necromancy. I said, “I do not make a habit of summoning devils.”
He chuckled. “Does your lady make a habit of summoning ghouls?”
I should have anticipated that reply, but we passed a woman eating a peach. I entertained a brief fantasy of snatching it out of her hand until I had to turn away from the sight. “I acknowledge your point. Still, I cannot dismiss the fact that necromancy is an inherently despicable practice.”
“Many think so, but I don’t know that it’s a ‘fact.’”
“They think so because it’s true.”
“And many think the same of diabolism.”
“Which I also do not embrace!”
Kline stopped and looked me in the eye. “Listen, Venture-Captain—Count Jeggare, Your Excellency, Varian, all of you—I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m just saying that people like you and me—Pathfinders or whatever we are now that we’ve quit the Society—we’ve seen things most people never imagine, met people we never knew existed. I’ve encountered a few necromancers who weren’t trying to rule the world with skeleton armies. You have, too, considering what you’ve said about your friend Ygresta. Now I don’t know what happened to you—maybe a necromancer kicked your dog when you were a child—and I don’t think it’s a terrible flaw in your character that you don’t like necromancy. I’m just saying that things aren’t always what they seem. Keep your eyes and mind open. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You already know it all.”
“Are you quite finished?”
“That was a bit of a lecture, wasn’t it?”
“You went on so long that I find myself hungry again.”
“Come on. My flat is just up the street. Try not to faint of hunger before we get there.”
Kline’s tone struck me as more collegial than impertinent. I said, “You remind me a bit of Radovan.”
Kline was a decade older and, as far as I knew, fully human, but both men were similarly inquisitive and argumentative.
“Who’s he?”
“My faithful companion. He warns me when he thinks I am mistaken.”
“Is one man enough for that job?” he laughed. “What about the others you’ve brought from Korvosa?”
“The mercenary seems professional, if lacking experience in this sort of venture. Lady Illyria … Well, I am susceptible to her charms, so my opinion is compromised. The one I trust is Radovan.”
“Is this Radovan the hellspawn who was your bodyguard in Egorian?”
“The same.”
“I heard some peculiar stories about him. Something about his transforming into a devil?”
“He is no longer troubled by such occurrences.”
“Still, if he’s connected to Hell, I’d be worried. You’re sure you can trust him?”
“With my life.”
“Everyone should have such a friend,” he said with a wistful note.
I patted Arnisant’s head. “You need a hound.”
Just in sight of the Lyceum, Kaer Maga’s college of the arts, Kline led us up a narrow staircase to a flat above a bakery. The smell of fresh bread was maddening, but I stopped myself before suggesting we buy a loaf. Kline turned three different keys in three different locks. He motioned for me to wait as he dispelled a magic ward. We entered.
There were only two rooms in the flat, a bedchamber and a small sitting room. Two chairs stood across from an empty table. A washbasin and pitcher sat beneath a window, along with a lone cabinet bearing visible wards in addition to its sturdy lock. On the floor between the cabinet and wash table lay orderly stacks of books, letters, and a few curious-looking artifacts, each with a tag attached by a piece of string.
“I see your departure from the Society has not curbed your curiosity,” I said. “Or are all of these related to the Bone Grimoire?”
“Only a few.” He set to work unlocking the cabinet and disarming its wards. “The rest are interesting things I’ve come across while continuing my research. I’ll investigate them further once I’ve rid myself of this curse.”
Arnisant sniffed the corners of the room and came to sit at my foot.
Kline opened the cabinet and retrieved a large rectangular parcel. He carried it to the table and removed its burlap wrapping to reveal the Bone Grimoire with its binding of twisted rib bones and one leathery cover I recognized as tanned human flesh.
“May I?”
“I must warn you: My pale skin isn’t the only effect of the curse. Ever since I read this book, magic no longer heals me. After a scuffle with a cutpurse last week, I thought my healing salve didn’t work because it had gone stale, so I went to the temple of Abadar. The clerics were so perplexed when their spells failed to cure me that they actually refunded my money.”
“But the curse did not take hold until after you had read the book, yes?”
“That’s right.”
“Then a cursory examination should cause no harm.” Despite my bravado, I suddenly feared my gluttonous impulse was only a symptom of a more complex malady. What other effects might the Codex have had on me? Regardless, these two volumes of the Gluttonous Tome were our best sources of information on the third. After a moment’s hesitation, I opened the book and scanned is pages.
Despite its name, the Bone Grimoire contained no spells, only theorems and diagrams, philosophies and hypotheses, all concerning necromancy. I recognized the graceful handwriting as belonging to the author of the Kardosian Codex: Runelord Zutha himself.
Even at first glance, I found the book’s conjectures dizzying with possibility. The author had an almost primal understanding of necromancy, describing the channels between the realm of negation and the material world in breathtaking simplicity. The proofs were so elegant that I no longer saw the results of necromantic spells in terms of withered flesh and yellowed bone. Instead, I had my first glimpse into a universe of binary clarity, positive and negative energy pulses competing and collaborating in the eternal conflict resulting in life force. I skimmed twenty or so pages before forcing myself to skip toward the back, where I found an appendix identical to the one in the Kardosian Codex.
“Each of these books contains instructions for building a golem.”
“Interesting,” said Kline. “You know the Ardoc Brotherhood specializes in golem construction. Could they have been prospective buyers?”
“The Brotherhood does not work in flesh, do they?”
“Good point.”
&nbs
p; “Nothing here would prove useful for their arcano-mechanical creations. Still, you raise an interesting question. Perhaps the possessors of the books came to Kaer Maga for a reason. Do necromancers still rule the district of Ankar-Te?”
Kline shuddered. “Along with the high priestess of the child-goddess, yes.”
“Such individuals might well crave this sort of knowledge.”
Kline nodded, his brow furrowed in contemplation as I skimmed the rest of the Grimoire. He masked his impatience, but I sensed his restless energy. I closed the Grimoire and passed it back to him. “My turn.”
As I drew the Codex from my satchel, it lurched like a magnet held beside its polar twin. An invisible force thrust the book away from me.
Across the table, Kline struggled to keep both hands on the Grimoire. The books were not repelling us; they were drawn toward each other.
“Get back!” said Kline. He knocked over his chair as he wrestled with the force pulling the Grimoire away.
I dropped the satchel and turned my body, placing myself between the occult books. Their attractive force trembled in my chest like a fishing line through water. I could not breathe. A terrible strength wrenched me around. For an instant I saw my panic mirrored on Kline’s pale face. Neither of us was willing to relinquish his book to the other.
Arnisant barked, turning in confusion as he sought a way to defend me.
Kline grimaced, locking his arms around the rebellious Grimoire. I did the same with the Codex, a terror of loss rising in my heart as I felt the pages slip through my arms. I cried out as the book leaped from my grasp.
A sickly green flash blinded me. Vertigo spun me against the wall. I tumbled to the floor on hands and knees.
My luncheon rose from my gorge. My body heaved with sickness as I emptied my stomach onto the floor and befouled my sleeves. My hand slipped in a steaming puddle of vomit. Still blinded by the flash, I heard Kline suffering a similar fate from across the room. I wretched until the last strength left my body and I flopped helpless onto my back. An instant later, a weight hit my chest.
As my vision returned, I peered at the thing squirming inches from my face. There the Bone Grimoire and Kardosian Codex coupled like fiends, gripping, biting, and penetrating each other. The twisted bones of the Grimoire’s spine pierced the Codex, blood trailing from the wounds. The pages fluttered like the wings of insects trying to escape a spider’s web. After a brief and futile struggle, they lay still in submission.
The horror that had paralyzed me gave way to terror. I meant to push the combined book away, only to find myself hugging it in a possessive embrace.
“What did you do?” groaned Kline. He wiped the vomit from his mouth and glared at me, but his expression immediately changed. “Oh, Jeggare. You poor bastard.”
The color had returned to his face, and I could almost feel that it had drained from mine. Standing, I felt the weight of the book in my arms mirrored as a weight upon my soul. I knew then that the combined Grimoire and Codex were now mine alone. And so were their curses.
10
Tarheel Promenade
Radovan
When the boss first told me about the passages inside the city walls, I thought of the ant kingdom in his greenhouse. Living between the walls seemed like being trapped between a couple panes of glass. But when Janneke took me into the Ring Districts, it wasn’t anything like that. Sure, there were little nooks and tunnels all around the edges, but the middle opened up big enough for whole neighborhoods. Daylight seeped in through windows here and there, but the place wasn’t much brighter than a starry night except along the streets lined with lamps, torches, and magic lights.
We strolled through a neighborhood called Tarheel Promenade on account of this weird black road running through the center. It was like Downmarket, but instead of all the tents and carts there were permanent shops. Every third one had a magic eye over the door, or the sign of a god and an advertisement for cures.
Tarheel was also sort of a temple district. The priests of Abadar and Asmodeus planted big temples there. The Judge of the Gods and the Prince of Law got along fine where there was money to collect and contracts to enforce.
Janneke led me down the Street of Little Gods, with dozens of little shrines and idols. The statues ranged from a six-winged snake-woman with a star for a head to four mammoths holding a globe on their backs. One I had seen before was a Tian dragon perched on a packing crate littered with rotten fruit and little yellow envelopes full of prayers. A Keleshite mystic balanced on the point of his spear. A couple of pale twins held hands and asked if we’d like to hear about the purple bower. We didn’t.
“There,” Janneke pointed. “The Wheel Unbroken is one of Kaer Maga’s most exclusive magic shops.”
The round building stood apart from its neighbors, which slumped against each other like drunks on the way home. Inside, the Wheel was cleaner and better lit than any place I’d visited lately. Cleaner and better lit than joints that usually let me in, anyway.
While Janneke wandered the shelves, I let a young guy try to sell me on a new set of leathers. All subtle-like, I worked in a few questions about whether he’d bought anything from a stranger lately. Quick on the uptake, he realized I wasn’t buying and wandered off to find a better quality of customer.
I noticed a few folks going upstairs, which sounded more like a tavern than a stockroom. When I tried to head up there, a tattoo-faced elf stopped me. “Are you a wizard?”
“That depends. Some would say I’m a wizard in the sack.” I winked at Janneke. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Nah, not exactly.”
He sighed. “Members of the Arcanists’ Circle and guests only. You’re welcome to browse down here.”
The boss could check out this one later.
“I know a friendlier place,” said Janneke.
She led me down a few streets to a shack painted brighter than a fortune-teller’s wagon. Its name was painted in big letters: The Flame That Binds. It was another magic shop, only with less light and a lot more clutter. One wall was filled with tiny drawers with labels like “hag’s tooth,” “lark’s tongue,” and “powdered unicorn hoof.” There were sections devoted to various furs, sinews, eyes, and dungs.
This joint didn’t look or smell half as nice as the Wheel, but it also didn’t seem half as snooty. The customers weren’t just browsing the goods. A Garundi woman with a set of gold-and-ruby teeth sat down with a beady-eyed gnome to smoke a pipe and compare illusion techniques. Across the cluttered room, a gnome and a half-orc haggled over a mewling box. A fat bald fellow leaned over a counter to listen in. I didn’t see any leeches, but his sweaty skin and the pink stains around his collar made me suspect he was another bloatmage.
“That’s Carthagos,” said Janneke. “Owner.”
“You know the guy?”
“Not really. I came here to look around once or twice. Carthagos is the main seller of arcane reagents in the city. Pretty much every caster comes by eventually. As you can see, he doesn’t mind a little trading between customers as long as he gets a cut.”
“The guy’s a fence, only right out in the open. How come we didn’t come here straight away?”
“We did,” she said. “Kaid did, anyway. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to check in again.”
“Good idea.” It might look like the former Gray Maidens were getting along, but Janneke went freelance for a reason. I wasn’t going to trust Kaid and her girls to play straight with us until I knew that reason. Still, they were the only local backup we had. “Keep that whistle handy.”
Janneke touched the silver whistle hanging around her neck. Every member of Kaid’s Band had one just like it. It was like a dog whistle. Nobody could hear it unless they were wearing one as well. Then—no matter how far away they were—they knew exactly where you were.
Over at the counter, the hagglers agreed on a price. The half-orc counted out coins. Carthagos kept a few and pushed the rest to the gnome, who slid over the box. The hal
f-orc opened the lid and licked his lips before closing it and walking away.
“Welcome!” Carthagos had a big voice and an accent I couldn’t place. “It is always good to see a new member of Kaid’s Band.”
“An old one,” said Janneke. She cleared her throat, seemed embarrassed. “Former member.”
The big fellow eyed the helm she held at her hip. “You have been in here before. Shopping for crossbows, I think.”
“That’s right.”
“I have two new cases of bane quarrels,” he said. “And if you’re looking for something special, I have several new slayers.”
“No, I can’t afford—”
“You know, I might be interested, and I can afford ’em,” I said. Janneke squinted down at me. “The boss likes everybody to have what they need in case we get into a bad situation.”
“Excellent!” Carthagos rubbed his chubby palms together. “Are you hunting wyverns? Orcs? The undead beneath the city, perhaps?”
“Let me think on that. Got any enchanted darts?”
“I have some Tian throwing stars. Will those do?”
“Perfect. And how about some healing ointment?”
“A batch fresh from the Temple of Calistria!”
“I’m going to need all of it.”
“All?” He started to look dubious.
I showed him one of my heavy purses. He didn’t look impressed until I spilled out the coins: platinum, each with a sapphire chip in the middle. He cast a little spell to make sure they were real, and then he looked impressed.
“Right away, sir.”
“There’s just one other thing,” I said. It’d be easier now that he liked the taste of the hook in his mouth. “I’ve been looking to buy a few particular items that came on the market not too long ago. The seller arrived just a week or so back, but I don’t think she’s found anybody who could meet her price.”
“I know just who you mean,” said Carthagos. Before I could blink twice, he’d fetched the bolts, the throwing stars, and the healing ointment and was humming as he tallied the cost with a grease pencil. He held up the paper to show me the total. Even for all this stuff, it looked high. He smiled at me.
