Dabir spoke quickly. “Asim, you are not helping. Lydia, treasures I can certainly promise you. I think a pardon likely, and I will do what I can to see that you receive a post. Mosul is ruled by a just man, and I do not think he would object to counsel from a woman, though I cannot guarantee anything.”
She studied him. “It is not so different here than in Constantinople.”
Dabir could only offer empty hands.
“There’s no better option at present,” she said. “I shall work with you.”
“Good,” Dabir said grimly. I think he meant to speak on, but Lydia did not give him time.
“Your plan has merit, but it will require some modification. Normally a person must stand outside a circle, with all the power sources, to activate it. And you certainly don’t want to be inside one when you banish something.”
That made sense even to me.
Lydia spoke on. “Usarshra may come for the bones, but we really can’t expect her to pass over the boundary lines unless the bones are within the ring, and if they’re inside, we can’t very well use them to power the circle, because we’d be trapped inside the banishing sphere with the spirits.”
“You sound as though you have a solution,” Dabir said.
“I think I might be able to fashion a safe space in the circle,” she said. “Like a hole through a pearl that you string on a necklace. It would be a protective circle inside the banishing circle. For us.”
“Can that work?”
The Greek woman shrugged. “I’ve never heard of it being done before, but if I can’t do it, nobody can. I will have to plan it out very carefully. If you’re wanting to fit in all the spirits we saw this evening, it must be very large. Larger than the hippodrome.”
Dabir nodded, looking almost relieved. “We’ll draw it out in the countryside. Better not to bring the spirits close to here.” He looked to us both. “Well, it is already late, and we have much to do. We’d best get your sentries in place, then see about this circle. Asim, can you master the spear’s magic?”
I was bone-weary, and sore to boot, but I nodded my assent. “Aye.”
“Keep in mind,” Lydia said, not quite facing me, “that the moment you activate the spear it is like lighting a bonfire. You should release it the instant you confirm it’s working.”
This sounded like good advice, though from an unwelcome source. “I will do that,” I agreed.
They headed off, then, taking the bones with them, for I wished to wash and change clothes. Also I prayed, answering the muezzin’s call alone, and I apologized to God both for neglecting my prayers and for allowing black magic to be done in the household, for I was sure Lydia’s sentries were no angels.
When I had finished cleaning up I took the spear, studied it, and no matter my fatigue, stepped outside to practice its pattern in the snow of the courtyard, now lit with the flame of dawn.
I rediscovered aches, though I think the exercises aided in stretching my tired muscles. Despite feeling weary and dull, learning the spear’s pattern took a third the time it did for me to master the club, for I better knew how to read the pattern. After only a few tries I stood with the glowing spear in my hands. I did as Lydia recommended, and released the thing into the snow.
Once it dimmed, I took it inside and reported my success to Dabir. He wished immediately to learn the weapon form himself.
“But if I show it to you,” I objected, “won’t you activate it again?” I thought one “flash from the hilltop” bad enough.
“I can practice everything but the final move. Which you can show me out of order.”
This was altogether reasonable.
Having had no training with spear fighting, Dabir took far longer to master the form. He thought the moves out rather than felt them, which true mastery would require. Still, in a half hour it seemed to me that he had everything, so he thanked me, wiped sweat from his brow, and returned to the receiving room.
He and Lydia had created a scholar’s nest there, meaning that there were two cushioned areas and everywhere else were books, scrolls, papers, and writing implements. There were few places even to set one’s feet.
Lydia was scribbling furiously on some thick rolls of paper.
Dabir walked carefully back to settle down near her, and put a finger to Jibril’s book. I leaned the spear in the corner.
“How long is this going to take?” I asked.
Lydia paused to scowl up at me.
“It might take a little while,” Dabir said. “You should try to grab some rest. You look awful.”
“No worse than you,” I pointed out.
“No, you look worse,” Lydia said without looking up.
At this I grunted.
“I will be fine,” Dabir assured me.
Now I trusted Lydia but little. I felt certain she would turn on us given a better opportunity. Yet I did not think one was ready to present itself immediately, so I retreated to my rooms. I thoroughly cleaned off my sword and then took a whetstone to its edge for some time—for only a fool is too tired to care for his weapons—then cleaned out the scabbard. Finally I bowed to the wisdom of resting for just a short while; there would be many more trials before us yet, and I’d be more useful in facing them with a little sleep. When I flopped down on my mattress and draped a blanket over myself, I did not remove my boots. I tossed my armor over my father’s arms chest so donning it might be faster. I knew I should have cleaned the armor, too, and contemplated repairing its links, but that would have kept me up through the day.
Sleep fell swift and passed bereft of dreams. I cannot say what woke me, but of a sudden I came awake in the pitch-black of night and knew in a flash of dread I’d let the entire day pass unmarked. As I came to, all that we’d experienced fell suddenly upon me. Tarif’s murder. Najya’s disappearance. The flight of my men. Jibril’s death. The fight with the wolf, and the sorceress in the house.
I sat up instantly and regretted it. Stiff muscles protested throughout my body, most especially in my chest and arm. I had expected no less, but just because you know a visitor will be an irritant it does not lessen the annoyance when he arrives.
I put feet to the floor, stifled a groan, stretched, then buckled on my sword belt, lit a candle, and set forth. I put aside a growing awareness of my hunger until I was sure about Dabir’s safety.
Dabir was still in the receiving room, but he was snoring softly upon a cushion near the display shelf, head resting on his arm. I stopped with the curtain only partly open until I saw Lydia creeping up behind him.
Instantly I stepped into the room, hand to hilt. My movement betrayed me and she looked up. It was then I saw that she held a blanket in her hands. She froze for a time, then pulled her eyes from mine and draped the cloth over Dabir’s shoulders, tucking it with care about him.
I walked further inside, treading lightly over manuscripts scattered like soldiers on a battlefield. Most of the candles had dimmed, and the brazier was cold and dark.
Lydia’s tone was softly mocking. “Did you think I planned to smother him?”
“No.”
I had instead thought she meant to stab him, but I did not say this. I moved closer and peered down at my friend, snoring peacefully. “Are your ghosts in place?”
“Ghosts?”
“Your sentries.”
“Yes,” she said with an amused smile. “My ghosts. They keep watch.”
“Have you finished your studies?”
“I think so. It requires a little guesswork, but … it really is our best hope. I like what you have done with your hair, incidentally.”
I had not bothered yet with a turban, nor had I brushed, and I was certain from her smile that I must look ridiculous. At my frown, she smiled the wider.
“The Sebitti or the frost spirits might be here at any moment. We must be moving.”
“He needs some rest. The sentries will alert us, and the carpet can be ready on the instant.”
I grunted.
S
he licked her lips. She opened her mouth, then closed it. I do not think I had ever seen her hesitate before, and I recognized that she was working herself up to speak.
“What is it?”
“Tell me about the ring he wears,” she said suddenly.
I did not immediately answer, for I found myself wondering why she asked this.
From the bashful way her eyes dropped, she either felt awkward, or had practiced the look well. “The one he always taps,” she said haltingly. “He said only that a friend had given it to him, though he said it was not you.”
“The ring is not magic.”
Her look was withering. “I am curious, not covetous. He did not wear it, when first I met him.”
“Your memory is as fine as his.”
“But not as fine as hers. Who was she?”
I considered the lovely Greek woman carefully. “How did you know a woman gave it to him?”
“I only guessed, until just now. He referred to a student of great memory. So he was tutor to a woman?”
“Little more than a girl,” I admitted. “But she was very brave. And she could be as sharp-tongued as you, though she was gentle.” I thought then of Sabirah sitting together with Dabir, chattering with him, and I remembered once more her simple wish that could never be granted, that she might wake each day and look upon Dabir. And I was filled then with great sorrow for my friend, and the girl. I thought, too, of Najya, and admitted to myself that, like Sabirah and Dabir, the chances were high that we should forever be apart.
Lydia misread my expression. “You were fond of her,” she said slowly.
“She talked too much,” I said, “but I like her well enough. My friend loved her with all his heart, and she with hers, and I think that they would have been very happy together. But she is married to another man, and he has only the emerald now to remember her by. I wish he would cease thinking of her.”
She looked back at him, lying there. “Do you know, when I first learned that you two lived together and that neither of you were married, I thought…” Her voice faltered.
I did not follow her meaning.
Dabir stirred, and we two turned to stare at him. He snorted once and fell back asleep.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and I blinked, for I had never thought to hear those words from her. About anything. I was still not sure how to respond, so she spoke on. “I see now that you are not just his guard, but his brother.”
“Yes,” I agreed, irritated. “What is it that you want, Lydia?”
She searched my face for sign of ridicule. “What do you mean?”
“You know what sort of man he is. And you know what sort of woman you are. You can see farr. Just as I saw it, when holding the club.” I indicated the weapon lying near Dabir’s hand.
Her brow furrowed. “It is not my fault if I have had to make harder choices than either of you.”
“You think we have faced no trials?”
“I think that they have not troubled you overmuch,” she said, her tone sharp. “Your farr is uncolored by doubt.”
“My farr is unstained by dark deeds,” I said, “though it has surely grown blacker in your company.”
Her cheeks reddened and her chin rose defiantly. Dabir turned in the blanket, almost as though he sensed the coming torrent as surely as myself.
But Lydia did not speak. Instead she stilled, her eyes fixed upon the distance. They widened in alarm, then sought my own. “Something is coming,” she said. She whirled, bent to Dabir, and shook his shoulder.
“What is it?” I asked. My friend stirred and blinked groggily.
“One of my sentries just vanished,” she told Dabir.
He sat up.
“Only another necromancer could have sensed it,” Lydia continued, “much less destroyed it in one blow.”
I stepped over a book to lay hand upon the haft of the club.
The curtain into the room parted suddenly and Lydia and I both looked over to find a small, neatly dressed man in an off-white robe with the hood turned down. He stared at us from the threshold. In one hand he carried a thick white staff.
The fellow did not advance. He took in the room critically, pausing to consider the three of us.
His accent was so pronounced that it took me a moment to comprehend him. “I am Erragal,” he said. “I am here for my tools.”
15
Erragal did not have the presence of Koury or Anzu, and did not radiate Lamashtu’s eerie sense of dread. Indeed, he barely reached even Lydia’s height. His hair was dark and receding, flecked with gray. He wore no turban. His off-white robe was well-tailored, it was true, belted with a purple wrap, but it was hardly sewn with demonic symbols—indeed, I had seen slaves of the caliph wearing more decorative cloth. His beard was short, and almost completely gray.
I could not even be sure that he was not some other Sebitti given to changing shape, but Lydia had no doubt, for she sank to one knee and bowed her head.
Dabir climbed to his feet. From his composure, you would think he was often woken from sleep to greet ancient wizards. “I bid you welcome to our home,” he said.
“I am not interested in your welcome,” Erragal replied, his voice thin and measured. “You are the one who hunted up my tools? Are you the ones who called forth the spirits?”
“The other Sebitti sought them first,” Dabir said. “We meant to keep the weapons from their hands.”
This gave him pause. I sensed this was not the answer he anticipated, for there was intensity to his next question. “Why?”
Lydia rose and backed up a step. One hand drifted toward the pouch still belted to her side, then slid away as Erragal’s gaze tracked there.
“Because they have lied, kidnapped, and murdered to obtain them,” Dabir answered. “Because they have caused an army of winter spirits to sheathe the land in ice and slay everything they come upon. We kept the bones,” Dabir continued, “so that we can use them against the spirits.”
There was no mistaking Erragal’s displeasure, for his frown deepened. Yet I had the sense Dabir’s answer had given him more to think about. A long moment passed.
“I shall talk further with you,” Erragal decided, then faced me. “Look across the river in a half hour’s time, and you shall see a signal.” He looked to Dabir. “What is your name?”
Dabir bowed. “I am Dabir Hashim ibn Khalil.”
“You are known as Dabir?”
“I am.”
“Let me see the tools.”
I glanced meaningfully at my friend as he bent to retrieve the spear. I came behind him, the club carried in two hands. I was not at all certain what Dabir thought of this development, and could not read his intentions, so I simply followed his lead.
Erragal reached out for my weapon first, and as his fingers brushed its surface his expression softened. He turned it almost in wonder, as though he were coming upon a favored toy of youth. I let him take it from me and he did so, in but one hand, despite his seeming frailty. A wistful smile crossed his face, and then he motioned Dabir closer. My friend stepped up to his side.
Erragal’s eyes met mine and his expression hardened again. “Meet me as I have said. I shall talk to your leader alone.”
I thought then that he meant to step outside the room, or even that he meant Lydia and me to leave, for I could never have guessed that the floor at their feet would suddenly flare with a red circle of energy, complete with mystic symbols. Even as I cried out and reached for my friend, he and the sorcerer winked away.
“Dabir!”
“They are gone,” Lydia said, as though I were an idiot.
“I know that! Get your carpet ready!”
“I will,” she said. “But, Asim—we must prepare. We may be walking into a trap.”
“A trap? For what? He has Dabir! He has the bones! Gather your notes, and your robes! Take Jibril’s book,” I added, then grabbed up my candle and raced for my chambers.
I took a brief moment to look again at my armo
r and see how stained and bent it truly was; the blood splattered over it looked like rust. Yet there was no other I might don. The links were cold against me, even with my clothes as a barrier. And my chest and shield arm complained. There was no help for either. It was as I was throwing open the chest to grab an old Persian shield gifted me by the caliph that Buthayna and Rami, roused by the commotion, hurried in to see what was happening.
I told them that their master had been stolen by a wizard and that the Greek woman and I were going after him. Buthanya’s brows furrowed as though she meant a tongue-lashing, then she said she would pack food and hurried off, her joints popping. I did not know when I would have the time to eat, but I looked forward to doing so.
Rami remained, his hair wild as a bird’s nest. I passed the candle over to him and he used it to light two more kept upon a shelf. He then helped me with the shield, marveling at the lion embossed upon its surface, mouth open in a profile roar.
“Captain,” he said hesitantly, “what happened to the lady Najya?”
I stared in shocked silence a moment, then blinked hard and offered a sad smile. Her fate would be long in explaining, so I simplified. “The wizards have her, too, Rami.”
His eyes went wide, and he followed with the most natural question in the world. “Will you rescue her?”
I thought to tell him not all tales ended happily, or that some people were beyond saving. In the end, though, I tightened the shield strap on my aching arm and told him what I most wished. “I will,” I said, “and when I marry her, I shall give you a place of honor at the feast, for being her friend when she had no others, and for bringing her into my life.” I tousled his hair and he grinned up at me in confidence. He had no fear that I would fail, for he was young. “Find some gloves for the Greek woman,” I suggested.
He said he would, and dashed away.
Buthayna hit me with useless advice as I passed through the kitchen into the courtyard, where Lydia already waited beside the carpet. I supposed she herself had borne it to its location, for she breathed heavily. Rami followed a moment later with gloves, and Lydia took them as if they were hers by right. Perhaps Lydia was only distracted, but I thought of Najya by contrast, who, no matter her high station and trials, had found the time to be kind to a stable boy.
The Bones of the Old Ones Page 21
