“No, I’ve come to take what is mine.”
She pointed her scepter at him. “Is Ter not enough for you? That you bring slaughter to Balsalom?” Still, his betrayal did not surprise her. “Then you leave Ter undefended. My allies will take your city and you will have nothing.”
A slight smile escaped Omar’s lips. “Pasha Jas Web? Or perhaps you mean those lizard-eaters in Starnar? Poor lands, who grew envious of Balsalom, apparently. I bought their loyalty with a few thousand dinarii.”
Omar turned to the wizard, “I told you she would see me.”
The wizard chuckled. “And so she has. But khalifa, have you truly recognized me?” He swept back his hood. An iron chain hung around his neck, emblem of the high khalif in Veyre.
“Cragyn.” The name left a bitter taste on her lips.
The wizard had grown in stature since she’d seen him last, if that were possible. She remembered him as short and stooped, not this tall, thickly-built man.
There is something inside him, the scepter whispered in her mind. Indeed, she could see it, rippling beneath the skin, as if something terrible had nested in his belly one night while he slept. Cragyn would soon be too small for such a power and it would stretch his frame until the wizard’s body grew large enough to contain it. The sight fled as soon as it had come; the wizard himself had allowed her to see it.
Kallia turned her attention to Omar. Like Cragyn’s pashas, he stood in awe of the dark wizard. She could see it in the way he held himself, in the vacant gleam in his eye, like a dog fawning at his master. It sickened her.
“Omar, if you wished to hold the scepter, why ally yourself with this wizard? He can do nothing for you. Or have you simply abandoned Ter and your army?”
Omar smiled, a little too wide. A nervous smile. “Not abandoned them, no, but given them to the service of the high khalif.”
“Fa!” Saldibar said, still standing next to Kallia’s throne. “He’s not the high khalif. And your men don’t fight in the wizard’s army. It’s a lie.”
Kallia nodded her head in agreement. “Perhaps Ter, yes, but the other armies, no. Those cities hate the dark wizard as much as Balsalom does. They would never turn to his side.”
“You don’t believe?” Cragyn asked. He gestured for Omar to stand back. “Send one of your men to see. They gather against the Great Gates.”
Saldibar looked at Kallia, who nodded. The grand vizier sent one of his men. The man returned shortly with the bad news.
“So you see,” Cragyn said. “Your brother speaks the truth.”
Kallia kept her face blank. “Even if it were true, what does that matter?” She gestured around her. “You are surrounded by armed men. And enough wizards to crush your own magic, Cragyn. Your army might fight on while you’re strapped to the torturer’s wheel, but any victory will be a hollow one for yourself. And, I suspect your men will lose some of their will to fight with king and pashas dead. Not to mention my brother, who will certainly die a traitor’s death.”
Omar, poor, foolish brother, paled visibly, but the dark wizard looked unconcerned. “Really, khalifa, did you think I would put myself under your power?”
“Enough of this,” Kallia said. “Take them to the vaults.”
Her men moved immediately. Guards drew weapons, while two wizards made rings of holding between thumbs and forefingers. Another of her wizards cast a blue powder to the floor, which burst into flame and smoke. The torturers chanted an incantation of weakness to throw despair into an enemy. Omar cast himself to the flagstones with a wail, while the wizard’s pashas also quailed under the torturer’s spell.
The dark wizard stood still until the first guards reached him, then he lifted his hand and pushed—that was the only way to describe it—and the guards flew backwards as if struck by a giant fist. Cragyn swept an open palm at the torturers and wizards, who fell backwards screaming. Some clutched at their ears, others threw up on the ground, while one of the wizards staggered around in a circle, groping at the air, blinded.
But while the dark wizard attacked, he didn’t see the two wizards who stood amongst her ministers. They cast spells at Cragyn, and one of these struck the wizard on the side of the head, throwing him backwards. Blood streamed from his nose, his ears, even his head. He vomited blood onto the floor.
Kallia gasped in relief, sure that this had ended Cragyn’s attack. But Cragyn gave a great shiver and the blood spells boiled away from his skin like water hitting a stone in a fire. He clenched one fist and said, “Nach flacem!” Kallia’s wizards collapsed without so much as a sigh.
The grand vizier picked up the sword of a fallen guard and hurled himself at the dark wizard, but two of Cragyn’s pashas wrestled the weapon from his hand.
Some of the guards struggled to their feet, lifting their weapons again. Cragyn made a sweeping motion with the first two fingers on his right hand. A ball of light formed at his fingertips.
“Stop!” Kallia cried. The guards froze, all except the blinded wizard, who kept lurching in a half-circle. One of the others grabbed him by the arm and stopped him. Cragyn put down his hand, the spell dying before it could be cast.
Three torturers and three wizards lay dead, with a fourth wizard blinded and the other two stunned. Several of her guards lay dead or severely wounded as well, while the wizard had shaken off any attacks and waited for her next move.
Her brother Omar climbed slowly to his feet, shaking from the effects of the torturer’s spell. The pashas still held Saldibar, who’d stopped fighting.
Kallia stared at the dark wizard for a moment, unable to believe that she had allowed this man into her presence. She didn’t know the extent of his power, only that it was sufficient to kill everyone in the room.
“You have chosen wisely, khalifa,” Cragyn said. He breathed more heavily than a moment before, but he quickly brought this under control. “Both for yourself and for Balsalom. Even now, wights haunt the catacombs beneath the palace. Should Balsalom resist further, they will pour out tonight and murder every infant in his bed, while giants tear down the Great Gates and my men burn the city until nothing remains but a bed of cold ash.”
Kallia hesitated for a moment, thinking of a hundred and fifty years of Saffa sovereigns. The line would continue after her, if only through her traitorous brother Omar. And even wizards didn’t live forever; someday Balsalom might regain her power.
Kallia stood up and walked to the wizard, scepter cradled in her hands. She handed it to him, then waited for his judgment. He would kill her immediately, she guessed, rather than risk an uprising. And yet, she was strangely calm as she faced death. If she’d had more time she could have questioned her decisions, schemed out ways she could have defeated the wizard if only she’d been a better queen. As it was, she had no time for such thoughts.
“And now,” Cragyn said, handing the scepter to one of his pashas. “There is only one thing left to seal our alliance. We must be married.”
A stunned silence filled the air. Even Omar and Cragyn’s pashas looked shocked. “Never!” Saldibar snarled, fighting at the men who held his arms.
Cragyn pointed a finger at the grand vizier and said, “Silence!”
Saldibar’s mouth clamped shut and he blinked in surprise.
Cragyn lowered his hand and turned back to Kallia. “Khalifa?”
“What kind of man are you?” she asked, dumbfounded by his request. No woman of the Saffa family had ever been forced into marriage, and she swore by the Brothers she would not be the first. These fawning men around her—her own brother!—might obey this monster, but she never would.
“What kind of man am I? I am the man you will grow to love.”
Kallia laughed, not daring to show the fear that tore at her bosom. She’d seen that awful thing twisting inside the dark wizard and it scared her more than death. “You can take my city, but you cannot take my love by force.”
If the wizard was dismayed by her refusal, he didn’t show it. Instead, a slight smile pla
yed at his lips. “We will see. Will you marry me, khalifa, and join me on the iron throne?”
“I will not.”
The wizard sighed in an overly dramatic way. “I’m afraid that my men will be disappointed at your refusal. I only hope that they aren’t too disappointed.”
Kallia paled. “What do you mean?”
“My dear, you know how armies are. You march them for weeks, promising pillage, rape, and murder, and then...nothing?” He frowned. “I’d hoped to turn their energy instead to a joyous celebration of marriage. Please, for the sake of your people, reconsider.”
The meaning was clear. Marry me or I’ll turn your city to dust. I’ll murder your men, rape your women, and sell your children on the slave blocks in Veyre. Cragyn needed the marriage, or Balsalom might remain the center of intrigue for years to come. Marriage solidified the legality of Cragyn’s control.
Kallia’s world had become a box, with walls closing tighter every time the wizard opened his mouth. She could throw herself at him, perhaps snatch up one of the guard’s swords and impale herself. But no, then he would simply turn his armies loose in rage. The time to kill herself was later, after the ceremony but before the dark wizard came to consummate the alliance. Let Cragyn claim victory and the rightful control of Balsalom but give him nothing else.
“Will you marry me, then?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“What? What did you say? I don’t think your men could hear you.”
She looked up and met his gaze. “Yes, I will marry you.”
“Good!” he said, clapping his hands. “I am so happy. We marry tomorrow, then.”
Kallia felt weak inside. She returned to the throne where she sat heavily, forgetting until she sat that by naming Cragyn as her master, she had no right to sit on the throne in his presence. He overlooked this error.
Cragyn said, “Watch the khalifa. Perhaps she is not as pleased about her betrothal as I would hope. Search her apartments, and make sure that all food and drink is tasted before she sees it. She is not to leave her rooms.”
“But wait,” Omar said. “I can’t believe you’re going to marry her. Why?” His voice wavered at first, but gained strength as he spoke. “She’s the ugliest sister I have. You could have any of them. And your promise? Why marry Kallia unless you lied to me?”
The wizard contemplated for a moment. “Omar, I had forgotten. I promised you would rule over Balsalom, did I not?”
“Yes, my master,” Omar said. Rage burned on his face, and Kallia saw Cragyn lose whatever ally he’d held in the khalif of Ter. “You promised I would hold the scepter.” He looked at Kallia. “It’s mine. Rightfully mine. She stole it from me.”
“And so you will. Let it not be said that I break promises.” Cragyn took the scepter from his pasha, considered it for a moment, then handed it to Omar, who grabbed it eagerly, triumph on his face.
But the dark wizard didn’t release his hold. Omar cried in pain and tried to hurl the thing away, but his grip remained fixed. Smoke rose from his hands and the smell of charred flesh. The black metal glowed like a horse shoe in the blacksmith’s forge, and still Omar couldn’t let go. He screamed and thrashed his arms, trying to free them. At last, Cragyn released his hold. Omar fell to the ground, the scepter clattering next to him where it continued to smoke.
Cragyn said, “There, now you have held the scepter in your hands. And you will rule over Balsalom, as well. By tonight, your head will sit on a pike atop the tallest tower in the city. For thirty days nobody shall pass your head without bowing to the ground and praising your name to the Brothers.”
“No,” Omar said, shaking his head. “No, you can’t do this. I gave her to you, I delivered the city like I promised. I did everything you wanted. You can’t do this to me. You promised!” he shrieked, scrambling forward on knees and bloodied hands to grovel in front of the wizard. One of Cragyn’s pashas held him away with a boot.
“I can’t have a traitor in my midst,” Cragyn explained. “Forever plotting and scheming.” He shook his head. “A king should surround himself with servants he can trust. Isn’t that so, my queen?” He waved his hands. “Kallia, dismiss your guards. We have much to discuss.”
Kallia obeyed.
Saldibar pulled himself from Cragyn’s pashas, and made his way to the throne, then removed the amulet from around his neck and put it in her hand.
Saldibar said, “Lamaran is the best of your subministers, but many others would do just as well. I trust you will accept my resignation. I can no longer serve you.”
She rubbed her thumb over the smooth opal and let the chain dangle from her palm. The pendant had been in his family for generations. She started to protest, but caught a significant glance from the grand vizier. Kallia looked back at the pendant and remembered.
Saldibar had hollowed the back of the pendant to hold a small quantity of dragon’s breath, an herb that could deaden a wound, when boiled. Before cooking, however, it could be ground into a poisonous powder. Saldibar insisted that his spies carry the means to kill themselves if captured and had taken the same obligation upon himself.
She placed the pendant around her neck. “You have served me well, Saldibar. May your days end in peace.”
Kallia doubted this. Within a few days, perhaps sooner, the grand vizier would be killed or sold into slavery as Cragyn brought his own ministers to run the city. But she wouldn’t be alive to see this happen. Tomorrow morning, after the wedding, she would retire to her rooms and inhale the dragon’s breath.
She looked down at her brother, still simpering on the ground. She felt no anger, only sorrow. Yes, her heart ached for him. He’d sold everything he held dear, and for what? His last moments would not be pleasant. Death itself would be no release. When the people learned how he’d betrayed Balsalom his very name would become a curse word.
She turned to the wizard. “Now, high khalif—may you live forever—what would you like to discuss?”
Chapter Five
Darik, Whelan and Markal hurried through the Tombs of the Kings, eager to reach the Tothian Way. Obelisks rose from the sand like the skeletal fingers of giants, while mastabas loomed overhead, the rising sun casting long, grasping shadows that caught the three interlopers in a chill grasp. One mastaba lay in a pile of rubble, each of its broken stones twenty feet long and taller than Whelan. The broken bones of an old wall cut a western stretching line as far as Darik could see, past the sand and into a tangle of scrubby brush. The Tothian Way lay beyond that brush, Markal said.
Just as well. Darik had no wish to linger.
They had to reach the Way before the dark wizard secured the roads all the way to the mountains. If Cragyn captured the Way before King Daniel moved, half the war would be lost already. They didn’t know how much time they had, but Markal feared that it might already be too late to slip through undetected. The sun rose high, burning away the fog.
They had camels waiting up the road, Markal said. But what did camels mean to Darik’s pursuit of Sanctuary? He knew the rules, or thought he did: arrive under his own power with no possessions. If he rode to the Citadel, he would remain a slave in name if not in fact. Or had that been a lie like everything else the two men told him? He’d ask about Sanctuary when he thought he could trust them again.
They stopped to rest in the shade of a broken granite slab at the edge of the Tombs of the Kings. They’d passed a single obelisk a hundred yards back and Darik had assumed that was the end of the tombs until they reached this last monument that rose from a drift of sand like an upright hand, certainly man-made now that he looked at it more closely.
Darik rubbed his tongue along the roof of his mouth. It was thick with sand and dried spit. “No water anywhere, is there?”
Whelan shook his head. “None left. Another two hours. There’s food, too. Come, hurry.”
Suddenly Whelan dropped to the ground. He emerged in a crouch and looked around him. “Get down!” he said. He pulled his sword from its sheat
h in a single, smooth motion.
Markal grabbed Darik and pulled him to the ground. “What is it? Wights?”
“Something,” Whelan said. “Soultrup is ready to fight.” He held the two-handed sword nimbly between two hands and looked about him with the deadly grace of a cobra. “But what?”
“I don’t see anything,” Darik started to say.
But just as he did, the sword flew from Whelan’s hand, even as the man let out a gasp. Darik ducked as the sword flew directly at him. It soared over his shoulder and struck the broken slab of rock with a terrific shower of sparks. They cringed away from the light and only slowly rose to look at the sword.
Whelan whistled low. “By the Brothers. Look at that.”
The sword had thrust directly into the stone as if it were a firkin of cheese. Only the hilt stuck out. Darik ran his hand along the granite. It was solid under his hand.
Whelan grabbed the sword and pulled it out of the stone with a grunt, his muscles tensing in his shoulders and arms. It closed behind the sword, leaving no mark on the stone. “What do you think, wizard?”
“I don’t like it,” Darik said. “Let’s go. Hurry.”
“Wait just a minute,” Markal said. He looked back at the rock. Markal rubbed his hand against the stone, brushing away the sand to reveal words in the old script, eroded by time and the elements. He examined the words for a minute. “Interesting.”
“What is it?” Darik asked, still nervous, but the wizard ignored him.
Markal’s left hand no longer looked dead, but its flesh remained pink and tender, and it trembled when he unflexed it. He examined his right hand—his good hand—wistfully before lifting it and placing it against the standing stone. Now Whelan looked nervous, and opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it.
“Et horgach katoth!”
The stone groaned and rocked on its foundations. They jumped back to avoid being crushed. The stone fell with a heavy thud on the ground. A small hole, just wide enough for a man to crawl through, opened where the stone had once stood.
The Dark Citadel Page 8
