Maxian's hands seized the sides of the head, holding it still, though the neck muscles bunched and he was nearly thrown aside. Krista, her face an impassive mask, shoved the hose deeper into the thing's throat. It bit at her, and Maxian's fingers dug into the corners of its eyes. It shook again, its feet frantically beating a tattoo on the tabletop. Krista squeezed the bladder under her right arm and the hose filled with a thick red fluid. The blood surged into the mouth of the homunculus and filled its throat. Its screams were cut off by a horrible gargling noise, and blood spattered out of the mouth. Krista lunged in, her face twisted in disgust, and snapped the jaw up with one hand, while the other kept the hose from flying out of the mouth. Gaius Julius cursed; pig's blood had sprayed across his face and chest.
The Prince's fingers danced in the air above the corpse, and the flesh around the mouth suddenly crawled together around the hose, fixing it tight. Krista put her hand over her mouth and staggered back, overcome at the sight. Gaius Julius, lying fully athwart the corpse, gagged and turned his head away. Satisfied that the hose would not come loose, Maxian's fingers sank into the bone and sinew around the skull, and the thing, with one last convulsion, lay still. A white-hot glow spilled from the thing's eyes for a moment, and then the Prince withdrew his fingers, the bone melting back into place where there had been gaping holes a moment before.
Gaius Julius rolled off the bloody body and fell heavily onto the stone floor. He began retching in great heaving motions. Against the wall, Krista was huddled, her face in her hands. Only the Prince and Abdmachus still stood. Maxian laid a hand, gently, on the side of the homunculus's throat. The flesh peeled back away from the hose and it slid out onto the tabletop, dribbling the last bit of blood. The creature breathed then, in a great shudder, and its eyes flickered open. Red pupils stared up, meeting Maxian's calm brown eyes.
"Greetings," the Prince said, the ghost of a smile on his face. "I am your new master."
The thing threw its head back against the tabletop, but this time no sound issued from its mouth, only a long dry hiss of despair.
—|—
A light tapping came at the door of the kitchen that led out into the garden at the center of the house. Gaius Julius looked up from where he was tiredly mopping up the pools of coagulated blood and offal that covered the stone floor. The tapping came again. He could barely make out through the mottled glass pane that was inset in the door panel, a white hand. He looked around. Everyone else was asleep upstairs, save the Prince and the Persian, who were questioning the homunculus in the study.
The dead man loosened his dagger in its sheath and walked to the door. He reached for the latch, but stopped.
There's no gate in the back wall, he thought. How did they get into the garden? Then he shook his head and laughed softly to himself. I'm already dead, what do I have to fear? He lifted the latch and swung the door open.
Three figures stood in the doorway on the pale-blue hexagonal tiles that covered the arcade around the garden. Their faces were shrouded in deep hoods of dark-green wool. A second cloak lay over their shoulders and dropped to their feet. The one in the middle leaned on a staff of pale-white ivory as tall as a man. A delicate white hand circled by thin bracelets of dark metal held the staff. Gaius Julius licked his lips in sudden unease. The fingernails on the hand were long and tapered to sharp points. The nails were a deep blue-black, like the carapace of an Egyptian scarab beetle.
"What... what do you want?" His voice was faint and he rallied suddenly. Who was he to fear phantoms in the night? He, who had destroyed the power of the Druids? He, who had built an Empire?
"We wish," the central figure whispered in a low, husky voice, "to have words, friendly words with the lord of the house. He has spoken to one of our friends. He gave a token."
The hand vanished into the deep folds of the robes and when it reappeared, it held a gold coin wrapped in the links of a brass chain of fine links. Gaius Julius nodded, his eyes narrowing. He took the coin and turned it over. The front was stamped with the image of Augustus Galen, the obverse with a crude depiction of Maxian himself. A commemorative, the dead man thought.
"I'll take your message. Wait here."
The old man climbed the flights of stairs up to the third floor. Butter-yellow light spilled out of the study onto the landing. Gaius Julius stepped into the doorway. Within, the homunculus was seated on a stool at the center of the room, clad now in a simple tunic of muddy brown wool. Its shoulders were shrunken and its body seemed compressed in on itself. Maxian sat on the edge of the table he used as a desk, and the Persian was prowling around behind the creature. Krista was bundled up in a quilt and blankets on the window couch. Her eyes were closed and she seemed asleep, though Gaius Julius did not credit it for a moment.
"Lord Prince, there are..."
"We are here," came the husky voice from behind him, "as the Prince requested."
Maxian looked up in surprise, hearing the strange voice. Gaius Julius had jumped away from the door and spun, the dagger in his hand. A woman stood in the doorway, and the old Roman backed up as she entered. Two other women followed her. Maxian stood up, stepping away from the table.
The woman was tall, almost as tall as Maxian, with pale-ivory skin and deep-red hair, almost black, that fell behind her to her waist. A delicate net of silver held back the hair from her high forehead, and shining drops of ruby glittered at her ears. Her cloak and hood fell back from smooth white shoulders and revealed a black silk gown with buttons of white bone. She was as thin as a reed. Her lips were pale rose, and the beauty of her face was all the more striking for the strength of her features. The Prince met her gaze and saw that her tilted eyes were so pale a blue that the iris was almost invisible in the white.
"You gave a token and a promise, O Prince," said the woman, gliding into the room. Under the hem of her gown her feet were bare. "We have come to speak of it."
Maxian stood, his hands clasped lightly behind his back. The other two women still stood in the doorway, each possessed of a lush distracting beauty. One had hair like flax, golden and long, the other like a raven's tail, glossy and black. Their robes were slightly parted, and the Prince glimpsed the edge of white thighs and the curve of full breasts under tightly fitting silk. Beside their mistress they seemed but faint reflections of her full radiance. Pale stars to a moon bright in a night sky.
"So I did. Did the one carrying the token speak of my proposal?"
"That one did." The woman drifted to the table, her long fingers languid as they touched the scroll that was open. "You seek assistance in a mighty endeavor. We can give it, if I ken your purpose."
She turned back to face Maxian, her face lit from within by a slow smile. The Prince nearly shuddered at the promise radiating from those eyes. His breathing slowed and he flexed the power that was coming more easily to him with each day. In the unseen world, barriers rose around him, Krista, and Gaius Julius. A whirling sphere of unseen fire already surrounded Abdmachus, who had backed up to the wall next to the window couch.
The woman laughed, a sound of delicate crystal tinkling in a breeze. "O Prince, you seek alliance, or mastery. We will not fight you. You are too strong. If we cannot be friends then we will disappear, water before a blade. If we wish it, none can find us. That one who spoke before mentioned trust to you and you to that one. Do you wish to gain our trust? Our friendship?" She stood close to the Prince now, who had turned to keep her in full view.
"Can you earn my trust?" Maxian's voice was clear and steady, though the room had grown steadily darker. The two women at the door had entered now and stood on either side of it. The fire in the braziers had died to coals. Behind him, the Prince heard Krista move slightly in her blankets. "Can you earn my friendship?"
The woman bowed, her hands spreading in obeisance. Curls of her burgundy hair spilled over the white of her neck. "What is the price of a Prince's friendship? What would please you, O Prince? Gold? Jewels? Murder? Me?"
Maxian laughed sof
tly, just enough to cover the sound of Krista hissing in anger behind him.
"I am not Antony," he said in an amused voice. "Trust and friendship are a long road, O Queen. A first step must be taken to reach the end. I will give you a gift, and you shall reciprocate. If each finds the gift appropriate and worthy, we will take a second step."
"Well said." The Queen's voice was mellow and filled with honey. "What will you gift us?"
"Respite from pain, O Queen."
The woman stepped back, her eyes flashing. Her lips curled in anger, revealing perfect white teeth. "What do you mean, man? What do you know of pain?"
Maxian stepped to the table and picked up a small black box that had been sitting next to the candles. He snapped it open, the only sound in the deathly quiet room, and drew out a small glass vial. In the light of the candles, the contents of the vial gleamed a murky red.
"I am a healer, O Queen, and know many arts. I felt the sickness in the one who spoke with me. I feel the pain that seeps along your bones like acid. This, if taken in moderation, can ease your pain for a full moon. In time, if we come to trust one another, I will provide you with the method of its manufacture."
The Queen stared at the vial with a cold expression, then turned away and paced to the door. "Friendship cannot come of slavery, O Prince. We will not walk that path with you."
There was a flutter of dark robes in the doorway, and Maxian caught a glimpse of the face of the blond one as they departed, looking back in sorrow.
The room was quiet, and Maxian felt the three women depart through the garden door. When they were gone, he breathed a long shuddering breath and leaned back heavily on the table.
"They have departed," he said to the room. "Gaius, go and close the garden door."
Abdmachus sat down on the floor and curled his arms around his knees. "Lord Prince, that was... that was a very close thing."
Maxian looked over at the Persian and one side of his mouth twitched up in a tiny smile.
"We are strong enough," he said. "We could have held them off for a little while. Gaius and Krista would not have been affected by their power."
There was a clicking sound behind him. As Maxian turned, he saw Krista sliding the spring-gun back under the coverlet. She met his gaze with a solemn look, and then suddenly a smile lit her face.
"If you fancied her, Lord Prince," she said, "I would have killed you."
Maxian nodded and turned back to the homunculus, which had sat immobile in the middle of the room throughout the entire affair.
"So," he said to its impassive face, "you are the creature called Khiron..."
Slowly the head of the thing turned up and its yellow eyes met Maxian's.
"I am Khiron," it said in a rusty, dry voice.
"Who is your master, Khiron?" Maxian's voice was patient, as if he were speaking to a small child.
"My master is the Bygar Dracul," it said, though its features seemed puzzled.
Maxian leaned closer, staring into the flat reptilian eyes.
"The Bygar is dead," he said. "I am your master now. I am Maxian Atreus. I have given you life; I can withhold it as well. You serve me."
"I serve Maxian Atreus," it repeated back to him. Suddenly it twitched and stood up. Maxian backed away, folding his arms over his chest. He seemed pleased. The corpse man looked around, apparently aware for the first time. It surveyed the room slowly, pausing when it saw Abdmachus and Krista. Its gaze returned to Maxian. "You are my master."
"What do you remember, Khiron? What was the last thing that you saw?"
The homunculus paused, the muscles under the translucent skin bunching around its jaw. The sight of them sliding under the gelid skin filled Krista with a particular revulsion. This thing was like a skinless snake, abominable to look upon. She stole a glance at the Prince, but he seemed filled with a great good humor to see his power at work, reviving this corpse from the dead. Under the coverlet, her index finger curled around the trigger of the spring-gun. She knew that she could put the six-inch-long steel bolt through the side of his head, perhaps even straight through his ear. He would be dead in an instant. She knew that Gaius would die, a puppet with cut strings, and this Khiron creature as well. Only Abdmachus would be left to deal with. Her eyes slid to the Persian, but the sight of the dead thing walking and talking held him enraptured.
We have left the Western Empire, she thought. Perhaps we are far enough away to escape the curse of the city. No, I must be sure that I will live.
"I remember fire." The dead thing's voice was hollow and echoed with pain. "My master was speaking in the garden room with important visitors. I brought a boy for them to see; a precious little boy with hair of red gold. The dark one, he found the boy pleasing, he wished to purchase him... Then there were lights in the sky, and then fire, like the sun rising. Everything was aflame; I leapt into the dumbwaiter to escape. It was cold and dark there. Then the house shook and I was buried. Things fell and I could not move. I could not breathe. Water filled the shaft. It filled my mouth. It was dark."
The head of the creature slumped onto its chest. Its hands twitched with palsy. Maxian tipped its head back so that he might see its eyes. They were half closed.
"Khiron, you have life again. You live. You walk, you talk, and you see and hear. I am your master, I command you to live again." A dark-blue gleam shimmered on Maxian's hand and faded into the side of the homunculus's face. The eyes opened, aware.
"Your old master knew many secrets, Khiron. You must have learned many things in his employ. Tell me these secrets and you will live. Tell me these things and you shall have blood to drink, fresh blood."
The head of the thing rose up, a hungry look upon its face. The yellow eyes were filled with fire at last, no longer dead and pale. "Blood?" it whispered. A hand clutched feebly at Maxian's sleeve. "Blood for me?"
"Yes," Maxian said, his voice soothing, "blood. Hot and still pulsing with the fever of life."
Khiron collapsed to the floor, bowing his head before the prince. "O master, please, give me blood and I will serve you always! Ask of me, and I will tell!"
Maxian looked down, his face lit by a kind smile. He caressed the knobby skull of the thing. "Did you ever hear your master mention something called the Sarcophagus of the Conqueror? An old thing, long thought lost."
Khiron twisted his head around and smiled up at the Prince, his teeth sharp and black. "Yes, master, many times. My old master desired it greatly—it was this thing, this coffin of gold and lead, that brought the dark one to my master's house."
Krista felt Abdmachus tense and looked over at the little man. The Persian was staring at the homunculus with a dreadful look on his face.
"Say on, good servant," Maxian said.
"O master, the Dracul knew many things—he was a strong wizard—but he yearned for great power like a Roman for gold. He collected secrets and sold them for things that would make him stronger. The dark one came desiring a boon, and the master, O he would give it. The dark one had the secret the master wanted. The dark one had seen the coffin of gold and lead. They had come to arrange the exchange when the fire came."
Maxian held the homunculus's head between his hands. His voice was soft. "Where is the Sarcophagus, Khiron? What did your master learn?"
"O master, they sent me from the room! I only heard a snatch, only the tiniest bit of the speaking! Please, may I have the blood?" The voice of the creature was abject, begging. Maxian shook his head slowly.
"You must tell me," the Prince said, "then you may have blood, if I will it."
Khiron laid his head low and wept in anguish, tears of dust trickling down his cheeks. "Please, master, only a tiny sip, only a finger's worth!"
"What did you hear as you were leaving the room, Khiron?" Maxian's voice was harder now.
"I heard them only mention a place, master, some terrible place where no one could go and live. A city in the uttermost East. The dark one spoke of it, he named it Dastagird."
Abdmachus
hissed in quiet surprise. To Krista's eye he seemed more fearful than ever.
"Good, good, Khiron," the Prince said. He drew the homunculus upright. "You shall have blood. Abdmachus, fetch more of the pig's blood from the kitchen."
Abdmachus did not move, staring instead at the corpse man with a dreadful expression on his face.
"Abdmachus?" Maxian stepped toward the Persian, concerned.
"What..." Abdmachus' voice quavered, "what name did this 'dark one' bear?"
Khiron turned, slightly crouched behind the Prince. He smiled to see the fear in the living man. "My old master named him, fellow servant. He named him Dahak."
Abdmachus turned utterly white and his legs quavered and gave way. Maxian was at his side in an instant, holding him up. The Persian clutched at his arm with clawlike fingers.
"What is it?" Maxian was anxious, for the old Easterner was in poor color. "What is this Dahak? Krista, is there any infusion left?"
Maxian lay the old man back gently on the floor and put a pillow of rolled cloth under his head. Krista brought the last of the hot infusion over from the table and knelt, brushing her gown behind her, to pour a cup. The Prince tipped the thin porcelain cup to Abdmachus' lips. The old man drank gratefully. His veins stood out on his forehead and his skin was chalky.
"O master," he whispered, "that is a terrible name. The name of an old demon, steeped in centuries of evil. In the books of the dead, he stands high in the councils of the lord of all darkness, Ahriman. A man who would take such a name for his own must be a powerful sorcerer. I had begun to fear that something very strong had been in the house across the street. Echoes of it are in the broken tile and bricks of the center of the house, like a foulness had taken root there."
Maxian looked down on the little sorcerer, his face tender. His fingers pressed the side of the Persian's neck, feeling his pulse race intermittently. "Fear not, my friend, you will not die. You need rest, though, and sleep. You have been working far too hard. I will complete what you have begun. Tell me this—where is this Dastagird? Is it far away? How long would it take to reach this place?"
The Shadow of Ararat Page 46
