The Black Knife

by Christopher Nuttall

  Herod’s glowing red eyes turned to face him and Reginald inwardly quailed, forcing himself to meet that chilling stare through sheer determination and stubbornness. No, Herod was far from human now. He had had hundreds of female slaves in his train, from whores and pleasure slaves to simple cooks and maids, but he hadn’t shown any interest in them. Reginald had taken the risk of asking around and discovered that the old Herod had barely been able to keep his pants up when there was a female slave in the room, but the new one seemed barely aware of their existence. If his magic was eating away at him to that degree…somehow, the absence of any further breakdowns was even more worrying, because Reginald was sure that that was a bad sign.

  “They can have all the warning they want,” Herod stated. “They must know that we are coming this way, for it is completely…predicable. The warning will make no difference to the final outcome.”

  Reginald nodded and turned away, peering out of the window towards the Water-of-Life. The massive river that somehow flowed through the desert was life, yet there was something eerie in the way it watered the ground without giving birth to new life. No green plants lined the riverbank, no animals came out of burrows to drink the water; there was just an endless beach and cold fresh water, coming from somewhere high in the mountains. Reginald looked back at Herod and shivered inwardly. If some long-dead magician had created the Desert of Death, how powerful had he been? As powerful as Herod had become?

  “Of course, Your Grace,” Reginald said. It was unwise to show open disagreement, but then…he had always been a believer in the sneak attack. He recalled what the Sword had said, calling him a coward and a bully and shuddered in revulsion, a revulsion no less strong for being directed at himself. He should be telling Herod about the dangers of his plan, not going along with it. “We will crush them without mercy.”

  “And then you will come into your kingdom,” Herod said. One hand, almost translucent now, as if someone had worked a badly flawed healing spell on the skin, reached out to grip Reginald’s leg. There was no warmth in his touch now. “You will be Lord Reginald, second only to me. How does that make you feel?”

  The red eyes dimmed before Reginald could answer, much to his relief. Herod hadn’t been known for his mastery of the mental disciplines, but his powers had been expanding in all kinds of ways recently, some of them quite unexpected. It was rare to encounter a magician who could read minds without physical contact, but there were hundreds who could break into a person’s mind, or even place suggestions and triggers within a helpless brain. Herod had already been expanding himself by placing parts of his mind into Lords who didn’t want to cooperate with him; how long would it be, Reginald found himself wondering, before he did the same to everyone around him? It wasn't a pleasant thought.

  “One of my packs just stumbled over a group of tribesmen and infected them,” Herod said, absently. There was an unearthly smile on his face. “They belong to me now.”

  Reginald looked out of the other window towards the toiling army. Thousands of armed men, supported by thousands of enslaved porters, struggling to carry everything the army might require down the river and up towards the mountains – and the gap. Whatever Herod might claim, Reginald hoped – prayed – that they reached the gap before Eric assembled his men to defend it, for it was going to be a bitch to take by force. The gap was made, probably quite literally, for the defence.

  ***

  Eleanor was barely aware of Kuralla following her as the horse galloped over the sand, racing unerringly towards the mountains she could see in the distance. Behind her, the zombies had faded into the distance, yet somehow she could still hear their moaning. It echoed in her ear, mocking and tormenting her, reminding her that when her horse could no longer run, the zombies would still be moving. She turned and looked back, suddenly convinced that the zombies were right on top of her, yet she saw nothing. Kuralla was asleep in the saddle, her helmet having fallen off, allowing long frizzy brown hair to stream out in the wind.

  Poor girl, Eleanor thought, remembering Sir Pellaeon’s final moments. The Knight had deserved better than to die the way he had, asking – commanding – her to kill him. She knew that there was a duty from master to servant, just as there was a duty from servant to master, and by killing him she had broken the agreement. He had asked – demanded – that she killed him, yet she couldn’t help the surge of guilt burning through her. He had been a friend as well as a servant, a Knight who had, in the end, laid down his life for her. He had deserved better. Eric – who would be her master as well as her brother – would understand and forgive her, but Eleanor would never forgive herself.

  The mountains seemed to remain in the distance, no matter how hard the horses galloped. They charged over what looked like a dry lakebed, dead for hundreds – perhaps thousands – of years and then through a odd set of stones that reminded her of the remains of a building, worn down to a nub. She saw a single statue in the distance, the face worn down to a blank image of nothing and smiled. Whoever the man had once been, so many centuries ago, he had been completely forgotten. Nothing remained of him and his life, but the ruins. Magic seemed to spark around her, just for a second, as she caught sight of a pyramid in the desert, yet she looked away and ignored it. It wasn't important to her.

  “Eleanor,” a voice said. She looked behind to see Kuralla, who looked tired and exhausted despite her sleep. “Are we there yet?”

  Eleanor giggled. “I don’t think so,” she admitted, dryly. The Oracle pulled herself up in the saddle, suddenly aware that the only thing holding her on the horse was the magic wrapped around the enhanced beast. The horse, foaming at the mouth, barely responded to her movements. Eleanor knew that that wasn’t a good sign. “I think we have several hours left to go.”

  Slowly, achingly slowly, the mountains grew larger, an impregnable wall of sheer stone rising up into the sky. Eleanor remembered Sir Pellaeon telling her that some believed that powerful magic – or the gods themselves – had raised the mountain, protecting Larkrise and Anthodia – the smaller kingdom to the north of Larkrise – from the ever-expanding desert. The mountains looked as if they would stop anything; perhaps a small number of climbers could scale them, but an entire army would be stopped in its tracks. They would have to be funnelled through the gap and into Larkrise, making them vulnerable. Or so Sir Pellaeon had claimed. If Herod had so much magic at his disposal that he could make zombies, perhaps he could blast his way through the fort and break into Larkrise without even raising a sweat.

  “Come on,” she called, as the gap slowly came into view. She wouldn’t have seen it without the horse taking her unerringly towards it, but as she spied it, she saw the fort slightly hidden within the gap. “We have to get there before the enemy!”

  She turned and looked back, along the way they’d come. She could see nothing, but she could feel the zombies, just over the horizon. They were coming towards the fort with nothing, but their endless hunger in their minds.

  ***

  Hind felt the heat burning away at her and used a spell to cool herself, despite the risks. The journey to the fort had been rough and unpleasant, even though she’d been through worse. Eric had been distracted by the need to mobilise the army and get a large force out to the gap, but Hind had been able to sit and worry, preparing herself for the coming battle. She had never taken part in a real battle before, not against an enemy army. It didn’t look as if there were going to be any convenient avalanches this time.

  The fort itself was surprisingly impressive to her untrained eye, although Eric had taken one look and sacked the garrison commander on the spot. The man had made the mistake of protesting and Eric had come very close to drawing Morningstar and slicing him in half. The former commander must have seen it in his eyes, because he lowered his eyes and slunk away, looking for help and support from someone else. Eric had turned himself to organising the defences, leaving Hind and the other magicians they’d rounded up from Larkrise to concentrate on the magical
defences. If the fort wasn't warded at all, even slightly, they might as well surrender and save time.

  It was constructed into the rock of the mountains, using an old magic to draw on some of their strength. An enemy force would have to come at the fort from only one direction, one that could be easily defended even by an inferior fort. Starving the fort out, the standard tactic if the fort couldn’t be broken by force of arms or magic, wasn't a possibility when the fort couldn’t be surrounded and placed under siege. The old wards defending it would be tricky to breach, although with Herod drawing power from the dead, it was impossible to be sure that they actually would hold.

  She was standing on the watchtower, aware of the half-fearful glances being thrown in her direction by the soldiers, when she sensed a burst of magic in the distance. Narrowing her eyes, taking a telescope from one of the watchers, she peered towards the magic and saw a horseman – no, two horsemen – galloping across the desert towards the fort. She reached out with her magic, wondering if Herod was attempting to slip someone inside the fort and blinked with surprise as her magic field clashed with another. She knew that person.

  “Eric,” she called, shimmying down the ladder and into the fort. She was oddly glad that she had continued to wear trousers, even though Lady Yvonne had suggested – rather obliquely – that married women were not supposed to wear trousers. She couldn’t imagine trying to scramble down the latter in skirts, particularly not the heavy dresses that were in fashion at the moment. “Eric…guess who’s coming!”

  The gates opened as the two horsewomen charged inside, their horses coming to a halt and collapsing on the ground. For two enhanced horses, they looked terrifyingly like exhausted nags, all skin and bones. They’d drained all of their reserves just to reach the fort, saving their human riders at the cost of their own health. Stablemen ran forward to take the horses and help them to the stables, where they would be fed and watered. Eric ran forward, heedless of his royal dignity, and swept one of the riders up in a hug. Eleanor clutched her brother tightly and refused to let go, even though he seemed to be in pain.

  “Eleanor,” Hind said, in relief. She broke off as she saw the other rider. “You’re the Oracle!”

  Kuralla looked up at her. Her face was thin and sallow, as if she hadn’t been eating enough, but the smile that lit up her eyes was genuine. “Mistress Hind,” she said, her voice thin and weak. “It is good to see you again.”

  “You too,” Hind said. She hadn’t known what had happened to Kuralla, but she’d been sure that Herod wouldn’t risk harming her…and she’d clearly been wrong. “What happened to you all?”

  “You have to seal the fort,” Eleanor said, suddenly. Her eyes were wide with fear. “There are zombies coming after us!”

  Eric and Hind exchanged glances. “I think we’d better go to the War Room,” Eric said. “I want to hear your story from the beginning.”

  Forty minutes later, Eleanor stopped talking, having outlined everything that had happened since the coup and Herod had taken her prisoner. Hind had been astonished to discover that he had taken the risk of taking an Oracle prisoner, let alone deciding that he was going to marry Eleanor to cement his claim to the Throne. The destruction of the Golden City made Eric wince, even though they’d known it had happened, and the death of Sir Pellaeon made Hind wince, remembering the Knight who had summoned her…had it really only been six months ago? It felt like so much longer.

  “We got here ahead of him,” Eric said, in some relief. There was no way of knowing where the zombies were now, but the chances were that they were some hours away – and even if they appeared now, they’d be facing prepared men. Zombies were formidable shock-troopers, but they could be defeated, provided that no one panicked. Panic tended to work in their favour, for zombies never panicked. “We’re the cork in the bottle and he’s going to have to get through us before he can fall upon the country.”

  Hind looked up at him and hoped that he was right. “I think it’s time for me to leave,” she said, exchanging a long glance with her husband. They’d discussed it before, but they’d both hoped that it wouldn’t be necessary. “If I move now, I should get out before the zombies block all exit from the fort.”

  Eric shook his head. “You’re not going,” he said, firmly. “I couldn’t bear to lose you like this.”

  “I have to go,” Hind said. She wanted to shout at him, but she kept her voice calm. It didn’t help that she was just as nervous about the possibility of disaster as he was. “I am the only one who is remotely capable of carrying out the plan. You can’t go, nor can any of the other magicians here. It has to be me.”

  She could feel Eric’s desperate worry and fear through the ring…and his rage at his own inability to find an argument that could stop her. Eleanor was looking puzzled – she didn’t know what they were talking about – but Kuralla was nodding in understanding. The Oracle seemed to know the truth.

  “Take care of yourself,” Eric said, and kissed her. Eleanor looked away, her face oddly twisted. “Don’t you dare not come back to me, or I’ll take a whip to you.”

  His words held an unusual sting. If she died, she might come back to him…as a zombie. Herod would doubtless find that hilarious. Eric might be broken by the sight, or driven to such rage that he would throw away everything just for a chance at slaughtering Herod and his entire army.

  “You would too,” Hind said, with genuine amusement. She leaned forward and kissed him again, feeling the pressure of his body against hers. “Better put the whip away. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Eric watched Hind riding away, every atom of his body screaming at him to call her back, to order her to return to Larkrise Castle and remain safely there. He didn’t – and not just because it would annoy her, but because she was right. The cold logic his father had taught him, the cold logic that ordained that he did what was best for the Empire first and only considered personal feelings afterwards, told him that Hind was the most likely to succeed at the mission. Even so, it gnawed at him. Was he prepared to sacrifice his wife, the mother of his future children, for the Empire?

  Her form vanished in the heat haze, concealed by protective charms she’d devised before she’d kissed him goodbye and he turned back to the man standing beside him. He was clad in the red and gold robes of a Freelance Mage, yet he’d placed himself under Hind’s command, along with the six other Freelance Mages who’d been in the kingdom at the time. Hind had ordered them to round up as many other magicians as possible and place themselves under Eric’s command, knowing that she wouldn’t be around to issue orders for long. The Grandmaster, it seemed, might not have been able to intervene openly, but he had managed to send them some help.

  Eric remembered what Hind had said, back when they’d encountered the elemental in the nameless village. The commoners on Touched, those without magic, were poor and downtrodden, just the kind of people who had nothing to lose. They would have a motive for using necromancy and a complete lack of concern for the balance of power, so the Academy had devised the ban on necromancy around them, not around Lords and Ladies who might be tempted into apostasy. In hindsight, it was clear that the people who had written the law hadn’t gone far enough, even though it would have been hard to get a clear legal right to investigate the nobles written into law. The nobles liked to think of themselves as being more important than anyone else, masters of their own tiny kingdoms; they would have fiercely resented any attempt to curb their powers. In the end, the law had collapsed when one of their own had embraced necromancy and all it meant. There would have to be a change.

  The staff at the castle had been gathering rumours for weeks, ever since the Emperor had been killed, almost as if they'd known that Eric would be running to Larkwise. Some Lords and Ladies had declared for Herod, including some he would never have expected to have anything in common with a usurper. Most of them, however, were just sitting on their hands, waiting to see who came out ahead. Eric wasn�
��t too surprised. They had always given his father grief and, now that the Empire needed them, they were unwilling to commit themselves. He’d sent out messages, of course; messages informing the world that he was still alive and intent on regaining the Throne, but there had been little enthusiastic response. Anyone who declared for him would, in the event that he lost, face Herod alone. It was far safer for someone to sit on their hands and wait to see who won.

  “There’s something out there,” Master Adam said. He had the faint yellow skin and slanted eyes of a native of Sind – and he was supposed to be very competant – but he wasn't Hind. Eric tried hard not to hold that against him. Adam was young, yet he had already built up a formidable reputation. “I can just see something, hidden under a haze.”

  Eric felt his skin prickling. Darkness was falling, allowing the moon to shine an eerie light over the desert. Illusion spells worked better in darkness, yet with so many magicians defending the fort, it wouldn’t be easy to hold an illusion in place. He picked up the telescope and peered towards the darkening desert, but saw…nothing, apart from the shimmering haze. It looked as large as an army, drawn up in battle formation.