The Black Knife

by Christopher Nuttall

  The slave girls didn't look up as she joined them, taking some of the plates and washing them in the basins they’d provided. Many of the girls were crying, struggling helplessly against the magical bonds holding them prisoner; others were clearly looking around, trying to find ways to improve their circumstances. Hind guessed, just by looking at them, that many of them had been kidnapped into slavery, perhaps from towns and cities Herod had sacked along the way. He seemed to be fond of enslaving people, she realised, and it made a certain kind of sense. Enslaved porters could assist him in moving his army across the desert without complaining, or even demanding attention. Perhaps he wasn't even bothering to feed them.

  Eventually, most of the girls just stopped, stood up and walked back to their sleeping places. Several of them were called out by the guards, clearly for sexual services. One called for Hind and the gem pushed at her, insisting that she followed him back to his tent, pushing her legs into motion against her will. She could have broken it, but instead she allowed it to lead her to his tent and into a darkened bed. He reached for her and she hit him with a knockout spell, sending him crashing to the ground. He would never believe that a slave had attacked him when he woke up, but just to be sure, Hind used a more complex magic to wipe his memory of the last ten minutes. Memory spells were untrustworthy in the long run – the human mind had a tendency to start prodding away at discrepancies, eventually uncovering the suppressed memory – yet this one would last long enough. Hind took a moment to arrange him on the bed – his mind, she was sure, would come up with an explanation – and stepped out of the tent. There was no longer any time to lose.

  Night had fallen, casting the camp into eerie darkness, broken only by burning torches and glow lights generated by magicians. Hind sensed the presence of hundreds of magicians wrapped in protective wards and resolved never to go near those tents, for fear that one of them would realise that her gem wasn't working properly. The strongest wards of all were barely capable of containing the power held within the wards, suggesting that she had found where Herod was spending the night. She considered trying to walk up to him and stab him, but she knew that it would be useless. The necromancer would easily be able to beat her off and then she would be his prisoner. Instead, she walked back down towards the supply tents, noting where the stores were being kept. The porters, who were sleeping on the sand – no one had bothered to arrange bedding for the slaves – had transported enough supplies to keep the army going for weeks.

  A guard stepped out of nowhere and confronted her. “You; stop,” he ordered. The gem held her frozen, just for a second. His hand fumbled at his belt. “On your knees and...”

  “I am the personal slave of Lord Mothan,” Hind said, affecting the bleak hopeless voice of a slave. The guard wouldn't question her word, for slaves weren't allowed to lie to their superiors – and a slave who was under the control of a slave gem was inferior to everyone. The guard had probably hoped that she could be ordered to give him a good time before she continued on her way. “I am not allowed to share my charms with anyone else.”

  “Yes, sounds like him,” the guard said, in a slightly more friendly tone. Lord Mothan was one of the Lords who had declared for Herod openly and he was known for having a limitless appetite for female flesh. “I still have to ask what you are doing here, slave.”

  Hind smiled inwardly. Not only hadn't it occurred to him to question her, he was focusing on her supposed master, rather than her. It opened up a possibility that Herod would blame Lord Mothan for the coming disaster, rather than Hind or someone else working for Eric. It might tear his army apart.

  “My master commands that I recover certain items from the supplies for him,” she said. “I am not at liberty to provide any more details.”

  The guard didn't push it, knowing that she literally could not answer his questions. “Pass, then,” he said. He winked at her and slapped her rear. Only the need to keep her disguise intact kept Hind from turning him into something small and unpleasant, and then squashing him with her boot. “If the Lord ever releases you to the general pool, come look me up, eh?”

  “Yes,” Hind said, and stepped inside the supply complex. There were wards designed to keep out unwanted guests – a large army would have its fair share of pilferers and thieves in the area – but they weren't very complex. They recognised the slave spell on the gem and allowed her to pass, assuming that she had been programmed never to harm Herod or his interests. Inside, she found herself looking at hundreds of weapons, from mundane swords and spears to magical devices that stored magical power, before releasing it in a single dangerous blast. She was mildly surprised that Herod hadn't decided to use them against the fort, before remembering the wards surrounding the fort. They wouldn't have any difficulty snuffing most of the blast before it was too late.

  She walked from pile to pile, slowly making up her mind. The handful of clerks in the store ignored her, even though some of them cast wistful looks at her skimpy clothing. Eric had told her that they wouldn’t pay any attention to her, even if she was naked, for they would be under slave spells of their own. Every army needed a set of quartermasters to help handle the supplies and logistics, but the men handling it tended to treat it as a chance to loot, rather than do anything useful. Eventually, most armies had started using spells to keep them in line, if only to avoid further theft. The result was men who were loyal and couldn't be compromised, even slightly. The downside was that they had no imagination and were known to insist that anything, even the smallest of items, had to be requested in triplicate before they would consider granting it.

  Eventually, she picked up a box of power globes and examined them carefully. They were nothing more than golden orbs, at least when inactive. When they were triggered – something that required a magical talent – they could be set to explode at just the right time, triggering off other power globes at the same time. Hind reached into the case, picked up one of the orbs and rolled it around in her hand, feeling the power churning within. Some enchanter – more likely, several enchanters – seemed to be mass-producing weapons and other magician devices for Herod. It made her wonder just how long Herod had been planning his coup.

  The slave spell struggled to prevent her, but Hind was easily able to push it aside, even though a normal slave would never have been able to do anything that might have harmed her master. She activated the orb, set it for detonation in thirty minutes and put it back in the case, just before sauntering out. The guard had been replaced by another guard, who looked her over once before looking away, seemingly unconcerned by her appearance. Hind allowed herself a sigh of relief and headed back down to the slave quarters. If nothing else, the fact that all the slaves were held under strong spells meant that no one was wasting time guarding them.

  “You,” a voice barked suddenly. “Stop!”

  Hind realised, a second too late, that he had been shouting at her and that she hadn't stopped quickly enough. The shouter was a young man wearing the black and white robes of a middle-ranking sorcerer, who was regarding her with a puzzled expression. Hind allowed the slave gem to take over and she sank to her knees, trying to act just like a slave. If he tried to examine the gem, he'd know exactly what she was.

  “Strange,” the sorcerer mused. One hand caressed Hind’s forehead, a feeling that sent a shiver down her spine. “You are obedient and yet...”

  His hand touched the gem and his power merged with it. Hind felt a second of absolute pain, followed by a sudden obsessive compulsion to obey. The sorcerer was staring down at her as she struggled, fighting desperately to ward off the spell before it sunk into her brain. Knowingly or otherwise, the sorcerer had repaired the gem and brought the spell back to life. If she let go of herself, she would be nothing more than a slave, one who would tell them everything. They’d never release her...she thought of Eric and struggled harder, clinging on to herself desperately. Her head suddenly hurt, so much that she almost fainted, and the gem shattered. She felt blood cascading down
her forehead, but there was no time to collapse. The sorcerer was stepping back rapidly, unsure of what he had done.

  Hind drew on her magic and killed him, slicing through his wards before he had a chance to react. She pulled herself to her feet and ran, knowing that the entire camp would be after her now and no one would help her. The slaves would be the most dangerous of all, for they wouldn't care about their own lives or safety, just pleasing their master. She heard alarms bellowing out over the camp and felt the wards tightening, trying to locate her. She snapped off a series of fire spells, setting light to tents and bedding, hoping to increase the confusion. Behind her, she heard running footsteps and hurled a jinx at them, smiling as the guards chasing her fell over their own feet.

  The wards were still tightening and she realised, in a flicker of cold certainty, that she would never be able to get back to the horse. Thinking quickly, knowing that there was no other choice, she turned and ran down towards the river. The slaves who were using it to wash clothes or to store water didn't even turn to look at her as she splashed into the Water-of-Life, drawing on her magic to breathe underwater. The cold of the water shocked her, even as it stung her forehead where the jewel had been. Magical bursts struck the water, sending tingling bursts of power zapping through her, but they didn't force her back to the surface. And then they broke off as the current forced her down towards the mountains and the underground river.

  Hind braced herself and drew on her powers again. Self-transformation was dangerous, yet if Eleanor could do it, so could a trained magician. Her entire body twisted as she became a mermaid, allowing the current to pull her towards the underground river. Suddenly, riding the rapids became easy and she found herself enjoying the swim. The presence of zombies, either walking along the bottom of the river or being swept along by the current, was just another joke. It was the mermaid view on life, she realised; they were hardly top of the food chain in the oceans and tended to take life as it came.

  The current swept her into a series of underground caves, some buzzing with ancient magic. She tried to scramble out to investigate, but she had forgotten her tail and was swept back into the rapids and down the tunnels before she could transform herself back into a human. Just for a moment, she understood Sane and her frustration at being cut off from the rest of her kind; perhaps, if they survived, she could invite Sane to explore the underground tunnels with her. The dark tunnels loomed up in front of her again and she nearly flew right into a zombie, which ignored her as she swam past it and out into the open air. She found herself flying out as the river spat out of a crack and into a pool below, which she hit naturally, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Hind found herself giggling as she splashed her tail in the air and then she froze, watching as the zombies walked out of the pool and headed south, towards the fort.

  She started to transform back to normal as she pulled herself out of the pool, but the ground shook, upsetting her concentration. A massive fireball was rising up from the other side of the mountains, a fireball impregnated by magic. She grinned, despite her tiredness. Whatever Herod intended to do, he would have to do it without his supplies. They had been blown to atoms.

  Still smiling, she wiped the blood off her forehead and started to walk, giving the zombies a wide berth.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Reginald had been trying to sleep when the explosion devastated the camp. Herod had told him that the zombies would break through the fort and its defences, allowing the living soldiers to exploit the breakthrough in the morning. Privately, Reginald suspected that Herod – who was now directly linked into over a hundred thousand zombies – didn't want to have to discriminate between friendly and enemy forces, although he wasn't complaining. The long march through the desert and the constant struggle to reassure mercenary captains worried about their position had left him tired and worn. Even so, sleep hadn't come easily, despite a sleeping draught that a potions brewer had prepared for him at his request.

  He came to his feet as the explosion shook the camp, followed rapidly by a series of smaller blasts. Pulling his robes – and protective wards – around him, he ran out of his private tent and gazed towards a scene from hell. A massive fire was raging down towards the river, where the supply tents had been placed. Smaller fires were threatening to spread through the camp, despite the best efforts of a dozen sorcerers who were roaring and chanting as they tried to cast fire-prevention spells. The flames spread rapidly; Reginald saw the white flares within the fire and knew that they weren't natural. He caught sight of a naked slave, her back ablaze with white fire, running past him, screaming in pain. The fire overwhelmed her a second later and she fell to the ground, just before one of the guards sliced his sword through her head. It had probably been a mercy.

  “Get everyone out of the way,” he bellowed, catching one of the junior colonels by the arm. The man stared at him in horror and then nodded, racing off to obey. Reginald looked around for someone else taking charge and realised that it was all up to him. Herod was still busy in his tent and few others had the authority to overrule the mercenary captains. Reginald shook his head as he watched the flames and then caught hold of another slave. “Get a message to the captains and tell them to start dismantling everything that can burn” – it occurred to him suddenly that the sand might catch fire and if that happened the camp was going to be completely destroyed – “and then get their people out of the way.”

  “Yes, Master,” the slave said, and ran off. At least he could be trusted to obey orders; the spell placed on him would ensure loyalty and obedience. Reginald watched him go, something nagging at the back of his mind, and then swore aloud. The other slaves, the ones who had been told to remain in their tents until morning, would die when the flames swept over them. They wouldn’t be able to run, unless the enslavement spells broke under the stress, and the fire would just burn them alive.

  He glanced down towards the slave pens and started to head down to order them out of the camp, when someone caught his arm. “Master,” Colonel Garvid said. Reginald yanked his arm back impatiently. He had never liked the Colonel, for he seemed to spend too much time kissing Herod’s ass and far too little time actually seeing to the defence of the camp. “A slave girl did this to us.”

  “Nonsense,” Reginald said, although there was a quiet nagging doubt at the back of his mind. Herod had enslaved thousands of people and conscripted them into his army as porters, hardly the right way to ensure that the slaves had no motive to resist or to try to break the spells binding them to their master. “How could a slave do this to us?”

  Another explosion lit up the air as the fires reached a stockpile of magical goods. Reginald winced as the burst of magic struck him, sending an unpleasant tingle echoing through the air. He heard shouts and cries of pain from far-seers and even some of the sorcerers, their wards not strong enough to protect them from such a shock. If there had been more supplies stockpiled in the camp, several of them might have been killed by the impact.

  “She just walked into the storage tents and walked out again,” the Colonel insisted. “Soon, the entire tent just exploded into fire.”

  “I’m sure His Grace will be pleased to hear that,” Reginald said, as another wave of heat passed over him. The soldiers were being organised to break down as much of the camp as possible, hoping to starve the fire of anything to consume. Several sorcerers were using magic to pull water from the river in hopes of putting the blaze out, but so far the fire seemed to be immune to their efforts. “I'm going to see that he knows all about your role in allowing her through the defences.”

  The Colonel blanched, bowed and retreated. Reginald had no doubt that he would take a horse and try to flee; he might even make it, for a time. Herod wouldn't forget and if the disaster proved to be more than a minor distraction, the Colonel would eventually be hunted down and killed slowly and painfully. He looked up to see the General advancing towards him, grim purpose written on his face.

  “Master Regin
ald,” the General said. “I am unable to wake the Duke.”

  Reginald scowled. “I understand,” he said. In other words – again – the Duke wanted him to bear the risk of awakening Herod from his commune with the zombies. “You can take command here. Salvage all we can.”

  He walked back towards Herod’s tent, feeling the blaze burning away at his back. Whatever had really happened in the camp – and he refused to believe that a mere slave girl could have inflicted so much damage – it had been disastrous. The stores of food the army needed were being burned to ashes, ensuring that if they didn't break through the gap, they were going to starve. The desert was called the Desert of Death for a reason. He slipped through Herod’s wards and saw the necromancer sitting on a rug, his head thrown back as he whispered words of power. The stench of foulness and decay seemed to hang in the air, or perhaps that was just Reginald’s imagination. There was no way to know for sure.

  “Your Grace,” he said. There was no response. Herod looked like a man who had locked himself into a healing trance, hoping that he could cure himself of all of his ills. It would take more than words to waken him. “Your Grace...”