The Black Knife
Page 47
Another sword slashed through Herod’s neck and his head came off. Reginald felt a desperate burst of hope as it fell on the ground, just before it floated back into the air and landed neatly on the stump. Herod’s fire seemed to fade long enough to reveal a skull face grinning at him, just before his head rejoined his body and blue-white light flared up around him. Eric was slicing away desperately at Herod’s back – Reginald wondered briefly if Eric knew who he was – but it was of no avail. Herod reached for his face with skeletal fingers and placed them on his cheeks. Reginald opened his mouth to scream…
And then the world went away in a burst of blue-white fire.
***
Hind watched in horror as Reginald disintegrated, his body being slowly drained of every last tiny piece of life. The power that had been holding her down seemed to break, leaving her able to move, yet what could she do? All of her magic was drained now and the few weapons she carried were mundane weapons, hardly as powerful as the Great Swords. She saw the sword Reginald had been carrying fall to the ground as it was ejected from Herod’s body and melt into the ground, leaving nothing, but the hilt visible. Perhaps one day someone would come along and draw the blade, or perhaps it would just follow its brother-blade into legend. She tried to pull herself to her feet and staggered. If they couldn’t stop Herod, they would all fall into legend.
Herod seemed to pause as the remains of Reginald’s body crumbled to dust, ignoring Eric’s increasingly frantic attempts to damage him enough to destroy him. Hind could see that they weren't working and even though she couldn’t see the magic surrounding Herod properly, she had a fair idea of why it wasn't working. Herod had become his own magic, his mind interfaced into the magical field he’d gathered around him and no mundane weapon – or even one of the Great Swords – could stop him. He had become a dark and evil god.
She looked up at Eric and met his eyes, sensing the hopelessness and despair written there. Nothing seemed to work. Hind stood up and started to stagger towards her husband, determined that they would die together even if they couldn’t live together…and then she remembered her pack. It held some potions that she’d prepared with Branet, a handful of tools she’d used as a Freelance Mage and the black knife. A thought occurred to her and she reached into her pack, fumbling for the cloth that held the knife. It was a desperate gamble, an act born of half-remembered legends from the Necromantic Wars, yet it was all she had. She shuddered as she clasped the knife’s hilt with her bare skin, feeling a sense of pure evil reaching out to consume her as she wrapped her fingers around the black blade, but she pushed it aside. If it failed, she would die a long time before the dark magic in the blade could corrupt her. If she succeeded…at least she was doing it to save her husband and her adopted daughter. Perhaps that would make a difference.
Eric took one final slash at Herod, just before he was knocked to the ground by a burst of power that left him broken and helpless. Hind felt his pain and almost collapsed herself, but Herod was advancing towards her, red eyes fixed firmly on her face. She allowed herself to fall to her knees, one part of her mind wondering vaguely what exposure to such power would do to her in the long run, as he closed in, his hands reaching for her neck. Killing her personally would grant him far more power, even though she doubted he needed it. He had enough power within him to break through the Academy’s wards and slaughter everyone in the building, draining all of the power that warped space and time in one small area. He reached for her…
And she stood up, stabbing the black knife deep into his chest.
***
Herod recoiled as Hind stabbed the knife into his chest, just before the first burst of pain hit, slicing through the cloud that had descended over his mind. He hadn’t known – or perhaps he had forgotten in his ascension to godhood - that Hind had recovered one of his knives, still less the one that had been used to kill the Emperor himself. She hadn’t known how to drain it and render it safe, leaving the coiled life energy stored within the blade angry and dangerous. It stabbed into the power that defined him and started to turn it back on itself, burning through his mind and leaving him stumbling backwards. His only thought was to destroy the knife, but by the time he could muster the concentration to blow the knife to ash, it was already too late. His power, already weakened by the Great Swords, was coming apart at the seams. And, as it started to fade away, some of his sanity returned.
I have to get out of here, he thought. It wasn't a thought so much as a wish, a wish his magic acted upon. Power flared in strange patterns and pushed against the world in ways he’d been taught at the Academy, yet never dared to try. It never occurred to him now just how dangerous it was to risk it, but the dangers of remaining where he was were worse. He was so badly weakened that Prince Eric might be able to kill him and end his rule, once and for all.
Magic flowed through him and the whole world went away in a flash of blue light.
***
Hind had closed her eyes, expecting death at any moment, when she felt the twist in space and time. She opened her eyes just in time to see a kneeling Herod twist and vanish in a flash of blue light, heading…somewhere. Teleport spells were notoriously dangerous because a magician, no matter how powerful, could end up in the wrong place simply by forgetting one of the variables. He could arrive miles above the ground, or miles below it, or even miles from where he had wanted to be. Even necromancy couldn’t help with that, not when it required precision rather than additional power.
She pulled herself to her feet and ran towards Eric, who caught her in his arms. The world seemed to fade away as they held one another tightly, just before they were interrupted by a cough. Some of the guards had doubled back and had come back to meet them, led by General Berwick. Hind felt herself blushing, but Eric would have none of it and kept holding her as he turned to face his General.
The General looked worried. “Your Highness,” he said, “is it over?”
Eric looked at Hind, who shrugged. “It’s over for now,” she said. Herod could be anywhere, yet teleporting would have drained most of his power. Whatever had happened when she’d stabbed him with the black knife, it hadn’t been good for him. “I think we won.”
The General nodded. “We just got a message from General Sayrald…ah, Duke Herod’s Master-At-Arms,” he reported. “Him and his men would like to surrender and would we please not kill them?”
“Oh,” Eric said.
He laughed.
Chapter Fifty
The only thing more costly than a battle lost, Eric’s father had once told him, is a battle won. Eric hadn’t understood what he’d meant until after the Battle of the Gap, when he’d found himself and his reserves trying to accept the surrender of a much larger army. If General Sayrald had felt like trying to punch through the Gap anyway, he would probably have succeeded in destroying what little Eric had left, even though his army would have starved to death in short order. Eric had taken the precaution of moving all of the food stockpiles miles to the rear and the enemy would have had to find them before they could raid them. Luckily, the fight seemed to have gone out of most of the enemy after they’d seen what they’d been fighting for. Herod’s madness had convinced thousands of them that they’d been fighting for the wrong side.
He watched as a group of mercenary soldiers were disarmed, before being pointed towards the camps that had been rapidly constructed to house the prisoners. There would probably be no resistance, for mercenaries were a practical breed. Under the Mercenary Code, they could legally fight for Herod until they were captured or their employer became unable to pay them. Even if they did fight their way out of captivity, it was unlikely that Herod could or would pay them – after all, no one knew where he had gone or what had happened to him. The soldiers who had been loyal to Herod personally were more of a problem, but Eric didn’t expect much trouble. He had made it clear that any resistance would result in a quick and bloody massacre and, so far, no one seemed willing to gamble that he was bluffing.
He shook his head and walked towards the tents that a group of sorcerers from the city had had erected. Hind had insisted that all of the slaves be released from their binding spells at once and Eric hadn’t been able to refuse her. At least the freed slaves weren't giving any trouble, although the cynic in Eric wondered if that was just because they were relieved to be free of their slavery. Given time, perhaps they would become a problem in their own right…or perhaps one problem would solve the other. The female slaves might even pair up with the captured soldiers and come to live in Larkrise permanently.
Kuralla waved to him as he turned the corner and saw her, staring down at Soulfire’s hilt. Eric had been astonished to discover that Master Reginald – of all people – had been deemed worthy to carry and use one of the Great Swords and even more astonished that he had been willing to fight his former master. He had already planned a funeral for the magician, if only because Eleanor had insisted and the Oracle had backed her up. Hind had been in two minds about it, but hadn’t bothered to argue.
“It won’t budge,” Kuralla said, as Eric reached down for the sword. He tried it anyway and discovered that she was right. The sword felt as if someone had placed it within molten steel and then allowed it to harden, trapping the sword and preventing anyone from using it. “It won’t allow itself to be released until someone worthy to wield it comes along.”
Eric gave her a sharp look. He had never been fond of the concept of Oracles and Kuralla was no exception, even though she was young and Eleanor’s new best friend. The gift of seeing the future was dangerous, at least in his opinion, and he had always wondered about Kuralla’s motives. She had sent them on an indirect path to Larkrise and it still puzzled him, even though it had brought them Branet.
“It may not matter,” Kuralla added. If she was bothered by his silence, or his hostile look, she didn’t show it. “What Herod has become…you need all three Great Swords to find it.”
“And Shadow is long gone,” Eric said, impatiently.
“Things like that never die,” Kuralla said, oddly. She tilted her head, almost like a bird studying a seed it might pick off the ground and eat. “The Sword might have passed out of history for a time, but it will return, one day. I have seen it.”
There was an odd note in his voice. “I see,” Eric said. He decided to ask a direct question, even though it was a breach of Oracle etiquette. “Do you know where it is?”
“…No,” Kuralla said, finally. “I only have hints. I intend to use some…rituals to look for Shadow, but they need time and preparation. And the gods might refuse to answer anyway. They don’t often intervene on our world. We’re too fragile.”
Eric looked down at her for a long moment and then smiled. “You can perform the ritual when you get to the Castle,” he promised. “Until then…get some rest. You’re going to need it.”
He walked away, unwilling to show just how much her prophecy had bothered him.
***
Four days after the Battle of the Gap, they laid Master Reginald to rest in one of the small cemeteries surrounding Larkrise City. A careful search by a team of sorcerers had found very little of his body – Herod seemed to have consumed or destroyed most of it completely – but what little there was could be placed into the ground. It was traditional to cremate bodies on Touched anyway. Eleanor knew; there was too much danger of the dead returning to life as a zombie. Even with most of the zombies wiped out – at least until Herod had started breeding new ones – old habits died hard.
She watched as the priest of Solaris spoke the final words, before placing the jar into the grave and throwing a handful of dirt over it. The other mourners walked forward and picked up dirt themselves, helping to bury the dead man’s ashes in a ritual that had endured for centuries. Eric and Hind hadn’t wanted to attend, but Eleanor had insisted, reminding them both that she owed her freedom to Reginald. The broadsheet writers were already turning him into a legend, creating a myth that would echo down the ages until he was finally forgotten. They wouldn’t want to remember the flawed man he had been.
Eleanor stepped forward when it was her turn and threw a small clump of dirt into the grave. Eric had promised that she would have her turn to govern Larkrise, even though the women of the Emperor’s Bloodline were rarely allowed to rule. It had never made sense to her – there were plenty of female rulers of lesser kingdoms and principalities – yet it had been the law, at least until Herod had killed the Emperor and shattered an Empire that had endured for hundreds of years. Eric was going to have a long hard struggle putting it all back together, even though he had no choice. Herod might still be alive out there, somewhere.
She looked up at Kuralla as the Oracle threw her own clump of dirt into the grave. Kuralla had been given Oracle robes to wear and looked surprisingly dignified, even though Eleanor suspected that they’d originally been made for someone considerably older and fatter. Despite being at peace, there were dark circles under her eyes and a certain frailness in her form that worried Eleanor. Kuralla had been trying to press the limits of her own powers over the last few days and it was taking a toll on her. Eleanor wanted to take her out boating – she had wanted to take her riding, but Kuralla had said that she’d seen enough horses to last a lifetime – but Kuralla had been spending half of her time shut up in her room, trying to speak to the gods. The gods, so far, had not deigned to listen to her, or perhaps they had heard and chosen to respond only with silence.
“May he rest in peace,” the priest finished. There was no way of knowing which god Reginald had worshipped, or where his soul would have gone after he died, but Eleanor spoke a silent prayer to her own gods that his god found his soul and took care of him. “We will not forget.”
“We will not forget,” the crowd echoed back.
Eleanor allowed Kuralla to lead her away as soon as the service ended. No, they wouldn’t forget Reginald in a hurry, if only because he’d left one of the Great Swords embedded in a chunk of rock. Eric had dug it out of where it had fallen and transported it back to the city, inviting anyone who felt like it to try their luck at drawing it from the stone. So far, hundreds of people had tried and none had succeeded. Kuralla had refused to be drawn on who, eventually, would draw the sword from the stone.
“Come on,” Eleanor said finally. She would mourn Reginald in her own way, as she would mourn the thousands of others who had died in the war. “It’s time to go home.”
***
Hind leaned back on the bed as Eric gazed out of the window, staring towards the sea and, lost in the distance, the shape of one of the other continents. Once – it felt like years ago – they’d talked about taking ship and going to explore other lands as part of their honeymoon. Now, of course, it was impossible. They had too many responsibilities to their people and the Empire. Hind sensed Eric’s bittersweet emotions and understood just how he was feeling. His life had never truly been his own, but now – even though he hadn’t been crowned Emperor yet – he was trapped in a gilded cage. There would be no freedom for him any longer.
He turned and looked at her, the sunset casting an eerie flicker of light over his face. “I take it the Grandmaster said nothing?”
“Nothing of importance,” Hind said. The betrayal – even though it hadn’
t really been a betrayal – stung badly. She’d known that the laws against misuse of magic were easier to enforce against commoners than nobles, but she’d thought that that didn’t apply to necromancy. Or at least she’d hoped it. “He’s very sorry and he’s more than willing to help indirectly, but direct action is out of the question.”
“Too many people think that Herod is still alive,” Eric said, dryly. In four days, no one had reported seeing him, although they both knew that that meant nothing. Herod could have teleported anywhere. It was even vaguely possible that he’d teleported himself into the future, or the past, something that made her smile. If that were the case, he’d been defeated long before he had been born. “And quite a few of his allies have no choice, but to keep following where he led and hoping for the best.”
Hind nodded, following his logic. The Emperor’s death had burned quite a few bridges behind the conspirators, even though not all of them had wanted the Emperor dead. They now had no choice, but to fight Eric until he agreed to give them some immunity from later punishment, something Eric refused to give them on principle. Hind couldn’t blame him for that, yet it meant that the war would continue until the conspiracy was completely smashed – or it won. It was hard to believe that they could still lose, not after they’d defeated – or at least delayed – Herod, but Eric had warned her not to get complacent. Politics was a very dangerous battlefield.