The Stone Warriors: Nicodemus

by D. B. Reynolds

  At his charming best—which was damn good—Nico smiled and filled another flagon, giving her the same full measure as he now poured for himself. He delivered hers with a courtly bow, before sitting in the chair across from her and waiting politely until after she’d taken a sip to ask the obvious. “My tower is always open to a lovely woman, my lady. Though it is rare that one has sufficient magic to make it this far without mishap.”

  “You flatter me, my lord. I am more than aware of your own power and have no doubt that you permitted me to approach you.”

  It wasn’t true, but he wasn’t going to admit it. He was intrigued, however, because he was aware of her power, too. And she didn’t have either the strength, or the right kind of magic, to approach him without notice, much less to access his most private tower. Though he doubted she’d have been able to cross the room’s threshold without serious injury to herself, had he not invited her inside.

  He remained silent, waiting for her to explain her reasons for being there, sipping his ale as if her visit was nothing unusual.

  She shot him a quick glance, then another, before a sigh offered her surrender to their unspoken test of wills. “May I speak frankly, Lord Nicodemus? And with assurances that this conversation will not reach my lord Sotiris’s ears?”

  Nico cocked his head curiously. “I can assure you for my part, Lady Antonia.”

  “That will do, since I value my life too much to whisper a single word of it myself.”

  He came alert. “If you are in danger, my lady—”

  She waved one delicate hand. “Nothing so drastic. Not yet, and not ever, if you hold to your assurance.”

  “I give you my word, on my honor.”

  She met his gaze steadily, as if looking into his soul. “And I have heard that you are that rare being . . . an honorable man of power and title.”

  Nico dipped his head slightly, acknowledging the compliment, but held to his patience, waiting for her to begin.

  “I had not heard,” she said tartly, “that you were a man of such patience.”

  It was his turn to laugh. “My mother will be pleased that you think so. What brings you here, my lady?”

  “Save your breath and time. Call me Antonia,” she said impatiently, though she was nobly born and due the courtly courtesy.

  “And I am Nico,” he said, too charmed to tease her any further.

  “Nico,” she repeated, as if tasting the name. “I had wondered if your family shortened the name any. Sotiris never calls you anything but Nicodemus. When he’s being polite, that is.”

  “Which brings us to my surprise at finding you on my doorstep.”

  “Yes.” She sobered instantly, and he regretted the loss. “This war has killed so many, and left so many others broken. Widowed, orphaned, their lands devastated for generations to come, which will only leave more dead from starvation and disease.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that. She surely knew that the war only continued because Sotiris refused to agree to a peace.

  “I have something for you,” she said, the words tumbling out as if she feared they wouldn’t be spoken otherwise.

  Alarm spiked, and he did a quick scan of her person, fearing she’d concealed a deadly weapon from him and now planned to set it off, killing both of them in the process. She hadn’t struck him as a woman planning her own death, but it wouldn’t be the first time that a loyal person suicided to protect their lord.

  Her eyes widened when she sensed the scan, which he’d made no effort to conceal. “No,” she said urgently. “That is not . . . I would never do such a thing.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know you, Antonia. I do, however, know Sotiris quite well. He would sacrifice anyone, even you.”

  She dipped her head almost shamefully, as if Sotiris’s evil was her own. “I am not he. Nor do I share his every thought or intent. Which is why I’m here, instead of there.”

  “Speak plainly.”

  “Yes, it will be best if I do so. I do have something to show you, but because I knew I would not make it this close to you if I had it with me, I concealed it in the stables along with my horse and carriage.”

  Nico studied her a long moment. He sensed no deception in her, but no fear either. “Before I agree to approach this . . . thing,” he insisted, “you will have to speak plainer.”

  The glance she gave him was full of impatience, but had she thought he’d simply go along meekly to whatever death she had planned for him? And if his death wasn’t the goal, then surely she would be gratified rather than irritated by his distrust. He was only trying to keep himself alive.

  She sighed deeply. “I will state it as plainly as I can then, my lord. I have in my carriage a weapon so powerful that when deployed, it will weaken its target to such an extent that victory will be yours.”

  “And why would you give it to me?”

  “I told you,” she snapped, then closed her eyes to compose herself. “Forgive my impatience. I’ve taken a huge risk in simply coming here, much less discussing this with you. And that’s on top of the months I’ve spent designing it, testing it to the smallest extent possible, and fearing for my own life with every step. I cannot be away from Sotiris’s tower for too long. He will note my absence. And don’t think for one moment that he has no spies in your court. If I am seen by one of them, and my visit reported back to him, he will eliminate me without a thought.”

  Nico wanted to doubt her statement of Sotiris’s vengeance, but couldn’t. She brought allies to the sorcerer’s military efforts through her mother’s family, but that same family wasn’t so powerful that Sotiris would hesitate to alienate them. Not if Antonia tried to kill him. He stood. “Very well, my lady. Let us visit the stables, then.”

  STANDING IN A stall, the words of a defensive spell on his lips, Nico watched as Antonia finished unwrapping the thing, which still had no other name or description. But the power he sensed as the wrappings fell away was significant enough to have him taking an automatic step back, even as his fingers began to sizzle with power.

  She gave him a quick, startled glance before finishing with the leather wrapping, obviously having sensed his power build-up. “Nico?”

  “No offense intended, my lady. But that object carries a heavy signature.”

  “It does indeed, which is why it works. Shall I continue?”

  They were standing in the stable’s carriage stall, which while heavily used in winter, was presently empty of any except Antonia’s small rig. And that was only because she’d requested that it be parked inside. She hadn’t needed a reason for her request, because she hadn’t been asked. Her appearance and carriage were enough to establish her noble standing, and that, in turn, was enough to have servants going along with whatever she wanted. Short of visible murderous intent, Nico supposed. He hoped that was true anyway.

  A quick scan of their surroundings, augmented by his magic, told him no one was within hearing range, inside the stable or out. He held his hand open, palm up, in a gesture for her to continue. “Please.”

  That didn’t mean he assumed it was safe, however. The defensive spell he’d prepared required only a twitch of his finger to become active.

  Antonia held the object in one palm while she lifted a final, dark blue silk covering to reveal . . . a rock. It was not what he’d expected, but then magical devices rarely looked like what they were or could do. In fact, it was far more usual for the design to conceal or obfuscate the device’s intent by making it resemble something quite ordinary. In this case, the rock was bigger than Antonia’s hand. She didn’t appear to be expending any particular effort to hold it out for his inspection, however, which meant it probably wasn’t heavy. It had a roughly hexagonal shape that appeared to be natural, since he could see no visible signs of it having been chiseled. The surface was also rough and weathered in a way
that told him the stone most likely wasn’t a particularly dense material.

  But for all its ordinary appearance, there was nothing ordinary about it. This was a powerful weapon in the right hands. The question was . . . whose hands? And to what purpose?

  Nico opened his senses a fraction wider and immediately felt the device pulling at him. Or more like tasting . . . and rejecting him. He frowned and, glancing up, found Antonia closely observing his reaction.

  “You feel it,” she stated.

  He regarded her a moment longer before saying, “This weapon is targeted, but not at me. Who then?”

  She nodded and started to re-wrap it with the silk, but then glanced up in a silent request for permission to do so. Or rather, to ascertain that he had no objection, since he doubted she needed permission from him for anything.

  “Its target hasn’t been selected yet. It must be primed with a bit of the target’s blood first.”

  “What will it do once primed?” he asked.

  “Draw away a magic-user’s power very quickly, even a sorcerer’s. A trickle at first, but then a flood, until there is nothing left.”

  Nico stared at her in shock. “Is it permanent?”

  “No, the effect will hold as long as the target is in range. And once he, or she, moves out of range, it will take days—or longer, depending on the target—for a full recovery. The more powerful the target, the faster the recovery, obviously.

  “Why show this to me? You’re Sotiris’s—”

  “I have my reasons. Perhaps I simply require a test subject.”

  Unsatisfied, yet unworried, he persisted. “But why me, specifically? Any other sorcerer would have done as well if all you want is a test. Sotiris and I are sworn enemies. How do you know I won’t use it to eliminate him and establish an empire of my own?”

  “I don’t spend every hour in my workroom, crafting spells and counter-spells,” she replied tartly. “I wasn’t raised to be a porcelain doll sitting on a shelf until she is invited to dance. My mother is a strong woman who rules her own keep. My father petitioned her for the marriage, not the other way around.”

  “And yet, here you stand, so she obviously granted his petition.”

  She chuckled. “One would hope that’s true, for my mother’s honor, if nothing else. But such matters are usually judged on the degree to which it benefits the two houses. Alliances can be useful.”

  “And Sotiris? Did your mother find him a useful alliance?”

  “She can barely tolerate being in the same room with him, but does so for my sake. Once my magic ability revealed itself, I required training not only to use my gift, but to ensure that in my ignorance, I didn’t harm myself or others unintentionally. And there was no one else in my mother’s court who had the talent or skill to teach me.”

  “And yet, though you clearly have learned enough to continue on your own, and have such doubts that you would share this weapon with me, you remain with him.” The observation demanded a response, but he had a good idea of what she would say.

  Antonia shrugged gracefully. “My mother and I are close, and I am a sorcerer, even if not one as powerful as you or Sotiris. Mother and I communicate often, and she finds my reports useful.”

  He chuckled. “So you’re her spy.”

  Another graceful shrug that offered no apology for the truth.

  “Should you decide to turn this very powerful device over to me,” he reminded her, “it will no longer be safe for you to remain in his lands, much less in his tower.”

  “Of course,” she agreed. “It had been my plan, in any event, to depart immediately for my mother’s keep. Unfortunately—”

  “Ha! Now we get to it.”

  She scowled. “There is no ‘get to it.’ Sotiris is no fool. He is always aware of what I am working on, and has full access to my workroom, which is in his tower. You detected the power of the device immediately. You also sensed that it represented no threat to you and dismissed it. Do you believe Sotiris’s reaction would be the same?”

  “No.”

  “No,” she repeated sharply. “He already knows of its intent, though he does not yet realize that it is complete and waits only to be primed. He assumes as you did, that I created it for his use, first of all, against you. If he ever discovered that I intended to prime it against him, he would seize it, and my life would be forfeit. He is a suspicious and unforgiving man, and would assume that if permitted to live, I would eventually create a second device for you or another of his enemies.”

  She paused to inhale a calming breath before continuing. “I have no desire to die, my lord,” she said softly, her back to him while she re-wrapped the hexagonal stone and placed it in a wooden casket in the carriage. “Unfortunately, he’ll realize soon enough that the device is gone and will ask about it.” She sighed, then finally turned to face Nico and looked up to meet his eyes. “I have no power compared to his, no defenses against him,” she said quietly. “If he becomes suspicious, he will seize the thoughts from my mind, and I will be helpless to stop him. He’ll know everything, and I will be dead.”

  Nico frowned. “I am no murderer of innocents to permit you to sacrifice your life for nothing. I’ve seen the damn thing and sensed its potential, and I have no reason to doubt you. If it’s not yet primed, you should return it to your workroom, if you can do so safely. Is that still possible? Rest assured that I have no intention of donating blood to its completion. I’m fully aware that blood holds power. I employ extensive precautions against mine being used against me.”

  ANTONIA SIGHED again, but long and slow this time, a sigh of relief that Nicodemus understood her dilemma and didn’t plan to sacrifice her to ensure his own victory. “I can return it safely,” she replied. “And I will.” She hesitated over whether to tell him what was on her mind, but decided he had to know her plans for the device. His reaction might be very telling and affect her decision, and the hexagon’s future. “You must understand, Nico, that my intent was never to create such a deadly device. My magic prefers creation, not destruction. But now that the damnable thing exists, its morality and use are mine to determine. Should it be used at all? And if so, who among us is wise enough to use it well? I would not want that responsibility, and yet whatever action I take could place it in the wrong hands.”

  “Antonia.”

  She looked up in surprise at his gentle, almost sorrowful tone. “My lord?”

  “Nico,” he corrected softly, then continued, “If you believe that its destruction is your only answer, then I will do everything in my power to assist you in that. If you want to consult the great thinkers of our world, dead or alive, I will make that possible. The dead ones, obviously, only in their writings, since necromancy has never been a talent of mine,” he added with a rakish grin.

  Damn the gods, but this man was appealing. Not as a sorcerer, but as a man. She was certain she’d never met anyone more charming and likeable. She sighed, and cursed the fate that would bring him to her in this dangerous time and under these impossible circumstances.

  “And I would welcome your thoughts. But you must understand that today’s visit was possible only because Sotiris is traveling. It is rare that he does so, however, and another such trip is unlikely.”

  A slightly surprised smile tipped his lips, even as his golden-brown gaze studied her with such intensity and for so long that she had to fight against the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. He was no longer a powerful sorcerer evaluating a useful tool. He was a man appraising a woman. And she’d had enough men look at her that way to know the difference. Granted most of those men hadn’t been nearly as striking as this one. She’d heard tell of his beauty and assumed it was exaggerated, or a magical seeming he’d created with a tiny sliver of his extraordinary power. But standing this close to him, surrounded by his scent, and pinned under the focus of those eyes, she kne
w the rumors hadn’t done him justice. He was easily the most handsome man she’d ever seen. And the most fascinating she’d ever met.

  It was his power. To her eyes, it surrounded him with a nimbus of color that seemed to change with his mood. It had sparked like lightning earlier, when he’d been very nearly angry with distrust of her. He must light up the sky when he waged war, she thought, and wondered if his power brought storms over the battlefield, with the heavens themselves responding to the release of his magic. She would have liked to see that. Would have liked to see Sotiris brought low by the same magic, even if it meant using the damn device.

  She might yet live to see it, if the damn hexagon didn’t cause her death. The moment she’d understood what her magic had created, she’d resigned herself to the possibility of an untimely demise. She’d told Nico she didn’t want to die. And, goddess, she did not. But if it meant removing Sotiris from the world, using what power she’d been born with—power that some said was, in fact, a gift from the goddess herself—did she not have a moral obligation to sacrifice one life—her own—to save so many others? But was she wise enough to make such momentous decisions?

  Sotiris wouldn’t hesitate to use such power. But unlike this beautiful man before her, Sotiris had not an ounce of humility, nor the desire for knowledge beyond that which furthered his own goals. But she’d scanned what she could see of the rows of books and scrolls in Nico’s tower room. The majority had dealt with magic and sorcery, including those written by great sorcerers of the past, which was only natural. But there’d also been histories of their world, stories that went beyond the lives of only the few sorcerers who’d lived there. Another entire section of shelves had been tomes written by the great philosophers and explorers, not only those long dead, but the ones still alive and teaching.

  She smiled privately, remembering the few collections of poetry she’d seen on those shelves, and wondered if he read those to improve his appeal to women . . . of all stations. She had a feeling Lord Nicodemus didn’t limit his charms to proper ladies only. Although honesty had her admitting, to herself at least, that he would hardly require poetry to win over anyone of the female persuasion.