A Veil of Spears

by Bradley P. Beaulieu

  Meryam had wanted to study the full set in detail before moving on to the next part of their plan to find Hamzakiir, but she wasn’t there. “Gone to speak with the King of Kings,” Basilio informed him when he asked of her whereabouts.

  Without me, Ramahd thought. “Why wasn’t I informed?”

  Basilio sniffed and tugged his silk kaftan tighter against his ample frame. “Well, I’m sure I don’t know.”

  “What did she say?” The oh-so-smug expression on Basilio’s face, recognition of Ramahd’s fallen position with Meryam, was enough to make Ramahd step forward, grab his kaftan, and send him crashing him into the wall. “What did she say?”

  Basilio was completely flustered. “Unhand me, sir!”

  He knew he should. He knew he’d crossed a line that would be nearly impossible to walk back from. But all the rage that had been building inside him over having to run about the city like a common servant came pouring out in one big rush. He pulled Basilio back and shoved him back, harder than before. “I asked you a question.”

  It was in that rage-filled moment that Ramahd realized what was really driving his anger. Guhldrathen. The ehrekh has been calling to me ever since I gave it my blood. Since I offered Çeda’s in payment for Hamzakiir’s. And now it grows stronger.

  Mighty Alu, if Meryam didn’t do something soon, the ehrekh would have him, no matter that the sigils, the very ones he’d been collecting for Meryam these past many days, protected him while he was within the city walls.

  He released Basilio.

  Basilio shoved Ramahd away, then tugged his kaftan down, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. His face was beet red as he lifted a finger to Ramahd. “If you ever touch me again in such a way—”

  “Don’t say anything you’ll regret.”

  Ramahd and Basilio both turned to find Meryam standing in the doorway. “My queen,” they said together, both bowing their heads.

  “Yes, yes.” She stepped into the room with a slight limp but with an energy in her eyes that made it clear she was pleased despite what she’d just witnessed.

  Amaryllis followed, her long curly hair pulled into a horsetail that jutted from the top of her head. As Meryam stopped and faced them, Amaryllis continued into the next room and closed the doors behind her.

  “Ramahd has given insult.” Meryam waved to the place on the wall where she’d just found the two of them. “This and others, I’m sure. Suffice it to say that given what’s happened in recent weeks, there is good reason for Ramahd to be . . . overly protective of me. It doesn’t excuse it,” she went on, interrupting Basilio, “but it will be forgiven this once.”

  “He struck me,” Basilio said.

  “Then strike him back and be done with it.”

  “You cannot keep such a man around, my queen.”

  “Your advice is noted. Now either take your measure of his hide or don’t, but either way, be done with it and leave.”

  Ramahd stood there with words of apology on his lips. But he couldn’t voice them, not with Basilio staring at him as if he was owed it. Basilio shook with anger, but didn’t lift a hand. “You will rue this day.” He walked past Ramahd and closed the doors behind him.

  Ramahd was ready to spill his words of apology to Meryam, but before he could she spun on her heels and walked into the room where Amaryllis had gone, so he kept them to himself and followed.

  Amaryllis was already sitting beside a small table. Meryam took the chair next to her, then waved Ramahd to take the third. On the table was a simple lead box with no adornments save for the arcane symbols marked into the sides, lid, and bottom. Around it, strapped crosswise, were two leather belts, a measure to keep the lid securely on.

  Next to the box were several implements: long-nosed pliers, as jewelers might use; iron scissors, freshly sharpened; a brass censer that hung from a tripod; a lit candle beneath that filled the air with a scent like burning sage; several simple white rags; and a jar of rendered goat fat. The last Meryam had prepared herself, first slaying and skinning the goat when the moons were dark, then rendering the fat in a pot set over a fire of white myrrh.

  “Are you sure we’re ready?” Ramahd asked.

  “We’ll never be sure.”

  Ramahd paused, wondering at the suddenness of the ritual after all the care they’d taken with the sapphire that now sat within the confines of the lead box. “What happened with Kiral?”

  “Later, Ramahd.” She turned the talon ring on her thumb and made a beckoning motion to Amaryllis.

  As Amaryllis offered her arm to Meryam, Ramahd reached out and snatched her wrist. “What happened with Kiral?”

  Amaryllis tried to free herself, but Ramahd refused to let go. Meryam’s eyes flared, but she seemed as in control of herself as Ramahd was volatile. “You’ll get no answers that way, Ramahd. Now release her.”

  When Ramahd didn’t, his palm lit with pain. He tried to fight it, but it was too much. He released Amaryllis, but the pain continued, a burning that made his skin feel as though it were on fire.

  “Amaryllis, leave us.”

  Rubbing her wrist, Amaryllis rose. “Yes, my queen.” She left the room, but not before giving Ramahd a murderous glare.

  When the doors had closed behind her, Meryam regarded Ramahd with placid eyes. His hand still shook with pain. It was now spreading to his wrist, and Meryam gave no sign that she was ready to release him.

  “It’s is my fault, really,” she said. “I knew Guhldrathen would place a compulsion on you sooner or later. I’ve been meaning to ask your about it for some time, but . . . Well, we’ve had much to attend to.”

  Ramahd swallowed hard. A sweat had broken out all over his body, and he’d started to feel chill everywhere except his burning arm.

  “You’ve done well with the sigils. We’ll look at them soon. All of them. And we’ll find a way to draw Guhldrathen to the city.” She motioned to the lead box. “Soon we’ll have power we’ve only dreamed about.”

  Though the pain was making it nearly impossible to think, Ramahd suddenly understood what Meryam meant to do, and why her meeting with Kiral meant so much to her.

  “You’ve found Hamzakiir,” Ramahd forced out through his gritted teeth. “Kiral gave you his location.”

  As suddenly as the pain had come, it was gone. Left in its wake was a deep itching sensation. As Ramahd began to viciously scratch his arm and chest and neck, Meryam nodded. “The end is near, Ramahd. With the power of the sapphire you’ve stolen, we’ll break the city’s seals. And then we’ll draw Guhldrathen near and deliver what we’ve promised. He’ll have Hamzakiir. And we’ll have gained Kiral’s undying loyalty.”

  “Where is he?”

  “It isn’t where Hamzakiir is now. It’s where he will be. Kiral will meet him to discuss how the two of them would share power in the desert.”

  The itching had faded to a prickling sensation. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Meryam’s skeletal face softened ever so slightly. “I value you, Ramahd, but for the good of the kingdom, I cannot allow myself to need you. You understand?”

  It had been difficult to let go of who they’d once been. Too often he still thought of himself as Qaimir’s ambassador, and Meryam his aide. “Forgive me,” he said. “I wish to see us free from Guhldrathen’s shadow.” He motioned to the lead box on the table. “I’ll help, if you’ll still have me.”

  Meryam looked him over, eyes narrowing. Was there regret in her eyes? Ramahd couldn’t tell. “Very well,” she said, and they called Amaryllis back in.

  She strode across the room, all but ignoring Ramahd, but when she sat once more her look dared him to seize her arm again.

  “Don’t think too harshly of him,” Meryam said. “Had you the compulsion of an ehrekh upon you, I don’t know that you’d fare as well.” She sent an offhanded wave toward the lead box. “And now we have another to
contend with.”

  Amaryllis’s shoulders softened and her hands unclenched, but she said nothing to Ramahd. “You said it would be best to do it near high sun.”

  “So I did,” Meryam replied. “Go ahead, Ramahd.”

  Ramahd nodded and undid the leather belts holding the lid closed and laid them down over the table.

  Meryam stiffened. Amaryllis swallowed and licked her lips. Ramahd felt as if he were standing on the edge of a precipice.

  “Go on,” Meryam said. “Remove the lid. It will be weak for some time yet.”

  Ramahd did, revealing the sapphire he’d stolen from Brama. It lay on a bed of black velvet, and was wrapped, weblike, in old, dirty leather cord. It was one of the largest gems Ramahd had ever seen, even in the halls of Santrión, the royal palace of Qaimir. It was easily the size of a falcon’s egg. The facets were hopelessly occluded with grime, all but the front face, which was not clear, exactly, nor as bad as the others.

  “It acts as a doorway,” Meryam had told him when they’d placed the gem into the box the first time, “a way for the ehrekh to see the world.”

  As then, Ramahd felt his gut twist just to look at it. Judging from the wary expression on Amaryllis’s face, she felt the same. Meryam, however, stared not with the hunger she’d displayed days ago, nor with any sort of fear. She was intent, a blade poised to strike. It was the same sort of look she’d had in Viaroza as she’d tried day after day to break Hamzakiir’s will, except now she seemed even more grim. It bordered on dispassion, which only went to show how determined she was to succeed. Her battles with Hamzakiir had tempered her, hardening a woman already harder than steel.

  Meryam held out her hand to Amaryllis, who promptly offered her wrist to her queen. Meryam pierced Amaryllis’s skin with her thumb ring and quickly sucked the blood that came from the wound. After several long moments, Meryam released her, and Amaryllis coiled a waiting bandage around her wrist.

  Meryam had taken care to eat well these past few days so that she would be ready. She was not weakened as when she plied the red ways too often. Still, the change in her was remarkable. Her skin flushed. Her breathing lengthened. Her nostrils flared and her eyes became so dilated she looked inhuman. More than physical traits, however, was the sheer potency Ramahd could sense within her. Most, even the powerful, were but gusts of wind in their fleeting lives. Meryam was a gathering storm, ready to strike.

  And she would need to be. What they were about to do was infinitely more dangerous than toying with Hamzakiir in the dungeon of Viaroza. Ramahd shuddered to think what the ehrekh might do if it managed to break free.

  Death would be a mercy.

  After steadying herself, Meryam used her ring to pierce her own wrist and Amaryllis picked up the long-nosed pliers. As Meryam held the dripping wound over the brass censer, she stared soberly at them both. “Quickly now. And whatever you do, do not touch the stone.”

  Ramahd and Amaryllis shared a look. They both nodded as Meryam’s blood sizzled on the censer’s hot surface. When Ramahd opened the lid, Amaryllis reached in with the pliers, pinched the jaws around the sapphire, and lifted it with the care of a jeweler preparing to tip molten silver into a mold. Ramahd lay two of the clean rags on his open palm, and Amaryllis set the sapphire there. Ramahd then grabbed the scissors and immediately set to work, snipping the leather cords around the sapphire one by one. They were stiff with age and smelled foul.

  Soon the gemstone was free, and Ramahd rubbed the soot and grime from its faceted surfaces. It began to shine dully as he worked. Then it gleamed like no other stone he’d seen. It was perfect, a stone Alu himself might have shed in his tears during the making of the world.

  Beyond its physical appearance was a presence he’d felt twice before, once when he and Meryam had used Brama, secreting themselves within his mind to find the caches of the Kings’ life-giving elixirs, and again with Brama in the cellar.

  It made Ramahd’s stomach turn to feel its malevolence toward him, toward Meryam, but the ehrekh was weak. Something in the nature of lead was anathema to them. So there was no difficulty as he used another rag to rub the yellow goat salve over the sapphire, nor as he suspended it over the censer. Trails of Meryam’s burning blood curled upward, slowly coating the facets, occluding them, trapping the ehrekh within.

  Many had been killed when they’d attempted to steal this gem from Brama, making this ritual necessary. Meryam needed to make it subservient to her, not Brama or anyone else.

  When all the facets were clouded, Meryam took a thick steel chain from around her neck. It had an oval-shaped locket, a device made to Meryam’s exacting specifications with two inner filigreed doors that allowed one to see the sapphire, and two more solid doors that could be closed to conceal it. The exterior was a bright, polished silver. The interior, however, was a dull gray—lead, Ramahd knew. The ehrekh were devious. Every precaution was needed to keep Rümayesh confined.

  Ramahd held the pliers over the opened locket and set the sapphire carefully within it. With a strange sort of tenderness, Meryam used a fresh rag to wipe away the gem’s large, central facet. Then she clipped the inner doors closed, trapping the sapphire within, and replaced the small pin that would kept them secure.

  The sapphire gleamed within the locket, a blue so deep it reminded him of the Austral Sea, sailing and staring down into water so welcoming he yearned to dive in. He blinked, trying to clear the vision from his eyes, but he couldn’t. He leapt from the edge of the ship and dove into the sea. The chill of the water embraced him, dragged him down, down, until he went rigid from it.

  He stared up at the sunlight spearing through the water. He stared below into the yawning darkness. Come, it beckoned. Your daughter awaits. As does your wife.

  He blinked once more, and found himself staring into a different sort of darkness. He was on a blasted plain, standing on dark, glass-like rock. He’d returned to the desert, delivered here by Hamzakiir as an offering to one of Goezhen’s children.

  “Ramahd . . .”

  The ehrekh had come. It had devoured King Aldouan here, in this very place. Later, Meryam had leaned over her father’s dead form, touched her forehead to his. I’m sorry, she’d whispered. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

  “Ramahd.”

  They’d left after Ramahd had promised Çeda to the ehrekh if they didn’t deliver Hamzakiir. They’d headed into the desert, making their way toward Sharakhai. They swam in an oasis pool, the water warm as bathwater. I’ve done a terrible thing, Ramahd. She’d fallen into his arms, sobbing. They’d held one another. Made love beneath the stars.

  “Ramahd!”

  He heard a metallic click, and realized Meryam was snapping her fingers before his eyes. Slowly, the vision of the desert faded—I’ve done a terrible thing—and the room in the Qaimiri embassy house resolved from the fog. Left in its wake was a manic fear. Some small remnant of the ehrekh’s desperation, Ramahd knew.

  “Do you see now?” Meryam said, gripping the locket so tightly her knuckles had turned white. The outer doors were closed, cutting off the power of the gem. “Every step from this point forward must be taken with the greatest care.”

  “Of course.” Ramahd shook his head, though whether it was to emphasize his point or clear his head, he wasn’t sure. “Of course you’re right. Forgive me.” When Ramahd had returned with the gem two weeks before, Rümayesh had been greatly weakened by Meryam’s attack. She would return to power soon if left untouched, but time surrounded by lead would be sufficient to render the ehrekh all but powerless. They’d both agreed to keep Rümayesh in the box for two weeks anyway. But Mighty Alu, the sheer power in that creature. “I never realized how easy it would be to fall into her trap.”

  “Fear not. Her anger is lending her strength, but it will soon burn itself out. We’ve done well this day.”

  “And now?” Amaryllis asked.

  “Now?�
�� Meryam lifted the locket and let it swing before her eyes. “Now comes the first test of the ehrekh’s power.”

  Chapter 35

  “RIDE ABOARD HER SHIP,” Shal’alara told Emre as Tribe Kadri prepared to sail for Onur’s camp.

  “What?” Emre shot a look toward the Malasani dhow, where Haddad was seeing to her crew’s preparations, while her hulk of a guardsman, Zakkar, stood beside the mainmast, still as stone. “Why?”

  “Yerinde’s honeyed lips, Emre, you can’t tell me you haven’t seen her looks.” When Emre continued to stare, confused, Shal’alara’s knowing smile turned to one of surprise that bordered on outrage. “She can’t take her eyes off you.”

  Emre tried to recover himself by remaining silent. Can’t take her eyes off me?

  “Men,” Shal’alara said, and shoved him toward Haddad’s dhow, Calamity’s Reign. “Go. Find out more about her king’s plans. It’s something Macide will want to know. And if things have to happen between the sheets before she talks”—she winked—“I won’t be the one to tell.”

  “I wouldn’t—”

  But Shal’alara was already walking away.

  Emre felt the fool as Shal’alara’s biting laugh cut above the sounds of ships preparing to sail, and twice the fool as he turned and realized Haddad had seen the whole exchange. She turned away quickly but, gods curse him, he’d seen her hiding a smile. He just hoped Shal’alara hadn’t been speaking loud enough for her to hear.

  “You look like you’ve been sentenced to hang,” Haddad called down from the deck when he drew near.

  He felt his face redden. “Yes, well . . . I wonder if there might be room for one more.”

  Haddad looked as if she were about to say something biting, but then her look softened, and she shrugged. “Why not?”

  After a moment’s pause, Emre headed up Calamity’s gangplank. Haddad largely ignored him. The crew, however, sent him furtive looks, and Zakkar watched him like he wanted to draw his scimitar and see how far he could make Emre’s head sail.