“He can leave word with the Mirror Array, there, if you can arrange a trusted agent. That is where I shall send word of Ashakarl’s thoughts on the matter.”
“I can,” Mavone assured. “Leave that to me. I will prepare a report to present to His Majesty, if you will do likewise.”
“I look forward to it,” Koucey agreed. “But we must keep this alliance secret – from Ashakarl’s court, the Alshari court, and most of all from Korbal’s court. If he suspects we are acting in league, he will spare no force to shatter the alliance. Beginning with Ashakarl,” he warned.
“We agree,” I said, glancing at my men for their approval. “Perhaps if we both survive to Midsummer, we can quietly suggest the idea to our respective folk. But for now, we must be vigilant about security.”
“Then we have an agreement,” Sire Koucey of Boval Vale said, as he pulled on his gauntlets. “Do pass along my regards to Sir Cei – Sire Cei,” he corrected himself. “I do wish him the best of health and prosperity.”
“I shall,” I agreed. “Perhaps one day you can wish him so, yourself,” I said, wondering at the wisdom of such a meeting the moment I mentioned it.
“Perhaps I will,” the old wreck of a traitorous knight said, as he pulled on his helm over his viscously scarred face. “Stranger things have happened, in this life.”
I couldn’t argue with him, there. I just had a chat with a goddess before proposing an alliance with the Goblin King. I didn’t think my life could become much stranger.
Some god, somewhere, apparently saw that as a challenge.
Chapter Seven
The Interrogation of Khudoz
“Evil makes its own prison.”
Wilderlands Folk Saying
From the Collections of Jannik the Rysh
I’d been at a loss for insight into Shakathet, as a commander. We only had a few scraps of information on that subject. Gaja Katar’s reputation was blatant, as he’d done his best to spread it among friend and foe before the battle. Shakathet was less expressive about his ego, and his history with Korbal was both longer and more intimate with Korbal than Gaja Katar. The problem was, I didn’t know what that history was, and whether there was something there I could exploit.
Then it occurred to me, that evening with Ruderal, that I was not without resources who could provide that insight. Indeed, I had almost forgotten that we had prisoners.
One would be Mycin Amana. She was in the care of the Emissary Fallawen, near to Sevendor. She would have been the closest one to Korbal, but also the Nemovort least likely to betray her beloved. As she was also responsible for the death of Fallawen’s mother, I could be assured that her interrogations had not revealed anything as of yet. I shuddered to think how they were conducted.
But Mycin Amana was not the only Nemovort we’d captured. Dara, my former apprentice and current vassal, had managed to capture one who was trying to capture her, back in Olum Seheri. He was a really nasty piece of work named Khudoz. Dara caught him off-guard and stuffed him in a hoxter pocket. After the battle, she’d given me the wand with the undead lord inside, and I’d in turn sent it by Lady Varen to the Alka Alon city of Anas Yartharel for safekeeping.
That had been before I’d been made the Count Palatine of the Magelaw, when Lord Letharan, who ruled Anas Yartharel, was a distant lord. Anas Yartharel was in the western Kulines, hundreds of miles away from Sevendor on the other end of the Kulines. Now, he was but a hundred or so miles from where I lived. That made us neighbors.
I had ignored that fact up to now; Letharan was not fond of the humans who infested his lands, but he recognized the necessity and eventually accepted it. He had tried to ignore us, as much as possible. His keep was set impossibly high in the great peaks of the Kulines, overlooking the Wilderlands all around. Getting there by foot or horse was a legendary endeavor. Unfortunately for Letharan, getting there by dragon was significantly easier. Twice, now, the fire-breathing worms had assailed the fair towers of Anas Yartharel, which were built before humanity emerged from the Void. They still bore the scars, the very stone melted by the ferocious heat.
I had sympathy for the Alkan. I didn’t like us sometimes, either. But when fair Anthatiel, the City of Rainbows, was overcome, Letharan took note. When dragons raged against his city, he prepared himself for war. I saw us as neighbors in a dangerous neighborhood. We needed each other. The problem was, Letharan didn’t really see it that way.
Nonetheless, he had favored the establishment of the Beryen Council, an organization of powerful human magi and potent spellsingers of the Alka Alon, designed to combat the forces of darkness and leave him the hells alone. But it was through the auspices of the Beryen Council that I imposed upon him for assistance. He’d taken possession of Khudoz, still locked in the hoxter pocket of a wand. Now I was imposing on him for a secure place to interrogate the Nemovort.
I made the request through Lilastien. Though he despised her as a rebel, as well as for her affection for humanity, Letharan reluctantly agreed to my request. He also insisted on being there.
It was an anxious time; no one was eager to confront a Nemovort, even one in a weakened position. I discussed the situation with Terleman and Pentandra, both of whom had experience with the matter. After heeding their advice, I sent ahead our requirements for the interrogation, and a few days later Lilastien reported that Letharan was ready for our embassy.
I chose my delegation carefully. Lilastien was included, for a variety of reasons, and Mavone came along as my chief of intelligence. Terleman and Sandoval deferred – they had pressing duties elsewhere and trusted my judgement. I asked Onranion to attend, and Lady Ithalia – the more Alka Alon in the entourage, I reasoned, the better. As my best advisor on the undead, I invited Taren, and on a hunch, I included Gareth, over the heads of older and presumably wiser magi.
But I also added Ruderal. Not only for his ability to read enneagrams, but to give him the knowledge he sought about his self-declared foes: the undead.
It was a somber party that transported through the Ways that day; none of us looked forward to the interrogation. From what Dara had reported, Khudoz was not only a heartless Nemovort, dedicated to his own immortality, but he also styled himself a vivisectionist. A scholar, who studied the physiology and pathologies of a species. By cutting them up, bit by bit. While they were still alive and able to report.
The few rumors about Khudoz I had gathered involved a series of experiments so horrid that he had been among the first of the Nemovorti entombed with his master by the Alka Alon council. There weren’t a lot of details available, and my imagination was all too willing to provide the most unsavory possibilities, but by all accounts, Khudoz was of especial interest to the council, due to his vile habits. While there was no doubt that his work had collected valuable information on physiology, the cost of his research was deemed too harsh to bear by all who heard the details.
“Khudoz is a psychopath,” Lilastien explained to me, as we prepared to depart Vanador for Anas Yartharel. “Not just an ordinary psychopath, either. He’s on par with Korbal, himself. He’s an obsequious sadist who rose to power in Korbal’s court due to his complete detachment from any moral basis. His willingness to slice up Korbal’s opponents in the name of legitimate scientific inquiry turned the stomachs of the strongest on the council. He’s the worst sort of criminal,” she pronounced, frowning.
“And he was bested by Dara,” I reminded her.
“She got lucky,” Lilastien insisted. “She had the advantage and took him by surprise, but she got lucky. More praise to her for it, but had she fallen under Khudoz’s clutches, her death would have been long, painful and singularly horrific.”
“Khudoz’s cruelty was legendary, back in that day,” Onranion agreed, solemnly. “When the Council’s forces finally took his laboratory in the Land of Scars, what we found there was . . . well, several of the Alkans committed suicide,” he said, disturbed. As a rule, I knew, the Alka Alon only took their own lives in fits of utter hope
lessness and despair. It was a major theme of their unwritten literature.
“Others sought exile, to remove the stain from their minds,” agreed Lilastien. “Of all of Korbal’s agents, there are few who inspire more terror than Khudoz.”
“Sounds like a cheerful fellow,” I nodded. “What might serve to loosen his tongue?” I asked.
“He famously has no pursuit beyond pure science,” offered Onranion. “Of all of Korbal’s colleagues, he was devoted to his research over any mere political or ideological position. Oh, he paid homage to the Enshadowed’s warped ideology, but only because it justified his . . . work,” he said, his voice hollow.
“Not even the other Enshadowed liked Khudoz,” Lilastien agreed. “Among all of the killers and assassins Korbal gathered under his banner, he creeped out every one of them.”
“He does suffer from the same weaknesses of all Nemovorti,” offered Gareth. “Lady Pentandra has lectured at length about her theories on the power of vibrant energies on undead physiologies,” he suggested. “Nemovorti don’t feel much pain. But they can be hurt,” he counselled.
“What you call ‘vibrant energies’ don’t tend to be the type to inflict damage,” Onranion suggested. “But it’s worth a try. I’m more than happy to seduce a maid and rut in the corner, if it helps your interrogation.”
“Duly noted,” I answered, dryly. “But I think we can find a more acute source of such power.”
“Wizards!” scowled Onranion. “You take the fun out of everything!”
“Minalan is well-supplied with a wellspring of power,” reminded Lilastien. “His . . . little snowflake can produce an abundance, in nearly any octave. I don’t think you’ll have to rise to the occasion,” she said, slyly.
“Just trying to be helpful,” muttered Onranion.
“Our best bet is to convince him that his existence is at risk,” counselled Lilastien. “Khudoz knows that his . . . proclivities are condemned by even his allies in the court of Olum Seheri. Korbal’s patronage is the one thing that has kept him from being destroyed by his own folk. Threaten that, and I think you will have the leverage that you need to learn the intelligence you desire.”
“Got it,” I nodded. “Onranion, will you do the honors? It is time,” I concluded, as I summoned my baculus, Insight.
“Of course,” he murmured, and sang a bit of spellwork. In an instant, we were in Anas Yartharel.
The difference from Vanador was instantly apparent. My ears popped at the higher altitude and as I struggled with the expected nausea, I couldn’t help but notice that we were anticipated. There was a small crowd of Alka Alon around the Waypoint, trying to conceal their amusement at the reactions of the humani. Apparently, it’s funny when we vomit.
“Hail the Spellmonger,” Letharan pronounced, dryly, as I struggled to maintain my lunch. “Welcome to Anas Yartharel. Let us proceed at once,” he added, as I forced the heaving to stop by my will, alone. “I don’t want to waste more time on this than necessary.”
“The Beryen Council appreciates your assistance, my lord,” Onranion said, brightly.
“Spare me your charming antics, Onranion,” Letharan snapped. “I am in no mood. I was hoping we would be consigning that . . . creature to a permanent imprisonment, inside that wand. Now you want to withdraw him and question him?”
“Surely as a military Alkan, you can appreciate the value of good intelligence, my lord,” Taren said, respectfully. “We face one of the Nemovort’s fellows. Every bit of information we can collect is a treasure,” he assured. “We have prepared means to keep him imprisoned.”
“I prefer to slay my foes to capturing them,” Letharan said, darkly. “Khudoz, especially. Of all of Korbal’s minions to take, why did you select that . . . abomination?” he asked, disgustedly.
“It was not a choice, my lord,” I assured him. “My apprentice, at the time, was in a tight spot when the Nemovort menaced her. She dealt with him accordingly.”
“Your apprentice captured Khudoz?” Letharan asked, surprised.
“A girl of but fifteen years,” Lilastien agreed. “The Hawkmaiden. The first of the Sky Riders, who ride the giant hawks. And that was after her bird was driven from the sky,” she added. “Dara is a formidable girl,” she praised.
“Yes,” Letharan, said, his eyes narrowing. “Those giant hawks . . .”
“My lord,” Taren asked, “is that an example of Versaloti architecture?” he asked, gesturing toward one of the greater towers. “I’ve learned a bit from the Karshak, in Sevendor . . .”
The conversation devolved into “small talk” as the lord of the great city led us down a long, spiraling ramp that descended into the bowels of the metropolis. We passed few Alka Alon, on our way down into his dungeons and storehouses. I had assumed Khudoz would be imprisoned in such a lonely place. Or Letharan merely wished to hide the presence of the humani in his own halls. It was hard to tell.
The chamber he led us to was low, to our stature, and required us to frequently duck our heads under stone arches. Alkan magelights guided our way, as we descended. I tried to note the details of the pillars and the stonework, all of which was beautifully decorated in the delicate style favored by the Versaloti. Letharan and his people were taciturn when presented with our questions, and by the time we were halfway down to the dungeons, our conversation had ended in uncomfortable silence.
The vault Letharan led us to was much more expansive than the tunnels; indeed, I could not see the ceiling, though Insight was telling me we were deep underground. Letharan took us through three doors, each guarded and warded, before we finally came to the place. Once inside, we were privileged to see at least a portion of the great Alkan lord’s wealth.
“I keep many of my more troublesome prizes here,” he admitted, when the odd-shaped door was unlocked and opened. “Some ancient relics. Indeed, some artifacts from the Alon homeworld,” he said, proudly, though it was clear he did not expect us to appreciate the value of that.
“We appreciate your attention to security, my lord,” Taren offered. “I cannot imagine it ever being stolen.”
“Not unless the city above was in ruins,” Letharan agreed, as he searched through piles of . . . well, I wasn’t exactly certain what they were.
Human hoards are easy to evaluate. We like gold and pretty, glittery things. But the Alka Alon value different things than we, and when the near-immortals accumulated wealth, the treasures they valued were not mere coin or jewelry. I could not identify most of the odd items within the vault. A few resembled the Thoughtful Knife or other Alkan artifacts I’d encountered over the years. But most I was completely unfamiliar with. They could have been powerful weapons or just really intriguing nut crackers.
Letharan finally found the correct box and took the plain wand from among other staves of weirwood. He looked at it disdainfully as he held it up to the light, and then he handed it to Lilastien with a sour expression on his face.
“I have prepared a chamber for the . . . questioning,” he said, pushing past us all. “It’s on the left. Let us commence, quickly, so that we may be finished with this distasteful task.”
We followed him to the room, a vaulted chamber with nothing within. Taren busied himself with setting up the wards he’d contrived, from his experience at Castle Saleisus, and he invited Ruderal’s assistance in doing so.
“You are a bold folk,” conceded Letharan, as he watched the two wizards work. “Many of my kindred would put off such work for a decade, before they worked up the courage to confront such evil.”
“My folk don’t have the luxury of time, my lord,” I suggested. “We live but a half-century or so, perhaps a bit longer. If we waited for the fullness of time to launch such an endeavor, we would lose what initiative we have,” I reasoned.
“As practical as a Tal Alon,” he said, partially insulting me while partially praising me. “Let’s see if you know your craft as well as you claim.”
I didn’t respond to that, largely because I didn�
��t want to give him the satisfaction. But also because I wasn’t entirely certain he was wrong. We were practicing necromancy, of a sort, just calling forth Khudoz from his hoxter prison. Taren was confident that his special wardings would hold the creature in place. I wasn’t so sure.
The Magolith hovered around my shoulders as we prepared to release the Nemovort. It would provide the power Taren would use to reanimate the enneagram trapped in the corpse that Khudoz was riding within. He prepared the casting and gave me the slightest nod. I opened the hoxter, and the body came tumbling lifelessly from the void.
Khudoz was ghastly-looking, even for a Nemovort. Whoever the poor soul whose body he inhabited had been, he had been tall and skinny, with long arms and legs. I hoped he’d had hair – his bald head, now covered with some eldritch runes burned directly into the flesh, would have been improved by hair. But I was uncertain whether a beard would have helped that long, angular face or worsened it.
It didn’t take long for the reanimation process – Taren had become adept at it, during his researches at Castle Saleisus. He’d reanimated dozens of chickens as he tried to determine why hoxters killed everything they swallowed. Summoning power from his own stone and the Magolith, one by one he cast the runes to construct the complex spell. Then it activated.
Khudoz’s corpse began to twitch, as arcane energies in the necromantic octave filled his body and activated whatever dark spells allowed it to move. A kind of sickly wave of power washed over him, clinging to his face and eyes, his heart and his belly, before working its way methodically down his limbs. It only took a few moments for the activity to go from random spasms to conscious control – indeed, it was frightening how quickly Khudoz returned from oblivion. The weepy, sallow face contorted as consciousness was born behind the rheumy yellow eyes. Their pale glow began to shine against the creature’s sharp cheeks.
Khudoz looked around in confusion, his glowing eyes casting about in confusion. He said three or four sentences in a language I didn’t understand, before finally suiting his tongue to his surroundings.
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