Conjuring the Flesh

by Brandon Fox

Ander tried to remember what he had seen. Four towering walls, sloping inward from a series of progressively smaller terraces, the shrine at the summit surrounded by pillars. Torches had burned at the corner of each terrace, but the large iron doors at the structure’s base were lost in darkness. But if there had been soldiers, their armor should have caught the torchlight. “I don’t remember seeing guards. The spell they’re using is strong. Maybe they’re relying on magic.”

  “Interesting,” Sorel said. “The imperial sorcerers might understand something of Thane’s powers and want to keep the information to themselves.” His eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard there’s tension between the sorcerers and the military. Each is jealous of the other’s influence. The zamindar plays them off against each other.”

  “How does that help us?” Ander asked. His eyelids kept sagging, and he felt as if he were made of lead.

  Sorel slid off the bed and crossed the room in two quick strides. He picked up his pants and put them on. “Like Nicolai said, we’ll have to physically remove the source of the spell they’re using on Thane. It would be impossible if they held him in the zamindar’s camp. But I think the sorcerers are trying to hide him from the military. If I’m right, we can draw them away from the ziggurat and rescue Thane without having to get past the zamindar’s guard.”

  “Where are you going?” Ander asked. He tried to swing out of bed, but the effort made him dizzy. He fell back with a woof.

  “To retrieve those crystals Nicolai and Thane hid at the garrison commander’s house.” Sorel finished fastening his pants and reached for his shirt. “If anything can attract the attention of the zamindar’s sorcerers, it’s those crystals.”

  Nicolai slid off the bed and joined Sorel by the pile of clothing. “A job for two, surely. You can open the locked gate, and I know exactly where the crystals are hidden.”

  Sorel’s grin showed no surprise. “Just like old times. Did you ever tell Ander about our cat burglar days?”

  Nicolai looked pained as he pulled on his pants. “We merely liberated property from people who had taken it unjustly. That’s entirely different.”

  “If you say so.” He gave Nicolai a pat on the back, then handed him his shirt. “We’ve got to be quick. Thane’s strong, but we know how brutal the torturers can be.”

  “How can I help?” Leif asked.

  “For now, take care of Ander,” Sorel said. “He’ll be groggy until the elixir wears off. He shouldn’t be alone. His protection from Thane’s pain might only be temporary.”

  Leif sat on the bed. “I hope you know what you’re doing. That house is well guarded.”

  Sorel shrugged, undaunted. “Then we won’t let the guards see us.” He finished dressing, making sure his throwing knives and other weapons were easily accessible. Soon both were ready. They fastened their cloaks and unlocked the door. Sorel paused before opening it, giving Ander a thoughtful look.

  “Rest well. Your strength will be tested again before the night is out.” When they were gone, Leif bolted the door and rejoined Ander on the bed.

  Ander nestled against his friend. Despite his anxieties, sleep took him quickly.

  IT SEEMED as if mere seconds had passed when Ander heard softly spoken words. He opened his eyes. The fire in the hearth had burned down to glowing embers. Nicolai and Sorel were removing their cloaks while Leif lit a candle. The room filled with flickering light. Nicolai’s shirt was cut near his left shoulder, and blood stained the leather down to his elbow.

  Ander jerked upright. “Nicolai! What happened?”

  Nicolai looked chagrined. “A mere scratch. A guard came from the house while I was loosening rocks in the wall.” He made a face. “Thane missed his calling, I think. He should have been a mason. That damned wall will outlast all the rest of Pella. It took nearly—”

  “The guard, Nicolai.”

  “Well, he was armed and I wasn’t. But Sorel was lurking in the shadows and wasted no time.” He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. “It always makes me nervous when he throws a knife at someone I’m wrestling. But I’m not complaining.”

  “Prudent, as always,” Sorel said as he reached into one of his cloak’s pockets. He pulled out a silver box the size of a deck of cards and showed it to Ander.

  Leif peered at the box and then touched it carefully. “This is what the sorcerers have been seeking? It’s so small.”

  “Appearances are often deceiving,” Sorel said. “The crystals can gather anima, save it until there’s enough to restore the zamindar’s own life force. He’ll stop at nothing to regain them.”

  Ander swung his feet out of bed. He was surprised at how refreshed he felt. “So we’ll use them to tempt the zamindar’s sorcerers away from the ziggurat? That’s the plan?”

  “They’ll fly out of the temple like bats from a hollow tree,” Nicolai predicted. He turned to Ander. “How do you feel? Better?”

  “Much,” Ander confirmed, stretching.

  Sorel handed the silver box to Leif. “You’d be the best person to scatter crystals in the city. You know your way around. And you’re not ready to deal with what we’re likely to encounter tonight.”

  “Blood magic,” Leif said, frowning as he accepted the box. “Are you sure you can handle it?”

  Ander started dressing. “Aside from Thane, Sorel and Nicolai are the best mages at the lyceum. Nobody has a better chance of success. And there’s no time to try anything else.”

  Leif nodded, then put the box down and collected his clothes.

  “Make sure the crystals are hard to find,” Ander said. “Drop one in a well, perhaps. Or take a piece of food from the kitchen and feed one to a wild dog. That should keep the zamindar’s sorcerers busy. Just don’t open the box or touch them any longer than you have to. They’ll hurt you if they’re unshielded more than a short time.”

  “I’ll lead them a good chase,” Leif promised.

  They finished dressing and left the inn. The street was deserted, and fog hung thick in the air. Ander pulled his cloak tight around his body. Dawn was only two hours away.

  “Luck,” Leif whispered, touching Ander’s cheek in a fleeting gesture. Then he turned and vanished into the mist. Ander, Sorel, and Nicolai went the other way, toward the Ziggurat of Baalik.

  Moving quietly, they made their way into the city’s heart. Once they saw the fog brighten with the yellow glow of a torch. They took shelter in an alley, waiting breathlessly, but the patrol passed by. When they reached the ziggurat, they concealed themselves behind the statue of a long-forgotten temple patron. The damp air smelled of moss. As they had hoped, there was no sign of guards.

  “Hard to judge the time when the moon’s shrouded,” Sorel whispered. “But Leif should be near the market by now.”

  “The sooner the better,” Ander said. He wiped a sleeve across his forehead, his hand shaking. “I’m starting to feel Thane’s pain again. Perhaps because he’s so near.”

  Sorel nodded, his gaze never leaving the tall iron doors at the ziggurat’s base. “I feel some of it too, though my bond with Thane isn’t as deep as yours. At least we know we’ve come to the right—”

  Nicolai grabbed Sorel’s arm. “Quiet! I heard a lock opening.” They sank deeper into the shadows. Moments later an iron door swung open with a loud creak.

  Two men hurried out. Both wore ordinary clothes but carried orbs like the zamindar’s sorcerers had been using to search Pella. They moved frantically, one nearly dropping his orb as he fastened his cloak against the chill. As soon as the gate was locked, they hurried down the street toward the market.

  Ander leaned close to Sorel. “How many do you think there are?”

  “The innkeeper said six have been seen in the streets. We’ll give Leif time to scatter a few more crystals and wait until they stop coming out. At least we know the bait works.”

  Ander’s side ached as if he had just run a marathon, and his right foot felt as if a red-hot coal lay in the bottom of his boot. He suffered in sil
ence, wondering what agonies Thane endured.

  Ten minutes after the first pair, two more men hurried from the ziggurat carrying metal orbs. These were noticeably older than the first searchers. The new pair scurried east, toward the brothel district.

  Fifteen minutes later another sorcerer emerged. This one was nearing old age and appeared to belong to a different class. His head was shaved, and a ring of symbols was tattooed around its crown. His girth suggested years of self-indulgence. Menace seemed to exude from him like a cloud of foul gas. He started to walk to the east but turned right at the first street, his eyes never leaving the glowing metal orb cradled in his hands.

  The sorcerer’s passing hit Ander like a kick in the stomach. He crouched behind the statue, arms wrapped around his body, trying not to vomit. They waited in silence, time dragging painfully while he slowly recovered from the sorcerer’s influence.

  Ten minutes passed, then fifteen. Ander’s anxiety mounted steadily. “Hasn’t it been long enough?” he whispered to Sorel. “It’s been half an hour since the first sorcerers left. What if they find the crystals quickly? They might come back while we’re still waiting.”

  “He’s right,” Nicolai said. “We don’t know how well Leif managed to hide the stones. Our odds aren’t likely to improve if we wait.”

  Sorel scowled at the fog-enshrouded ziggurat, slowly weaving a black throwing knife between the fingers of his right hand. After a few moments, he slipped the knife into a sheath strapped beneath his left sleeve. “I’ll test the lock,” he said softly. “Stay back until I’ve got it open.” He slipped out from behind the statue and started across the street.

  Ander was rising from his crouch, but Nicolai put an arm on his shoulder and pushed him back down. “He knows what he’s doing. He’s best suited for this job. Trust him.”

  Nicolai was right about Sorel’s skill at picking locks, but Ander was sick of feeling helpless. He shrugged off Nicolai’s hand. “Maybe I can help. The kei is more open to me now. I might be able to see dangers that Sorel misses.”

  Nicolai looked doubtful but didn’t argue. “Then I might as well go too.” They sprinted across the street.

  Sorel glanced away from the lock as they approached, looking mildly annoyed but not surprised. “As I feared, there’s a cantrip. It doesn’t feel like a locking spell or a trap, though. Just a spell to warn those inside.”

  Ander extended a hand toward the doors. He closed his eyes and opened his mind to new perceptions. Unlike the spell afflicting Thane, the one on the door was simple. He held his breath and pushed with his thoughts. Faint tingling warmed his fingertips. Then, without protest, the cantrip’s links bent around on themselves and left the lock outside the spell’s protective circle.

  Ander opened his eyes and nodded to Sorel. “I’ve taken care of the spell. Can you open the lock?”

  Sorel raised an eyebrow, then reached toward the lock to confirm Ander’s success for himself. After a few seconds, the skepticism left his expression. “Very good. I think you’ll surpass all of us, save Thane.” He removed a small toolkit from a pocket and selected a pick. The lock, ancient and large, quickly yielded to his expertise. He stood up and swung the heavy door open.

  The stench of rotting flesh made Ander gag. Inside the ziggurat, a single torch guttered at the far end of a high gallery. Corpses littered the floor, their mutilation apparent even in the feeble light. Heads and limbs were strewn around carelessly, and bodies were torn open as if wolves had fed on them. His stomach churned as they crept into the charnel house.

  “Steady,” Nicolai said. “Remember that we’re here for Thane. Ignore the rest.”

  Gulping, Ander nodded and followed Sorel into the chamber. The floor was sticky with blood. Shock turned to disgust and then rage as they passed pile after pile of victims. When they reached the far end of the gallery, two staircases confronted them. One led down into blackness and a more terrible stench. The other ascended into the heart of the ziggurat.

  “You’re sure he’s in the shrine?” Sorel asked, pausing at the stairs.

  “Yes.” Ander felt no doubt. “We go up.”

  “I’ll go first,” Nicolai said. He drew a dagger from its sheath and started up the stairs. Ander went next, and then Sorel took the torch from its bracket and followed.

  The staircase worked its way upward through the ziggurat’s core. The zamindar’s sorcerers had done their butchering above and dragged the remains down to the gallery. Stone walls were smeared with blood and worse, and confinement made the air thick. Narrow passages stretched into darkness at each landing. The air at the landings was stale as a dusty crypt, but at least it offered a brief respite from the reek of death.

  Sweat soaked the back of Ander’s shirt and stung his eyes. They were leaving the sixth landing when a rasping sound, like a saw cutting bone, brought him to an abrupt halt. “Wait, Nicolai. Did you hear it?”

  The northerner nodded, his body poised with knife at the ready. “We’re near the shrine. The air’s getting fresher. Stay close—”

  A guttural cry tore the air, hoarse and anguished but unmistakably Thane’s voice. Ander’s hackles rose, and his bond with Thane pulsed with fire. He sprang past Nicolai and bounded up the steps.

  He burst into the shrine crowning the ziggurat. Cool air blew through tall windows, and oil lamps burned at each corner. The shrine was ornate, but he ignored the intricate mosaics and painted reliefs covering the walls.

  Two thick timbers fixed into square holes in the floor stood upright near the back of the room. Thane sagged between them. He was shackled at wrists and ankles and stripped to the waist. Blood ran from his nose and mouth. His gaze swept over Ander with dazed disbelief. Livid welts streaked his torso. The shackles had bitten into his flesh during his struggles, covering his arms and feet with rivulets of blood.

  Two imperial sorcerers stood beside Thane. They turned when Ander barged into the room, Nicolai and Sorel at his heels. One sorcerer looked as ancient as the ziggurat itself, tall and desiccated. A gray beard concealed most of his skeletal face. His claw-like right hand held a jeweled dagger whose blade sparked with green flashes of light. A younger sorcerer holding a barbed scourge stood to Thane’s right.

  Wrath burned red in the elderly sorcerer’s eyes and stung Ander like a swarm of hornets. Nicolai had no such distractions. He leaped forward and crashed into the younger sorcerer. They tumbled against the back wall. Nicolai rolled to his feet while maintaining his grip on the man’s robe. With a powerful heave, he lifted the sorcerer off the floor and spun him around. The man flailed as he whipped through the air, but his journey was short. His head hit a stone windowsill with a thud. Nicolai turned to the remaining sorcerer.

  “Get back or he dies!” The bearded sorcerer put the tip of his dagger to Thane’s chest just above the heart and pushed hard enough to break the skin.

  Thane jerked at his shackles. “Kill him!” His voice was hoarse and ragged. His eyes had regained their reason but held profound fear. “Kill him now. You won’t get another chance!”

  The old sorcerer grinned like a malevolent skeleton and pushed the knife deeper into flesh. Green light sparkled and danced across Thane’s chest, and he screamed.

  “The blade is ensorceled. If you kill me, the knife will take his life even without my hand’s help. You’ve lost, fools!”

  Nicolai halted his advance, though he stayed in a perfectly balanced crouch.

  “Kill him now!” Thane wailed. “He’s Najja, you can’t—”

  The sorcerer jerked the dagger upward, bringing its point beneath Thane’s chin. Thane bent back painfully, every muscle taut as he strained to avoid the knife’s point.

  “Everything comes together at last. I’ll soon have the crystals and your secrets as well. Even the zamindar will bow to my will.” He shook his head. “And to think I had a band of stupid boys to thank for delaying my plans. Incredible! But now you’ll pay for your interference.”

  Keeping the knife at Thane’s throa
t, he reached with his other hand for a glass amulet hanging on a gold chain around his neck. Thick black liquid filled the small container.

  Thane couldn’t speak, but his guttural moan was eloquent. His warning wasn’t lost on his friends.

  Ander’s heart pounded. He had seen such an amulet before. Smashing it would sound a magical alarm, foreclosing any escape. Numb with shock, he realized their lives were forfeit.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sorel reaching surreptitiously for the throwing knife concealed beneath his left sleeve. He glanced to the other side and saw Nicolai bracing to spring. Perhaps their deaths would not be wasted. Maybe I can distract him enough for Nicolai or Sorel to get through. He lifted a foot to run forward, but before it reached the ground the sorcerer’s eyes flashed red as rubies.

  Ander fell backward, feeling as if a horse had kicked him. He fought to sit up. His body was like lead. Even drawing breath was a desperate effort. Nicolai and Sorel had shared the blow. They sprawled on the floor like discarded toys. Najja’s eyes burned like hot coals.

  Ander felt a grip tightening around his chest and squeezing the air from his lungs. His vision began to dim. He groaned, struggling to resist Najja’s spell. The air between him and the sorcerer seemed to thicken. At first he thought he was losing the battle. Then the air began to shimmer and take form, at first indistinct and then more and more solid. He blinked, and when his eyes opened again, Lucian stood between him and Najja.

  The sorcerer gaped. His dagger dropped from loose fingers and clattered to the floor at Thane’s feet. “No! What are you, demon? Be gone!” Najja redoubled his efforts, focusing the power of his attack on Lucian. The shade’s presence only grew stronger, as if feeding on the energy coming from the sorcerer’s attack.

  Thane hung between the timbers, thunderstruck. “Lucian?” He choked on the word. He jerked at his shackles, oblivious to the metal cutting into his skin. “Lucian!” Tears and blood mingled on his stricken face.

  Lucian’s form became as solid as real flesh, and the forces employed in the magical battle became visible as well. Shimmering waves of power radiated from Najja like ripples on the surface of an invisible lake. They splashed off Lucian and bathed the shrine’s walls in rainbows of flashing light. The ghost’s eyes were fixed on Thane. Its expression was serene.