Ghost of the Wall

by Jeff Mariotte

  Lupinius had one of Invictus’s household servants, a dour but muscular Kothian, carry the crown in its wooden box to Kanilla Rey’s home. Standing in the street with the Kothian just behind and two trusted Rangers standing guard, he rapped upon Kanilla Rey’s door. Several minutes passed, then the magician himself opened it.

  “Lupinius?” he said. His skin was as dark as a Stygian’s, and his hair as black, but his features were broad and open, almost jovial. Lupinius had never been able to figure out his origins. The mage blinked several times, as if he had been asleep or concentrating fiercely over something. “I had thought you somewhere in the wilderness, lording it over the locals.”

  “And so I was,” Lupinius agreed. “But then I came across something strange and wondrous, and I thought, who but my friend Kanilla Rey would want to see this? So here I am.”

  Kanilla Rey’s smile was hesitant. He knew that to characterize their acquaintance as a friendship was an exaggeration, and that therefore Lupinius must want something. But Lupinius knew, also, that his curiosity would get the better of him. He would ignore the fact that he was being played.

  The magician was heavy, probably twice Lupinius’s weight. Lupinius had never been sure if his bulk was fat or muscle. He was barrel-chested, and his gut was as round and firm as a drum. His arms and legs were perpetually swathed in fine yellow linens. On his body he wore a short robe of purple satin with gilt filigree running through it. Lupinius thought the yellow looked comical, sticking out from beneath that robe. But he had dressed that way as long as Lupinius had known him, so it suited him in some fashion.

  “Come in, then,” Kanilla Rey said, stepping back to make room in the doorway for his visitors. He scratched his bare head, mussing his thick black hair. “There’s a table in here on which your man can put that box.”

  Lupinius indicated that the Rangers should wait outside and bade the Kothian enter. The man set the box on the table Kanilla Rey had indicated. After he had put it down, he stood with his hands clasped behind his back until Lupinius dismissed him. When the man had gone, Kanilla Rey closed the door, turning back to Lupinius and the mysterious box. “So, my friend,” he said, rubbing his hands together as he regarded the container. “What have you brought into my house?”

  Lupinius hesitated for a moment. He and Kanilla Rey were far from friends, although both had used that word in the last few minutes. They had met several years past, before Lupinius had left for the borderland to seek his fortune. Lupinius had had occasion to require the services of a sorcerer who wouldn’t ask many questions and would keep his mouth shut. The matter had been one of romance, and Kanilla Rey’s efforts had proven successful.

  He had trusted the man then, and his trust had not been betrayed. He had no choice but to do it again. Without Kanilla Rey’s expertise he might never know just what the crown he had found really was, what powers it might wield.

  Without speaking, he went to the box and unlatched it. Lamplight from the wall sconces shone into the open lid, illuminating the bone-and-tooth headpiece within. Kanilla Rey glanced at Lupinius, then leaned over the box, looking in with a blank expression.

  After a moment, he reached into the box. “May I remove it?” he asked.

  “By all means,” Lupinius answered. “Have a care, though—I fear it is fragile.”

  “Of course,” Kanilla Rey assured him. He pulled the crown from its resting place and held it toward the light, turning it gently in his hands. He perused it from every angle. “Interesting,” he said softly. “Very interesting.”

  “Have you ever seen its like?” Lupinius asked anxiously.

  “Not exactly,” Kanilla Rey hedged. He shared that, at least, with his magical brethren, Lupinius recalled. None of them could ever give a straight answer to a question.

  “Have you any idea what it is?” Lupinius pressed. “I had it from a Pictish shaman, who swore to its value.” He didn’t mind lying to the sorcerer, but still trusted that the sorcerer would be honest with him, as he would be paying in gold for Kanilla Rey’s expertise and time. He didn’t want to tell how fiercely the Picts had fought to protect it, or that magic had played a role in its defense. If he did, the magician would surely try to cheat him out of it.

  Kanilla Rey shrugged. “At a glance, I would say that it’s simply a relic, of value only for its antiquity, and probably only to another Pict. I’ll do a little research to see if I can learn more about it. But it is simply bones and teeth, with no mystical significance that I can detect. It is some barbarian’s idea of good taste, nothing more. If you’d like, I can dispose of it for you here.”

  Lupinius didn’t even consider the magician’s offer. If it was worth doing further research on, then it was worth holding on to. Even if Kanilla Rey’s first impression was correct, someone would probably part with a couple of gold coins for it, just as a curiosity. There were those in Tarantia who collected primitive objects to display in their homes. But this, he knew, was more than a simple curiosity. “No, I’ll take it back with me,” he said, determined to understate his case. “If nothing else, it will amuse me to keep it around the house. But if you learn any more about it, please let me know.”

  “Of course,” Kanilla Rey promised. He watched in disinterested silence as Lupinius closed up the box, then summoned the Kothian to carry it home. The two men shared some meaningless pleasantries, and Lupinius left Kanilla Rey to his studies.

  KANILLA REY WAITED for thirty minutes after Lupinius left, in case the man returned for any reason. When he didn’t, the magician went deeper into his home, into his private sanctum sanctorum, where he kept his magical supplies: the potions, tools, and implements he needed for his spells. This room was always kept discreetly illuminated by a pair of glowing stones that rested on tall columns. They filled the room with a soft, greenish light.

  He didn’t hesitate, but went straight to yet another stone, a chipped and craggy boulder that rested permanently on the floor near the center of the crowded space. Drawing a small, sharp knife from beneath the folds of his robes, he sliced open his finger and allowed seven drops of blood to drip onto the stone’s surface. When the blood hit the rock, it sizzled as if falling onto hot coals. The room was filled with the aroma of rose petals. Kanilla Rey inhaled the scent and spoke some words of power. “Ia nimtu kenata ia ia!”

  As he said them, the surface of the rock visibly altered. The gray crust seemed to melt away, and the rock took on the clarity of clean, pure water. Kanilla Rey stared into the now-transparent rock, as if seeing something there that no one else could. As he did, he spoke again. “Quietus nictu camala Shehkmi al Nasir,” he said, repeating the same phrase a dozen times. By the tenth, the rock had begun to grow cloudy. By the twelfth, it had cleared again, only now there was an image of a man’s head, so distinct it was as if the man was right there in the room.

  Shehkmi al Nasir glared at him across the miles, with thinly veiled malice putting fire in his dark eyes. The Stygian sorcerer had a narrow, hooded face that reminded Kanilla Rey of a vulture’s just after a satisfying meal. The skin of his head was hairless, the usual dusky shade of the Stygians, but marked by a latticework of scars. Kanilla Rey had never known if these indicated a youth of battle or some sort of ritual scarification. His earlobes had been cut away, and lines of black dots, tattooed at some point, descended from beneath his eyes, down his cheeks to his jawline. When he smiled, Kanilla Rey involuntarily shuddered; it was like watching a snake tell a joke.

  “It has been a long time, Kanilla Rey,” he said. His voice was only slightly muffled, though he was thousands of miles from this spot. “Why have you summoned me today?”

  “I have seen a strange object today,” Kanilla Rey told him. “I hoped to utilize your vast resource of knowledge, to see what you may be able to tell me about it.”

  “What was it?” Shehkmi al Nasir asked him.

  “A Pictish crown of some sort,” Kanilla Rey described. “Made of bones, joined together with fine copper, and decorated with l
arge teeth. They looked like the teeth of a bear, though bigger than any bear’s I have ever seen.”

  “A bone crown,” Shehkmi al Nasir mused. “How old would you guess it was?”

  “Old,” Kanilla Rey answered without pause. “The bones are browned with age, though the teeth retain their whiteness.”

  “Do you have possession of this crown?”

  “No,” Kanilla Rey admitted. “Though I know where I can get it.”

  “I recommend that you do so,” the Stygian said. “I cannot say with any certainty that the thing is worth any trouble or expense at all. But it might be. I would have to see it to know for sure. If you have the opportunity to take possession of it and deliver it here to me, I will be able to make more informed speculation.”

  Kanilla Rey was heartened by this report. Shehkmi al Nasir was no doubt holding back information, as he was himself. He hadn’t told the Stygian, for example, that when he held the crown in his own hands he felt a distinct thrum of supernatural power emanating from within. At a glance, the thing had looked worthless, but when he’d held it he had known that it was a magical object of considerable potency. If he had told Shehkmi al Nasir about that, however, the sorcerer would certainly have tried to cheat him and take the crown for himself. He wanted information that he could use to determine how hard he should try to get the thing, but he was not interested in losing it to a rival magician. He and Shehkmi al Nasir had been allies many times. But in the circles of magicians, a friend today could become an enemy tomorrow, if enough was at stake.

  He had felt, upon first touching the crown, that it was something he wanted to have. Shehkmi al Nasir’s interest in it—unstated though it was—merely confirmed that. If he had known earlier that his sometime friend would be so curious about it, he would have killed Lupinius on the spot and simply taken it. The Rangers would have objected, but he could have dealt with them.

  Waiting was only a minor inconvenience. He would still have it. It would just take a while longer. He bade the Stygian farewell and retired to another room to lay his plans.

  23

  CHEVERAY PROVED EVERY bit as pleasant and generous as Alanya remembered. He was an older man, old enough to be her father’s father, and he walked stooped over, with the aid of a cane. In spite of his infirmity, he was full of manic energy and unquenchable mirth. When Alanya and Donial had shown up last night, with Kral in tow, he had thrown the door wide and enveloped the three of them, Pict included, in a bone-crushing hug.

  “Children!” he shouted, beaming. “It’s so good to see you! Come in, come in!”

  They had done so, and Cheveray had insisted that they spend most of the night telling him about everything they had done in the border region, while they ate food he had servants bring in. He had heard about Invictus’s death, had mourned for the traditional week, and expressed profound grief to his friend’s children. Finally, he had servants make up separate rooms for each of them and insisted that they stay in his house as long as they were in the city.

  Alanya slept like the dead.

  The sun was already sinking into the west when one of Cheveray’s servants, a mute Hyrkanian woman, roused her. Using gestures, she made Alanya understand that the others were already up and waiting for her in Cheveray’s dining room. Alanya dressed quickly and joined them.

  A feast of meats, breads, and fruits waited on Cheveray’s big table. Kral had cleared several plates, from the looks of things, and Donial was busily putting away his share. Cheveray sipped a hot beverage and watched them, gracing Alanya with a broad smile when she entered.

  “Welcome, Alanya,” he said. He was thin and short—a trait exaggerated by his stoop. His hair was white and shoulder length, his features oddly large for a man of such diminutive stature. “Sit, eat. You must be famished after your journey.”

  “I am a bit hungry,” Alanya admitted, starting toward an empty chair.

  Before she was even seated, Cheveray spoke again. “I have some interesting information,” he said. “You are right that your uncle has moved into your father’s house. I made no protest, as I had no knowledge that the two of you yet lived. From what I hear, he has terrorized the staff into staying on. One tried to protest and was immediately butchered by Lupinius’s soldiers. The rest have been cowed into submission.”

  Alanya felt her cheeks burn at the idea. Father’s household staff had been with him for years, had practically raised her and Donial from childhood. “That’s terrible!”

  “Yes, it is,” Cheveray agreed sympathetically. “I will get word to the rest, when I can do so discreetly, that they can seek sanctuary here, and I will protect them. But more urgently, I have some sense now of what Lupinius’s goal is here in Tarantia.”

  “He has a goal, beyond just using our father’s wealth as his own?” Donial asked.

  “He seems to,” Cheveray replied. “He has been sending feelers out into the city, to see if anyone is interested in purchasing some kind of relic. The way I hear it described, it’s a strange, toothed crown.”

  Alanya turned to Kral, whose jaw hung open. “The Teeth!” he shouted.

  “So it would seem,” Alanya said. “We thought he had it. Now we know for sure. And I’m certain he has my mirror, as well.”

  During their late-hours talk, Kral had mentioned the Teeth of the Ice Bear to Cheveray. Alanya had meant to bring up the mirror, but the conversation had shifted, and in her weariness she had forgotten to mention it. Now, Cheveray turned toward her. “Which mirror?”

  “My mother’s,” she said. “It’s jeweled on the back, with a lovely carved handle.”

  A darkness seemed to cloud Cheveray’s usually chipper face. “I was afraid you would say that,” he said.

  “You know the mirror?”

  “Of course,” Cheveray replied. “It was very important to both of your parents. I never did know much about it, just that they kept it close, and that it’s a magical object of some kind.”

  “Are you sure?” Her father had hinted at that from time to time, but she had always assumed he was joking.

  “Your father did not just keep it because it was a memento of your mother,” Cheveray said. “He kept it because of its powers—powers he wanted you and your brother to have when you reached maturity.”

  “I’m mature!” Donial insisted.

  Cheveray smiled and nodded. “Yes, you are. I should have said when you reach full adulthood, as Alanya almost has. Now that both your parents are gone, girl, you are the adult of the family. That mirror belongs to you, by all rights. As does the house. I will get word to the king that Lupinius is here, in the city. Judging by your story, I would not be surprised if he was anxious to meet your uncle. At least, he would be if he heard your version of it. He sought only peace with the Picts.”

  Alanya nodded. She would be happy to explain things to King Conan, if the opportunity presented itself.

  But the mirror loomed even larger in her thoughts. She couldn’t have said why, but she had always suspected there was more to that mirror than her father had told her. Not just an icon with which to remember and honor her parents, but something much more—a kind of birthright that she had yet to discover fully. She sympathized with Kral’s search for his people’s crown, but he didn’t even really know why he was chasing it. To him it was a symbol of something he couldn’t truly grasp.

  The mirror had always been important to her, on a deeply personal level, connecting her to the mother she missed so much—and now to her father as well. Beyond that, it had value on a monetary level. Thanks to Cheveray, she understood that it was still more than all that. Her parents had meant for her to have it, and presumably for the mirror—either through its value, its magical properties, or both—to protect and provide for their family when they no longer could.

  Their uncle had betrayed them in so many ways. Somehow, he was responsible for the murder of their father. He had stolen from them. He had taken over their father’s house, which was rightfully theirs. Which was, in fact,
the only place on earth that was truly home.

  He was blood, family, and that would have meant something once.

  No longer.

  “We need to go there,” she insisted. “We need to get that mirror back before he sells it, too.”

  “And the Teeth,” Kral reminded her.

  “Of course,” Alanya agreed, although now that was secondary, as far as she was concerned.

  “I shall gather some men,” Cheveray said. “I am no longer young enough to fight myself, Mitra knows. Not that I was ever much good in a fray, with this back. But I have enough wealth to hire a band of mercenaries sufficient to storm Invictus’s estate.”

  Kral waved his hand dismissively. “There is no time for that,” he said. “If Lupinius is already trying to sell the Teeth, it could be gone at any moment. Then we would be right back where we started, trying to determine its whereabouts. No, I’ll go in tonight.”

  “Impossible!” Cheveray declared.

  Alanya smiled slyly. “You do not know Kral,” she said. “If anyone can do it, he can.”

  “I can,” Kral confirmed. “And I will.”

  “But not alone,” Alanya reminded him.

  “I have to go alone,” he protested. “It’s the only way I can—”

  “I will go with you,” Alanya said. “You do not know the first thing about the house or grounds. I know it well, and I know the staff, in case we need assistance. Besides, the mirror is mine, and the house should be as well.”

  Kral shot her an odd expression, as if he couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or impressed. Probably he can’t, she thought. He looked like he was about to respond when Donial cut in.

  “I’m going, too!” he insisted.