The Necromancer's Grimoire

by Annmarie Banks

  “Remarkable.” She turned her head away and frowned. “He will die in agony…”

  “No!” Nadira leapt to her feet. “No prophecies! Please! Oh, no…” She fell to the floor and covered her ears, but the priestess’ voice was inside her now.

  “Let me finish, girl. He will die in agony if he is not released. He will destroy himself from within if not joined with you. Is one man’s life worth all the goodness you could do with your own?”

  Nadira rolled herself over on the stone floor and gazed with exhausted resignation at the dark ceiling. “Can we not do both?” she sighed. “Is there no compromise? Why must it be one or the other? Surely there are priests who have concubines in their chambers. Cannot a priestess have her own? Are men the only ones who are permitted some comfort in the night? If all things are possible, why must we follow rules blindly?”

  The last word echoed off the walls and faded to silence. Nadira closed her eyes and breathed the perfumed air into her body. She did not expect an answer from the priestess. She was too busy asking herself what it was she really wanted. Do I give up my love and my friends to focus my life on the pursuit of knowledge? Do I return to the world of violence and greed to exist as a servant to others? Even as a free woman I would be as a servant to customers, as a wife is servant to a man, as a mother is bound to a child. There is no true freedom for a woman outside these walls.

  Her reverie was broken by the soft laugh of the priestess. “’Cannot a priestess have her own?’” She laughed again, harder this time. “In all my years no novice, no acolyte, nor priestess, has ever suggested she needed a kept-man in her quarters. Never.”

  Nadira sighed again and shook her head. “It has happened now.”

  “Yes. And I have an answer for you. No man may stay in the temple, for it is certain the women and girls will fear him. But this does not mean that he cannot be kept in the city.” She extended a hand to help Nadira to her feet. “You know that he will not stay with you until his enemy is dead.” Nadira nodded, reluctantly acknowledging the truth. The priestess continued, “Tell him, or not. The decision is yours. You can do remarkable things, Nadira the Precious One. But you cannot turn a wolf into a lap dog.”

  “No. Indeed, I cannot.”

  “This small brown one, however.” The priestess paused. “This one…he is yours as much as the tall dark one. He is a lap dog that you are turning into a wolf. He loves you and cannot have you. He takes risks and his soul becomes darker with his need and frustration,” she smiled, “yet he will not place his seed inside you either. What is it about you, Precious One, that these men withhold their manly desires when you are present?”

  Nadira struggled with an answer before she realized the older woman was teasing her. She let her breath out slowly. “Please, it is no laughing matter to either of them.”

  “No. Forgive me. I see the scars on the back of the brown one, the scars on the soul of the dark one. It is no laughing matter. But I will tell you that I have never seen this before, and I have lived nearly ninety years. I have never seen men deny themselves a thing that they wanted. In this world, men struggle to take what they want. They lie, murder and steal to get it. Those that don’t get their desire regret that they have been bested by others and mete out their anger and frustration on the weak and innocent. This is what I have seen. You come here to learn the knowledge of the ancients, Precious One, and on your first day you teach the ancient one a new lesson. Go now. Come back on the morrow. Come back. We will share what we know. Both of us.”

  When she emerged from the cave entrance, Garreth stood and held a hand out to her. He smiled. Nadira took his hand and he led her down the path to the sea and along the shore back to the city. As they walked in silence she looked up at him. He had aged more than the others since Richard’s death. Gray hairs were entwined in his golden braid that hung down his back to his belt. Deep wrinkles creased his eyes and the skin on his arms was no longer tight, but seemed to cover his muscles like a loose tunic. Nadira could not look at him and think of the evils of the world. His body was still hard and strong, his pace steady and a bit too fast for her. She trotted along beside him until the sounds of her panting slowed him out of courtesy. He looked down at her and grinned, pointing to the buildings in the distance.

  “Yes. I am eager to get there, too.”

  He pointed back toward the cave and raised his eyebrows.

  “I met with her. It is good.”

  He nodded and turned his attention to the path on the rocky beach. Those few words were enough for him. He was not a man of complicated ideas. Nadira squeezed his hand with affection and was rewarded with a smile and a grunt.

  Montrose was alone in the room when Garreth pushed the door open for her. He was sitting on the low stool, his weapons laid out in a series of shining lines on the bed beside him. It was warm in the room and he had removed his shirt, it lay folded neatly beside his horn cup on the table. He had a soft cloth in his hand and was rubbing the steel of his broadsword that lay across both knees with a mixture of olive oil and beeswax he had melted together. The sweet honey scent permeated the room. He looked up as she entered and gave her a soft smile in greeting, but did not cease the back and forth motion of his hands. Nadira could see the evil of the world here, in her own room, and wondered at it.

  “Did you meet with her?” His voice was low and deep, slow and steady. He did not look up for her answers, concentrating his cloth on the joints of the steel where the hilt joined the blade.

  “I did.”

  He glanced up for a moment, the blue eyes merry, the black lashes framing them in peace now. He was happy. This work with the instruments of death gave him peace. Nadira wondered at such a thing. He returned to his polishing, turning the blade to work on the other side. He dipped his cloth in the small bowl beside him. “Did she love you at first sight, as I did?”

  Nadira laughed softly. “She did.”

  “I had no doubt.”

  She watched him work for a long moment. The warm Mediterranean sun had bronzed him about his shoulders. The muscles of his arms and back moved to and fro with his work. The dark curling hairs of his chest and arms glistened with the heat and with his labor. Nadira lowered herself to the other stool and rested her chin on her hands, elbows on her knees. She smiled as he pushed a lock of hair up and over his forehead; it immediately fell back over his eyes. He made a grim line with his mouth. She had promised to cut it weeks ago, but she loved the curls that only appeared when it had grown long enough to touch his shoulders. With a twinge of guilt, she saw now that the length annoyed him. I will cut it for him soon, she promised herself. It gets caught in the links of his armor.

  He raised his arm to rub the blade and she saw the thick scar that seamed him from high under his arm down over his ribs to end on the bone of his hip. She let her mind wander back to the day he had staggered under that blow. She didn’t realize she had sighed until he stopped rubbing the steel and looked up at her through the ropes of his hair. “What is it, little one?”

  “I am looking at you and thinking how happy I am.”

  He smiled, flashing his white teeth. “As am I. I never want to shut a heavy door against the freezing rain and biting wind again. This weather is delightful.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about the weather,” she answered dryly. He went back to his polishing. Can I send him to Egypt? Can I bear it? Perhaps he will forget his anger. She looked at the little arsenal on the bed. No. Three daggers of different lengths lined up beside a shorter and lighter sword, all waiting for their turn to be lovingly polished and protected from rust before one day fouling themselves in the gore of an unlucky man. She turned her head. His brigandine hung over the back of the only chair in the room, its gleaming steel rings testifying to the care he had already spent on it. It had to be continually oiled to protect him from the blows from other men who would try to take his life. Her throat tightened. This wolf will never be a lap dog.

  “My love.” Something in her voi
ce must have startled him for he immediately laid the sword down and stood, alarm on his face.

  “What is it? Tell me.”

  Nadira had meant to calmly explain her thoughts, but the sight of him looming over her, so concerned, brought tears to her eyes. Instead of the reasoned conversation about vengeance and grief and duty that she had planned, she found herself sobbing. He picked her up and carried her to the bed. She curled in his lap and sniffed until he handed her a clean cloth for her face. He smelled of honey and warmth and his arms were solid against her body. She put her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek against his, feeling comfort in the rough stubble.

  “What is it? What did the witch say to you?” he asked again, this time low and soft, his voice a soothing rumble in his throat.

  She answered him, “I must lose what I found to gain it back again. It makes no sense, yet it is a real truth.”

  “Tell me what you need and I will provide it.”

  She tried to smile, but her face was too tight. “It is you who need what I have to provide. Giving it to you, I may kill you. But not giving it to you, I will certainly kill you.”

  Montrose’s hands tightened around her waist as he pulled her away so he could look her in the eyes, confused. “What are you saying?”

  “I love you.” A tear tracked down her cheek.

  “Yes?”

  “I love you, but I must send you away, and I cannot follow to protect you.”

  “Protect me?” His eyes moved up and down her body and his voice told her how foolish he thought her words were. Then the blue eyes darkened. “Send me away?” Now the voice was hard, and his hands tightened even further on her waist.

  Nadira took a long slow breath, looking deep in his eyes, which shone with profound hurt and confusion. She forced the words out slowly. “Massey,” she breathed, “is in Alexandria.”

  She had expected to be thrown to the floor and that he would, in her imagination, leap up, seize his sword and brandish it over his head with a roar of triumph. But he did not. He brought her to his chest again and kissed the top of her head, but she heard his heart galloping inside him.

  “Alexandria,” he murmured.

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know this?”

  Nadira paused. It was too late to pretend a lie to save his feelings. “Richard told me,” she said in a broken whisper. “I traveled to the land of the dead, and he told me to tell you.”

  She held him tighter, not knowing what his response might be. He made a strange choking sound, so she clutched him with all her strength, thinking now he would fling her to the floor as he leapt up, but again he did not. He did not rise from the bed. Instead, his chin dropped to his chest.

  She twined the curled ends of his hair around her fingers and waited for him to calm himself. When his shorts breaths faded to an even rhythm Nadira took her cloth and gently wiped his eyes. The blue in them was like the sea after a storm, and his voice was as rough. “Did he say anything else?”

  “He does not blame you for his death. He knows what he did.” Montrose nodded, his gaze unfocused. She continued, knowing he was thinking of Richard. “He is content there. He says there is a library the size of the whole world and he is reading every book.” This brought a sad smile to his face. “But…” She hesitated.

  “What?”

  Nadira squirmed. “Must you go to Alexandria, then? Must you return violence with violence?” Was he as vicious as the priestess said?

  He narrowed his eyes. She thought he must be imagining having Massey in his grip because his hands squeezed her painfully. She wriggled on his lap until he released her.

  He said slowly, “I cannot let him live.”

  She expected this answer and made a little strangled sound.

  Montrose continued, “He will wreak havoc on the lives of many more, killing, stealing, and cheating until he is stopped. Can you think of it that way? Does that give you comfort?”

  He is trying. Nadira looked up at him. Not vicious then. Righteous, perhaps, in his ignorance. He will not understand until he has experienced this worldly violence and is sated with it. In her head she heard the priestess’ soft voice. Let him go.

  She nodded. “Go then. Will you take Alisdair and Garreth?”

  “They would not stay behind.”

  “No. Of course not. No. That was a foolish question.”

  “Not so foolish. It tells me you will be afraid without them.”

  “No. I will go to the temple while you are away.”

  This brought a frown to his face. “Are you to be a priestess?” She saw his mind work around the assumptions and she saw clearly that he did not like them.

  “I have only been invited to learn and study.”

  He was relieved. “Good. You are my wife, not a priestess.”

  “I am not your wife.” She tipped her head sideways, challenging him with this fact. “I remain, these many months, a reluctant virgin.”

  His face hardened. “It is difficult.”

  “But it should be easy.” She kissed him and ran her hands over his body, feeling both his reluctance and his desire. “Make me your wife before you go.” She did not say ‘you might not return’. But he heard the words in the silence for he put his lips on hers and kissed her hard. The sword and knives fell to the floor with dull clanks as he swept them from the bed with one arm and lay her down with the other.

  “Will you honor me by becoming my wife?”

  “I will,” she told him, digging her fingers into the thick muscles of his arms.

  He drew back from the kisses, “Now we are man and wife.”

  “Almost,” she whispered. “I can feel it…”

  “Not yet, you can’t.” He leaned on one elbow and with his other hand he slid her gown up around her hips. “But it is imminent.”

  They were gone the next day. The tide would not wait and it seemed Montrose would have flown across the sea if he could. He leaped into the little boat that would take them to the ship. He had his bag over his shoulder, his weapons strapped to his body. Alisdair and Garreth kissed her their farewells and joined him. Beside her Thedra dropped to the rocky beach and sobbed her grief into the earth and into the wavelets that touched her hands with every breath of the sea. The boat was released from the pylons that held it fast to the shore. Men took up the oars and the little boat bounced in the waves on its way to the anchored caravel that waited for the tide. Montrose did look back, once. She put a hand to her lips and then raised it to him. He lifted an arm in return, and then turned his face toward Egypt, his hand on the pommel of his great sword.

  Nadira hugged herself, remembering his arms around her the night before. She closed her eyes and felt him again inside her, both the hardness of his body and the intensity of his need for her. She smiled, recalling her shuddering pleasure and how she had demanded, “Let’s do that again.”

  He had answered, breathless, “Give me a moment, wife.” But she had not wanted to wait. Nadira clenched her toes with the memory. She had not waited long.

  A loud wail interrupted her thoughts. She glanced down at Thedra’s grief. “Come, Thedra. Enough. We have work to do before they return.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  William had not come with them to the harbor. She found William in his room, reading the Grimoire. He looked up and closed the book as she entered.

  “He is gone, then.”

  She nodded, sad, and picked at her sleeve.

  “He loves you.”

  She lifted her head. “I know he does.”

  “He came to me last night while you slept. He stood right there.” William pointed to the doorway to his room. “He came in and said, ‘Will, you must keep her for me while I am gone.”

  “Of course. Someone must be guarding me at all times.” They shared a sad smile. “He is the eternal shepherd, is he not?”

  William’s smile faded. “He looked so wretched, Nadira. This is what he said, ‘Will, my whole world rests upon your shoulde
rs.’ Then he turned and leaned against the wall. I was…well, I didn’t know what to do. I felt very uncomfortable.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “No. He could not speak. He gripped the lintel for a moment, and then went out. I was still too shocked to reply. I should have said something clever or wise to assure him that I would be here to watch over you. Instead I was silent. Now he is gone. I thought of all the comforting things I could have said to him. Too late.”

  “He knows them all.”

  William nodded. “He does. But I would have liked to say them aloud.” They sat in silence for a moment, then William said, “I actually feel sorry for Massey.”

  Nadira gave a sharp humorless laugh. “Please. No. Do not send your thoughts there.” She already had sent her thoughts there, and was filled with revulsion. She had sent a tendril to Montrose as he set foot on the caravel and was struck full in the face with an intense fury and hot waves of stinking blood. Touching Montrose with a tendril would be unpleasant until Massey was dead. “Do not go there,” she warned him again.

  William agreed. “I wanted to say goodbye to him, but he was like a dragon…” He glanced at her. “Or a wolf.”

  She put her hand to her throat, remembering the priestess’ words. “It might be impossible.”

  “His journey, not yours.” William did not meet her eyes as he spoke the Grimoire’s words.

  “Speaking of which,” she look a long cleansing breath. “I must continue mine. You will stay here with Thedra.”

  He nodded.

  “I will be in ‘touch’…” she turned up the corner of her mouth trying to lighten the mood.

  “He gave you to me,” William whispered, resisting her attempt at humor, “To protect for him, like I was a mighty warrior or something. Like Alisdair.”