Grave Ghost

by Tia Reed

  Breathing a sigh of release, Vinsant eased himself up. He was left with a mild ache in his arm so he picked up the pedestal and replaced the statue.

  Levi and Fenz pushed their crystals into slots near the right alcove. Their magic words were indistinguishable.

  “This seal is best spelled to be unbreakable, wouldn’t you say?” Fenz said to Vinsant as the mahktashaan replaced their crystals around their necks.

  “Take the apprentice.” Levi had already turned to brood over the left archway. The set of his shoulders brooked no argument.

  Vinsant trudged up the steps with more than once glance over his shoulder. His head struck the trapdoor on the last. It lifted without resistance.

  “How much trouble am I in this time?” Vinsant asked when they stood in front of the great mahogany shelves.

  Fenz removed his hood and looked down his prominent nose. Taking the cue, Vinsant eased his hood off his head. Without it, he felt insignificant. Now the excitement was past he was on the verge of collapse.

  “Perhaps not as much as you imagine. Go. I will think on it.”

  Vinsant slunk from the library.

  “Apprentice,” Fenz reminded.

  “Oh.” He pulled his hood up and turned to acknowledge the minekeeper with a stamp of his foot. “All praise to Mahktos.”

  Fenz actually smiled. “You did well in there.” Whether his surprise showed or Fenz somehow guessed, Vinsant could not say but the minekeeper cast a spell that dried his clothes and added, “You have not been learning magic two major moons. That you managed to work any spell at all under such trying circumstances is nothing short of miraculous.”

  “Yes, well, my whole training sort of has been,” he answered. He crossed the antechamber. Guessing Fenz would be too distracted to notice, he turned right instead of left. With everything else going on, his respected elders wouldn’t expect him to perform a second illicit act tonight.

  Chapter 10

  NOT EVEN THE shouts from the dewy hills could tear Kordahla’s unblinking eyes from the gravel path ahead. Unresponsive, she allowed the horse to continue plodding through the pass after the others, as she had done for the past two days. When the minoria grabbed her reins, her breath deepened on the morning’s freshness. She stared ahead, not caring why the soldiers manoeuvred their horses between her and the grassy slopes.

  At the front of their group, Kahlmed turned on his roan horse. “Hill rats, my lord.” His eager derision stretched the scars crisscrossing his face.

  “Your Highness, there is something wrong,” Arun observed. He was hooded, always hooded, in the company of the Verdaani. Not for these swine the courtesy of revealing his face. Nor for her, the dishonest compassion of his startling eyes.

  “You think the likes of those can threaten us, mahktashaan?” Ahkdul smirked. He was a brute to pull a whip from the bag on his horse.

  “Your Highness, they are distressed.”

  Perhaps it was to find kinship in suffering that she turned her head, but she saw the truth of Arun’s words. Five of the Hill Tribe huddled together at the tree-dotted summit of the hill that flanked the undulating pass into Verdaan. It took no physic to notice their ills: the hunch of one man’s chest as he clutched a trembling woman; the drag of a wiry man’s mangled leg; the dangle of a thin woman’s crooked arm; a torn and bloodied scalp.

  There was a sixth, a man with a face like a dried fig but the thick, brown hair of one in his prime. He limped down the hill towards them, his eyes skipping over the sword Kahlmed had drawn and coming to rest on Arun. He halted a good twenty feet from the horses, waved his hands before him, and let forth a stream of his native tongue. Behind him, the thin woman and wiry man were easing their way down, their wary eyes pleading.

  “Lord Ahkdul, these vermin are overrunning our land,” Kahlmed said, bringing his roan horse alongside.

  “Eradicate them. Or better yet, catch one or two for sport.”

  “Hi ya.” Jabbing his sword into the air, Kahlmed kicked his mount into a laboured canter up the hill. “Blood! I’ll have blood!”

  Divots churned beneath the horse’s hooves. Paralysis seized the group. The frenzy of the scarred demon was upon them before they gathered the wits to scatter as best they could.

  “Your Highness,” Arun said with firm urgency.

  Mariano glanced at her. The tendons in his neck formed strained cords. “Stand down.”

  A gurgle caught in her throat.

  “Your Highness, look away,” Arun said, low and urgent.

  Look away. It was all anyone ever seemed to say. It was too late, and too little, from a man who was reputed to heal. She flinched as Kahlmed swung his sword, as the edge sliced clean through the neck of the brown-haired man, as his body crumpled, and his head fell and rolled without cruel Kahlmed breaking stride.

  “Your Highness, this is coldblooded slaughter.”

  Ahkdul sneered. “Are your sensibilities offended, mahktashaan? In Verdaan we quash vermin before they spread disease.” He snapped his fingers. “Servant boy! Bring that here.” He pointed at the head.

  Brailen stumbled to the base of the hill, his carrot-coloured hair fluffed in disarray, the freckles over his cheeks dusted into oblivion.

  “Your Highness!” Arun protested.

  Mariano’s lips slackened. Such uncertainty struck a chord of despair. She could not understand why it had replaced his conviction, not when his next words argued for justice. “In Verdaan you are lord and master, but this pass belongs to none.”

  “On the contrary,” Ahkdul said. “We are beyond the halfway mark. That makes this Verdaani ground.” The swine cracked the whip. His horse started to shy, but he was rough on the reins, and three paces with its hind legs saw it still. “Are you deaf or plain insolent, boy, that you do not jump to my command?”

  The boy did jump, at that reprimand. Muttering under his breath, he slunk to the head. His hand was slow to extend, like he expected it to bite, but he grabbed it by the hair and ran over, depositing it at Ahkdul’s feet. The swine spared it a derogatory glance. On the slope, beneath thickening clouds, Kahlmed was riding down the man doubled in pain. The woman supporting him glanced over her shoulder, dropped him, and fled. The hunched man managed to stagger a few steps, but then sank to his knees to face his fate. Kordahla stiffened as the scarred man skewered him through the neck, retched as his corpse dragged after the horse until the bloodied sword came free. The body tumbled down the hill, its face not a stranger’s, but Erok’s, resentful and resigned. Thus had she betrayed the kind strangers who had helped her when her family had bartered her to this swine. Vae’oenka, did she not have a right to feel this way without suffering a prickle on the side of her neck? The minoria had no business studying her, no business reading her mind, whether by magic or intuition. Her hands trembling, she turned her head so she could stare into the shadow of his hood, and will him by the intensity of her gaze to act. He lowered his eyes. She heard a strange word, caught the cerulean glow of his crystal.

  “Stand down,” Mariano said. He clenched his jaw. “This is Verdaan.”

  The light in Arun’s crystal died. Only then did Ahkdul stare straight into the mahktashaan’s hood. “You would do well to remember that,” he said.

  Mariano glared with the authority of the Terlaani Crown. Dust covered his face and hands, and sweat darkened the edge of his turban, but his posture was straight and his face firm. “You should remember whose company you keep, and the promise you made my father.”

  “Shah Wilshem desires a realm free of porrin. These vermin are responsible for spreading the bliss throughout the land. If you will not act to stem porrin’s flow, do not expect the number of addicts to dwindle.” Ahkdul clicked his fingers. “Servant boy, remove that filth from here. Stake it at the top of the hill. Let it serve as a warning to any who would trespass.”

  For all he was a wretched nuisance, Brailen curled his lips in disgust. Holding the head at arm’s length, he trudged up the hill. Twice the hair slipped
out of his hand, forcing him to scamper after the rolling head. Were it not for the way he fawned around Ahkdul, the eager way he had hurried after the swine when called from the campfire last night, she might have felt sorry for him. As it was she felt nothing except terror for the Hill Tribe folk Kahlmed had ridden down, and it curdled cold in her stomach.

  The scarred man was trotting over, the woman with the broken arm slung over the horse’s withers, the man with the bad leg lassoed and dragging through the grass and shrubs.

  “We halt here,” Ahkdul said, watching Brailen fumble to drive a branch into the dirt at the summit. Clouds were churning into thick, white sheets, bringing with them the fresh chill of autumn.

  Mariano frowned. “It is not yet noon. There is no good reason to delay unless you wish to make sport of misery.”

  “The pass narrows ahead. I will not risk ambush for a short delay.”

  Mariano glanced at Arun, who nodded. “Very well,” her brother conceded. She wanted to shout at him, to beat him on the chest until the strength of his principles returned.

  Kahlmed threw the end of the lasso across the withers of Ahkdul’s horse. The man he had captured lay behind his gelding, sobbing with soft despair. “I slew the other man. The woman fled into the trees.” His smile twisted like a grimace. “Do you want I hunt her down?”

  “Let her spread word of Verdaan’s regard.” Ahkdul nodded at the woman. “Enjoy your prize.”

  Leering, Kahlmed dismounted, pulled the woman off the horse, and yanked her into the rising wind. Half the pebbled distance to the next bend she walked unaware before the cold grip of danger slapped sense into her. Her scream brought her nothing but a callous laugh, and the flighty neigh of a horse. She lashed out and pulled away, but Kahlmed hooked a fist into her chest, her face, her head. He kicked her down, kicked her stomach, kicked her head.

  Look away. From Kahlmed, from Mariano, from Arun. Kordahla blinked out a tear. She was shaking, shivering, could not stop. Around her, the hard-hearted men laid out canvas, kilim and fur, and weighed them down with stone and pack. Mariano had to lift her from the horse. It was too soon, for she saw that Kahlmed had turned his leer on the group, caring not at all he had to drag the hill tribe woman’s bruised body from their sight.

  “Your Highness!” Arun urged, too low for the others to hear.

  Mariano held her close. “That woman is an addict. You can see it in the gauntness of her face, the shadows beneath her eyes. Would you risk the deal my father has brokered? Would you risk Terlaan’s children to save one such as her?”

  “Here, servant boy,” Ahkdul said, scrutinising them as they talked. Brailen left off scrubbing his bloody hands on the grass, and trotted over like a faithful dog. When Ahkdul removed a packet of porrin from his kurta and thrust it at him, he grabbed it with both hands. “Your mahktashaan will teach my mage how to heal.” He pushed Brailen towards Arun.

  The boy tore open the packet, his face expectant.

  Arun pursed his lips. The wind ruffled the edges of his hood, but did not blow it down. “My magic serves Mahktos.”

  Ahkdul walked up to her, as tense as the crunch of pebbles under the boots Brailen had shined to midnight. He walked right between Mariano and Arun without so much as a deferential nod. She fought a shudder of revulsion as he stroked her cheek. “You assured me this mahktashaan was your father’s man. I honour our pact, yet he hesitates at your orders, and persists in lobbying his own desire.”

  Mariano frowned. “The mahktashaan are renowned for their honour.”

  Ahkdul twitched a lip. “I hope so. For your sister’s sake.”

  “He will help.”

  “Good. I expect to see results.”

  Ahkdul spun, drew a dagger and walked to the hill tribe man.

  “Do what you can, but don’t let Ahkdul catch you at it,” Mariano said to Arun while taking her hand.

  “The boy and I practice different magics,” Arun replied, loud enough for Ahkdul to hear.

  The swine knelt and sliced into the man’s thigh. The hunter yelped. Blood welled through his clothing as Brailen tipped the entire contents of the packet into his mouth. The bliss seized him at once. Staggering forward, the boy tripped over the man. He had to be a fool to giggle while he lay sprawled across the brittle body. All at once, her stomach threatened to heave. She pulled away from Mariano as he tried to guide her to the kilim.

  “These people are not citizens of any realm. They hold no rights to the land. It is our benevolence that allows them to wander the hills. You have seen for yourself they contribute nothing to Terlaan,” Mariano said.

  She turned reproachful eyes on him. He had the decency to look away.

  “This boy has no discipline.” Arun hauled Brailen onto his knees. A loose mug whirled around them before hitting the boy in the head.

  “Ow!”

  “If you wish to perform magic, you must learn to centre yourself, to control the effects of the drug,” Arun said. “The healing I can offer you is about bringing broken ends together.”

  “What if we tear them apart?” Brailen made a ripping motion with his hands. The hill tribe man screamed into a whistling gust. The wound in his leg gushed blood. Kordahla felt a tear tickle her cheek. Arun dropped down, placed his hands over the wound and muttered his magic words. Cerulean blue spread from his crystal, and pulsed from beneath his palms. The wide-eyed horses tugged on their tethers, snorting their fear of pain and magic. Pale as death, the man groaned but when Arun lifted his hands the gush of blood had become an ooze.

  “Do it fresh. Do it on his stomach.” Ahkdul was breathing fast. He ran his tongue over his lips, opened and closed his fists.

  Arun stood. “I will have no part of this.”

  Brailen hit his stomach and wrenched his fists apart. His face contorted in shock he clutched his tummy and screamed louder than the wind’s first howl.

  A bay horse reared, broke free of its tether, and galloped down the pass.

  “Interesting,” Ahkdul commented. He spat as Brailen continued to scream. “Fix him.”

  One of the soldiers mounted a chestnut horse and gave chase to the renegade mare.

  Arun did not move.

  “Do it,” Mariano said, and at that moment she hated him.

  Cerulean light struck the boy, who gasped before bursting into hysterical laughter as he patted himself through his kurta. “I’m healed. I’m healed. Show me how to do that.”

  “Tear the hill rat’s muscles apart,” Ahkdul demanded.

  Crawling to the man, Brailen raised a clawed hand.

  “Do it without touching him.”

  “Eh?” Shrugging, Brailen bashed his hands together and pulled them apart. The hill tribe man shrieked. Kordahla gasped, a frail sound with no more weight than a sparrow.

  “Now heal him,” Ahkdul ordered.

  Brailen ground his knuckles together. The man screamed as he writhed on the ground. Arun grabbed Brailen by his kurta, pulled him from the tortured man, and knelt. A bowl flew past. She caught the pleading look in the victim’s eyes, felt the tears become a stream down her face. When Arun placed his hands at the man’s temples, he calmed. Standing, the minoria faced Ahkdul.

  “His wounds are too severe. I cannot heal him. He will die before the sun has set.”

  Ahkdul threw his dagger into the dirt beside Brailen. “Kill him.” As Brailen pounced on the knife, Ahkdul landed a kick on his ribs. “With magic.”

  Brailen dropped the dagger as his body scraped along the pebbles. Giggling, he rolled over. The knife shot towards Ahkdul. Arun murmured, and it clattered to the ground.

  Ahkdul snarled. “Beware, boy. Your sorry life is in my hands.”

  “My lord, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Let me try again. I can do it.” Brailen closed a fist on the hilt, and crawled to the man. He let the dagger go as he sat on his heels. The blade lifted off the dirt, turned point down and plunged into the victim’s stomach. The poor man groaned.

  “I’m a mage,” Brailen yelled
flinging his arms wide.

  The knife lifted and stabbed, lifted and stabbed, again, and again, and again.

  Kordahla shook so hard, her teeth chattered. Caught up in the brutality or busy calming the shifty horses, the men did not notice. She was grateful for that small mercy.

  “The boy has talent,” Ahkdul said.

  “This sadistic fool will never make a decent mage,” Arun said. “He has neither the diligence nor the compassion required to work magic.”

  The amused tug of Ahkdul’s lips revolted her. “The skills he displays have merit. Come mage. Let’s see what magic you can work for me.”

  Ahkdul strode out of camp, and the boy scrambled after him.

  This is the man you would have me wed, her mind shouted at Mariano. She could not control her despair a moment longer. Sinking to her knees, she retched and retched.

  “Minoria,” Mariano called, grabbing her arm to prevent her complete collapse. Arun appeared at her brother’s side. “The men should not see the princess like this.”

  Standing behind her, Arun placed his hands on her shoulders. Warmth spread from his hands into her body, settling her nausea but not her horror. When she was steady, his gentle hands lifted her up. Though he wiped the vomit from her face with his own sleeve she stared past him, betrayer, betrayed. Together, her brother and the minoria walked her to the bear fur Captain deq Lungo had gifted her. They eased her onto it, and there she sat, frozen in miserable shock.

  “Princess,” Arun began, but Mariano beckoned him away. It was just as well. His breath was wasted on her. “Your Highness,” she heard him say. “This brutality sends her further into herself.”

  “Can your magic not shield her?”

  “Against her will? She will never trust either of us again.”

  Mariano took a deep breath. She thought he would order Arun to do it, was prepared to fight, to scratch, to scream if he did, but his footsteps led away.