by J F Mehentee
Emad resumed his search for a weapon.
‘Your Highness.’
Emad knew the voice and recognised the young djinni it belonged to.
Shephatiah and a female djinni stood either side of a yellow portal. Beyond the destination window lay a desert filled with tents. Emad approached the young djinni. There was little point asking him what he was doing here.
‘Where does the portal lead?’
Shephatiah helped one of the daevas enter the portal. On the other side, another appeared to assist him. ‘To Baka, Your Highness.’
Emad pointed at the sword Shephatiah wore.
‘Give me that,’ he said. The djinni frowned but did nothing. ‘As your prince, I command you to give me your weapon.’
Shephatiah shook his head.
‘I have orders to take you and the others to Baka. From there, I’m to accompany you to Iram, Your Highness.’
Emad growled his frustration, then rushed the djinni and grabbed the sword’s hilt.
The djinni was younger, and being manacled with iron had drained Emad. His fingers were still cold. There was little he could do to stop Shephatiah from prising them off.
You’re spent, you fool, he told himself. There’s no way you could kill Sassan.
He glanced at the platform. Although his tunic was riddled with cuts, it looked to Emad as if Behrouz finally had the upper hand. He drove the general, and Sassan behind him, towards the edge of the platform. The general parried and little else.
Emad sighed, nodded and stepped back from Shephatiah.
‘All right, all right, I won’t take your sword.’
There was no look of relief or acknowledgement from Shephatiah. The young djinni stared past Emad, his brow furrowed.
Emad turned and saw Kacper sitting cross-legged among the circle of guardsmen, his head bent forward.
‘We need to hurry, Your Highness. The diversion won’t last long. A soldier is bound to turn around.’
‘Just wait,’ Emad said. ‘I’ll get him.’
Two steps from Kacper, an arrow thwacked the ground and cut Emad off from the daeva.
Kacper looked up.
‘Go,’ he said, ignoring the arrow. ‘Get out of here, Prince Emad. Your brother wants you back. Go to him.’
Emad took a step closer.
An arrow struck Kacper’s chest with a loud thump.
Emad cried out as the daeva flopped backwards. Hands slid under Emad’s arms and dragged him to the portal. He twisted and writhed against the djinn’s firm grip.
Kacper turned his head. Emad felt himself being lifted off the ground and into the portal.
26
After the magi stopped chanting, Roshan saw the djinn’s scimitars flare up. She crouched and pulled Zana close to her and thought a dome of protection around them. The edge of the dome glowed orange instead of her normal azure.
The manticore’s shoulders tightened and his body shook.
On the platform, Behrouz continued to battle the guardsman, the shrinking high magus behind him. Blood and sweat darkened both combatants’ tunics, but it looked now as if Behrouz had worn the guardsman down. Her silencing the magi, however, had restored the high magus’s dome of protection. Unless Behrouz quickly killed the swordsman, he’d remain trapped in there.
The silver bracelet the king had given Roshan pulsed. She touched it to acknowledge she’d received the signal.
‘They’ve got Emad,’ she said to Zana.
‘Then let’s get Father and go.’
How was she supposed to get Behrouz while he was inside a dome of protection? She’d wished the magi into sitting down so they wouldn’t fall off the roof. Could she be specific enough to wish the high magus dead and avoid hurting Behrouz?
‘Destroyer.’
Roshan recalled the dream and saw all three men on the platform reduced to a heap of ash.
‘Destroyer!’
She could send Sassan to sleep—no, she’d send all three men to sleep at the same time. That way—
‘Roshan,’ Zana yelled, then butted her chest.
‘What?’
‘Him,’ Zana said, pointing with his chin.
A guardsman loomed above them. His sword struck the dome. Orange sparks flew, and the sword ignited. The guardsman flung it aside.
‘Destroyer,’ he said, his voice monotone.
Roshan let go of Zana and rose, the hairs on her forearms standing.
How did he know to call her that?
The guardsman’s irises turned black. Violet flame burst from them.
‘Roshan,’ Zana said, backing into her. ‘Who is that?’
The dome’s orange curve faltered, and the guardsman’s hand shot through before it reformed. Roshan smelled sweat, copper and burned flesh before fingers gripped her throat.
The guardsman’s lips moved but a female voice emerged from them.
‘Time to die, Destroyer.’
Armaiti?
The hand around her throat tightened. Points of white light filled Roshan’s vision.
Claws tore into her thighs.
The hand prevented Roshan from looking down. She guessed Zana was climbing her to reach the guardsman’s wrist.
Claws dug into her waist.
Tendrils of blue-grey smoke wafted from the guardsman’s sleeve and drifted towards Roshan’s eyes. She closed them.
‘What’s happening?’ the guardsman-Armaiti said.
Roshan opened her eyes. Blue-grey smoke filled her vision. The grip around her throat loosened.
More claws dug into her midriff as Zana’s weight shifted to his hind legs. Roshan fell backwards and against the dome. Zana sank his triple row of teeth into the guardsman’s forearm. The muscles in Zana’s jaws bunched and Roshan heard bone splinter and crunch.
The guardsman didn’t move.
‘That’s my auric energy,’ the guardsman-Armaiti said. ‘It’s not yours. Give it back to me.’
Blood trickled from the corners of Zana’s lips. The guardsman fell as his forearm came away in Zana’s mouth. The weight of the manticore and the guardsman’s arm dragged Roshan forward and onto the ground.
Roshan prised fingers from her throat. Blue-grey smoke rose from the guardsman and then dispersed.
Roshan coughed as air entered her lungs. She stood to avoid the shallow pool of gore. The dome collapsed, and she moved farther from the fallen guardsman, his face white and his eyes wide and no longer black.
‘Father!’
Roshan had to blink several times before she could focus.
Behrouz had the guardsman hovering over the edge of the platform, fending off an onslaught of wild swinging chops from Behrouz’s blade. Roshan rubbed her neck with one hand and wiped away tears with the other.
What had frightened Zana?
The answer had sneaked past the pair and knelt behind Behrouz. The high magus rose, the golden arrow gripped in his hand. Upright, he raised the arrow as if it were a dagger.
‘No,’ Roshan shouted.
The high magus buried the arrowhead between Behrouz’s shoulder blades. His dome of protection shattered. The force of its collapse swept all three men off the platform. Roshan raced over to them.
Atop the platform, her breath caught in her sore throat. Her No had reached far beyond where she stood. A dozen guardsmen lay contorted and motionless.
Below her, Zana nudged Behrouz. The high magus lay beside the unconscious daeva and still clung to the golden arrow.
‘He’s not moving, but I think he’s alive,’ Zana said.
Roshan jumped down from the platform and raised a portal back to Iram. She muttered an incantation and raised the unconscious Behrouz into the air and through the portal.
She glanced down at Zana, blood smeared across his mouth and tears in his eyes.
‘Go,’ she said.
With Behrouz and Zana safe in Iram, she turned.
Destroyer.
Armaiti must have conjured the dream. Dream or not, it came close to t
he truth now.
Someone groaned. Roshan took a step away from the portal. The guardsman who’d fought Behrouz lay on his back and rubbed his head. The high magus didn’t move, his white ceremonial robes smudged with dirt and blood.
Whose blood? Had she killed the high magus?
Roshan took another step.
An arrow winged past her, struck the platform behind and hummed. Before she could turn, a second struck her right shoulder and sent her spinning. Roshan smashed her forehead against the edge of the platform and saw a white flash. A slick warmth ran down her temple and into her left eye, obscuring the pale-blue glow of her portal.
Roshan heaved herself up onto shaky legs. The portal was a mere three steps to her left.
A third arrow whizzed and impaled her calf.
Out of fear more than pain, Roshan screamed.
Blue-grey smoke obscured her vision. Her fear turned to defiance. The arrows jutting from her shoulder and calf burned with a golden flame, then fell from her as ash. She didn’t stop screaming until she’d transformed the archer on the roof into a blaze of orange light.
27
Armaiti hovered above Derbicca’s square. Below, guardsmen collected the wooden execution blocks, and others gathered the possessions of the dead and injured. Both were loaded onto handcarts. Sassan had regained consciousness. She wasn’t ready to see him until she understood what had happened with Roshan. No entity, physical or ethereal, had absorbed her energy the way Roshan had. The experience had left her troubled and fearful. She’d touched Roshan when she’d pushed her off the roof, and nothing had happened. Prolonged contact was another matter. Stronger now, Roshan would live longer, too.
The thought appalled Armaiti and made it impossible to find a solution to her burgeoning problem.
The answers to how and why Roshan could do such a thing lay with the Unmade Creator. All things were of Its design, and Roshan was no exception. It had intentionally made her this way, hidden the ability from Armaiti until just a few days before, when Roshan sustained what should have been a fatal injury in Persepae’s chancery.
‘You should have let her be.’
The human-headed winged-bull, Manah, stood on the platform a pair of guardsmen were busy dismantling.
‘You’ve made her stronger,’ he continued, ‘and you’ve only made things worse for yourself.’
The lamassu wasn’t another sabaoth but the part of herself that longed for the past, the days when she did as she was told and the Unmade Creator spoke to her. Manah, the real Manah, had most likely watched recent events from his domain and gloated.
‘The Unmade Creator brought us together, and now It’s punishing me for something It wanted me to do,’ she said.
Manah faded.
‘You know I’m right,’ she said to both herself and the real Manah—wherever he was.
Regardless of who was responsible for her predicament, the problem Roshan posed would worsen if Armaiti didn’t act. But first, she had to check on the high magus. So long as Roshan continued to help the daevas and djinn, Sassan played a significant role in her plans.
Three hours had passed since the debacle. The camp was subdued, most of the guardsmen confined to their tents. Those on duty wore full fish-scale mail and patrolled the camp with iron swords drawn. The magic used in a cluster of tents at the camp’s centre pricked Armaiti’s essence. Magi and apothecaries worked to treat the injured. Behind and beyond the camp, work had begun on a short trench for the bodies of the fallen.
Sassan sat at the table inside his tent. A bowl, some water and a fist-sized amphora rested on the wooden plaque. In addition to some new scarring on his hip, caused by maintaining a dome of protection for so long, the high magus’s face and hands had suffered many lacerations. Thanks to his magi, the cuts had already healed. His hand, however, shook as he took up the amphora and poured a few drops of its contents into the bowl.
Armaiti experienced Sassan’s thoughts and how his confidence had dipped. Most magi, unable to tolerate the pain caused by summoning and holding Core power, used diluted poppy juice. Until now, Sassan had avoided it, fearing a loss of control and the addiction other magi suffered.
If she were to continue controlling him, Armaiti needed Sassan to be clear-headed. Ready to swipe away the notion of drinking it, she paused. If the high magus were to become addicted, it would make him malleable and less likely to resist any radical idea she planted in his mind.
Sassan added water to the bowl, swirled its cloudy contents and then drank, his nose wrinkling. His eyes drifted over to the golden arrow on his bed. Sassan swallowed a second gulp, then stood. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and screwed his eyes shut, hoping to clear his headache.
At difficult moments, times when a decision needed making, he prayed. Sassan shook his head.
Although she empathised, Armaiti felt no sympathy for the man and his shaken faith.
Sassan opened his eyes, glanced a second time at the golden arrow and then left the tent.
General Afacan sat on the edge of his bed, his adjunct applying a bandage to support his shoulder. Earlier, and like Sassan, a magus and an apothecary had worked on the general’s cuts and bruises.
The general made to rise at the high magus’s arrival. Sassan waved at him to sit.
‘Think, speak and act well, General Afacan.’
‘Think, speak and act well, High Magus,’ the general replied. He turned to his adjunct. ‘Leave us, please.’
The guardsman handed the end of the bandage to the general, saluted and left. The general gestured at a stool.
‘Please, High Magus, make yourself comfortable.’
Seated, Sassan said, ‘I wanted to thank you for saving my life.’
The general shook his head.
‘I should thank you.’ He squeezed the roll of bandage he held. ‘We were lucky.’
The poppy juice had calmed Sassan’s headache and nerves. He sat up and prepared himself for the news.
‘How many men did we lose?’
The general took a deep breath.
‘Eleven. Also, six are seriously injured, and it’s unclear which of them will last the night. Over thirty others will have aches and pains over the coming days.’
Shame and anger reddened Sassan’s face.
‘The djinn and the daevas will pay for what they did,’ he said. The diluted poppy juice made it hard to sound furious.
The general wound the bandage around his upper arm.
‘For the sake of the men, I’d like to suggest we let the men recover over the next two days. Those who weren’t on duty today can help Derbicca’s citizens with restoring the city to the way things were.’
Sassan shook his head. He saw the surprise on the general’s face and tried to rescue the situation.
‘I agree, but we leave behind those who fought and the injured. They can remain here until they’re relieved. Tomorrow, we march east to the empire’s border and the coast. Somewhere along it is that damned city, Baka, and the daevas hiding in it. On the way, we’ll round up and convert any daevas we come across, and then do the same on our return to Persepae.’
The general tucked away the end of the bandage. Sassan couldn’t tell if he’d placated him.
‘Will it just be daevas in Baka?’ he said. ‘My men reported a young female djinni. Arrows had hit her twice and still she incinerated the archer who’d shot her. She killed him with a scream. Until now, the djinn have kept to the shadows. Do we know what we’re taking on in Baka? I want to believe that young woman was an exception among the djinn, but what if there are more like her, High Magus?’
A man incinerated with a scream?
Sassan tried to recall an incantation for turning the voice into heat. It was conceivable even for a human to do such a thing, but the power required and the scarring that followed could be lethal to an older magus.
Armaiti saw doubt droop Sassan’s shoulders. She couldn’t let him back away from confronting the daevas. He needed perspective, a w
ay of understanding just how weak and vulnerable the djinn and daevas were.
Armaiti planted a thought in Sassan’s mind. The drug still circulating around his body made it compelling and enhanced his conviction.
‘They know we know,’ he said.
The general’s eyes narrowed.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand. What do we know?’
Back in his tent, he’d decided he’d made a mistake proceeding with today’s executions. By doing so, he’d forced the djinn’s and daevas’ hand.
‘I don’t know how, but the djinn and daevas know that we know about Baka,’ Sassan said. ‘One of the seven prisoners we were going to execute must be linked to the city. Don’t you see? Baka is important to them, important enough to launch a rescue.’ His excitement, the truth of his assertion made him stand. ‘We have to go to Baka, General. Whatever it is they’re up to, we must put a stop to it. What happened today is a declaration of war. It’s no longer our religion that’s at risk; it’s the empire itself.’ Sassan’s excitement fuelled his impatience. ‘That’s why we must leave first thing tomorrow.’
The general listened, took up his tunic and covered his shoulders and back with it. He continued to meet Sassan’s gaze, his hands resting on his thighs. After Sassan had finished, he looked away, then slowly shook his head.
‘My orders are to help you convert the daevas to the One Religion. Now—with respect, High Magus—you’re talking about war. I and my men cannot support such an undertaking without the emperor sanctioning it.’
Armaiti quelled Sassan’s urge to shout at the general. She soothed his temper with a reminder: General Afacan is the emperor’s favourite general. She then whispered words to him that sounded as if they were his own.
The general believes in our tenets, and he’s acting in good conscience. You don’t challenge such a man; you convince him.
‘Then we must request the emperor sanction such an expedition,’ Sassan said. ‘I pray the djinn never make it to our capital and turn Persepae’s population into ash with their screams. We owe it to the empire and its citizens to at least find out what’s going on in Baka. I need your help, General, and I think you’ll agree that if whatever we find is a threat to the empire, we’ll have to act swiftly.’