The Bones of the Old Ones (Dabir and Asim) (33 page)

“She craves to drink in that sorcery,” he said, “and fears that it tempts me. I understand. She thinks I am like other men, and I am not.”

“If she does not trust you, can you trust her?”

“I trust her to do as she wishes. That is all I need from her. You waste my time.”

So saying, he ducked, pushed aside the tent flap, and left us.

“We tried,” Dabir told me. “His path is set.”

“Aye,” I agreed. “And there is no one else to whom we might talk sense. It occurs to me that once again we have missed our prayers, and surely we are in need of them.”

“Ah, my friend, God has provided for us anyway. We should give thanks, and pray a little later.”

I thought him mad then, for he actually sounded amused. He was slowly circling Koury’s block. “I don’t suppose Koury ever expected this to happen to him.”

“I don’t imagine that he did. But what do you mean ‘God has provided’?”

“Asim, mark you that pouch on Koury?”

I came to look where Dabir pointed into the ice. The layers deformed the man within, and his clothing. Following Dabir’s fingers, I beheld the image of a good-sized bag with a flap that hung from Koury’s belt. The clasp was distorted by a wave in the ice.

“I see it,” I said.

“We’re going to melt it free.”

“Why?”

“Because unless I mistake myself, that is where he keeps his wooden figurines.”

I brightened, then shook my head. “But they are in miniature. And how will we control—”

“Erragal taught him this skill, and I have studied how to counter it.” He patted his robe and I heard a faint crinkle. “I managed to keep a few of the scrolls with me. It may be that I can control the beasts. Assuming Koury has any left. See, though, that his hand is reaching for the pouch. He must have had at least one more he meant to wield.”

“It is something,” I granted him. “But we must somehow obtain the club before we make this escape.”

“Yes. And reunite with Erragal, and lure Najya after us.”

This all seemed quite optimistic. “I do not think Moses asked for this many miracles.”

“Do you have a better plan?”

I turned up my palms. “I have no plan.”

“Then we will use mine. Help me tip Koury over.”

First we rolled over a few of the extra logs, Dabir explaining as we did so that we’d need to prop him up. I did not ask why, though I soon understood. It was more challenging than you might suppose for the two of us to lower him without making loud noises or crushing our fingers. In moments Dabir set to work placing kindling beneath the ice at Koury’s waist, then brought over a flame and set it alight. He stepped back. Steam rose immediately, and water began to drip from the underside of the block.

“Thus do the mighty fall,” Dabir said, though he sounded more regretful than mocking.

“You do not think,” I said, “that he but waits to be freed?”

“I cannot guarantee that,” Dabir admitted. “But I doubt it. I think Koury has passed on to whatever awaits him. The immortal Sebitti are dwindling in number.”

I had worried over a final confrontation with Koury for days owing to the power of his sorcery, and I found it rather unsettling that he had been so simply dispatched. It spoke volumes about the power of Usarshra, which set off a stab of anguish about Najya—I suppressed it only to worry once more about our friends. “Do you think Mosul is already fallen?”

“I would think not.” Dabir stepped back to the fire and retrieved more fuel before returning to Koury’s ice block. “Surely there would have been more commotion in the camp. Celebrations and laughter. Rashid may have been captured in a caravan entering or leaving the city. But time is running out. For all of us.” He peered at Koury. “Do you suppose she’ll freeze us like this, in the end?”

“Do not joke.”

“I don’t joke. I have been thinking of something, though. All this time I’d thought Najya kept from touching the bones because of sheer willpower. But recall the moment when she received the club in her tent—it seemed to me that the spirit is reluctant to touch them still. Else she would have snatched up the bone and drained it of magic immediately. Don’t you think?”

“I suppose so.”

“I think perhaps Usarshra couldn’t touch the bones. They are warded against her. Maybe the same thing that keeps the power in the bones keeps her from getting that sorcery back. Do you remember how she was stricken when she first touched the spear?”

“How could I forget?”

“I am guessing the wards weakened her. She never touched one again.”

This was all well and good, but brought me no solace. “What do you think she plans?”

Dabir stared at the deepening divots forming in the ice around the warm sticks. It was clearly going to take more effort to reach Koury’s waist. “I’m not entirely sure, though I can surmise that she means to drain the bones as soon as Bersbek helps her through the wards, and that she means to use her spirits to drink up as much blood and life force as she can to increase her power. Which means Mosul is in great danger.”

At this I nodded vigorously.

“This will take a while longer. You have the freedom of the camp. Go see what you can learn. Their numbers, their movements, anything.”

I started to caution him to be careful, then to object that I shouldn’t leave him unguarded, but neither comment seemed appropriate, for neither of us was safe, and both of us were going to be as careful as we could manage, given our circumstances.

“Good luck,” I told him.

“And to you. Go with God.” Dabir looked to me with a grave smile, but said nothing more.

I exited from between the two guards. They gave me no trouble, though their hairy brows were dark with suspicion as I passed. You would think folk who thought themselves close to paradise would be in a better mood.

The Khazars kept a fairly orderly camp. I realized after a little wandering that the tents must be arranged by tribes, for some sections were set up in circles, and others in straight lines, and there were slight differences in tent colors and even in the number of banners. Most seemed to display different numbers of oxtails, though rectangular wedges of fabric also waved at the height of some tent poles.

Only a few Khazars walked the tent city itself, and while there were many horses within the corrals, there were not so many as a horse-borne army would ride. By this I knew that the bulk of their force was at work somewhere beyond my view, and large plumes of black smoke billowing on the western horizon ominously indicated the troops had at least reached Mosul’s suburbs.

But a little fire and a few dozen horsemen would be no good against Mosul’s walls. I prayed that Usarshra had been too busy within the camp to wield icy sorceries.

These, I supposed, would come all too soon.

Eventually I returned to the central portion of the camp, and looked out from between two tents onto the great open space there. The sounds of wood chopping had echoed through the camp during my rounds, and I discovered several dozen slaves laboring to drag logs to a large pile of timber I could only assume would shortly transform into a bonfire. Glowering Khazar overseers were ready with whips and kicks, and so much effort was spent watching prisoners I wondered why the soldiers themselves simply did not make the preparations. Beyond that, prisoners finished the digging of long ditches in parallel lines, facing a small, broad hill that must have been intended for a stage. Their breath rose in vapor in the crisp air.

Misgiving filled me at this sight, even though I could not know with certainty what their efforts would accomplish. It felt as though death looked over my shoulder, which was why I started so violently at a sound behind me.

I whirled, my hand falling to my empty hilt.

One of the Khazar women had advanced into the narrow canvas alley between tents where I waited, and had come almost within striking distance, though she did not yet put hand to her pommel. Dark furs and leather wrapped her, and a few dark curls escaped from beneath her hat. Her face was smudged with dirt and she smelled of horses, even at this distance.

She stared up at me, then motioned me to follow, and backed away.

This I did, reluctantly. “The daughter,” I said, in the hope that she understood Arabic, “gave me permission to walk the camp.”

“It is me, dolt,” she snapped, and I blinked, for this was Lydia. “Where is Dabir? Is he still alive?”

“Close by, under guard. How did you—”

She cut me off. “Are you truly free, or was that a lie?”

“Najya … Usarshra decreed it.”

She eyed me suspiciously. “How did you manage that?”

“I don’t truly know. I think Najya still has some influence. I almost got through to her—”

“We don’t have time to waste on her. Where are the bones?”

“The club is in her tent.” I suddenly remembered that Lydia was an uncertain ally. “What are you doing here?”

“I am looking for Dabir and the bones. I thought that would be obvious.”

“Why doesn’t Erragal just come for them?”

“He is too busy to come himself. What is Dabir doing?”

“Engineering our escape. Where’s Erragal, and what is he doing?”

“He is already at work on our grand circle. We can’t risk letting Usarshra get stronger than she already has, Asim. We’ve got to find the bones before she drains them. She not only has the club, but a second staff Erragal said was formerly hidden farther north. That’s probably why we didn’t hear from her when we were in Mosul.”

“You think she went farther north yesterday to get it? How could she get here so fast?”

“She can travel as swiftly as the wind can carry her, I think.”

The image of Najya sailing through the skies on otherworldly powers made my stomach squirm. “Do you know what the Khazars are building out there? And why they’re digging those trenches?”

“They’re rounding up captives. For blood, most like. For magic. From their hygiene,” Lydia went on, “you wouldn’t think the Khazars were fussy. But they must plan to shovel dirt or snow over the corpses after the ceremony.”

I ignored her callous disregard for the prisoners’ fates. “What about Mosul? Does it stand?”

“The frost spirits surround it, and no one can come in or out. Two hawks sent from the walls with messages have been shot down.”

Cut off. But help could not arrive in less than four days in any case. It was enough, for the moment at least, that the city stood. “Dabir thinks the people of Mosul will be used for blood magic, too.”

“That is surely true. Shall we go find these bones, or do you have more questions?”

Once more I ignored her tone, and led the way forward.

Najya had said the shaman was to inspect the club in her tent, so we went there first. Lydia and I sized up the entrance from behind the cover of another tent. There was but a single guard in front.

“Maybe luck is with us,” I offered.

Still we did not advance, for knots of riders trotted up and down what served as a main avenue of the camp. We waited for a long while, listening to the sounds of the wind whipping the oxtail standards, and the sawing and occasional shouting from the field beyond. Eventually there was a lull in traffic and we ventured over as though we had every right to approach the tent. We slipped around the back, then Lydia cut a slit in the canvas while I watched, and we sneaked through. We had breached what must be the treasure chamber, for open chests gleamed with gold coins and fine jewels: opals, emeralds, rubies, diamonds, fine necklaces and goblets. Such a collection might have excited even the caliph’s treasury officers. Lydia let out a happy cry of surprise at the sight. Lovely as it was, I had no interest in anything but the club and the other weapon, but they were nowhere in evidence.

“The club’s not here,” I said, and turned to the interior opening. “Let’s look in the other rooms.”

Lydia did not follow, immediately, and there was no mistaking the jangling as she dug into the trove. When she joined me in the main chamber there was no obvious sign of her doings, lest you counted her satisfied smirk. I was about to remark that gold would not keep her warm when the earth became an iced-over wasteland, but the main tent flap suddenly opened and we found ourselves facing Usarshra/Najya and a gaggle of hard-eyed priests, as well as four burly soldiers.

Najya looked puzzled. I thought I might claim I had become lost and had this Khazar woman show me the way back to her tent.

“It is her,” Najya said. “The woman who worked with Koury. Why is she here?”

Dabir later theorized that Lydia’s sorcerous energies would have looked the same to the spirit regardless of what disguise the Greek wore. At that moment, though, I was bewildered, and could not guess how Lydia had been found out in a dim room while costumed so well. It was impossible to suggest that I had caught her and been leading her to Najya, for Lydia was quite clearly walking freely. It was equally bad to suggest that I had somehow failed to notice the Khazar woman near me was Lydia.

The Greek was a more practiced liar. “Erragal has sent me to speak with you.”

At mention of that name, Usarshra drew back a step. Her guardians tensed. Yet she did not immediately respond. “You are the one who called me to the warmer lands. And for that I should thank you. Even if the woman loathes you. I have been thinking that I pay her too much heed.” Usarshra glanced over at me. “But speak, then. You brought me, so why do you now work with my ancient enemy?”

Lydia’s quick thinking impressed me. “Erragal does not want another protracted battle. He wonders what he can offer you so that you will return to your home.”

“He fears me.”

“You fear him.”

This may have been the wrong thing to say, for Najya’s nostrils flared, like a bull grown angry. Yet she waited a moment. “What,” she asked tightly, “does he wish?”

“That depends upon what you desire. I am authorized to make several offers, contingent upon your intentions.”

I understood then that Lydia was a most magnificent liar.

“At first,” Usarshra said through Najya’s lips, “I thought only to return home. But you had effectively anchored me to the woman’s body. I have grown accustomed to it. And these people here obey me. So I shall give them what they wish, and I shall take from this place what I desire.”