Mage's Blood (61 page)

Kazim opened his mouth. ‘Ramita hates him—’

Rashid raised his hand again. ‘Quiet, Kazim! I asked your sister. Do not speak unless addressed.’ He looked at Huriya intently. ‘Tell me truly.’

Huriya glanced at Kazim, then ducked her head. ‘Ramita has not been abused. Her husband treats her well and is gentle with her. She has some fondness for him. I don’t believe she would betray us, but she has … grown accustomed to him.’ She looked at Kazim. ‘Sorry, brother. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings by having you know that she cares a little for him.’

For a burning instant Kazim wanted to slap her, hard. ‘I don’t believe you. She— When she and I—
She was eager
– she hates him, I know it.’ His eyes felt as if they had been bathed in acid.

Rashid didn’t look at him. ‘So you do not believe she can be relied upon?’ he asked Huriya intently.

Huriya answered warily, ‘Ramita loves Kazim, but she does not
hate Meiros. She wants to escape and live with Kazim, but if this could happen without her husband’s death, she would be happier. She is not someone who could ever kill another person.’

‘Would she open the door to Kazim, knowing he held a dagger?’

‘Possibly, lord, but not certainly. It would be safer were I to open that door instead.’ Huriya looked Rashid in the eyes, and for all his pain, Kazim marvelled at her daring.

‘Ah: so you would become our gatekeeper, would you?’ Rashid’s voice took on a calculating air.

Huriya didn’t flinch. ‘I believe I could serve you, lord.’ Kazim recognised her manner, all the way from Aruna Nagar: bargaining with bluff, cheek and some knowledge of the true price of the goods.

Rashid half-smiled. He leaned forward and did something that made his eyes flash pale-blue, and Huriya looked momentarily startled. Something had passed between them. She looked genuinely scared, and bit her lip. Rashid laughed aloud. ‘What an
interesting
mind you have, girl. And yes,
obviously
the gnosis has nothing to do with the demons of Hel if I can do it.’

She coloured, still afraid, but she also looked pleased, as if she had made a wager and won.

Rashid turned to Kazim. ‘Your sister has the same blood as you, Kazim, and great aptitude mentally. She will receive the same training as you.’

Kazim stared at Huriya. She would receive Hadishah mind-training – why would she need that? Huriya smiled coyly and said, ‘Meiros himself has taught me some mind-shielding techniques already, so that enemies cannot learn of his doings through me.’

Rashid looked at her appraisingly, then clapped his hands. ‘Very well, we will proceed. Kazim, final preparation and initiation will begin immediately. By the time Meiros is back from the Southpoint, you will be ready. Huriya, you will liaise with Jamil and me to create the opportunity to enter Casa Meiros. In the meantime you must keep your mistress calm and oblivious. I deem she cannot be trusted to remain silent on this matter.’ He glanced at Kazim, challengingly, but Kazim bit his tongue. ‘It is important that Ramita does not panic
or show concern if no signs of mage-blood appear. We will research this phenomenon ourselves to better understand it.’

Huriya said confidently, ‘I can do that, my lord.’ She was more composed than Kazim felt.

‘Why did Meiros choose Ramita?’ Rashid asked Huriya suddenly.

‘Ramita’s mother’s line produces many children. She says he believes his children will bring peace to the world.’

Rashid snorted. ‘Then he is deluded – there is no such thing as peace!’ He shook his head dismissively. ‘Well girl, you have become important to us. What reward do you desire?’

Kazim watched her consider. She’d always been too clever by half, but to make bargains with Hadishah lords was another matter. He marvelled at her nerve. ‘The safety of my mistress and myself will be reward enough, great lord,’ she answered eventually, but her eyes were sly.

Rashid looked amused. Kazim sensed something else pass between them mind to mind. Rashid looked skywards, as if considering, then looked at Jamil as if inviting his thoughts before he nodded to Huriya, who looked pleased. He wondered what bargain had been sealed.
Do I really want to know?

<
You hear me, Kazim? Answer with a thought, not words
.> Jamil’s mental voice was impatient.

<
Ye— yes
.>

<
Good, well done. Now, think of darkness and silence whilst I chant. You will know you have shut me out when my chanting fades from your mind
.> Jamil started to chant the Holy Book in his skull while Kazim frantically tried to shut it out. It seemed to take for ever, but finally, there was nothing.

<
Well done
.>

He could not tell if hours or minutes had passed, but Jamil didn’t stop. He took him through more and more such exercises, and each time it got easier. Finally he said, ‘Enough, Kazim. Stay away from Casa Meiros from now on. Meiros could pick your brain too easily, if he had any suspicions.’

Kazim sighed. He’d not seen Ramita for so long now, and the last time had not gone well. He missed her, longed to know what she was doing, but he had other worries too. He looked at Jamil intently. ‘What did Rashid promise my sister?’

Jamil considered him for a moment, then said, ‘She asked for the gnosis.’

Kazim was aghast. ‘Huriya – but—Even I can’t use the devil-magic, and I’m a
man
—’

Jamil laughed. ‘I’m not sure your masculinity is the key determinant.’

‘We are not like you. My father was not a Shaitan-spawned jadugara!’

‘I never said he was, Kazim.’ Jamil’s face was patient.

Kazim’s jaw dropped. ‘My mother – was she—?’

‘No, her neither.’

‘Then why does Rashid think my sister can gain the gnosis?’

Jamil shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but he is my commander and it is not my place to question.’

Kazim’s training had redoubled: silent movement, picking locks, climbing wall and trees, using ropes or bare hands; he took to them all with ease. Jamil told him a normal trainee would have started training from a young age, but he’d never had a better pupil. ‘You are a natural athlete and fighter, Kazim: you are born to this.’ The praise was both cheering and chilling.

It was not just physical work; Jamil fed his mind: Rondian words and grammar, knowledge of the Hadishah network; codes and passwords that relied on complex grids of symbols; safe houses and key contacts. The Hadishah operated in small cells, and they had few dealings with each other. Though the pouring of information was one-way, Kazim felt like he knew Jamil better than anyone – Jai, Huriya, even Ramita – even better than he knew himself. He trained physically for eight hours a day, absorbed knowledge mind-to-mind for another eight, and slept the remainder. It was punishing, but he felt a new self emerging: he could kill with his bare hands or a well-placed
kick; he could throw with power and accuracy; he could kill with a dozen everyday things. He could run tirelessly.

Days ran together, and they so lost track of the moon and stars that it came as a shock when he was told this phase of his training was over. It was dark-moon; three weeks had passed, eighteen days in which he had not thought for an instant of Ramita. He sent his apologies to her in fervent prayer.

It was time for his initiation as Hadishah. Haroun was being initiated alongside him, as a scriptualist. Kazim had never decided if Haroun had latched onto him in genuine friendship, or whether it had been more calculated; he’d not forgotten that Jamil had been watching out for them on the march, and that Haroun had known. Nevertheless, side by side, hours on end, they learned together
The Kalistham
’s passages on shihad. A Hadishah must understand shihad, and why there could be no pity for the heathen, however innocent or weak or fair-seeming. Even a child brought up as a heathen was a threat, for what they would become, so all infidel must die. It was a simple truth, and unyielding.

Ramita must convert when we marry. For her soul, she must cleave to the Amteh
.

This training was less physically demanding, but it was mentally draining. Eight hours of learning at the feet of a Godspeaker, eight of sleep, eight to spend as he willed – which meant more training with his blade, often just himself alone, flowing through the rhythmic dance of the sword with increasing surety and confidence. He thrashed all who sparred with him, even older men of the Hadishah. Only magi like Jamil could stand up to him now. He took grim pride in his prowess.

On the final day he fasted all night alongside Haroun. The only words they had exchanged in the whole five days had been the call and response of prayer, but the last task the Godspeaker set them was to make peace with each other. Kazim spoke aloud his anger and fury at Haroun’s manipulations. Haroun refuted this, claiming Jamil had sworn him to secrecy. The Godspeaker called upon Kazim to forgive, and somehow, in the midst of this emotional intensity,
he clasped Haroun to him, purged of his anger, and genuinely forgave.

He had been compelled to several acts of forgiveness.
All things are God’s will
, the Godspeaker told him. He had to forgive others their weakness: Ispal Ankesharan, for his desire to elevate his family; Jai for his softness; even forgive Ramita her compassion for her husband.
These things are not evil
, the Godspeaker said;
reserve hatred for those whose evil is wilful, born of selfish desires and blasphemy. Even forgive Antonin Meiros his need to create new life, forgive the Rondians their barbarity, for none of these can help who they are. Only the pure in faith can transcend themselves above their instincts. Forgive – but do not forget, and when you strike, let not pity nor forgiveness stay your hand. Become the blade of God
.

When he sliced his palm and swore his loyalty to the Hadishah and his bashir, Rashid, he did so with a remorseless sense of purpose. His will was as hard as his edged steel.

Afterward, Rashid shared iced arak with Kazim and Haroun. The sweet aniseed liquor was heady after their privations. It was the last week of the month. In sixty days, the Leviathan Bridge would rise from the sea, the sky would fill with windships and the Rondians would begin their long march across the ocean, bringing fire and war. The nightmare would begin again.

Rashid tapped the table. ‘Before that, Antonin Meiros must die, then the Ordo Costruo will split, freed from his craven neutrality. Many of the order are Amteh. Freed of their strictures, they will join the shihad. This Crusade will be different, I swear: this time, victory will be ours and the Rondians will be purged from Antiopia for ever.’

It was an intoxicating thought. Rashid touched Kazim’s shoulder. ‘You are the best swordsman I have seen, Kazim Makani: the match of your father, whose prowess you never saw. To you, God willing, will fall the most critical blow of this holy shihad: the blow that ends the long and evil life of Antonin Meiros. Haroun, you will be Kazim’s contact and sponsor. You will supply his needs, give him prayer and encouragement. You will keep him strong. I myself will deal direct with you.

‘Now, this is the situation. The Rondians have sent an Imperial Ambassador, supposedly to negotiate a peace, but all know this is a
pretence, to lure the Dhassans and Keshi into a false sense of security. This ambassador is named Belonius Vult. Meiros will be with him constantly next week, then he will return home: this is when we will make our move. I cannot give you the exact date for your strike, so be ever alert: when it comes it will arrive at short notice. Patience is your prime virtue for now, Kazim Makani: you need to be focused, calm and patient. But the time to strike is coming.’

Norostein, Noros, on the continent of Yuros
Maicin 928
2 months until the Moontide

‘Master Mercer,’ the quiet voice hailed Alaron as he scurried through the twilight streets of Norostein, his hood up to avoid recognition. He had left his illegal periapt at home in case some over-diligent guardsman searched him before he entered the council library. With so many gone eastwards, as legionaries or in the vast supply trains, the streets felt oddly empty. The wind was rising and high clouds were scudding across the face of the crescent moon. The summer was in full bloom, its humid heat sapping strength and alertness.

Alaron stiffened as Jeris Muhren detached himself from a wall a few feet away. The rough-hewn watchman looked dangerous in the half-light. Alaron knew he should salute the captain, but he hadn’t
fully forgiven him. Under his arm was a notebook filled with hundreds of the more arcane runes he’d found in the library, but he still hadn’t found the one Jarius Langstrit had burned in the air last week.

‘How are you faring, lad?’ Muhren asked.

Alaron found his forced softness irritating, but answered, ‘Well enough. We’ve been forced to sell our country house and my mother is so ill that my father has had to take her in again even though they separated years ago. Father is so in debt thanks to my failure at college that he must go east to try and trade his way out of impending bankruptcy. Meanwhile I cannot practise the art I trained in, or show my face in most of the city for fear of been assaulted. So life is just
wonderful
. Thank you for asking.’

Muhren winced at the sarcasm. ‘I have said I am sorry, young man, but you left me no choice—’

‘
No choice?
Who was going to believe me? You could have just laughed it off – they’d have forgotten anything I said within ten minutes.’