The Thousand Names (72 page)

“How much do you understand of what happened in the temple?”

Winter’s cheeks flushed. She drank, to cover her embarrassment, and found the wine surprisingly palatable. “Not much. Alhundt was trying to kill us all, and Captain d’Ivoire and I stopped her.”

He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “I’m not surprised that you’d pretend ignorance. To be knowledgeable is to be involved, after all, and you must know better than anyone how dangerous that can be. However, I believe we are beyond that point. Whatever you know, or don’t know, you are involved now, and so I ask not in some attempt to entrap you into revealing your hand but simply so that I do not waste your time with explanations.”

“If you say so,” Winter said carefully.

“Trust me.” He leaned forward. “How much do you know about what has happened to
you
?”

She shrugged. “Only what Feor told me. She recited a
naath
, something that was engraved on those steel plates, and I said it along with her. Then I finished it alone.”

The colonel winced. “No wonder she was unconscious. Did she tell you anything about the nature of the . . .
naath
?”

“No. Only that I could use it to stop Alhundt.”

“And when you did?”

“It was . . .” She found it hard to put into words. “It was like whatever was inside me reached out, into her. It found the magic inside her and—I’m not sure. It—”

“Devoured it,” the colonel said.

“I suppose so.”

“Remarkable.” He looked at her curiously. “And how do you feel now?”

“All right, I guess.” She looked down at herself. “A hell of a lot better than I expected to.”

“An expectation I might have shared, had I known what you and Feor had tried.” He paused, as though searching for words. “The . . . thing that you have, call it a
naath
for the sake of argument, is one that is known to us, though only distantly. It was discovered in the wild only once, more than a thousand years ago. The Church of the time called it ‘Infernivore,’ because to them it was a demon that fed on other demons. It resisted every attempt to learn its name, and eventually its host died under the not-very-tender ministrations of the Priests of the Black. In time, however, rumors reached the Church that either the Infernivore or a very similar entity had been discovered in Khandar, among the great store of knowledge we call the Thousand Names.”

There was so much that Winter didn’t understand in that statement she hardly knew where to begin. She seized on something familiar. “Feor mentioned the Black Priests. I thought they were shut down a century ago.”

“Officially, yes,” Janus said. “As far as history is concerned, the Priests of the Black expanded their remit from the elimination of the supernatural to meddle in the realm of politics and doctrine, which is true, as far as it goes. In the aftermath of the Great Schism, the Pontifex of the Black lost much of his standing, and the Obsidian Order was eventually disbanded.”

“But?” Winter prompted.

“Elysium took the opportunity to purge the rot and return the Priests of the Black to what they had been. They operate in secret, searching out demons and magic in all its forms. Just because they are no longer publicly acknowledged does not make them any less dangerous, however.”

“I thought Alhundt worked for the Concordat.”

“The interests of His Grace the Last Duke,” the colonel said darkly, “align very closely with those of the Pontifex of the Black. It doesn’t surprise me in the least to find them working hand in glove.”

“But—”

“All of this is a bit beside the point,” the colonel said. “At least for the moment, as far as you are concerned.”

“So what
is
the point?”

“I also knew the Infernivore was here. I came to Khandar to get it, along with the rest of the Thousand Names.”

“
You
did?”

“Of course. I’ve made a study of magic, you know.”

He said it so blandly that Winter nearly choked on her wine. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then said, “So now you’ve got what you wanted?”

“In a way. Except that you and Feor have taken the greatest prize of the lot.”

That
made her sit up straight. Winter coughed, then met his level gaze.

“Can’t you just . . . recite it yourself? You have the plates, I assume.”

“Not without killing you first. Once a Name is spoken, it’s bound to the one who speaks it. Another attempt would be pointless.”

“So . . .” Winter’s eyes flicked down to the wine, then back to the colonel. “Are you planning to kill me?”

To her surprise, he laughed out loud. “You have a truly dour view of authority, Lieutenant. I suppose it suits you.”

“It seemed like where you were headed,” Winter said. “Kill me, and take this Infernivore for yourself.”

“For one thing, reciting the name of the Infernivore is extremely risky. I was planning to undertake it only if there was no alternative. Given the power of the thing, I estimated the chances of survival at no better than one in seven. That you were able to do it with no training at all is frankly astonishing. Given that such a risk has been run, it seems a shame to waste the results.”

“Oh.” Winter’s mouth was suddenly dry. She fumbled with her wineglass.

“Besides, I have taken a liking to you. You are bold and innovative in the field, dedicated to your subordinates, and loyal to those who earn your trust. You also seem to have a habit of saving my life, which is certainly something I would like to encourage. To be frank, Lieutenant, I want to offer you a position.”

“A position? On your staff, you mean?”

“Something to that effect, yes. The specifics can be worked out later. I’ll be returning to Vordan in a few days, and once I get there I think there will be a great deal of work to be done. I was hoping you could be of some assistance.”

“I’m flattered,” Winter muttered. “Do I really have a choice?”

“Of course you do. We will be engaged in some extremely delicate maneuvers when we return home, and I don’t want anyone by my side whose support is less than wholehearted. If you don’t wish to involve yourself, then I will not make an issue of it.” His smile came and went within a heartbeat. “I can’t promise that the Last Duke and the Church will do the same, of course.”

“Of course,” Winter said. So there was no real choice after all.
Except . . .
“What’s in it for me?”

“Anything reasonable that’s within my power to grant,” the colonel said immediately. “What is it you want, Lieutenant Ihernglass?”

Winter closed her eyes. She saw a face, as she always did—red hair, green eyes, a bold, sly smile.

“There’s someone I want you to find,” she said. Her voice rang distantly in her own ears. “An old friend.”

“I can’t promise success,” he said. “But we can certainly make the attempt.”

“And my corporals. I want them to come with us.”

“Certainly. In fact, I suspect the entire regiment may follow, given the recent news.”

“And Feor. There’s nothing left for her here.”

“As you wish.” The colonel cocked his head. “Is there anything else?”

“I’ll let you know if I think of anything.”

He smiled again. “Of course.”

Winter hesitated. “What did you mean, ‘the recent news’?”

The colonel raised his eyebrows. “Oh my. I’d forgotten you hadn’t heard. There was a courier from Vordan while we were gone.”

“Has something happened?”

Janus steepled his fingers. “The king is dying.”

JAFFA

T
he Seal of the Grand Justice of Ashe-Katarion was a heavy, unwieldy thing, all carved marble and gold leaf. It spent most of its time in a steel lockbox at the back of Jaffa’s office, and he sealed his day-to-day correspondence with an ordinary wooden stamp. Tradition dictated that the official seal be used on a few occasions, however, and one of those was to adorn the Grand Justice’s letter of resignation. Jaffa let the gray wax drip onto the paper, waited a few moments, then awkwardly pressed the massive seal home. It left the rearing-scorpion symbol of the prince, with a decorative border of eyes that marked the Justices.

And that was the end. The job to which he’d dedicated his adult life was over. Jaffa-dan-Iln sat back in his padded chair, with the loose, squeaky armrest he’d never gotten around to fixing, and let out a long sigh.

The gatehouse bustled around him with unparalleled activity. The prince’s agents had been busy, hiring new men and promoting those who’d remained loyal during the Redemption. Those who had switched sides were being eased out. Not too ostentatiously, of course. The Vordanai commander had expressed his confidence in the Justices, and Jaffa probably had that to thank for the fact that he hadn’t been marched to a public execution as soon as the prince felt secure. But the last missive from the Palace had left no doubt as to what was expected of him.

For Jaffa, it hardly mattered. Mother was gone, vanished into the Great Desol, and with her the cause of Heaven that he had come to so late and so fervently. His newfound certainty had vanished with her.

There will be a sign. There must be a sign.

He had decided that he would try to find her. Pointless, of course, given the extent of the Desol, but at least it was a direction. He would take as much food and water as a good horse could carry, and set out into the desert. Either the Heavens would guide him, or he would leave one more set of dusty bones under the dunes.

When he pushed his chair back from the desk and stood, sand crunched under his boots. He frowned, tossed the sealed letter on his desk, and crossed the room. His official sword belt and truncheon hung from a peg behind the door, and his fingers brushed the leather before he realized he wouldn’t need them. They belonged to the prince, after all.

Something whispered through the little office. It was in the depths of the gatehouse, far from any openings to the outdoors, but it nonetheless seemed to Jaffa that he felt a faint breath of air. The great logbook of the Justices, lying open on a side table, fluttered its pages slowly, like a lazy bird. Jaffa took a breath and tasted the hot, arid wind of the desert.

There was sand everywhere. Not just on the floor, where someone might have carelessly tracked it, but on his desk and on the bookcases. It was moving, grain by grain, tiny flecks tumbling over and over as though caught in the wind. A patch of gray and brown collected in the center of the room, rose into a little pyramid, and started to grow.

Jaffa fell to his knees and lowered his head. The pile of sand grew larger, accompanied by the keening of the desert wind. As it widened, it took on shape, forming first a rough-hewn mannequin and then a recognizable human form. It was a young woman, naked and beautiful, with skin that turned smooth but remained the mottled colors of the desert. Her eyes were two chips of obsidian, black and so glossy the candles around the room glowed in their depths like distant stars.

“Jaffa,” she said. Her voice was a dusty creak, a hiss from the depths of the Desol.

“Mother,” Jaffa said, and bowed lower, until his forehead touched the floor.

“They have all failed me,” Mother said. “All but you.”

“I will never fail you.”

“I know. Rise, Jaffa.”

He got to his feet. She strode closer, mottled patterns shifting under her skin. He wondered what would happen if he touched her—if her skin would be as smooth as glass, or if his hand would pass through her like an oar through water. Her full lips twitched in what might have been a smile.

“I have a gift for you,” she said in her ancient voice. She pressed one hand to her stomach, the flowing sand of her fingers melting into her belly as though she were rummaging in her own innards. She withdrew an object, skittering grains rippling around it like water. Its surface glistened as if it had been oiled.

Jaffa took it from her outstretched hand. It was a blank mask of raw steel with two rectangular holes for eyes. Jaffa hefted it in his hand, feeling the weight of it.

“What would you have me do?”

A ripple passed across Mother’s face, like the crest of a dune shifting in the breeze.

“First,” she said, “you must find us a ship.”