The Shadow of Ararat (51 page)

"I know, my friend, that many other sorcerers have gnawed at the edges and come away empty-handed or dead, but this thing operates within boundaries and rules of its own. It is
not
a disease and I do not believe that it can be treated like one, a single patient at a time. Everything that this is fits together, like a puzzle, or the stones of a bridge. If the one keystone can be removed, properly removed, the entire edifice will come apart. I believe that if we can effect that, the entire curse will be lifted."

Abdmachus stirred, his white eyebrows perking up. "What, Lord Prince, is the keystone?"

Maxian smiled, but he did not answer. His face twisted a little then, becoming grimmer. "I also know that regardless of how much you might praise my current powers, they are wholly insignificant in the face of what will be required. I must have access to a vast reservoir of power, far more than is contained within mere rocks and stones, or even in the three of us. Where can I get it?"

The Persian quailed at the hard stare he received from the Prince. He looked to Gaius Julius, but the dead man was smiling genially and only raised an eyebrow in question. Krista was ignoring the men entirely, for the little black cat had rolled on its back and was batting at her braids with its paws. It caught one and bit at the end of the hairs.

Abdmachus turned back to face the Prince, who was still staring at him with an almost hungry gaze. "O Prince, I... I do not know of such a power! The exhumed dead are repositories of strength, as you have seen from your experiences in the tomb. You see the pool of necromantic energy that Gaius here provides. I do not know! Perhaps another Emperor, as well loved as he? Perhaps we could find the body of Augustus Octavian and..."

"Bah!" Gaius Julius' voice was harsh in the close room. "No one makes a pilgrimage to
his
temple! There are no parades on the day of
his
birth. Do I ken you, Prince, that you need the very power of the gods? That you need enough strength to topple a mountain by pulling out the single stone at its heart?"

"Yes," Maxian whispered, his eyes still fixed on the Persian, who was beginning to tremble a little. The Easterner raised a hand to his mouth and wiped sweat from his lip. "Yes, Gaius, I need the power of a god."

"Well, then," the dead man said, rising from his chair and circling behind Abdmachus, who looked up at him fearfully, "barring that we storm the gates of Olympus and drag Jupiter out by his short hairs to serve us, we must find the next best thing. Persian, you
do
know what that is, don't you? And I'll wager from the palsy in your hands that you know
where
it is as well."

"What do you mean?" Abdmachus' voice was a strangled whisper. A terrible fear had begun to blossom on his face.

"I mean," Gaius Julius said, gently placing his hands on either side of the little Persian's neck, "that I have read the
Histories
. I know that the Tomb is empty, that it has been empty since the disaster of the Emperor Valerian's capture by Shapur of Persia three hundred and sixty years ago. I know what price Rome paid for his ransom. What I don't know is, where is the Sarcophagus? Can you tell me that? Can you tell me where the King of Kings, this Shapur the Young, hid it?"

"No, no! I do not know such things! They are forbidden! The
mobehedan
are the only ones who know such secrets! I am only a low
moghan
, not one of the great ones!"

Gaius Julius' fingers, ancient and weathered like the roots of oaks, dug into the little Persian's neck. Abdmachus squirmed as the nails cut into the nerves, but he did not have the breath to scream. The dead man leaned close, his mouth close to the little Persian's ear. "They trusted you enough to send you here, to the heart of the enemy. They trusted you to carry their plan into the house of the enemy. You are strong enough to build the ward that holds this house safe from what must be the strongest power in the world, save the gods themselves."

The fingers began to crush the little man's windpipe, fractions at a time. Abdmachus struggled desperately to breathe, but there were only little gulps of air to be had.

"Where is the Sarcophagus? Tell me!"

Gaius Julius released the chokehold, suddenly, for Maxian had made a small gesture with his left hand. The Persian gasped for air. When he had recovered, the Prince gestured again and Gaius Julius, with an unpleasant smile, gave him a glass of wine. Abdmachus drank deeply and then put it aside. He glanced fearfully at the dead man but then focused on the Prince.

"Lord Prince, please, surely this is not necessary? I have served you faithfully! I am Persian, yes. I was sent here as a spy in the capital of the enemy. But I am your friend, I have thrown my lot with you! Please do not ask these things of me!"

Maxian leaned forward, his face in shadow. His voice grated like stones crushing the bones of the dead. "Abdmachus, you are faithful, but there is no way out of the trap save victory. If you do not give me freely what I need, then I will draw it from your dead skull. Gaius Julius will take great pleasure in killing you and I will raise you up again, only wholly my creature, and your secrets will be mine. If you serve me freely, and me only, then you will live and have free will. But you must choose, and you must choose now."

Abdmachus quailed away from the face of the Prince, but there was no respite from his will. During the Prince's speech, the dead man had drawn out a wire-wrapped cord and now held it ready behind the Persian's head. Krista looked up from playing with the cat, frowned, and gathered up the little creature before leaving the room.

"Lord Prince..." Abdmachus started to speak but then stopped. Fear, cunning, and despair flitted across his face, but in the end there was only hopeless resignation. "Yes, I will do as you say."

Maxian smiled, but there was no laughter in his eyes. He rose from the chair and put aside the patterned quilt. He leaned down and took Abdmachus' head in his hands, raising it up so that he could meet the Persian's eyes. A hum rose in the room, like a hive of bees, and the Persian twitched suddenly. Maxian released him and smoothed the tousled gray hair back.

"Where," said the Prince, "is this Sarcophagus?"

Abdmachus groaned and fell on his knees to the floor. A trembling hand went to his forehead and then flinched back, finding a mark there. Though he could not see it, it was that of an inverted pyramid and bound to his flesh more surely than any tattoo. Tears dripped from his eyes as he knelt before the Prince, forehead to the floor.

"I have heard that the great King Shapur took the Sarcophagus to the
mobehedan-mobad
. The high priest had demanded it of the King of Kings as recompense for the murder of Shapur's brothers. The Sarcophagus was taken to the East, to a hidden place, for the
magi
feared that their enemies would seize it from them." Abdmachus halted, his voice weak with fear. "They built a new tomb of gold and lead to hold it, for none could open the Sarcophagus, though many tried. The greatest of the
mobehedan
died trying to unlock its secrets. I do not know where the great
magi
hid it, only that it is somewhere deep in Persia... Please, it cannot be found!"

Gaius Julius smiled now and fondly patted the head of the traitorous Persian. "Boy, nothing is impossible if a man puts his mind to it." He looked at Maxian, who was slouched in the chair again, exhausted from his small effort. "That Sarcophagus contains all the power you need, Prince. All we have to do is find it and retrieve it."

The dead man idly toyed with his knife. It was quite old; he had purchased it from a dealer in rare objects in the city. Now he drew the blade and the rasping sound of iron on bronze brought a sickly smile to the Persian's face.

"Where might we find someone who knows where the old wizards took this body, Persian friend?" Gaius Julius' bald head gleamed in the firelight as he bent close to the little Easterner.

Abdmachus swallowed and cringed away from the dead man. "Please, Lord Prince! This thing is a great secret. It is spoken of only in the barest whispers among my people. The agents of the
mobehedan
would murder any man in Persia who ever spoke of such a thing!"

"Then," Gaius Julius said, sliding the flat of the blade along the Persian's chin, "perhaps someone who is not Persian might know? An Egyptian? A Chaldean?" The point of the blade pricked at the corner of Abdmachus' eye.

"Aaah! Please... there is a man, a man in Constantinople. He collects rare things: books, objects of art, secrets! He may know where the Sarcophagus was taken. Aaa!"

Blood oozed from around the tip of the dagger and the dead man grinned in delight.

"I have met this man before! Please, I will take you to him. If you have gold or secrets to sell, you can get anything you want from him!"

"Enough." Maxian was tired of the game. "Abdmachus, go and see that the rooms in the cellar are cleaned up."

Gaius Julius stared after the little Persian as he scurried out. He whistled a merry tune.

Maxian looked up, his tired eyes half lidded. The dead man was excited, even eager. This was a new thing, and something that bore watching.

"What is the body in that casket to you, Gaius Julius? It will only be old bones and dust by now."

"I was only bones and dust, Prince, before you came and raised me up. If we can steal the body of the Conqueror, then you can return him to life as well. Is this not so?"

Maxian nodded, his face guarded. The dead man was in an unaccustomed state—he was trying to be earnest.

"Please understand, Prince, that all my life I dreamed of the Conqueror—of being him, of bestriding the world like a giant. My adult life was the execution of that dream. In the end, it destroyed me. Now, past death, those cares have passed from me, but this... this I want. I want to see him, alive. I want to speak to him. I want to stand at his side in battle."

Gaius Julius paused, seeing the troubled look on the Prince's face.

"Yes," the dead man said slowly, "in battle. You know that this can only end in a struggle, one that will be fiercer than any that has gone before. A war that you will have to win if you are to succeed. But think! Think of having
him
to command your armies! There can be no better weapon in all the world."

Maxian held up a hand to still the words. He stood, tired and thin, and wrapped the quilt around him. He stared at the old man for a moment, then spoke. "In the morning, take Abdmachus and go to the old port of Ostia. Find a ship, a swift one. We must be on our way to the East as soon as possible. The servants and I will prepare the house for departure. Oh, and make sure that my Imperial brother does not know that we are leaving or where we are going. Be quick about it."

Gaius Julius bowed, another unaccustomed thing for him, and left the room. Maxian went to the grate and stared down into the fire. He felt cold and empty. The struggle with the contagion had drained him terribly. His own talent flickered through his body and told the same tale that Krista had—he had come very close to death. Only her quick thinking had saved him. He wondered what he could do about that.

The patter of small paws made him turn. The little black cat darted into the room and jumped up onto the bed. It yawned at him, all teeth and yellow eyes, before burrowing under the covers. He smiled and shuffled back to the chair.

"Hello, Krista," he said as he lowered himself into the cradle of hard wood.

"Master." She came into the room, a dark ghost in black and gray. She had brushed her hair away from her face and it fell behind her in a cloud.

"Come and sit," he said. She drifted into the room and folded herself onto the couch opposite.

"We will leave soon, for the East. Gaius Julius will go to the port tomorrow..."

"I heard."

He paused; she was not well pleased. He decided to be blunter than he preferred.

"I owe you my life," he said, "and I want to reward you, but those gifts that I can give are lacking. I have thought of purchasing you from the Duchess and freeing you, but since you know what we are about and what has happened, that would be freedom in name only. Until the contagion can be defeated, there is no freedom for any of us. You are bound to me, or to Abdmachus, until this is done."

Krista's eyes narrowed. She had already come to the same conclusions.

"So I come with you to the East," she said in an angry voice, "and what am I? Still a slave? Half a free woman? I think—I am still a slave and will always be one. You did not have to tell me
anything
about what you were doing here. You could have sent me away or let me escape. You didn't. It's my duty to be obliging. I'm here because you fancy my company, in bed and out. Your gratitude means nothing to a slave, for it's the gratitude of an owner to a dog that has done well in the hunt—forgotten in the morning."

Maxian's nostrils flared, but he did not otherwise react. Instead, he sighed and looked away. "True. I do want your company. I do not trust the old man or the Persian. Gaius Julius would have me his slave in an instant if he thought that he could maneuver such a thing. Abdmachus—well, before tonight he thought that he was the master of the situation; now he is my creature. I desperately need someone to talk to, to trust. I hope that would be you, if you will still come with me."

"I have no choice," Krista said in a resigned voice. "Outside of the barrier that you and the Persian provide, I'm dead. I want to live, so, yes; I will come with you. I don't think that you will ever think of me as a free woman, but life is better than death."

Inside, Maxian felt a sharp pain at her rejection.
Why didn't she understand that he wanted to help her? He just couldn't. Not right now. But soon he would!

He turned away and climbed into the bed himself, careful to avoid the little black cat. Krista closed the fire grate part way and then disrobed. The house was silent, the only noise a patter of rain on the slate roof.

A bay mare walked along a dirt road shaded by cypresses. Her rider dozed in the saddle, a broad-brimmed straw hat pulled low over her eyes and a disreputable gray cloak thrown over a muddy brown tunic and leggings. Only a stray curl of reddish-gold hair betrayed anything amiss. Another horse followed close behind on a lead. The road wound down in a lazy path from the foothills of the great mountains behind, heading into a broad valley filled with streams, vineyards, farms, and the distant sparkle of a river. Beyond the river rust-red cliffs rose up in an escarpment backed by great volcanic cones. The horse kept to the left side of the road, for there it was shadier and much of the center of the track had been badly torn up by the passage of many horses and wagons.