The Necromancer's Grimoire Page 41

“Then we are not in danger right now. Ask why he sent it.”

  William took a deep breath and closed his eyes again. A moment later he slapped the book shut and leaped to his feet, alarm on his face. His eyes were wild and he looked about him as though he wanted to flee. The book fell to his feet with a thud.

  “What?” She got her feet and took his arm, for he looked like he was on his way up and over the garden wall. “Stop. Demons from hell did not frighten you, but now you are panicked like a novice. What did the book say?”

  He was breathing so hard, he could barely speak. “It is not a demon that frightens me, but an idea.”

  She led him back to the garden bench and picked up the Grimoire. She put it back in his hands. “Tell me.”

  “The necromancer did not materialize the dagger inside the baron. It had been thrown.” William’s eyes were stricken. Nadira knew he was seeing what she had seen in Alexandria. He continued. “The necromancer sent an Assassin to Egypt. Oh, Nadira.” William wiped his eyes. “He knew he could not strike at the baron with you near him. When Montrose left your side he was marked for death.

  “An assassin.” She frowned.

  “Not murder for hire,” William corrected. “An Ismaili Assassin. The necromancer corrupted his soul and sent him to Alexandria for the baron. Montrose didn’t have a chance there without you to protect him.”

  Nadira blinked her tears and looked at her hands in her lap. “Impossible. Like the Templars, William, the Ismailis have been disbanded and forbidden for more than two centuries.”

  “The truth. Like the Templars, Nadira, they have been working in the secret places of the world. In Persia.”

  She sat up straighter and bored her eyes into his. “What else does the Grimoire say?”

  He swallowed, “it says that…the dead can be revived. That a sorcerer can affect the physical world, raise storms, control animals…the necromancer’s master calls you to him…he will show you how to do it.” William blinked. “You’ll need this...to bring the baron back. It will work to find him in the netherworld just as you used the Mandylion to find de Molay. The dagger is a gift. A promise to give Montrose back to you.” He pointed to the long knife. “He wants you to replace Farshad as his acolyte. He shows me a severed cord.”

  “Materialize solid objects? Control the weather?” She whispered. The thought was intoxicating. “Revive the dead?” She imagined Montrose standing beside her again, smiling, his blue eyes bright.

  “Don’t do it, Nadira.” He was reading her face. “Don’t even think about it. That kind of magic will change you into someone else. It happened to Farshad.”

  She knew it would not happen to her. She tilted her head at him and asked, “Does it say the Ismaili are trying to start a war as DiMarco insisted?” She looked up at the high window above her where Calvin lay in his bed. “Do the Templars intend to start a crusade?”

  William winced and put his hands to his temples. “No. They are trying to stop one.” He opened his eyes. “The Ismaili were to meet with Malcolm Corbett in Istanbul on St. Isidore’s day to…”

  She did not hear the rest. Nadira flew up the stairs to Calvin’s room and pushed his door open. “Thomas!” She cried.

  Calvin sat up in bed. “What is it?” he answered.

  She leaped in beside him and grabbed him by the shoulders. “What were you and Corbett doing in Istanbul? It is time to tell me. You weren’t there just to steal a book.”

  He stared at her. After a long pause he whispered, “We were to meet with Abd Al-Salam, but he died before we could arrange the transfer. Only his messenger arrived.” He dropped his eyes and twisted the bedclothes in his hands

  “Transfer?” She looked at the doorway were William now stood.

  “The relics,” William said. He raised his chin as he entered the room. “They were to trade relics and documents.” He lifted the lid of the chest on the table by the bed and touched the folded Mandylion. “There are also some finger bones in here and some rusty nails.” William gave Calvin a look that suggested he did not believe these were nails from the true cross.

  “There is more,” she said, “I can see it in his mind.” She squeezed the Templar’s shoulders.

  Calvin looked from one to the other. “We were going to trade relics. We would take his to Rome, Al-Salam was to send ours to Mecca.”

  Nadira sat back. “And?”

  Calvin took a deep breath. “We would set up a netherworld connection that would keep the world safe from another conflagration. Placing their relics in Rome might protect the peninsula, and having ours in Mecca would protect their cities from our armies. But we needed the Templar treasure from de Molay. Supposedly the treasure contained even more powerful relics collected from Jerusalem in the crusade.” He leaned forward to touch her cheek with one finger. “But now all is lost.”

  She took his hand from her face and pressed it to her heart and Calvin covered her hand with his other. She said, “It is not lost.” She turned to William. “Tell him.”

  “The Grimoire says you already possess that treasure, Poor Knight of Christ. You need no relics to stop this war.”

  Calvin frowned. He craned his neck to look at William. “Is there something in that chest I have not seen?”

  William tried to smile. “You are holding your treasure in your hands.”

  Calvin’s eyes met Nadira’s. “Can it be?”

  “It can. But I must first go to Persia.”

  Calvin slowly nodded. “They will have chosen a new imam now that Al-Salam is dead. We must meet with him.”

  She shook her head. “No. I go to meet another.”

  “No! You will not! I will not permit it!” William slammed the chest shut and grabbed Nadira by the arm and shook her. “You will not travel the path of darkness!” His eyes were wild. “I will not allow it!” he repeated.

  Calvin’s hand snaked out and broke William’s grip. The Templar rose up from his bed and lurched against William, pushing him backwards until the friar struck the far wall.

  “You will not speak to her that way!” Calvin shouted. “Nor will you grab at her person!”

  William’s eyes flashed and he raised his right hand against Calvin. Sparks of many colors glowed from his fingers and shot directly at the Templar’s face. Calvin ducked and lunged. He put the friar in a headlock, mindless of the shooting energies that whirled and stung him about the head and shoulders. William’s face turned red as his air was cut off. Calvin trembled from the strain of holding himself on one leg.

  Nadira slid from the bed. “Gentlemen. Please. Thomas, let him go. William, stop the sparks.”

  Calvin immediately removed his arm from William’s throat. Both men sank to the floor, gasping. Calvin clutched his thigh with both hands and William rubbed his throat, coughing.

  She turned away from them and considered this new information. What she had seen inside Kemaleddin was true. The sultan would order the reis to attack Venetian strongholds throughout the eastern Mediterranean. The Knights of St. John would attack Turkish convoys heading to Egypt and threaten pilgrims travelling to Mecca. The conflict was brewing. Pirates and privateers from both sides already waged a sea war with cargo and slaves.

  Nadira sighed. She thought she heard William calling her name. She would have to go to Persia. She could not stop a war by herself. She would need more training and more allies. And there was Robert. She closed her eyes. The priestess could not progress any further. She could not shake her belief in evil. But I have.

  “Nadira?”

  The thoughts that crowded into her head were vivid. She saw the temples of the ancient Egyptians and their hairless priests raising their arms over the necropolis. She saw the mummies and the barks that traveled every night to the underworld.

  “Nadira. No. Don’t do it. Please.”

  She saw the necromancer’s nameless master in the mountains of Alborz…that dark presence had saved all the secrets of Egypt in the high mountains, the knowledge of the Egyptians who we
re the masters of death. She saw a tall ziggurat under the stars. He beckoned to her from its summit. She heard the names of those who had come before her: Zarathustra, Imhotep, Astarte, Isis…Isis who brought her lover back from the dead.

  She could no longer hear William’s voice.

  The Books

  of the Dead

  Annmarie Banks

  Book Three of the Elysium Texts Series

  KNOX ROBINSON

  PUBLISHING

  London • New York

  Chapter One

  The foothills of Mount Davamand, Persia

  Spring 1496

  “I am not afraid to die, Nadira,” William said. His eyes followed a stone as it bounced over the side of the mountain and disappeared into the ravine. “But I would prefer that it not be today.”

  “Is your donkey concerned?” She called back to him.

  “No. He is quite bored. His ears flop.”

  She smiled, “Then you will live, at least for today.” She turned back to the narrow trail in front of her. Ahead she could see the tall form of Alisdair leading his wife, Thedra, who sat wrapped in brown veils upon a dun-colored donkey. Alisdair was too big to ride the little sure-footed animals. He had said he’d rather walk. Garreth, too, could have carried a donkey up the mountain, but instead he led their pack animals behind them.

  The narrow mountain trail snaked up the side of sheer cliffs and dipped low into deep ravines. In many places the trail had been washed away and the small party of friends spent time filling the gashes with stones before leading their animals over them.

  Alisdair looked back at her and she knew he was asking where they might spend the night. Until this afternoon there had always been a level area near a source of water for the night’s rest. This day, however, the narrow track had not widened, nor was there any sign their journey would end before sundown. She imagined trying to sleep sitting up on the narrow trail, her back against the rough rock. She thought about the chill winds that would prevent a comforting fire. There was little fodder for the donkeys, either. Perhaps if they got hungry enough they would turn around and start down the mountain without them.

  Alisdair jerked his chin at the sun and then turned his blue eyes back to the trail, hinting that she might try to do something before dark. Nadira held tightly to the tufts of hair on her donkey’s neck and closed her eyes.

  There was a place ahead to rest. This trail had been built by many hands hundreds of years ago. Countless travelers had created rest areas at appropriate distances apart. She felt a warm fire and soft blankets. She opened her eyes. “Just ahead,” she called to him. She saw his bright braids sway as he nodded. He didn’t bother to turn around again.

  She watched as he and his donkey disappeared around the switchback ahead of her. There would be a wide plateau, nearly level. They would rest there and wait. She patted her donkey’s neck.

  Behind her she heard William’s voice. “Nadira.”

  She tilted her head to listen and he continued. “Something is wrong.”

  She felt nothing wrong. She shifted on her donkey so she could turn around to face him. He looked worried; his golden eyes took in the vista below them, then up the side of the mountain before turning back to her.

  “You will not fall,” she said.

  “No. It is something else.”

  She frowned. She felt no impending danger, just that promise of a warm fire and a soft bed under the Persian stars.

  Her donkey approached the switchback turn with the same lack of interest he had displayed throughout the long journey from the shores of the Caspian Sea.

  “Calm yourself, Will,” she began, but did not finish as her donkey made the sharp turn. Ahead of her the trail opened into a wide plateau as she had foreseen, but Alisdair had stopped and taken Thedra from her donkey and placed her directly behind him. His huge claymore was in his hand.

  It was never a good sign when the giant sword left its scabbard. She slid from her donkey’s back and ran to him. He acknowledged her with a nod but did not take his eyes from the dust cloud on the near horizon.

  “Horsemen,” he said. “Twenty of them.”

  She did not ask how he could count at this distance. He was skilled in war and she was not. However, she was annoyed that the approaching band of riders had not appeared in her mind, warning her of their approach. But William had been warned. She turned around to see him come up with Garreth and the other donkeys.

  “There is your danger, Will.”

  He squinted at them as they grew larger. “I knew it was something.” He looked at Alisdair and his sword, and behind him at Garreth who now held his ax.

  “And you feel nothing?” He nudged her.

  She shook her head. “They come, but they will not harm us.”

  Alisdair grunted. “They do not look harmless t’ me. They carry bows and I see steel.” He took Thedra’s arm and gave her to Nadira. “Take her, my lady.” He judged the terrain. “Take her back past the switchback and put her on the trail. The horsemen will not gallop down the mountain.”

  Nadira had become ‘my lady’ instead of ‘lass’ to him the day he returned to Istanbul without Lord Montrose. He had bestowed upon her the title of his lord’s wife and she would not correct him.

  But now she did not want to obey. Nor did William. They exchanged glances. Thedra was too frightened to have an opinion either way. She looked at each of them, waiting to be told what to do.

  “Alisdair,” Nadira said, “I am not leaving you and Garreth to fight twenty horsemen alone. You forget who I am. What I am.” She did not mean his lord’s widow.

  He knew. He looked down at Thedra with tenderness. “I can’t let ‘er be here when they come.”

  Nadira agreed. “Take the donkeys and go back to the trail,” she said to Thedra in Greek. “You can wait there until we call for you. The tribesmen will not risk their horses on those loose stones. You will be safe.”

  “But will you?” Thedra moved close to Alisdair and took his free hand in hers, but she looked at Nadira. “You will protect him, Sultana?” Alisdair snorted, his eyes on the dust cloud. He had been learning Greek very quickly.

  “I will. Take the donkeys and go.”

  Alisdair took his eyes from the approaching horsemen long enough to be sure his wife was on her way back to the trail, then he looked down at Nadira. “Who are they, then?” he asked in English.

  “Tribesmen. Their scouts saw us on the trail. They will demand payment for our safe passage through their lands.”

  Garreth made an angry noise in his throat. Nadira turned to him and he pointed to her with the hand that did not have a battle ax in it. He pointed to Thedra’s retreating form. He was worried the women would be taken.

  William gave a short laugh. “I would like to see them try to take Nadira.”

  Garreth did not laugh with him. He pointed to the young man’s Franciscan habit, then drew his finger across his throat.

  Nadira nodded. “Garreth thinks no amount of money or goods will appease them if they want women…and hate priests.”

  “I am not a priest. I am a cleric.”

  “Yes, and I am sure the locals will appreciate the difference.” She sidled closer to him. “I told you it would not be a good idea to wear that in these lands.”

  He stood taller and flipped the hood over his head so it framed his face, then touched his chest where he kept the Grimoire strapped to his body. “Let them come. I do not fear them.”

  She took his hand and nodded.

  The horsemen were closer now; close enough to count that there were twenty-three. Close enough to see that their archers had arrows nocked and ready. Close enough to see curved blades in the hands of some of them. The men were short and dark and rode small mountain ponies. They were dressed in brightly embroidered tunics and leggings trimmed in fur. The groups split into two groups and galloped their horses in wide arcs to come at them from both sides, then surround them, two lines of riders circling in opposite directi
ons. It was a pretty maneuver, designed to intimidate their prey. Nadira could see that none of the riders were in the least bit concerned that the foreigners might be a threat. Their leader broke from the group and rode up on them with his second behind him. The riders stopped in a ring around them and everyone waited for the dust to settle and the horses to quiet.

  The leader of the tribesmen was in the prime of his life, dark and strong, wearing the colorfully embroidered shirt and leggings of the mountain people of Persia. His elaborate felt and fur hat made him look taller than he was.

  He said something to them.

  Alisdair stepped forward, his hand waved for her to stay back. She did. The men here would not understand that she was the leader of the party. They would look to the biggest and strongest. That was Alisdair. She saw them all looking at his hair and beard with amazement. Bright orange freckles must also be a rarity here.

  Alisdair roared at them in English, “Wadya want, ye filthy bastards?” He waved his claymore in front of him with both arms.

  Two of the horses snorted loudly and stepped back. The tribal leader yelled something as well. One of his men cued his horse and rode closer to Alisdair, arm outstretched as if to take the sword.

  “My lady,” Alisdair said to her without turning around. “This bloody bastard is not takin’ my sword. He’s gonna lose a hand unless you do something.”

  She agreed. “Stop!” she said in Arabic, hoping that the common liturgical language of the Levant might have penetrated this far into Persia. She put both hands up in front of her, palms out. She did not speak Persian or any of the many tribal dialects.

  The man did stop, and the leader changed his language immediately.

  “Surrender your weapons!”

  “Hmph!” Alisdair pointed the claymore at him.

  William leaned closer to her. “I think that Scottish word was easily understood. What are you going to do?”

  She shook her head. She had been gathering her energies for a great salvo if she needed it. She could feel the shimmering threads around her, waiting to be focused into a skein of tendrils to entangle the horsemen. “Wait and see. This may be resolved without bloodshed.” But it might not. She was only certain that none of her friends would be injured. She was not so certain about the tribesmen.