CHAPTER TEN - GHORA
The Unbridled Stallion of Oblivion, who'd once had a name of his own and for now went by Ghora, slept.
And in his sleep, he dreamed.
Dark passages - some wide enough to sail a galleon through, some so narrow that even he had to crab sideways to pass through them and a few that were in some manner both - that he travelled, his only guide his master.
Eye and Seven Despairs was that. Teacher, saviour, tyrant and object lesson.
"You will abandon me when the time comes," the old-young ghost decreed with confidence. "Abandon but not betray. For you will see how I handle traitors."
Except the Deathlord had never said that to him.
Had he?
They walked out into the library to see three figures around the room. Ghora himself upon a high stool at the table, studying a vast black-leather covered tome, well night as tall as he was. Tense, nervous, attention flitting from the book before him to the other two in the room.
They deserved attention. Blood Scavenger was the obvious threat, sprawled in a chest by the broad fireplace, shooting glares in the direction of the table. Large, muscular - the tight black leathers he preferred put that on display - and the glower wasn't an uncommon decoration. The chain around his waist wasn't decorative - soulsteel links and wickedly hooked ends.
The more dangerous threat was leaning over Ghora from behind. She didn't look like dangerous, pale and draped only in flowing veils, but Star of Dirt and Dust was at least twice as dangerous when she intruded into Ghora's personal space (as she was), looked at him admiringly (the way she was) and expressed her fascination in his studies (you get the idea).
Ghora-that-observed felt a hand shove him forwards out of the stacks and when he staggered into the same space as Ghora-at-the-table the two snapped together.
Neither of the other two reacted to this, presumably unaware, but Ghora shivered as he felt Star of Dirt and Dust's breath against his skin. She was just playing with him of course. She was the master's concubine, even if everyone else in the Cold House lusted after her. Especially as everyone else in the Cold House lusted after her. But if she wanted the attention of anyone it was that of Blood Scavenger, Scar of Uproar and Chorus at Midnight.
She, like they and any of Eye and Seven Despairs' other retainers, were not supposed to know that the Deathlord was grooming a fourth deathknight or that it was the little Djala who haunted the library.
Then again, Ghora - or Qiyeshi, which was the name he was going by at the time - wasn't supposed to know that sometimes Eye and Seven Despairs occasionally went around the Manse disguised as his own concubine. It could be unhealthy to reveal that though. Not to mention none of his business.
It might even be the Deathlord pressing soft flesh against his shoulder and earning Qiyeshi a hateful glare from the jealous deathknight by the fire. He shuddered and the temper of Blood Scavenger snapped. He sprang to his feet and was half-way to the table when Chorus at Midnight stepped out of the stacks and gave him a challenging look.
For a moment it looked as if the Daybreak Caste was going to accept the challenge but he concluded that discretion would be the better course of action - he might beat Chorus at Midnight in a headlong clash but not if she decided to knife him in the back the next day - and instead stalked by her to take a book from the shelves.
He slammed the door when he left though.
Chorus at Midnight shook her head disapprovingly. "Would you care for a walk down towards the balconies?" She wasn't asking it of Qiyeshi.
Star of Dirt and Dust considered a moment and then gave the little sorcerer a demure smile before accepting the woman's hand. Qiyeshi wasn't sure if he should be jealous or relieved and decided to cover for both by burying himself in the tome.
When he looked up again, he was face to face with Eye and Seven Despairs - a disconcerting experience at the best of times. "Your travels have done you good, Unbridled Stalion of the Abyss," he observed. "You don't blush so much now."
"Is this a dream?"
"Maybe." The ancient ghost smirked. "I'm not calling you home, you've done nothing I didn't foresee."
"Just don't betray you."
There was a look of deep satisfaction on Eye and Seven Despairs' noseless face. "No indeed." He reached across the table and pushed lightly upon Ghora's chest. "Be off with you."
And so he was.
"Well that was disconcerting," he complained as he found himself standing on somewhere in the veldt of Harborhead. "Either the old bastard's back in the game or my head's just playing with me." He looked around at the surroundings. "Either way, I don't like this game much."
He turned and saw the dust rising to mark the passage of feet in the not that great distance. Human feet.
"Really not liking the game," Ghora continued, recognising the jet-black skin - largely exposed by clothes that amounted to little more than a loincloth - of the Totikari people. Tribes of that race were well known to the neighbours of Harborhead as a proud warrior race, i.e. belligerent and prone to visiting insufficiently protected villages of rival tribes on either side of the borders and taking whatever caught their eye. Money, cattle and slaves.
As a scion of a race with little to be proud of save a long history of involuntary servitude, Ghora wasn't terribly fond of the Totikari.
Equally predictably, they were heading right towards him.
Well if it was a dream then there was absolutely no reason not to cut loose, was there? And if, by some bizarre chance, he'd been transported several thousand miles from where he'd gone to sleep...
...well, the Totikari had it coming, didn't they?
"I'd like to introduce you to my little friend," he shouted once he'd finished casting a spell and the tribal warriors were in range to hear him. "He doesn't have a name, but you can call him 'Aargh! It burns!'"
The sheer non sequitur brought the column to a halt right where he wanted them: just beginning to spread out to surround him. That was when the tentacles of molten rock rose out of the ground and attacked them.
"Aargh! It burns!" screamed one of the warriors as the tentacle wrapped around his legs began to roast the limbs while flailing around.
Ghora threw back his head and laughed as he recognised the face of one of the warriors that had been holding his mother the last time that he saw her.
The one that had probably been holding her the last time that he'd heard her too, although he wasn't sure about that. Close enough for him to have a second tentacle wrap around the man's head and then both pulled in opposite directions, to the sound of more laughter.
E-X-A-L-T-E-D
"The sun's setting," Nyaya told him once she was sure his eyes were open. Judging by the way she'd woken him - warily prodding at his foot with the scabbard of her sword - she'd decided to treat him cautiously which was fine with Ghora.
"Nice timing then."
"I'm assuming that I don't want to know what you were dreaming of, judging by the giggling you were doing?"
"Probably not, although I'm sure they were actually manly chuckles."
"If you say so," she replied sceptically.
Ghora smirked. The protestation had been mostly pro forma anyway. When you're four feet tall and completely bald, the usual standards of manliness tend not to be terribly relevant. Still, posturing was a distraction from what he was about to do. "I'll need you to guard me while I cast this. It's one of the easiest of summoning spells but that's like saying that the White Sea is the smallest of the three seas."
"How big is the White Sea?" asked Nyaya.
"Larger than the coastal plane from Harbourhead to the Lap."
She nodded. "So how long are we talking about?"
"An hour or so." He knelt and drew a circle in the dust with one finger.
Nyaya stared at him and then shook her head in disbelief. "That's your magic circle?"
"I'll let you know a secret, one that sorcerers like to keep to themselves."
"What's that then?"
"There's no such thing as magic." Then he began to shape the spell and essence flooded out of him. It had been two years since he'd cast this but it came back to him almost by instinct. Before he began to the chant he added: "Only power and the will to shape it." Black chains of essence, links torn and twisted burst around the room as his anima banner rushed to life.
The woman jumped back, her expression clearly asking 'well what do you call this then?'
To shape essence through my naked will to twist the very tapestry of Creation, the rush of power through me, the very laws of the Primordial creators bent to my whim? Ghora's eyes were wide and vacant as he focused entirely upon the spell. After everything I've seen, after everywhere I've been...
"It makes me glad to be alive!" he screamed ecstatically between clauses in the spell.
Not even the dark of the night could have hidden the blaze of the anima banner but it didn't draw in predators. The last few months had alerted the denizens of the City of Dead Flowers that the blaze of deathly dark essence was a warning that they should avoid and if this one took a different form than that which Shatterer of Ways had exhibited, that added the fear of the unknown to their reactions.
His chanting rose to a crescendo and with it, Ghora's own doubts. Many of the dead would elect to enter Lethe and reincarnation... or more rarely slip entirely into Oblivion. The Immaculate Faith taught that the former was the only righteous course of action and Mnemon Dhana would have received that lesson from the cradle.
If the dynast had been entirely true to his upbringing then Mnemon Dhana would have no ghost to be summoned and this was a waste of effort. Worse, it would embarrass Ghora in front of Nyaya - right now his only supporter. He'd not dared show weakness or doubt earlier and now he was in too deep to back off.
The one thing that was in Ghora's favour was the method of Dhana's death: few things could bind a soul to Creation like a death by violence. There was a reason people feared the hungry ghosts of the untimely slain rising to take indiscriminate vengeance.
So educated morality or emotional outrage? Which would win?
Touching a finger-tip to the sharp edge of one of his scalpel he scattered droplets of blood across the circle.
As the spectral form rose like red-black smoke from the blood, Ghora relaxed slightly. Emotions beat educations. Depressing but at least predictable.
"Lord Dhana, I've summoned you because I have questions unanswered."
"You presume to summon me, sorcerer!?" the ghost - who lacked his leg and was standing with help of a familiar looking spread-the-water knife - demanded.
Ghora nodded. "Your grasp of the obvious is profound. Now, I believe that there are a few matters that you may have forgotten to disclose to me about your dealings two nights ago. You can disclose those matters to me willingly or unwillingly... but you will disclose them."
"Are you...?" Mnemon Dhana asked, evidently not quite familiar with the new context of their interaction. "Are you threatening me, sorcerer?"
"The word is necromancer and that was merely a statement. Threats can follow if necessary. How long has your great-grandmother been dealing with the dead?"
"How long have you?" the ghost demanded imperiously.
Ghora nodded. "Unwilling it shall be then." He gritted his teeth and closed his will around the ghost.
"What! No!" protested Dhana. Untutored he struggled against the bondage, pitting stubborn defiance against educated and honed willpower.
For a moment the struggle was in the balance and then, with sweat upon Ghora's brow, Mnemon Dhana dropped to one knee. "Who are you...? No, what are you, that you can command me so? Some new breed of Anathema?"
"Something like that," the necromancer informed him, casually. "Now... I asked you a question. Answer it."
"I... I do not know how long she has had dealings with the dead," confessed the ghost. "The meeting that I went to was my first experience of them."
"I see. Well start at the beginning. How did Mnemon pick you to be her representive?"
"I don't know. She didn't consult me, I received instructions and the token to identify me to them. I assume that I was in the right place at the right time."
"So she didn't tell you about this face to face?"
Mnemon Dhana shook his head. "No, I haven't seen great-grandmother in years. She rarely leaves the Blessed Isle since the Empress vanished. Things are too tense for her to be away from the centre of politics."
"That must have been quite a letter to receive. I presume that you burned it once you'd memorised it."
"Of course! It would be unthinkable to risk that sort of information falling into the wrong hands."
"It would be just a little embarassing," agreed Ghora sardonically. "I imagine that the other Great Houses wouldn't look on that favourably."
"It could be enough to convince them to unite against us and the Immaculate Order would withdraw their support from us."
"Why did she trust you?" asked Nyaya. "No offense meant, but if it's that sensitive, why would she take the risk of sending a letter instead of some more secure method of communication? For that matter, why not send a Dragonblood to carry out the negotiations? Isn't it a little strange for the dynasty to trust a mortal with something like this?"
"Aren't you supposed to be guarding us?" asked Ghora. "It's a good point though. Answer her," he instructed the ghost while Nyaya went back to the door.
"No doubt she was aware that I can be trusted," Mnemon Dhana answered somewhat huffily. "And the very fact that I'm not Exalted means that I am under less scrutiny by the enemies of our House. If a dynast came here suddenly then the reasons would be a topic of speculation in every salon in the Imperial City. As I'm in An Teng already I'm far less likely to draw attention. And the letter was encrypted - no casual inspection would reveal anything."
"An encrypted letter and a mysterious token. That's not much to go on when you're doing something that could have your entire House destroyed for treason against the Realm. Did you get any verification of it?"
"I doubt if my Exalted cousins would dare to question an order from Mnemon, but I certainly wouldn't be so brash. Besides, only a handful of people know that cipher."
Ghora nodded. "She does rather have that reputation. Much like her mother. So what were your instructions? Go to a particular place and flash the token around until someone contacted you?"
"A little more sophisticated than that, but essentially, yes. There's a rundown townhouse near the temple of the Golden Lord -"
Ghora saw Nyaya's head turn at that and made a mental note to ask her about it later.
"- and when I asked the guards there for directions to one of brothels in the area, I flashed the coin, which let them know to give me directions to the actual meeting place."
"Fairly discreet," agreed Ghora. "So where was the actual meeting?"
The ghost struggled to resist but the binding forced his tongue. "In the grove of willows outside the East Gate."
"...you're not serious?"
"I cannot lie to you, much as I'd like to."
"You realise that the gates are guarded and supposed to be closed at night."
"A little coin opens most gates, sorcerer. And the bribed rarely admit to their crimes."
"It's also more than a little memorable. They might not want to admit to taking a little bribe for opening the gates but they won't forget you and anyone primed with the right questions to ask would be able to trace you. So much for your discretion. Fine, so who was waiting for you in the grove?"
"One man, alone." The ghost smiled wistfully. "Young and handsome, dark-haired and dressed like a sea-man. He had two guards but they waited outside the grove with my own."
"Did he give you a name?"
"No, but he had a token to match my own."
"Odd that he didn't have more in the way of bona fides."
Mnemon Dhana shrugged at Ghora's doubts. "It's for my great-grandmother to decide whether or not to place her trust in them. I followed her instructions precisely."
"You followed someone's instructions," muttered Nyaya.
"I'm beginning to wonder the same," Ghora agreed. "But never mind that for now. So what did you discuss?"
"It was in the nature of a preliminary discussion. He was asking for a free hand with the Coral Archipelago and Wavecrest - effectively leaving him as satrap of the West; permission to send an expedition to the Island of Versino; and information about the movements of certain flagships of the Water and Earth fleets of the Imperial Navy. He didn't say which flagships exactly, just that Mnemon would know."
"And she was going to give him all that?" asked Ghora cautiously.
"That would be up to her, but I doubt all of it. We hadn't got that far, it was more a matter of seeing what was on each other's wish list."
"And what did your great-grandmother have on her wish list?"
"The blockading of several ports in the south to keep the legions there from reaching the Blessed Isle in the event of a civil war there." Dhana seemed uncomfortable with that idea. "A Lintha vessel and prisoners from among its enemies, raids on the supply lines of the Vermilion Legion; and a copy of a book called the Broken Winged Crane."
Ghora's jaw worked soundlessly.
After a moment of silence, Nyaya turned and looked over at him. "Ghora? Is something the matter?"
"No no, everything's just fine. One of the most powerful sorceresses among the Scarlet Dynasty is trying to lay hands upon the most notorious infernal text in history. What could possibly be wrong with that?"
"Well it's not great, but don't sorcerers deal with that sort of thing anyway?"
"No, we really don't. Not if we're wise or at least loosely attached to our souls. The Broken Winged Crane was proscribed even by the Anathema. I've never seen even a partial version and if I did I'd be highly tempted to burn it, whatever the consequences."
"...I'll just shut up about it, shall I?"
"I have strong feelings about that sort of thing," Ghora conceded. He turned back to the circle where Mnemon Dhana was confined. "So other than damnation, what else did your great-grandmother want?"
"That was everything that she asked me about. He did offer transportation of House Legions from our satrapies to the Blessed Isle but I wasn't told anything about that so I said we might be interested but that the other items were more of a priority."
"And then?"
"That was more or less it. We were checking that nothing the other party was asking for was out of the question and then we broke off to consider what we might be willing to offer on each point and communicate with our superiors if need be."
"It's rather depressing to me that neither of you seem to regard the Broken Winged Crane as unacceptable. And I can't believe that your great-grandmother would be happy to have someone poking around Versino."
"She didn't prohibit Versino from conversation although she may decide not to allow it," Mnemon Dhana agreed. "And I'd honestly never heard of the Broken Winged Crane until it was mentioned in her letter."
"I'm not sure if I should be appalled at the gaps in your schooling or glad that the Realm isn't teaching people about the diabolical arts."
"We try not to infect our children with sinful -" the ghostly dynast began a little smugly.
"Ghora!" Nyaya snapped. "I think there's someone on the stairs!"
"Dammit!" The necromancer broke the circle around Mnemon Dhana with a sharp gesture. "Don't get any funny ideas," he warned. "I've still got a binding upon you and a couple more questions to ask."
"Believe me, the binding would be hard to miss."
Ghora went to the gap in the wall, preparing cast a spell -
And then a black arrow flashed up through the gap and the ceiling above was shattered, raining stone and glass down upon him.