“How many of these places do you have?” Chane asked.
“Enough,” Ghassan answered. “Or so I thought before I returned here. I chose this location because of the cellar. As I explained, we will trap the host down there before dawn, and with the absence of natural light, Khalidah will not realize the time until too late.”
Wynn peered at the house. “So the back room in the cellar is ... hidden by ...”
She didn’t even want to say that word—sorcery—though she did wonder and worry again how much skill and power the domin’s sect had wielded in secret.
Ghassan ignored her and remained focused on Chane. “Do not forget a single turn or shadow on the way here. You must get the others to this place as quickly as possible.”
Chane nodded. “It would have been better if they had seen it for themselves.”
“I cannot risk them being spotted in the open until necessary,” Ghassan returned. “And they will follow you as agreed.”
That didn’t reassure Wynn. Having Chane guide Leesil, Magiere, and Chap was almost the most dangerous—no, insane—part of this plan. It brought other concerns to mind as she eyed Ghassan.
“Aside from explaining how Magiere can destroy Khalidah,” she began, “you didn’t provide much about the specter itself.” And Magiere hadn’t asked much beyond the how. “Chane and I followed you so far, but I expect more. He can’t lead Magiere, Leesil, and Chap without being fully informed.”
“Here and now?” Ghassan whispered, and, after a sharp exhale, “What do you wish to know?”
“Does the specter need to feed like other undead?”
“Touching a victim in his spectral form does not allow him to draw life. Unlike the wraith we faced in Calm Seatt, Khalidah is more pure mind than spirit. He cannot feed—spirit to spirit—upon the living. He requires seized flesh, with its own spirit as a conduit, to feed upon life by touch.”
The mention of “we” stuck in Wynn’s head. She, Shade, and Chane—and Ghassan—had faced Sau’ilahk together the first time. This situation didn’t feel much like that one.
“So his touch is as dangerous as Sau’ilahk’s while he inhabits a host?” she asked.
“More dangerous,” Ghassan corrected. “Even without touch, he can affect a victim’s mind.”
“We need to tell Magiere.”
“I’m certain she has reasoned this for herself.”
Wynn wasn’t certain. Ghassan kept too many things to himself until pressed to share.
“If Khalidah needs to feed like other undead,” she countered, “how did you and yours keep him imprisoned for so many years?”
“He was trapped in a specially constructed and prepared sarcophagus of brass.”
“And what of his needs for survival?” Chane asked.
The question startled Wynn. She hadn’t considered this before.
“If you knew how to kill him and did not,” Chane continued, “then how did he remain functional and aware for so long?”
Wynn wanted the answer for what horror lay behind it. She’d reasoned out one other detail, for there was only one way that the sect’s predecessors had resurrected sorcery.
They had extracted its secrets from Khalidah.
If the specter had been trapped for so long, how had it survived? Undead did not die for lack of feeding, or at least not those Wynn had encountered. They withered and fell dormant unless utterly destroyed, and she couldn’t see how the latter was possible for a purely mental undead. And without sustenance, Khalidah would’ve been useless to Ghassan and his kind.
Ghassan eyed Chane in silence. “You have what information is necessary, and there is more to do. Daylight will kill him, like any other undead, unless he inhabits a host. To get Khalidah out of a host is what you—we—must focus on now.”
Wynn swallowed hard. The lack of an answer to Chane’s question left much to her imagination. Earlier tonight, their task had felt daunting; now it was ambiguous as well. She had viewed Chane and Magiere as the true hunters in their plan, and everyone else would play a support or defense role. But she realized that she, herself, could be pivotal if things went wrong.
What if they couldn’t trap and hold Khalidah until daylight?
What if he fled his host before dawn?
There was only one answer: sunlight in the dark.
And there was only one way to create that: the sun crystal that Ghassan had made for her. It was the last line of defense to keep Khalidah from taking a new host, and when Wynn looked up ...
Ghassan’s dark eyes were fixed on her. Had any of what was now happening been part of why he so willingly made that crystal for her? Or did it have something to do with how Khalidah had been kept imprisoned?
“You understand?” he asked flatly.
Unfortunately, she did and didn’t.
“Let us return,” he added, not waiting for her answer. “Tomorrow, we begin and end this.”
As Ghassan rose to lead the way, Chane and Shade followed, but Wynn paused.
The fallen domin had made the sun crystal. It stood to reason his sect would have made the same to deal with the specter, as needed. Yet all had perished because he had been away when Khalidah broke free and slaughtered the rest.
How had that happened?
Late the following afternoon, Prince Ounyal’am sat at the front of the dais in the great domed chamber atop the imperial castle. Living his whole life in the immense palace of wonders, he now barely noticed the intricate mosaic floor.
Its polished shapes of colored marble were arranged in a looping, coiling pattern centering upon the one-step dais three yards in diameter. The entire chamber was awash with tinted sunlight filtering through the similar mosaic of glass panes in the dome above. Four imperial guards stood at attention, one in each corner of the vast room, and two of his private guards, Fareed and Isa, stood directly behind him.
This was the last place Ounyal’am wished to be.
Once a moon, the imperial court allowed public audiences so that common citizens could bring petitions or disputes to be resolved. With his father now “indisposed,” Ounyal’am was required to take the emperor’s place in these proceedings. Normally, he did not mind.
It was a relief to be useful in serving those of his people he so rarely saw face-to-face. Though he’d never dare say so aloud, he believed—knew—he was a fairer judge than his father, and certainly more so than a’Yamin.
But today he was deeply preoccupied.
The prisoners he’d helped to free had not been recaptured. If a’Yamin had uncovered any hint of the imperial prince’s involvement in their escape, the counselor had said nothing. Commander Har’ith had recovered from his assault in the prison and then promptly locked down the city.
Ounyal’am had done his best to assist Ghassan by suggesting to the commander that the imperial and city guards focus their search on the city’s outer areas and exits. This was based on the reasoning that escaped prisoners would be desperate to leave. And with the commander’s agreement, he then made certain additional other duties were given to the imperial guard based on improved security for the palace.
In truth, he needed to scatter the resources of both the imperial and city guards to give Ghassan room to act before it was too late. And he had not yet heard another word from the domin.
Twice, he had considered initiating contact himself, but he feared interrupting critical actions beyond his awareness. It was better to wait and, when Ghassan contacted him, find some excuse for a few moments of privacy.
Ounyal’am looked slowly around the chamber.
His gaze passed over a number of noble and affluent visitors come to observe the day’s proceedings. For as long as he could remember, it had been customary for such families to bring their children to these events so that they could benefit from a firsthand education in the needs of citizens and the reasons behind a final imperial ruling. These families humbly knelt on mats placed to each side of the walkway from the main entrance to the dais.