“I was told you thought only of yourself,” Urtarra said, his eyes mirroring a cynical amusement, “but it was hard to believe a man could be so lacking in compassion.”
“Believe it.” Dardash proffered his bound wrists. “Let’s get this over with no more waste of time.”
“There is one thing you have not considered,” Urtarra said, his voice oddly enigmatic as he rose to his feet and walked to a richly ornamented chest which sat in one corner of the tent. “I am willing to repay you for your services.”
Dardash gave a humourless laugh. “With what? Gold or precious stones? I can conjure them out of dung! The favours of that whore who lingers outside? I can recruit a hundred like her in any city. You have nothing which could possibly interest me, soothsayer.”
“That is most regrettable,” Urtarra said mildly as he stooped and took something from the chest. “I hoped you might find something worthy of your attention in this.”
He turned and Dardash saw that he was holding a piece of parchment, roughly two handsbreadths in length, which had obviously been cut from a scroll. Dardash gave the parchment a bored glance and was turning his head away again when there came a thrill of recognition—it bore lines of writing in the Old Language, the same enigmatic and impenetrable script of his own twelve scrolls. Apart from the compilations of spells which had defeated his understanding for decades, no other matter written in the Old Langauge had come his way. Dardash tilted his head for a better view, trying to decide what kind of text the fragment represented, and suddenly—as though he had been stricken by a superior magic—he was unable to speak or breathe. His heartbeat became a tumult of thunder within his chest and bright-haloed specks danced across his vision as he absorbed the realisation that the parchment in Urtarra’s hands was written in two languages.
Under each line of the Old Language was a corresponding line, a mixture of ideograms and phonetic symbols, which Dardash identified as late period Accosian—one of the near-defunct languages he had mastered many years earlier.
“This is only a fragment, of course,” Urtarra said. “I have the remainder of the scroll hidden in a secure place, but if it’s of no interest to you…”
“Don’t toy with me—I don’t like it.” Dardash briefly considered the fact that the key which would unlock the secrets of his twelve scrolls would make him virtually immortal, with all the incredible powers of the ancient warlocks, and decided he should modify his attitude towards Urtarra. “I admit to having a certain scholarly interest in old writings, and am prepared to offer a fair price for good examples. The assassination of a king is out of the question, of course, but there are many other…”
“And don’t you toy with me,” Urtarra cut in. “Marcurades has to die—otherwise the entire scroll will be consigned to the fire.”
The threat cast a chill shadow in Dardash’s mind.
“On the other hand, the world has seen an abundance of kings,” he said slowly. “Is it a matter of any real consequence whether we have one more—or one less?”
It was close to noon by the time Dardash had selected the magical equipment he thought he would need and had brought it ashore by raft. He supervised the loading of the material and some personal effects on to two mules, then turned to Urtarra with a slight frown.
“Just to satisfy my curiosity,” he said, “how were you able to find my unobtrusive little island? I believed I had it quite well concealed.”
“It was very well concealed—from the eyes of men,” Urtarra replied, allowing himself to look satisfied. “But birds can see it from on high, and you have many of them nesting there.”
“What difference does that make?”
“To me—none; to the hawks I have been releasing—a great deal.”
“I see,” Dardash said thoughtfully, suddenly aware that Urtarra, for all his eunuchoid softness, would make a highly dangerous adversary. “Have you ever thought of becoming a sorcerer?”
“Never! I’m troubled enough by visions as it is. Were I to introduce new elements I might forfeit sleep altogether.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” Dardash swung himself up into the saddle of the horse that had been provided for him. “Tell me, do you ever foresee your own death?”
“No seer can do that—not until he is ready.” Urtarra gave him an odd smile and made a signal to his four guards and the young woman, all of whom were already on horseback and waiting some distance away. They moved off immediately, taking a south-easterly course for Bhitsala, the capital city of Koldana. The plain was shimmering with heat and at the horizon there was no clear distinction between land and sky.
Dardash, who much preferred the comparative coolness of the coast, had no relish for the four days’ ride that lay ahead. Urging his horse forward alongside Urtarra, he consoled himself with the thought that this journey was probably the last he would have to undertake in such a commonplace and uncomfortable manner. When the knowledge reposing in the twelve scrolls was available to him he would waft himself effortlessly to his destinations by other means, perhaps sailing on clouds, perhaps by methods as yet undreamed of. Until then he would have to make the best of things as they were.
“The woman,” he said pensively, “has she any knowledge of what we’re about?”
“None! Nobody else must learn what has passed between us—otherwise your power and mine increased a hundredfold couldn’t preserve our lives.”
“Don’t your men regard this expedition as being a little…unusual?”
“They are trained never to ask nor to answer questions. However, I have told them what I will tell Marcurades—that you are a superb mathematician, and that I need your help in calculating horoscopes. I have spread word that the stars are hinting at some major event, but are doing it in such an obscure way that even I am baffled. It all helps to prepare the ground.”
Dardash’s thoughts returned to the female figure ahead. “And where did you obtain the woman?”
“Nirrineen is the daughter of one of my cousins.” Urtarra gave a satisfied chuckle. “It was fortunate that she was so well qualified for the task I assigned her. Shall I send her to you tonight?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Dardash said, concealing his annoyance at what he regarded as an insult. “She will come to me of her own accord.”
The group trekked across the acrid plain—seemingly at the centre of a hazy hemisphere of blinding radiance—until, with the lowering of the sun, the horizons became sharp again, and the world was created anew all around them. In the period of tranquillity that preceded nightfall they set up camp—the stately square tent for Urtarra’s sole usage, humbler conical structures for the others—and fires were lit. Nirrineen began to prepare a meal for Urtarra and Dardash, leaving the four guards to cater for their own needs. Dardash chose to stand close to the young woman while she worked, placing her within the orbit of a personal power which was slow-acting but sure.
“You were excellent when we met this morning,” he said. “I quite believed you were a princess.”
“And I quite believe you are a flatterer.” Nirrineen did not raise her eyes from the dishes she was preparing.
“I never employ flattery.”
“It exists most in its denial.”
“Very good,” Dardash said, chuckling, his desire quickening as he realised that the woman kneeling before him was a complete person and not merely a shell of flesh. “Yesterday, when I watched you bathe, I knew …”
“Yesterday?” Her eyes glimmered briefly in the dusk, like twin moons.
“Yes. Don’t forget that I’m as much magician as mathematician. Yesterday—by proxy—I stood very close to you for a long time, and knew then that you and I had been fashioned for each other. Like sword and sheath.”