The Secret Texts Read online

  He took his seat in the enormous gilded ivory chair at one end of the long table and nodded toward the two men who sat at the other end, in chairs of matching magnificence. One was the Sabir Family paraglese, Grasmir Sabir, old and leonine and majestic; the other was a handsome young man named Crispin Sabir, who had beautiful golden hair and a warm and ready smile that Shaid instinctively liked. The two Sabirs had personally greeted each member of the delegation before anyone moved into the Palm Hall; now, finally, Grasmir gave a signal and the meeting began.

  “We have both old and new business to discuss,” Grasmir said with a wry smile. “The old stretches back over four hundred fifty years; I think perhaps we ought to settle that before we move on to those things which immediately interest us.”

  Around the table, various Galweighs and Sabirs chuckled.

  “As acting head of the Galweigh Family, I have to say it’s about time we got around to that.”

  “Very well, then. Old business. Family records tell of an argument between Arathmad Karnee and his partner Perthan Sabir over the dowry of Arathmad’s daughter. The daughter was to marry the Sabir son when both came of age—at the time they were still small children. Perthan accused Arathmad of belittling his son by offering such a small dowry; Arathmad said Perthan’s son was ugly and spindly and that the only reason he offered his daughter was because he was Perthan’s only friend, and Perthan’s son would never find a suitable bride otherwise. The dispute became bitter, the partners separated their business, which from all evidence was in the practice of black market magic, and—though history is vague on this point—one partner cast a spell on the other partner. The Sabirs have always held that the caster of the spell was Arathmad Karnee.”

  Shaid nodded. “And the Galweighs have always said the spell was cast by Perthan Sabir.”

  Around the table, those who were hearing the story for the first time shook their heads.

  “That’s what brought about four hundred fifty years of inter-Family war?” someone asked.

  Shaid and Grasmir looked at each other from opposite ends of the table and smiled. Grasmir gave the nod to Shaid, who said, “Not entirely. Both Perthan and Arathmad died from the effects of the spell—one from the spell itself, and one from what the histories refer to as rewhah, which is apparently some sort of magical backlash that comes from using magic.” He knew more about it than that, and he assumed that Grasmir did, too—one didn’t command the Family’s Wolves for long without knowing what their strengths and weaknesses were. Susceptibility to rewhah was a big weakness. But one had to maintain appearances at all times, and the appearance of being free from any taint of magic had saved more than one man’s life.

  One of the junior members of the Sabir Family asked “Then if the two principals in the dispute died, why did the dispute continue?”

  Grasmir said, “Because both children were also hit by the spell—not visibly, though. The effects didn’t become apparent until each of them took mates and had children. Their children were Scarred. Someone called the Scarring the Karnee Curse. The children were skinshifters. Dangerous, deadly, unpredictable creatures. Calimekka already celebrated Gaerwanday—the Day of Infants—and of course all Scarred children were sacrificed. Except the parents of the Sabir children and the parents of the Karnee children (the Family line that joined with and was subsumed by the Galweighs) neglected their duties as citizens. They hid their children, and the monsters were permitted to grow and breed.” Grasmir Sabir sighed and shook his head sadly. “Both Families still carry a taint of this Scarring in their blood. It was over the Scarred children that the long-term war between the Families broke out.”

  The faces around the table had grown more somber at that; a thousand years after the horrible Wizards’ War, its magical fallout remained clearly visible to anyone who ventured to the docks and saw the Scarred slaves at work on the ships, or watched the executions of those foolish monsters who dared to pretend to humanity and who ventured within Ibera’s borders. No true human ever forgot that the Scarred had, after the war, hunted down humans and destroyed as many of them as they could get. Just thinking about citizens in their own Family lines who had permitted abominations to live, rather than sacrifice them, horrified all of them.

  Grasmir looked from face to face, and finally sighed. “Both Families carry guilt in the matter, though at this late date we cannot hope to unravel which of the two principals, if either, might have been the more guilty.” He managed a faint, weary smile. “And I say it no longer matters. Call the matter settled, forgive the stupidities of the past, and move on.”

  Shaid waited, just a beat, to make his impact greater. Then he stood and applauded. Around the table, other members of the Galweigh delegation followed his lead, leaping to their feet and clapping vigorously. The Sabirs rose, too. Grasmir’s smile grew broad, and when the applause finally died down, he dropped into his chair with an air of satisfaction.

  “I take it as agreed, then, that the Sabir and Galweigh Families have put the past behind them.”

  More applause greeted that statement. Without making it obvious that he was doing so, Shaid glanced around the room, looking for any dissenters. He saw none. Excellent.

  He rose in the silence that followed the applause and said, “Then perhaps now is the time to move on to the new business that brings us here today.” He waited until he noted nods of affirmation from around the room. Clasping his hands in front of his chest, he said, “Well, then. The Sabirs and the Goft Galweighs face both a problem and an opportunity, and as our Families are resolved to put past differences behind us, we can perhaps work together to leap on the opportunity, and eliminate the problem.” He cleared his throat, suddenly unsure about how to continue.

  He glanced around the room. The faces that looked back at him were those of friends and of associates, and also of men and women who just the day before had been sworn to work toward his ruin. Now each of them looked at him with some variation on the same theme—curiosity mixed with a tinge of avarice and a hint of excitement . . . and a pinch of fear. He especially noticed Crispin Sabir’s eyes—eager, fascinated, watchful. The eyes of a man ready to grasp any advantage and make it work for him.

  Best play to the excitement first.

  “About our opportunity . . . well, no one has discovered a new city of the Ancients in any of our lifetimes. Until now. A member of the Calimekkan branch of the Galweigh Family chartered a ship with money she stole from the Goft treasury, and acting on information that she stole from archives in the Goft House, sailed east. She was successful in locating the city she sought.” He leaned forward, resting his palms on the table.

  One young Sabir woman looked stunned that he would admit to the discovery of such a treasure by his own Family, even if by Family acting without official sanction. Had he kept secret the fact that Kait had gone off on her own, the Galweighs would have had unquestioned claim. A few members of Shaid’s own delegation appeared surprised and uneasy that he was being so forthright. After all, with those few words he’d abolished the Galweigh rights to the claim, leaving it solely Kait’s if she lived and throwing it into the hands of the strongest taker if she died.

  He had also, however, shown himself willing to be brutally honest. He thought an appearance of absolute honesty made for the best negotiating, and had long ago learned that giving an enemy a concession up front so often shocked him that he thereafter was less cautious in his dealings.

  “We have . . . spies . . . who have been watching this young woman’s movements closely. She’s found an artifact of enormous importance. We suspect, though we cannot be absolutely certain, that it is the Mirror of Souls.”

  He heard a gratifying number of gasps. Not from either Crispin or Grasmir Sabir. Of course not. Their Wolves would keep them as well informed of the situation as Shaid’s Wolves kept him.

  “From what we can determine in our archives, the Mirror of Souls would be an excellent tool in the hands of friends, but a devastating weapon in the hands
of enemies. Kait Galweigh, the finder of this artifact, has made herself the enemy of Goft House. Because she stole both money and information from us to acquire the Mirror, we can make a strong claim to it, and to the ruins in which she found it. We want that Mirror. For your assistance in the Mirror’s recovery and for an uncontested claim to it, we offer you half the ruins. Further, we offer our expertise and assistance in getting the one thing the Sabir Family most desires.”

  Crispin Sabir laughed softly and asked, “What exactly do the Goft Galweighs imagine the Calimekkan Sabirs want most in the world?”

  Shaid stood up straight and met the question with a calm smile. “Galweigh House. Controlling it would give the Sabir Family the entire city of Calimekka. The Goft Galweighs will give you uncontested claim to the House and its contents. Of course, we’ll expect you to . . . ah, clear your claim by eliminating any members of the Calimekkan Galweighs who survived your last attempt to win the House.”

  For one long moment, the silence in the room weighed enough to crack the stone walls of the great hall. Then all around the table, Sabirs exploded with questions.

  “That went well, I think,” Veshre Galweigh said. She was head of the Goft Wolves, a wizard of tremendous talent and deceptive ferocity who disguised that ferocity behind a jovial manner and a pleasantly plump facade.

  Shaid pulled his attention from the enchanting view of the countryside that slid beneath the airible, and leaned back on the cushioned seat. “Probably less well than it seemed; nevertheless, I’m pleased.”

  “You should be ecstatic.” Veshre snorted. “They agreed to supply their troops to assist us in our attack on one of their ships, to give us undisputed claim to the Mirror of Souls, and to destroy that bitch, Kait. And they also agreed to kill off the only people who stand between you and Galweigh House. Meanwhile, you already have the Dokteeraks lined up to wipe out the surviving Sabirs after they clear out Galweigh House but before they can claim it. That was the most brilliant bit of negotiating I’ve ever seen.”

  Shaid sighed. “Perowin, the greatest of the Ancients’ diplomats, once said, ‘Diplomacy is the art of getting your enemy to cut his own throat for you, convincing him to do it outside where he won’t leave a mess, and making him believe he’s getting the best end of the bargain while he does it.’ I aspire to make that very bargain someday, but in the meantime . . .” He thought for a moment, then grinned broadly, and finally began to laugh. “In the meantime, by the gods, I came pretty close, didn’t I?”

  In the courtyard beside the Palm Hall, three black fawns strolled between the fountain and the waterfall, grazing on hibiscus flowers. On a rotunda well away from the falls, a band of Rophetian musicians played dool dlarmas—traditional Rophetian dancing airs—for the entertainment of the Family. Crispin Sabir sat on the windowsill in the room above the hall and watched the deer and the dancers and listened to the cheerful music, which suited his mood.

  His brother Anwyn, rummaging around the shelves along the inner wall of the room, said, “The last bastard that was in here finished off the paurel and didn’t replace the bottle.”

  Crispin laughed. “I think that bastard was you. You’re the only one in the Family who’ll drink the vile stuff, and you get so drunk when you do that you don’t remember having done it.”

  Anwyn squatted on his hocks, balancing delicately on his cloven hooves, and rubbed absently at the horns that curled from his forehead. After a moment he said, “You might be right, come to think of it. I brought a girl in here only a week ago. I might have drunk it then.”

  After years of Scarring induced by the constant practice of darsharen—the sacrifice-magic of the Wolves—nothing human remained of Anwyn’s body. Besides the horns and the hooves, spikes protruded from his spine and joints, scales covered what had once been smooth skin, and talons curved from his fingertips. Crispin’s body had taken as much of the rewhah, the rebound magic, as Anwyn’s had, but because Crispin was Karnee, his body had absorbed it and fought off the changes the same way it reverted to human form after a Shift. Anwyn, without the benefits of the Curse, had been trapped in an increasingly hideous form.

  Crispin raised an eyebrow. Girls were never with Anwyn by choice. “A girl?”

  Anwyn was going through the shelves again, looking for something that would suit him as well as the thick, bitter tuber beer that he liked best. He took his time answering. “Andrew found her for me—a street urchin with a bit of size to her, and an attitude. She thought she could handle anything.”

  “Until she met you.”

  “Until then, yes.” Anwyn chuckled.

  “And when you were done with her, Andrew . . . borrowed her?”

  Anwyn pulled a dark green bottle out of the back of the bottom shelf and said, “Hah! I thought I’d put this away for later.” It was lakkar, green mango beer, and to Crispin it was as unpalatable as paurel. Anwyn uncorked the bottle and strolled over to the window, his hooves clipping sharply on the marble floor. He dropped into a seat opposite Crispin, took a swig of his drink, and sighed. “She wasn’t young enough to interest Andrew. You know his tastes.” He shrugged. “I played with her until I broke her. Then I put her in the Wind Garden. The bellshrubs were going gray and dropping their flowers before they could set their seeds; I thought they could use some fertilizer.”

  “I’m glad you were paying attention. I’ve been too busy lately to notice any of the plants, but I’d hate to lose the bellshrubs. They’re charming when they’re fruiting. I’ll take a look at them the next time I’m in the West Wing—make sure the fertilizer did enough.” Crispin sipped his own drink and leaned back against the cool, smooth marble of the window frame. “At least I haven’t been neglecting them for nothing. All that work looks like it’s going to pay off. The meeting went well, don’t you think?”

  “Hard to believe it could have gone better. I wish I could have been there in person—I would have loved seeing those faces up close when your Galweighs were setting out their bargain.” Anwyn took another gulp of his drink and shook his head. “They didn’t see a problem with their plan at all?”

  “If they saw a problem, they certainly didn’t mention it.”

  “Amazing. They’re ready to commit two of their airibles to the attack against Ry and that bitch of theirs? And troops? And they’ll send in their troops against their own Family?” Anwyn chortled. “The question then becomes: Are they genuinely naive, or do they think they’re being clever?”

  “I read their paraglese this way: He’s a small-time, double-dealing manipulator, but he sees himself as the future head of a great Galweigh empire. He certainly doesn’t intend to hand over Galweigh House without a fight—I think he closes his eyes and sees himself at the head of the table there, commanding armies and armadas across the known world with the twitch of a finger. He may take us for fools, but perhaps he believes whatever double-cross he’s set up will be sufficient to get us out of the way.”

  “Then you don’t think he intends to honor his word.”

  Someone rapped at the door.

  “To Sabirs? Of course not.” Crispin rose to unlock it, and found his cousin Andrew waiting on the other side. “I was wondering where you’d got to,” he said. The scent of blood still clung to Andrew, as did the smell of child. Crispin wrinkled his nose and, disgusted, turned back to his brother. “Would you honor the word you gave to a Galweigh?”

  Chapter 8

  Down in the belly of the Wind Treasure, Kait and Hasmal crouched beside the Mirror of Souls, padding the bulkhead behind it with rags and roping it in among the ship’s other cargo. Ian and the ship’s physick were tending to Jayti, and most of the crew were searching the ruins for prizes to take home. Those on board the ship were sleeping or carrying out necessary repairs.

  So the two of them were alone, though Kait felt sure someone would come checking on them sooner or later.

  “They’ll never let us take this to the Reborn,” Hasmal whispered.

  “Not willingly.” Kait twi
sted her end of the rope around the silver-white metal of the base. “I know that. I knew it when I agreed to their deal. What they won’t permit, we’ll have to achieve by force.”

  Hasmal looked at her and rolled his eyes. “Force? We’ll still be outnumbered when we cross the sea. Vodor’s bones! The captain or Ry Sabir could send pigeons days in advance of our arrival and have the whole of the Sabir army waiting for us on the shore when we arrive, no matter where the captain puts us in.”

  “Well, not force, perhaps. Maybe by guile.”

  Hasmal tipped his head and gave her a long, thoughtful look. “Ah. Planning on winning the Sabir to your side by love, Kait? You think he won’t take it back to his Family if he’s passionate enough about you and you don’t want him to?” Hasmal shrugged. “That might work, though I don’t like the idea of the future of the world depending on it.”

  Kait stared at him, momentarily lost for words. Finally she said, “You . . . think I’d bed him to keep control of the Mirror?”

  Hasmal frowned. “I’d hoped. It isn’t as if he’s diseased or repugnant. You’ll have the opportunity—the captain’s seen to that. And the Reborn needs the Mirror; what matters to him matters to us and the whole of the world. Women have futtered men they didn’t want for lesser reasons than the fate of the world.”

  At that moment she didn’t like Hasmal, though she could understand that in his eyes the idea must seem practical. She called on her diplomatic training and didn’t say what she was thinking about him. Instead, she tempered her response. “It wouldn’t work. If I loved him more than all the world, I’d still demand that the Mirror go to the Reborn, then to my Family. He’s the same. He was raised to duty. No matter how infatuated he was with me, he’d still demand that the Mirror go back to his Family, either exclusively, or else first—and once it was in Sabir hands, his Family would make sure it never went to my Family, no matter what his arrangement with me or mine with him. My Family would do the same. That’s the way Families are—they take care of their own, and they never let private agreements between individuals override the good of the Family as a whole. Never.” The Calimekkan Galweighs wouldn’t, anyway. Goft Galweighs might be another matter, but she never intended to deal with those traitors again.