Читать книгу The Black Khan - Ausma Khan Zehanat - Страница 25

MEN, DOGS, PRISONERS SHOUTING, WEAPONS BEING SHEATHED—THERE was so much noise in the ward and along the watchtowers that at first Elena didn’t hear it. She’d failed her sister so completely, she couldn’t fathom it. She was swamped by a wave of panic and dread, watching the men who’d captured them now handle her sister with careless, bestial ease. A roar of outrage broke from her throat, climbing rapidly to hysteria.

And then beneath it, she heard the sound again, strange and oddly familiar, a sound she remembered from childhood. It seemed to be coming from two places at once. From a door on the other side of the ward—she had a brief impression of wild eyes and matted hair—but also from behind the Technologist in the room with the shattered canister, where an instrument with curved blades lay twisted and deformed on the floor.

It was the Malleus, a tool the Technologist used to sever the hearing of the followers of the Usul Jade, its tiny blades burrowing into their ears, tunneling ever deeper.

The otherworldly sound grew stronger. Larisa’s head snapped up.

She was hearing it too. And like Elena, some part of her recognized the sound.

The sisters looked at each other. Larisa’s hands flickered with a subtle signal; Elena’s mirrored the gesture.

Kill me, Larisa said. Kill me now, end it here.

Elena gave her word.

The sound warned her not to do it. The sound was lyrical and clear, poetic and soft, pliant yet also urgent. As dire as their circumstances were, some of Elena’s panic eased. She was able to think calmly, observing the men who had captured them. The Technologist and Illarion she marked off as dead men, but neither they nor the Crimson Watch appeared to hear the sound.

Untroubled by it, the Technologist issued an order. “Strip them and take them to the Plague Wing. It’s time for me to chart their progress.”

The Crimson Watch were slow to comply, the sound from the cells growing louder.

“The talisman,” Illarion repeated, the words rasping in his throat.

The Technologist tried to reach something covered by his robes. He frowned when he found he couldn’t. His bulging eyes moved from Illarion to the cell the captain was blocking.

“Is this your doing?” he called. “I thought the white needle had silenced you for good.”

A cell door slammed behind him. No member of the Crimson Watch moved, held in thrall as a dark arm snaked around the Technologist’s neck. The Technologist lurched forward a step, but was yanked back by the arm.

A beautiful, throaty voice answered. “No, you monstrosity, it’s mine.”

Elena found she was free, the guard who’d held her captive sinking to his knees behind her. She whirled around, scooped up her knife, and stabbed the back of his head. The movements of those who tried to fight her were sluggish and disjointed. Her blade found their unprotected necks, one powerful thrust after another. The two men who’d hurt Larisa, Elena stabbed through the heart.

Larisa grabbed her sword from the floor. The prisoner in the cell behind Illarion took hold of him by the arm. He didn’t struggle in the prisoner’s hold, standing firm and strong.

“Where … is … the … talisman?” he choked.

The Technologist watched the sisters’ actions, a sneer frozen on his lips.

The wild man in the cell spoke up. He whispered to Illarion, and the Ahdath captain went still.

Sinnia’s grip tightened around the Technologist’s throat. “Does this one matter to you? Because I’m planning to snap his neck.”

“No!” Larisa and Elena shouted together.

The horns on the wall sounded again, summoning reinforcements.

Larisa raced into Sinnia’s cell. She came back with the Malleus gripped in her hand, her young face hard with rage. Elena reached for the Malleus—Larisa held it out of reach. The sisters stared at each other for a lethal, weighted moment; then slowly Elena nodded.

“No!” Illarion shouted. “Ask him where he keeps the talisman!”

Without pausing to answer him, Larisa drove the Malleus into the Technologist’s brain. He slipped feebly out of Sinnia’s hold, his body sagging to the ground.

Elena kicked at his robes. “It’s not enough,” she said. “It will never be enough.”

Elena yanked out her broadsword and severed his head with a stroke. Then she advanced on Illarion, tossing her words over her shoulder.

“The Technologist was yours, Larisa, but this one belongs to me.”

Illarion met her eyes, a bewildering despair in his own. “Mudjadid, please tell them.”

The hands gripping his throat slid back into the cell.

Elena’s sword flashed up. Illarion blocked it with his arm. She reared back and lunged again, and this time Illarion grabbed both of her arms and forced the sword from her hand. Then he pulled her close as she struggled, seeking out Larisa over Elena’s shoulder.

“How dare you use that name?” Elena spat at him, as Larisa asked more calmly, “Where did you learn that name? Who do you call Mudjadid?”

The prisoner in the cell came to the window. The minzar swept across the ward, throwing his features into sharp relief. His blazing eyes and craggy face were obscured by the tangled growth of his beard. A moment later the light from the minzar was gone, and neither Larisa nor Elena could be certain of what they’d seen.

A mirage, a ghost of the past, a specter of a man they’d known and loved.

The oddly familiar sound thrummed through the ward again. Sinnia stepped over the Technologist’s body, a transparent mist emanating from her mouth. It echoed the sound coming from the wild man in the cell. Was it a memory, or was it real? And if it was a memory, how could the Companion of Hira know it?

Elena fought her way free of Illarion’s hold. “Break this door. Do it now.” She was half-sobbing, half-pleading.

Letting go of her, Illarion smashed the lock with a thrust of his sword. If he’d been hobbled like the Crimson Watch, his strength was unfettered now.

The door to the cell unlocked, the prisoner within staggered out into the ward. A soft chant rose from behind the doors of the cells that lined both sides of the ward.

“Mudjadid. Mudjadid. Mudjadid Salikh.”

The wild man stared at Elena and Larisa, tears sliding into his beard, the Claim abating in his throat. It had done its work. It had called them here, and it had unshackled the gifts of the Companion of Hira, allowing her to acknowledge him as a teacher of the Claim and to accept his direction of its use. He’d subverted the workings of the needle to Sinnia’s great advantage. An advantage he’d whispered ceaselessly in her mind, expanding her knowledge of the Claim.

Illarion sank to one knee, his fair hair falling around his face. A palsy gripped the wild man’s hand. It shook as he raised it to Illarion’s hair. Illarion grasped it in his own and kissed the jade ring the man still wore on his finger.

Larisa gasped. “Who are you?” she asked in a strangled voice.

Sinnia stared at the sisters in disbelief. “Don’t you recognize your father?”

She reached for the old man, fastening her arms around his neck, ignoring the soldier at his feet. “Thank you, Mudjadid. Thank you for saving me.”

His thin frame trembled in her grasp, but he raised his head to meet Sinnia’s radiant eyes. “You freed yourself, sahabiya, with your mastery over the Claim.”