The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [72]
“When I first saw him on the eyrie,” Nikandr continued, remembering the city with the tall towers, “I saw a vision of a city, an empty, abandoned place. And then on the cliff it happened again. I was walking among the streets with a man named Muqallad. We came to a tower, where a woman waited for us.”
Ashan blinked and his head jerked back. “What name did you say?”
“Muqallad, and I was sure, in that moment just before I came to my senses, that they had somehow betrayed me.”
Nikandr waited for him to reply, but Ashan only stared.
“Do you know them?”
Ashan shook his head. “Muqallad is a name that holds great weight among the Aramahn.” He turned to Nikandr soberly. “He lived on an island named Ghayavand, an island lost, taken by the winds of Adhiya.”
“Taken how?”
“The arqesh became too bold. They pushed too hard, played with arts that were better left alone for the end of days.” Ashan frowned. “But it cannot be him.”
“Nasim couldn’t have met him?”
“Muqallad died three hundred years ago, along with the island itself.”
Nikandr moved on, hoping to keep Ashan in a talkative mood. “How could you have heard of Nasim if he were so important to the Maharraht?”
“They were careful, but something so powerful and mysterious as Nasim cannot be hidden forever. Word of him came to me, and I thought it something worth investigating.”
“So you simply made your way to their doorstep and begged permission to see him?”
Ashan’s smile was pleasant, but grating all the same. “Nothing so simple as that. It was a delicate negotiation, to be sure, but eventually they allowed me near him.”
“Why?”
“If you’re wondering if I agreed to aid them in their cause”—Ashan shifted in the bed, wincing from the pain—“I did not.”
“Then why would they have allowed you near him?”
“My refusal to aid them does not mean that they could not benefit from my presence.”
“Then you were helping them.”
“I was helping Nasim.”
“Who is a tool of the Maharraht.”
Ashan’s face grew cross for the first time. “He is a child who is lost. A child who needed my help. I answered that call, and I would do so again.”
“No matter what might happen to the Grand Duchy.”
Ashan stopped, his eyes serious.“I care for the lives of the Grand Duchy, son of Iaros. Have no fear of that.”
“As you care for the lives of the Maharraht?”
“As I care for all in this world.”
“If that were so, you wouldn’t have forged a weapon for them to use against us.”
“Nyet? You would rather I had left Nasim where I’d found him? Let them find what they may?”
Nikandr’s nostrils flared. “This sits not well with me.”
“That is because I am no tool of Khalakovo.”
“It is because you seem to be a tool of the Maharraht, willingly or not.”
Ashan shook his head calmly. “Both mean little, son of Iaros.” He placed both hands over his heart. “What matters is what lies within, what we give to the next life, not that which comes and goes in the blink of an eye.”
Nikandr’s gut began to churn, the feelings of nausea from earlier returning. “Did Nasim summon the hezhan?” he asked, more hastily than he’d meant to.
“Nasim is no qiram. He has no ability to bond with spirits.”
“Did he summon the hezhan?”
“It would have been impossible. Nasim can affect the ability of qiram to lure and bond with a hezhan—he may even make crossings more likely by his mere presence—but he cannot summon them himself.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“How do I know the sun will rise tomorrow? I simply know.”
Ashan’s voice was calm, which was all the more infuriating. But there was no doubting that he seemed sincere.
“Where was Soroush taking him?”
“They did not consult with me, son of Iaros.”
“Do not jest, son of Ahrumea. They are murderers.”
“They do not kill indiscriminately.”
Nikandr laughed. “Tell that to those who lie in their graves from their discriminating tastes.”
“No matter what you may think, they treasure life. They believe the world has been set off course. They are merely trying to correct it.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you wished you could join them.”
Ashan appeared saddened by these words. “I neither hope