Scratch an errant lich 4

 

IV

.  Amber was not sanguine about running to earth a wily lich on the loose because even if he underestimated her ability to track happenings in the mundane world through not understanding electronic communication – something Nurtazin probably did not even know existed either, in common with many from isolated Talented communities – the fellow would not have become powerful in the first place by being a total fool.  Abaris was potentially more dangerous than some,  because he had known how to make allies and exchange favours where he could not dominate.  And he felt Nurtazin too weak to do anything but dominate. It would be interesting to know the extent of Nurtazin’s ability; but from what Zhanargul had said, Amber strongly suspected he relied heavily on the abilities of those he summoned and had one main skill of conjuration and enough ability to protect himself.  A lot of the texts Amber had seen from his stronghold, for she had glanced at the titles, were concerned with ancient runes and protective glyphs.  Which she was aching to read!  And some she would need to learn Arabic to understand; for though familiar in passing with some of the script, Amber neither spoke nor read Arabic.  Yet.  The Cyrillic texts would at least pose her no problems; and Amber gave Nurtazin more respect as a conjuror for being prepared to use appropriate runic bases for his summoning.  Even so it was still sloppy to rely on the powers of the great form spirits he conjured rather than making himself knowledgeable too. Right was right, after all. If Abaris had taught Pythagoras – who had invented much numerology as well as Arithmantic principles used by mundanes and Talented alike – he was probably rather hard.

And he must have been clever enough to hide any megalomania from that Greek philosopher who was reckoned to be virtuous and ascetic and to hate tyranny.  And who – if indeed he had learned magic from Abaris – had probably been moved by a spirit of learning everything about everything.   And what was not known as such to mundanes, though they knew that Pythagoras was learned in herb lore and healing, was that he was a celebrated potion-maker of the Talented, despite being Unfamilied.  That Pythagoras had put forward a model of the solar system with the sun at its centre meant that astronomy amongst the Talented had been advanced beyond mundanes whose religious intolerances until recent times had chosen to ignore and pooh-pooh  the model until Nikolas Copernik, known as Copernicus, had also come to the same conclusion.  And he was threatened with excommunication at that. The Council already existed in its earliest form then, and there were oaths of tolerance to all beliefs. Something else borrowed from Medieval Poland, thought Amber, whimsically.

But with having learned as much from Pythagoras as the Greek had learned from him, Abaris was a very dangerous character indeed and quite capable of learning how the mundane world worked.  It was perhaps as well that the centres of learning known to him, the centre of the ancient world, was now scarcely comparable to the western European world in technological achievement and day-to-day use of things the western Europeans took for granted.  And it might take a while for Abaris, already finding so much that was new, to adjust to the concept that the barbarian tribes were more now the centre of the European stage than Greece and its environs, or Egypt or Mesopotamia.  And into Iraq of the modern era he might disappear and a few extra deaths a month utterly insignificant against the backdrop of internecine warfare.

Marcus alerted a number of other teams to keep their eyes open with regards to thefts of artefacts, or news of horrible deaths. Abaris was too dangerous to talk to, his cursed dagger lost him any sympathy anyone might have had over him having been disturbed by Nurtazin. It gave some credence to the legend that Pythagoras had gained knowledge by visiting Hell – presumably in a metaphorical sense– that had disturbed him mightily.  Perhaps his apprenticeship with Abaris would account for that, especially if Abaris used zombies, such that the philosopher might have believed himself in the underworld.

“And what do I do, Amber?” asked Zhanargul.

“Carry on learning protocols and procedures and paperwork and otherwise taking the pee out of boring side of our craft,” said Amber. “Nothing we can do without intel; and we’re a reaction team, not an intel team. No point getting unduly itchy about liches. I’m paid to be the one to do the worrying,” she added, laconically,  “and I have people out looking.  I shan’t leave you out of anything, so just ignore Abaris until he makes himself obvious.  We’ll pick him up as he builds a power base; but he may want to spend a couple of years even studying the changes to the world before he even starts doing so.  After all, he’s now essentially immortal.  I certainly would not hurry myself if I was in his shoes.”

Marcus called Amber on a communications globe; mobile phones got temperamental near power bases.

“Come over and see what I uncovered,” he said.  Amber made a two-jump teleport, which decreased jump-lag, which was like jet-lag only more extreme. Marcus was waiting with a bowl and water to wash her mouth out.

“It’s not as bad as going west to east,” said Amber, when she had freshened up.

“Truth,” said Marcus. “This is what I found; It’s a Russian edition of a sixteenth century work, ‘Ancient Greek Wizards, their lives and deeds’ by a chap who names himself Apollodorus after the historian of the same name” he said. “Nowadays we’d call it a coffee table book; a lot of rather fanciful illustrations and slightly jazzed up histories.  You get a better idea from the mundane works; John Lemprière’s Classical Dictionary is actually about the best work there is for potted histories, and one works from there.  There’s a reference to Abaris as a teacher of Pythagorus – he isn’t in the mundane work but Orme found him referenced on an on-line site about Scythians, and I hope you’re pleased with how well the terminology tripped off my tongue.” Orme was Marcus’ son, a few years older than Amber, with his own team, and had been one reason Marcus had been susceptible to reason.

“I’d be prouder of you if I didn’t suspect you of practising for hours just to impress me” laughed Amber “So what does it actually say?”

“Basically that Abaris was killed by his detractors and waits until one will uncover him and be the means of arousing him,” said Marcus. “And you’re right about me practising.  Orme has it so pat now I feel I need to try to sound knowledgeable.  I have an English edition of the same work too; the wording is subtly different and in English the hint is that he will rise again using the one who uncovers him – a far cry from ‘by the agency of’ as is implied in the Russian.”

“Rather,” agreed Amber. “How did Nurtazin track him down?”

“There’s a letter from a student of Pythagoras in one of his books who spent more time at the wizardry and less at the Arithmancy who mentions that they ‘buried Abaris deep in his own filthy lair after he almost broke our master’s heart and mind’ and asks the reader to take a turn at guarding the burial, and gives fairly specific instructions about where it is.  Apparently they covered his abode with sand magically conjured; but of course any zombies he had and items remained there too.  The zombies you dealt with; the items we have to assume he took.”

“There wasn’t anything else there; we checked,” said Amber.  “If he missed anything it was minor enough to have been destroyed in our firestorm.”

“That is likely to be powerful enough to deal with any minor items,” said Marcus dryly. “You and your family, when you get going, are rather thorough.”

“I wanted to let the kids dispel their fear of zombies,” said Amber mildly “Anything else?”

“Orme tells me that Wikipedia is his friend” said Marcus. “And what he found actually agrees with my own book on classical and pre-classical wizards, a slightly more scholarly work than Apollodorus’ sensationalism.  Though not one your friendly Dark Talented had in his collection.  Abaris, son of Seuthos, was said to have the gift of prophecy and to be a healer of remarkable simplicity and honesty who cured plagues.”

“That don’t sit with him being a lich,” said Amber.

“He is also reputed to have corresponded with the tyrant Phalaris, though it’s considered dubious,” said Marcus.

“What, him of the brazen bull for cooking people in?” said Amber in disgust.

“The very same,” said Marcus.  “And though it is said to be spurious, if they did correspond, supposing there were traps in Phalaris’ words that turned Abaris to er, the Dark Side?”

“It’s certainly plausible” said Amber “But, too, I can see him, being a scholar, investigating off his own bat such arts as are at best dodgy; and maybe being drawn in to the dark arts at first all unwittingly.” She shot a shrewd sideways look at Marcus. He held up his hands.

“Yes, your father and I got in too deep, and he got out and dragged me out of the mess I was making for myself, I acknowledge it freely,” he said. “A clever man, not seeking glory but feeling he deserved some recognition for his trouble could well fall from grace. I think you have it; and my fancy theories about Phalaris are probably spurious.”

Amber shrugged.

“He may have written to Phalaris; and it contributed.  The point is, he fell.  And we have to pick up the pieces.  And I think that even if his knife was not a phylacterion, it and his body combined formed something similar so it’s likely he has shattered his soul.  Should I work on getting him to repent and see what he has become and what he should have been?”

“Once he’s agreed to undeath?  No.  Too much risk.  Priority one is to get rid of him.”

Amber nodded.

“You’re a pragmatist, Marcus. And though I’d like to go the route of compassion I don’t think it’s practical.”

 

 

“Amber, we got a message from a tribal Kurdish Talented,” said Jeronim. “A buraq foal was found with terrible scars on its throat, almost dead. Fortunately that was enough to unite warring factions to unite in a chant. Whether the poor creature will recover fully or not they don’t know, but they stabilised it.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” said Amber. “Buraq, that’s a unicorn, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Jeronim. “Did you want us to go and add some ritual chanting?”

“Well, yes, but also, well, no,” said Amber. “Standing on the toes of people who have put their all into saving the beast just because I’ve gathered some of the brightest and best in the world is not good for international relations. We might pop in and ‘speed up the healing’ as ‘chanting can only help once from any one group’.”

“Cunning,” said Jeronim.

“I have to be,” said Amber. “I liaise with the Great Snake in the Ukraine and Piotr Ladygin in Russia, and Tiina Turunen in Finland, not to mention Carlo Bottazzi in Italy. Balancing the egos takes more cunning than running a preschool nursery.”

Jeronim laughed.

“I see what you mean.  Well, it gives us something of a location. But with that amount of life-force power, he could be anywhere.”

“Yes, but I fancy he will be more comfortable in the middle east where the way of life has not changed significantly in millenia for the poor.”  Amber shrugged. “It’s a start, and I’ll star it on the map.”  She made a face. “I fear that the knife might continue to drain the poor little thing, so the villagers have given their power to him, but we shall see. Mooch in and take a look?”

Jeronim nodded. His swarthy Cossack looks allowed him to pass as Arabic at need.

 

It was Orme who came up trumps.  Orme was a more conventional law and order operative in InterTal, the International Police of Talent. As such, he kept in touch with Interpol and a selection of other contacts.

“One of my contacts came up with some killings in Cairo, by exanguination,” said Orme, who had blown in to impart the news. “They began suddenly, out of nowhere; and stopped as suddenly. As the unfortunate victims had all been prostitutes it had been put down to turf wars of pimps and had been effectively ignored by all but one conscientious policeman who actually posted the fact of the killings on the internet after they stopped in the hopes that if they started elsewhere they might attract the attention of someone who would put two and two together.  I went to see him.”

“Was it credible?”

“Hell, yes. Frighteningly so. I told him that I believed they were ritual killings by a man who believed himself to be a mighty wizard who needed blood to maintain his power and to call Djinn and Efreeti. I’ve found positing madness and belief in magic power gets mundane police alongside us much quicker than any other way of covering up.  Anyway, as they passed with damn all official notice, I left him my mobile number to contact if he returns. He feels validated, anyway, and that someone cares.”

“Brilliant,” said Amber.

“All of them were a few months pregnant,” said Orme. “Easy to determine with a health-checking spell. It was one of the things that puzzled my contact, how he had know. I shrugged and told him that some people have extraordinarily acute senses of smell, and the hormonal scent would be subtly different, and the fellow was probably convinced he cast a spell to determine which ones would have most life force, as madmen don’t have to be logical, as long as there is some logic to their belief.”

“And he bought it?”

“Well, some people can tell more than others.”

“True, O best beloved.”

“Leave Kipling out of this; I never kipple,” said Orme, rudely.

“Did you get anything else?”

“Only a taste for Turkish coffee,” said Orme.