Warsinger by James Baldwin (most important books of all time txt) 📕

“Right.” I gave Vash a pointed look. “We’ll do what we have to do to find the Warsinger.”

“Warsinger?” The shadow’s head turned toward me. “Is that why you summoned me?”

“Yeah.” I perked up. “We’re looking for Sachara’s Warsinger.”

“Or any Warsinger, to be honest,” Suri said. “As long as it works. And if you can tell us where to find it, we don’t need to go back to Davri. We can fuck off, dismiss the quest, and leave her hanging.”

Mehkhet let out a hollow laugh that raised goosebumps on the back of my arms. “Would that I did. There is only one piece of lore I have found that gives any indication of where Sachara left Withering Rose. A single line from a broken stanza, that reads: ‘The giantess became a mortal woman once more, and left her immortal shell entombed in the Heart of the Lion.’ Why do you all think an intellect of my renown was willing to work for a cretin like Davri?”

“No idea,” Suri said. “Money, I figured. Protection, maybe.”

“No. Neither of those things mean much to a man of my position.” The sage sounded amused: as amused as a dead man could be, anyway. “No… I was willing to serve her for one reason, and one reason only. Davri Ha’Fidar, of all people, reputedly knows the location of Sachara’s Tomb. Rumor is, she has visited it… and in visiting it, discovered that an artifact is required to open it.”

“Ugh. I was really hoping we didn’t have to go back,” Karalti said glumly.

“An artifact like this one?” I held up the Shield.

“Perhaps.” The shade bowed his head. “Or… perhaps that magnificent spear you carry.”

“The Spear of Nine Spheres opens the Dragon Gates, not… wait.” I paused. “You’re saying Sachara might be buried in one of the Gates? With the Warsinger?”

“An artifact the size and power of a Warsinger required an incredible amount of mana,” the sage replied. “But it is all conjecture until Davri takes us there.”

Vash sneered. “Or tells us where to find it.”

“You would be better off trying to wring blood from a stone,” Mehkhet lisped softly. “But if you cleverly explain to her that I can now only travel in the company of my dear Master, she will have to show you anyway, no? Now - shall we depart?”

***

We returned to Davri's slum palace with Mehkhet drifting along behind us. At the sight of us all - singed, bloody, accompanied by a shade - the guards at the gate got very nervous indeed.

“What is this?” The guy we'd spoken to earlier was still on shift.

“The Queen's sage,” Suri said flatly. “Dark and spooky over there is the one and only Mehkhet the Illuminator. Let us through.”

“Yeah,” I said. “No need to be racist.”

“You... uh... need to... uh... hand over y-your weapons...” The guard trailed off as Mehkhet drifted toward them, hand outstretched. They scattered like a pack of hyenas, yelping in terror.

“Don't worry, gents. We'll see ourselves in,” I said, winking at them.

We opened the gate ourselves, and went inside with Suri in the lead. Davri was circling the garden with her entourage, including Casper. The big man looked relieved to see us - until he spotted the shade, and his dark skin turned an interesting shade of swamp green.

“Hmm? What is...?” Davri looked over at us. Blinked a few times. “Arnav?”

“Yes, my queen!” The paunchy guy from earlier stood up suddenly, along with every other guard in the courtyard.

“Take little sister and her companions to the audience hall. I will meet them there.” The Laundress set her bronze watering can down on the table.

Arnav was pouring sweat, and I didn't think it was just the early evening desert heat, or the billowing presence of the shade. “Yes, my queen. You lot... come with me.”

“This wouldn't be some sort of trap, would it?” Suri asked sweetly.

“The Queen receives strangers in the garden. Guests in the audience hall.” Arnav mopped his brow. “And... this... this is...?”

“Mehkhet the Illuminator,” I said. “Deceased. But able to speak and answer Davri's questions.”

“Hello,” Mehkhet said drily. His whispering voice sound like the wind echoing up from the bottom of a well.

“Uh... uh... I see. Well, please follow me.” Arnav cleared his throat, and marched off back the way we'd come.

He led us into the main house through a pair of heavy double doors, taking us across a lavish and gaudy foyer to another set of doors, guarded by two men and a pair of mobile turrets very similar to Rin's machines. Davri was already waiting for us inside, attended by a group of what were obviously slaves. Boys with shaven heads held great feather fans. Girls dripping with jewelry lounged around her slippered feet, their eyes firmly averted toward the floor.

The self-styled queen smiled indulgently as we came to a stop. “So... do you care to explain what I'm looking at here? I'm afraid I don't understand.”

“Mehkhet was dead by the time we arrived at the jailhouse,” Suri replied. She was struggling not to fist her hands, and I knew why. The girls on the ground weren't only wearing jewelry: they were wearing welded metal collars. “Fortunately, my man here has a special talent. He's a necromancer.”

“A necromancer?” Davri's eyebrows arched in amusement. “The old scarred one, the young pretty girl, or... no, it has to be the boy with the strange pale eyes. I'd wondered what flavor of magic he was. So, this thing was Mehkhet the Illuminator?”

The shade drifted forward, trailing off filaments of darkness into the surrounding air. He bowed deeply. “I am still Mehkhet the Illuminator, my queen. Former Royal Archivist, now and forever a loyal servant of the True Kingdom.”

Davri smiled, and batted her eyelashes. “Wonderful. But the quest was given on the condition that Mehkhet was brought to me alive, and this ghost, or whatever it is, is quite dead.”

“Dead, but still willing and able to assist the cause,” the shadow lisped. “And