The Spell of the Black Dagger loe-6 Read online

  There had been no killings for three sixnights, but Sarai did not believe anyone was safe. The conspirators, whoever they were, might just be lying low, or perhaps the phase of the greater moon might be related, in which case the next murder could occur at any moment.

  And during this lull there had been some very curious break-ins. No one was harmed, nothing stolen, but several magicians of different sorts, alerted by Sarai’s far-flung inquiries, had reported signs that they had been spied upon, their workshops entered, their books read. What’s more, the signs left by these strange invasions had included traces of wizardry, warlockry, and even witchcraft. This last had prompted further questioning of Shirith and several other witches, but again, all swore to their innocence, and other magicians said those oaths were truthful.

  Sarai was convinced that these break-ins were the work of the murderous conspiracy, but she still had no idea what the conspirators were up to. Furthermore, she still had not met with the Council of Warlocks or the representatives of the Wizards’ Guild.

  With all this going on, she really did not much care that Lord Tollern, Minister of the Treasury, was not happy with her. Finding the killers and unmasking the conspiracy was more important than money. Money was only worth what it could buy, and when she hired magicians and sent ships to Ethshar of the Spices and so forth, Sarai was buying information.

  “That’s all very well,” Lord Tollern told her, “but you can’t spend the city’s entire treasury on this.”

  “Why not?” Sarai demanded.

  “Because we need it for other things, as well. Oh, I don’t deny that this conspiracy is dangerous, Lady Sarai, I don’t deny it at all, not for a moment. But it isn’t the only danger that old Ederd has to worry about. What good will it do to stop these mysterious magical murderers, if it allows common thieves to run amok, or we let the walls fall into ruin, or the harbor silt up so that no ships can dock?” “I’m not spending that much!” Sarai protested. “No,” Tollern admitted, “but this isn’t anything we’ve budgeted for, you see. My dear, can’t you find some way to settle this whole matter quickly?”

  “How?” Sarai asked. “I’m doing the best I can, but I can’t even get the Wizards’ Guild to talk to me.” “My dear Lady Sarai, you’re Minister of Investigation and Acting Minister of Justice; surely you can order them to talk to you, in the name of our beloved Ederd the Fourth. Even the Wizards’ Guild would not be quick to refuse a command from the overlord himself. Defy one of the triumvirs of the Hegemony? That’s a risky business, even for a magician.”

  Sarai hesitated. She knew the treasurer was technically correct, but she hadn’t dared to directly invoke the overlord’s name before. Any power used too often was power wasted, and she knew that Ederd did not take kindly to those who called upon his authority too freely. Up until now, people had cooperated willingly—or had been intimidated much more easily; as Shirith had pointed out, most citizens did not care to argue with soldiers sent by one of the government ministers. “I’ll think about it,” she replied.

  The following day she sent not a lone messenger, but a squad commanded by a lieutenant, to order the Council of Warlocks, in the name of Ederd, Overlord of Ethshar, to wait upon the Minister of Investigation in the Great Council Chamber, at a time to be mutually agreed upon.

  The reply arrived that same evening; the meeting was held the following day.

  She prepared for the meeting in her family’s apartments, gathering her wits and her notes, trying not to look at her father as he lay unconscious in his bed. This time, acting in the overlord’s name, there would be no pretense of privacy or informality; she wore the attire of a Minister of Justice.

  It occurred to her, as she made the turn into the broad marble passage that led from the outer apartments into the central mass of the palace, that she should have arranged for attendants to accompany her—when she entered the justice chamber in her lather’s place she was always preceded by Chanden the bailiff and Okko the theurgist and a couple of guardsmen and followed by the door guards. The overlord himself, when entering a room on official business, might have a retinue of anywhere from a handful of bodyguards to a parade of a hundred soldiers and officials. As Minister of Investigation, Sarai realized, she was surely entitled to bring a couple of guards and her chief of staff, Captain Tikri.

  She couldn’t very well bring Okko, since as before, he and Mereth were to spy on the meeting, but some guards would have been a good idea.

  Well, she wouldn’t worry about it. She had put Tikri in charge of arranging seating and keeping an eye on the warlocks, so he wouldn’t be available in any case.

  When she reached the council chamber there were guards posted outside the door—Tikri’s work, of course. One stood on either side of the gilded archway; each was a big man, in his best uniform of mustard yellow tunic and bright red kilt, and each carried a gold-shod spear with a very nasty, practical-looking barbed head. At the sight of Lady Sarai they snapped to attention and thumped their heavy spears on the stone floor.

  They did not, however, open the door; Sarai hesitated.

  As she did, a small door in the side of the passage opened, and a servant in the overlord’s livery stepped out.

  “Lady Sarai,” he said, bowing low. “Just a moment, and we’ll have your way prepared.”

  Sarai blinked. Tikri had apparently been more thorough than she had expected. “Is everyone here?” she asked.

  The servant said, “We have twenty people here who have identified themselves as the Council of Warlocks. That’s all I know, my lady.”

  “Thank you,” Sarai said. “What needs to be prepared, then?”

  “You’ll have to ask Captain Tikri, my lady.” Before she could ask another question she heard footsteps and turned to find a party approaching. Captain Tikri was in the lead, with half a dozen soldiers in gleaming breastplates marching at his heels, while two minor palace officials hurried alongside.

  It appeared that even if she hadn’t thought of providing an entourage, Tikri had. “Are you ready, my lady?” Tikri asked. Sarai, smiling, nodded. Two soldiers stepped forward and flung open the doors; one of the officials stepped in and proclaimed loudly, “Stand and obey! Behold the Lady Sarai, Minister of Investigation and Acting Minister of Justice to Ederd the Fourth, Overlord of Ethshar of the Sands, Triumvir of the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars, Commander of the Holy Armies and Defender of the Gods! Bow to the overlord’s chosen representative!”

  He stepped aside, and two other soldiers marched in and up to the low dais at the far end. Lady Sarai, picking up her cue, followed them; behind her came the other official, Tikri, and the two remaining guards.

  The two who had opened the doors now closed them, from the inside, and took up positions as guards, while the official who had announced her hurried around the side of the room.

  Sarai walked slowly up the aisle, keeping her eyes straight ahead, but she still got a good look at her audience.

  All of them wore the monochromatic robes and peculiar hats that had somehow become the accepted occupational garb for magicians of every sort; for most of them, the single color was black, but she saw one in red velvet, one in dark green, and two in shades of blue. There were old men and youths, ancient crones and handsome young women. She saw a few familiar faces, but mostly strange ones.

  And all of them bowed, as ordered. Lord Tollem had been right; they were cowed.

  At least, for the moment.

  She reached the dais and made her way to the center; there she turned and faced the crowd, waiting while her entourage took up positions around her.

  The official who had announced her had now made his way around the room to one of the front corners; he bellowed, “By courtesy of the Lady Sarai, you may be seated!”

  It wasn’t really very different from presiding over her father’s court, once she got started—right down to listening to feeble excuses.

  “I swear, my lady, we had every intention of meeting with you,” the chairman i
nsisted—Vengar the Warlock, he called himself, and Sarai did not recall ever meeting him or hearing his name before this. “It was simply a matter of logistics; there are twenty of us, after all, each with his or her own schedule, each with his or her own concerns, and coordinating such a meeting...”He didn’t finish the sentence; instead, he said, “We had not realized the importance you attached to it. We have nothing to tell you as a group that we have not told your agents separately; none of us are involved in these killings; and at any rate, the deaths have stopped, have they not?” He glanced uneasily at the door guards, and asked, “Or have there been others we were not informed of?”

  “There have been none of these killings reported for three sixnights,” Sarai confirmed. “However, there could be more at any time, and the overlord’s government cannot tolerate such things.”

  “Of course,” Vengar agreed. “But what has this to do with us? We are no part of Lord Ederd’s government.”

  “No,” Sarai agreed, “but at least one of your people, a warlock, is involved in the killings.”

  “Who says so?” a younger warlock demanded—Sirinita of somewhere, Sarai thought her name was.

  “Kelder of Quarter Street,” Sarai replied. “A first-rate witch who was aiding me in my investigations. He assured me that both wizardry and warlockry were involved.”

  “Why doesn’t he speak for himself?” Sirinita called angrily.

  “Because he’s dead,” Sarai answered, just as angrily. “He was the last victim—that we know of.”

  “How convenient!” Sirinita replied, her voice dripping sarcasm.

  This disrespect was too much for some of the other warlocks, provoking a shocked murmur from several of them. “My apologies, Lady Sarai,” Vengar said, throwing a furious glance at Sirinita. “You are sure of this? A warlock was involved in the killings?”

  “Quite sure,” Sarai replied.

  Vengar frowned. “I regret to say,” he said, “that we are still unable to help you. Ours is purely a physical magic; we have no way to read the thoughts or memories of other warlocks, and we do not spy on each other. It may well be that one or more warlocks participated in these crimes; it may even be that those participants were among the warlocks of Ethshar of the Sands, and as such nominally subject to this council. Still, we have no knowledge of them, nor any means of obtaining such knowledge.”

  “You’re certain of that?” Sarai asked.

  “I swear it,” Vengar answered.

  “You all say so? You all swear it?”

  There was a general mutter of agreement, but Sarai was not satisfied; she went through the entire score, one by one. All gave their oaths that they knew nothing about the murders that Sarai did not.

  Finally, the vows complete, Sarai announced, “I accept your word. Still, you claim to represent the warlocks of this city, and that means that you are partially responsible for them, as well. I therefore charge you all to tell me at once if you learn anything more, and further, I hereby require, in the overlord’s name, that if at any point in this investigation 1 call upon the services of the Council of Warlocks, that those services will be forthcoming. It doesn’t have to be any of you who does what I ask—send your journeymen, your apprentices, whoever you please, but when I call, I expect cooperation.” This speech was composed on the spur of the moment; she was up against a magically gifted multiple murderer, who might reasonably be expected to be very dangerous. Knowing that she could call on several powerful warlocks would be reassuring. “Is that clear?” she asked.

  Sirinita spoke up again. “Who are you,” she demanded, “to give orders to the Council of Warlocks?”

  “I,” Sarah answered, “am Minister of Investigation and Acting Minister of Justice to Ederd the Fourth, Overlord of Ethshar of the Sands, Triumvir of the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars, Commander of the Holy Armies—which means that I have those holy armies, which is to say the city guard, at my disposal.”

  “You seek to frighten us with mere soldiers?” Sirinita sneered.

  “Not exactly,” Sarai said. “I hope to frighten you with the knowledge that if you defy me, you’ll be forced to use your warlockry over and over to defend yourselves for as long as you stay in this city—and we all know what happens when a warlock uses a little too much of his magic, don’t we? The twenty of you are the most powerful warlocks in the city—but you and I realize what most people do not, that that also makes you the twenty most vulnerable to the Calling. True, you’ll easily be able to defeat a dozen guardsmen apiece, but I have several thousand soldiers I can send and send and send, until the Calling does my work for me. And there’s nothing south of here but ocean; if you try to flee farther from Aldagmor, that means the Small Kingdoms far to the east, or the Pirate Towns to the west—is that really what you want?”

  She stared questioningly at them; no one answered.

  After a moment of silence, Sarai said, “I don’t like making threats, you know; I’m not trying to make enemies of you, any of you. I’m just explaining that I do know who and what you are, and that I will have your cooperation, one way or another. This investigation is very, very important to me.”

  There was a reluctant mutter of acknowledgment.

  With that, Sarai dismissed eighteen of the warlocks, but asked Vengar and Sirinita to stay for a moment.

  “Sirinita,” she said in a low voice, when the others had gone, “I don’t know why you seem so displeased that the overlord’s government should require the cooperation of the Council of Warlocks. Is there some personal issue at stake here?”

  Sirinita, a magnificent creature who looked scarcely older man Sarai but far more powerful, and who stood several inches taller, peered down her nose at the noblewoman. “I became a warlock,” she said, “because I was tired of being told what I could and couldn’t do. I worked my way up to the Council at an earlier age than anyone else for the same reason. And I still don’t like it.”

  Sarai sighed. “I will keep mat in mind, then.” She dismissed them both; she had only wanted Vengar as a witness and restraint on Sirinita, should she prove dangerous.

  Then, for several minutes, she sat on the edge of the dais, thinking.

  She had completely forgotten her entourage until Captain Tikri cleared his throat. She looked up.

  “Yes? ”she asked.

  “My lady,” Tikri said, “one of my men reports that a stranger wishes to speak with you.”

  Sarai blinked up at nun. “What sort of a stranger?”

  Tikri shrugged. “He’s dressed as a magician,” he said. “That’s all we know. That, and that he knew where to find you.”

  “Send him in,” Sarai said, puzzled.

  The moment she spoke, the door at the back of the council chamber opened, and a figure in white appeared. Sarai watched silently as he approached.

  He was a man of medium height, heavily built, wearing a robe of fine white linen; a hood hid any hair, and his weathered face was clean-shaven—Sarai could not remember ever before seeing a man so obviously mature without so much as a mustache.

  He stopped a few feet away, looking down at her. He did not bow.

  “I am Abran of Demerchan,” he announced. Sarai stared silently up at him.

  “It has come to the attention of our organization, Lady Sarai,” Abran said, speaking slowly and clearly, as if he were reciting a prepared speech in a language not his own, “that you suspect we are responsible for a series of unnatural deaths that have taken place in this city. I am here on behalf of Demerchan to address this suspicion.” “Go on,” Sarai told him.

  Abran nodded, and said, “You know of Demerchan as a cult of assassins; that description is inadequate, at best, but it is true that at times we have slain outsiders. However, we have not struck down any of those whose slayer you seek. I swear, by my name and by all the gods, that Demerchan had no part in the deaths of Inza the Apprentice, Captain Deru of the Guard, Athaniel the Theurgist, Karitha of the East End, Serem the Wise, or Kelder of Quarter Street. If y
ou doubt me, consider that Demerchan has existed for centuries—why, then, should we suddenly kill these, and in this new and noticeable way?”

  “Any number of possible reasons,” Sarai answered, a little surprised by her own courage hi answering this intimidating figure. “Someone could have hired you, for example.”

  “Butnonedid,” the spokesman for Demerchan replied. “You have your concealed magicians who can tell truth from falsehood; they will tell you I speak the truth.”

  Sarai was rather annoyed by this; what was the point of putting Okko in another room if everyone knew he was there? “There are spells that can fool any magician,” she remarked.

  “I need no such spells,” Abran insisted. “I promise you, if we of Demerchan had sought to remove these people, none of you would ever know that then deaths had not been mere happenstance and coincidence. We are not so obvious as this new power that stalks your city; our ways are subtle and various.”

  “That’s what you claim,” Sarai said. For the first time, Abran allowed himself to appear visibly annoyed.

  “Yes,” he said, “that is what we claim, and we make this claim because we know it to be true. Why would we want to slay these people? None of them had troubled us; indeed, we do not trouble ourselves with Ethshar of the Sands at all, in the normal course of events. Our interests lie farther east.”

  “Maybe you’re extending those interests,” Tikri suggested from behind him. “Things have been pretty stirred up in the Small Kingdoms lately—that’s where you people operate, isn’t it? But the Empire of Vond has been changing things...”

  “Even if we were troubled by Vond, which we are not, why would Demerchan want anything to do with Ethshar of the Sands?” Abran asked. “I don’t know,” Sarai admitted.

  “Lady Sarai,” Tikri said, “regardless of whether he’s responsible for these mysterious deaths, hasn’t this man just admitted that he’s part of a conspiracy of murderers?”

  Sarai, somewhat startled, realized that Abran had, indeed, done just that. She nodded to Tikri, who started forward.