The Spell of the Black Dagger loe-6 Page 24
In the central corridor Sarai stopped, suddenly aware that she didn’t know where the wizards were.
“That way,” Kelder said, holding out his silver box. Following his directions, Sarai soon found herself on the stairs to the old wizard’s great underground chamber, which she had not known existed; surprised into caution and silence, she crept down the steps slowly and carefully.
Before her, she saw a score of wizards—Mereth, Tobas, Lir-rin, the Guildmasters Telurinon, Heremon, and Algarin, and others she knew only slightly or not at all. No one else could be seen; despite Tobas’s presence, Alorria was not there. Voices rose from below.
“... the dagger,” an unfamiliar voice said, “it must be that dagger she carries that’s stopping all our spells.”
“I don’t think there’s much doubt of that,” replied Telurinon. “Which leaves us with the question of where the dagger came from, and what it is, and how this thief obtained it.”
“We’ve been using the Spell of Omniscient Vision,” Mereth’s voice said. “We’ve managed to follow her back for a few months, though it’s very difficult, the way she’s constantly moved around and never lived in the same place for more than a few sixnights. She’s always had that dagger, as far back as we’ve gone. She always had that embroidered tunic and black skirt, and a few other things, as well—I’ve made a list—are you sure it’s the dagger?”
A chorus of voices replied, all in the affirmative. Lady Sarai cleared her throat.
Noone heard her, as Telurinon said, “I’m sure you’ve all seen the significance of the fact that this woman’s magic appears to reside in a dagger...”
“Ahem,” Lady Sarai said loudly. She really did not want to be accused of spying on wizards. Several eyes turned toward her, and someone shrieked. “Excuse me,” Lady Sarai said, trying very hard to stay calm, “but Kelder and I have just learned something that we thought might be of use.”
Guildmaster Telurinon stepped forward from the corner where he had been standing, and glared up at the new arrivals.
“Lady Sarai,” he said, “what is the meaning of this intrusion? Surely, despite your display the other day at the Cap and Dagger, you know better than to enter uninvited into the private councils of the Wizards’ Guild!”
Lady Sarai glared back. “And surely you, sir, know better than to leave the doors unlocked and unwarded when conducting private councils! Therefore, this could hardly have been such a council, or else neither of us would have made such a foolish mistake!”
Mereth giggled nervously; Tobas threw her a warning glance. “The doors of this house are locked and warded, my lady, and you are here only because the door was opened for you,” Telurinon replied. “Still, I see your point and concede that you have not forfeited your life.”
“How gracious of you,” Lady Sarai said. “Now, as I started to explain, the forensic sorcerer, Kelder of Tazmor, has learned something that might be of use in your investigations.”
“And what might that be?” Telurinon asked, in the unconvinced tone of one merely being polite about a waste of his time.
Sarai moved aside and beckoned Kelder forward; the sorcerer stepped up to the railing and announced, “I have found traces of Tabaea the Thief’s presence in this very house—in fact, on this very stairway—dating back some four years, to the summer of 5223.”
“You mean she lived here?” Algarin asked.
“No,” Kelder answered. “The only traces of her presence upstairs were those left when she murdered Serem the Wise. But on several occasions in 5223 she passed through the front parlor, down the hallway and onto this staircase where I now stand.”
“Only that year?” Tobas asked. “Not since then?”
“Not since then,” Kelder confirmed.
“Why did she come down here?” Mereth asked. “Why would Serem allow it?”
“She didn’t go down there,” Kelder said. “The trail stops right here, at this railing.”
The wizards looked at one another.
“She spied on him,” someone said.
“She spied on us,” Lirrin answered. “That was when... I mean... I began my apprenticeship on the eighth of Rains, 5223.”
“These visits,” Telurinon asked. “Can you date them precisely?”
Kelder shook his head. “Not to the day, certainly. I doubt any were as early as Rains, though—I would judge them to fall mostly in the later part of Greengrowth, and perhaps into the first naif of Longdays.”
The wizards exchanged looks again.
“Leave us,” Telurinon said.
Lady Sarai said, “But...”
“Go!” Telurinon bellowed. “We thank you for this information, but we must speak in private now—Tobas, see that the door is locked and warded.”
“Yes, Guildmaster,” Tobas said. He headed for the Starrs.
Sarai and Kelder did not wait for him; they turned and retreated, back up the steps and out through Serem’s cluttered little workroom. They were in the hallway when Sarai heard the door slam shut. “Lady Sarai?” a woman’s voice called.
Sarai turned and saw Karanissa on the stairs. Teneria and Alorria were behind her, watching over her shoulders.
“We sensed some upset,” she said.
“We intruded on Guildmaster Telurinon’s meeting,” Sarai explained.
“Oh.” The witch glanced at the door to the workroom. “That’s unfortunate,” she said. “Telurinon can be very difficult. ” She hesitated, then asked, “Have you had breakfast, either of you?”
“No,” Lady Sarai admitted. “At least, I haven’t. Have all of you?”
“Yes, but don’t let that trouble you.” Karanissa trotted quickly down the stairs and led the way to the kitchens, where she found biscuits, jam, and a variety of fruit for Sarai and Kelder.
Teneria and Alorria joined them there, and the five sat comfortably chatting for some time.
They were still there, though the food was long gone, when Telurinon marched in and informed them all that they were no longer welcome in the Guildhouse.
“It’s nothing personal,” he said, after the initial shock had passed. “The incident this morning demonstrated, however, that it’s a serious mistake to allow anyone not a member of the Guild to be in the building when we have such important and secret matters to discuss as we do at present.”
“Wait a minute,” Sarai protested. “We had an...”
“Lady Sarai,” Telurinon retorted, cutting her short, “or rather, Sarai of Ethshar, we had an agreement to share information relevant to your investigation of a series of murders. Well, that investigation is over now—the identity of the killer is known, her whereabouts are known, and the question is not who is responsible, but how to punish her, which is purely a Guild matter and none of the concern of the city government. And furthermore, you, along with your overlord, have been removed from office. We have no more information to share with you.”
“But...”
“And even if that were not the case,” Telurinon continued, “we never invited you to wander into our councils whenever you chose. There are times when we wish to discuss matters that we never agreed to share with you or anyone else outside the Guild, matters that it is absolutely forbidden for anyone outside the Guild to know.” He turned to the others. “I expect that your husband will find a comfortable inn for you all, Alorria and Karanissa—the Cap and Dagger, perhaps. Or if you prefer, I ’m sure some other member of the Guild will be glad to accommodate you.”
For a moment no one spoke; then Telurinon turned to go. Alorria stuck her tongue out at his departing figure, and Sarai, despite herself, giggled.
When the mage had gone, the giggle vanished.
“Now what will I do?” she asked.
CHAPTER 30
“Is this all of them?” the Empress Tabaea said, looking over the immense crowd that was jammed into her throne room and spilling down the three grand staircases.
“All who would come,” her newly appointed chancellor replied.
Tabaea turned to him, startled. “Some wouldn’t come?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Some people refused your invitation.” “Why? Did they say why?” “Some of them did.” “Why, then?”
The chancellor hesitated, scuffed a foot on the marble, and then said, “Various reasons, Your Majesty.”
Tabaea could smell his nervousness, but was not in a mood to let him avoid explanations. “Name a few, Arl. Just for our enlightenment.”
“Well, some...”He glanced warily at her, and seeing more curiosity than anger, he continued, “some didn’t trust you. They suspected a trick of some kind, that you were going to enslave them all, or kill them.”
“Why would I want to do that?” Tabaea was honestly baffled. She could smell that Arl was telling the truth; his tension had decreased as he spoke, rather than increasing, and liars didn’t do that.
Chancellor Arl shrugged. “I couldn’t say, Your Majesty.” “What other reasons did they give?” “Well, some said they were happy where they were, that they enjoyed living in the open—there are a few people who are like that, Your Majesty...”
“I know.” She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I never understood why they stay in the city, instead of out in the wilderness somewhere, if that’s what they want, but I’ve met them. What else?”
“A few said they wouldn’t bother moving because they didn’t think... uh... they said that it wouldn’t last, they’d just have to go back in a few days...”
He was getting nervous again. “Why?” the Empress demanded. “Do they think I’m going to change my mind and throw everyone out again?”
“That, or that you... urn... won’t remain in power.” “Oh.” Tabaea frowned. “Well, they’re wrong about that, anyway. The overlord’s run for his life and isn’t coming back, and I ’m going to stay right here.” “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Tabaea turned back to the crowd, then asked her chancellor one final question. “How many are there, here?”
“I have no idea, Your Majesty,” Arl admitted unhappily. “I didn’t think to count them.”
Tabaea nodded, then addressed the crowd. “People of Eth-shar!” she said, “welcome to my palace!”
A halfhearted cheer rose, then died.
“I am Tabaea the First, Empress of Ethshar, your new ruler!” Tabaea continued. “The days of oppression are at an end, and the cruel descendants of Anaran driven from us! All the people of Ethshar of the Sands are now free and equal—there shall be no more nobility to lord it over us, no more slaves to suffer unjustly!”
She paused for more applause, and after an uncertain beginning, she received a satisfactory ovation.
“No citizen of my city need cower in the Wall Street Field for fear of the overlord’s guards and tax collectors,” Tabaea said. “Those who have no homes of their own will now have a home here, with me, in the palace built by the sweat of slaves...”
The chancellor cleared his throat and looked up at the dome— the dome which every educated person in Ethshar knew had been built mostly by magic, not by muscle. Tabaea carried on, ignoring him.
“... a palace far larger than any conceivable government might need, built entirely for the ostentatious display of power and wealth! You may all stay here as long as you wish, and in exchange I ask only that you help clean and maintain the palace, that you run those errands I and my aides might ask of you, and that you stand with me against any misguided fools who might try to restore the foul Ederd to my throne. What do you say?” The applause was not all that Tabaea had hoped for—several of her listeners were unenthusiastic about those unspecified errands and the call to help defend the palace—but she decided it would do.
When the crowd had quieted—which really, Tabaea thought, happened a little too quickly—the empress raised her arms for silence, and continued.
“As some of you probably know,” she said, “much of the former overlord’s city guard has not yet accepted my authority. I ordered them to turn in their swords, as a sign that they would no longer rule through fear, and many have refused to do so.” In fact, fewer than a hundred had handed in swords, and she knew that there were supposed to be ten thousand men in the city guard. “Some of these renegades have scattered among the people, abandoning their posts; others have gone into hiding, where they seem to have maintained a semblance of organization, in defiance of my orders. While I, since I am no oppressing tyrant, have no need for the large numbers of thugs and parasites my predecessor retained, still, there are some tasks appropriate to soldiers that yet need doing—searching the city for slaveowners who ignore my order to free their prisoners, for one. If any of you would like to volunteer to help with this glorious liberation, report to my new and loyal general, Derneth, formerly Derneth the Fence, at the northeast door of the palace today at midday. And all of you are free to come and go as you please—this palace is home to all my people, from this day forward!”
The applause was a little better this time, Tabaea thought. She smiled and waved, then stepped back and sat down on her throne.
The crowd dissipated slowly as Tabaea sat and watched, her smile gradually growing rigid and fixed. She had expected it all to vanish rather quickly, as her guests went about their business, but it didn’t; some stubbornly refused to vanish at all, quickly or otherwise. Some of the people simply stood, watching her nervously, and gave no sign of leaving; a few approached the dais cautiously, then stopped, or changed their minds and retreated.
“You haven’t told them what to do,” Arl whispered. “They can do what they like,” Tabaea snapped, the pretense of a smile disappearing instantly.
“But some of them don’t know what that is, Your Majesty,” her chancellor explained. “Not everyone in the Wall Street Field was there through simple misfortune, you know; some were there because they didn’t fit anywhere else—they’re mad, or simpleminded, or blind, or deaf, or crippled, or deranged in various other ways.”
“So what?” Tabaea demanded. “They’re still people!”
“Yes, of course, Your Majesty,” Arl agreed hastily. “But some of them aren’t entirely capable of thinking for themselves; they don’t know what to do unless someone tells them.” He looked out at the few dozen people who still lingered. “And I think some of these people have favors to ask of you, but don’t know how to go about it.”
Tabaea glared up at Arl, then at the waiting citizens. A handful, noting her expression, headed for the stairs, but the others remained; at least one smiled tentatively at her.
“All right, Arl,” Tabaea said, “have them form a line, and I’ll hear them. I suppose an empress has to do some work to earn her keep, like any other honest citizen.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Arl bowed hesitantly; he had never been in the palace before Tabaea’s conquest the night before last, had never formally learned anything of court etiquette, and in any case Tabaea’s rules might well differ from what had gone before—if Tabaea had any rules—but he had seen a few plays, had seen the overlord’s visits to the Arena and how he was treated there, and thought that a bow was appropriate at this point.
Then he stepped to the front of the dais, where he paused for a moment to think how to word what he wanted to say. When he thought he had it worked out, he took a deep breath and announced, “Her Imperial Majesty, Tabaea the First, Empress of Ethshar of the Sands, will now hold audience. Those who wish to address the emp... address Her Majesty may form a line.” He pointed to a spot just before his own feet.
He had the feeling that a true chancellor, or chamberlain— wasn’t this something a chamberlain would do?—would have made that sound better, somehow. Until two days ago, Arl had been a beggar and swindler, not a courtier; he had used fancy words, all right, but for persuasion, not formal announcements. It was a different sort of skill.
Of course, it was his old skill, carefully applied to his “old friend” Tabaea, that had gotten him his impressive title and powerful position in the first place.
People were
lining up, just the way they were supposed to; Arl was pleased with himself. Without waiting for everyone to settle into place, he took the first one, an old woman, by the hand and led her up onto the dais. After a moment’s hesitation, he turned and sent her on her way to the throne, but did not accompany her.
Uncertainly, the woman took a few tottering steps, then stood before the throne, looking down at Tabaea. The empress looked back.
The old woman was supposed to kneel, Tabaea thought, and she showed no sign of doing it. Her scent didn’t provide any useful information about what she was feeling or planning—she wasn’t scared or excited. Her movements gave no clues.
Well, she was supposed to kneel, and Tabaea decided that she would kneel. Her warlock’s touch reached out and gripped the woman’s knees, forcing them to bend.
The old woman almost tumbled forward; she was far slower catching herself than Tabaea had expected. At last, though, she steadied, and knelt before the throne.
Tabaea addressed her.
“What is it you want, woman?”
“I want a turn in the pretty chair,” the woman mumbled.
Tabaea stared at her.
“I want a turn,” the woman repeated, pointing at the throne.
For a moment, the empress couldn’t believe she had heard correctly. When she did believe it, her first reaction was fury.
Then she remembered what Arl had said about some of the people from the Field; the old woman was obviously demented. “No,” Tabaea said gently. “It’s my throne. I’m the empress.”
“You said we could share,” the woman protested.
“The palace,” Tabaea said. “Not the throne.”
“We don’t share the pretty chair?”
“No,” Tabaea said. “We don’t.”
“Oh.” The old woman looked down at her knees, and announced, “I fell down.”
“You knelt,” Tabaea explained. “When you speak to an empress, you must kneel.”
“Oh.” She showed no sign of rising, of leaving; the line of other petitioners was growing restless, Tabaea could see it and smell it and hear it.